It seemed that whenever he first arrived into a company, there was always a delay when it came to success. He once went eight matches straight with a loss as a rookie, and other times had fluctuated from victory to defeat before gaining any momentum. Here within the walls of Sin City Wrestling, things were no different. His debut coming at the supercard ended in spectacular defeat as he lost to Bo Dreamwolf. His subsequent match a few weeks later against the monster known as Goth didn't go any better, as he lost despite a great effort. But those who say that effort doesn't get you results should take notice. An eight man tournament has been set up to determine the next person to challenge for the Heavyweight championship, and Adam Smith is in the first round. His opponent, happens to be on the opposite end of things, coming into the tournament with two victories and no losses. Both men are fierce, and both have the desire, but only one can advance.
Brown might think he'll have it easy. But he hasn't seen what his opponent is truly capable of; not yet.
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It was Good Friday, the Roman Catholic holiday where believers remember the day the lord Jesus Christ was crucified, died, and was buried; thus leading to his ressurection three days later on Easter Sunday. He would be facing a man from across the pond, Johnny Brown, a tough English punk with a no nonsense attitude. Not to mention it was the first round of the tournament to crown the new #1 contender. For such an important match, you need to be prepared, and maybe even have the Lord on your side.
Unfortunately it was Good Friday, and Adam had a craving for meat. But breaking the fast might anger the Lord and affect his chances on Sunday. It was because of this that despite staying in a hotel, but his wife forbade him for ordering a steak or a burger.
The Jackal: C'mon babe. I'm sure the Lord will forgive me for breaking the fast for one hamburger or one small steak. I got a crazy craving for it.
Christine: You want to have the lord on your side when the day , so it's better to not break the fast. Come on, you love fish burgers.
The Jackal: Not this cheap imitation crap. I like a fish burger made from real fish, like back home. I'm not sure what the fuck this crap is they have here in Vegas. It's not fish though.
Christine: I'll tell you what. You win this Sunday, and I'll make you some steak when we get back to Newfoundland.
The Jackal: Alright fine, I'll eat this "fish" and have some real meat when we get back. So when do we order?
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So now we fade in to the image of a crucifix against a plain dark wall. The typical sort of image you would see on a day like this. As the camera zooms out from it, we see the back of Adam Smith, facing the wall and thus the crucifix, and, well, not really doing anything. He remains silent for the most part, that is until he raises his head and begins speaking.
The Jackal: According to Christian belief, two thousand and twelve years ago, the living embodiment of God himself walked among us. He was born in a horse barn, slept in hay, and was the son of a carpenter. Thirty years after that, he died a crueler death then even the worst criminal day would get. We kill child rapists and murderes with a needle, while an innocent man who does no wrong is flogged, busted wide open, and hung on a wooden cross? It's pathetic. But the lord Jesus Christ was more of a man then any of us. He was willing to accept a terrible beating and go through excruciating pain in order to achieve his goal; to redeem us all and open the gates of heaven, which had been shuttered thanks to the war with hell. Or so I've been told.
Smith turns now, his eyes narrowed and looking into the camera.
The Jackal: Not to sound overly blasphemous, but the lord Jesus and I share a common trait. I can't walk on water, heal the sick, or raise the dead. But I am also committed to going to whatever lengths necessary to achieve my own goals; even if this means putting myself through extreme pain and agony. I can't help but feel my whole career has been a part of some bigger plan. While it's not a physical agony, going for nearly a decade without a world championship to my credit is a mental agony I suffer almost daily. Now here I am in a tournament, and maybe, just maybe, all of these years of agony are going to pay off. I have a feeling my ability to cope with what I've been dealt is going to be rewarded when I ascend to the top and claim that Heavyweight prize. You think you all can stop it? I'm a man who's been through everything. There's not a type of match you can come up with that I haven't fought in, or any weapon I haven't been hit with, or used as a weapon myself. I can put up with as much pain as any man, and even if you bust me open wider then Jesus himself was, I will still come for you.
Smith's gaze softens slightly, as he pauses a moment to ponder his next words.
The Jackal: Despite being from across the pond, me and Johnny Brown share a lot in common. We're both fiercely proud of our countries, we're both tough sons of bitches, and both of us are hungry for the gold. The main difference being I can speak worth a damn without that horrible accent. And perhaps you should listen to your friend. My father was one of the toughest sons of bitches you'd never want to meet, and I'm sure he could handle your 'gramps' easily. But I guess having the two of them up in heaven watching their kin knock each other's lights out will have to suffice. Can't really picture this going to a submission, as you use the same move I've been using for years, and I can slip out of that easily. Nah, you're gonna have to beat me until I can't get my shoulder up; you're gonna have to beat me senseless there Johnny boy. That's a task easier to say then it is to do, and even the best in the world have struggled with it. Despite what you think about my backstory and all that 'garbage shit', it's all true, and I've lived through things that would kill a man like you. Hence, your task is even harder.
Smith's gaze turns off camera a moment, then returns to the camera.
The Jackal: This week, the SCW gets to see what I can really do, and you'll be the one to experience it firsthand Johnny. Sitting there and making fun of my heritage, my nickname, my family, my looks, it's all funny shit. But it's just words. You can talk about punching me in the face over and over, but what happens when I grab that fist and punch you right in the fuckin' nose? What do you do when I lift you high over my head and drop your carcass to the mat? What do you do when you realize all your words mean jack shit and you have to actually put up, or shut up? I'll tell you what you do; a whole fuckload of nothing is what. The lord Jesus may have died for our sins, but you die for yours tonight; pride, sloth, and being British. I'm not a holy man, but this is a holy weekend. And on Easter Sunday my career will rise from the dead, and I will move on in this tournament and become the next SCW Heavyweight Champion.
Fade out.
