Post by Anthony Caffrey on Jul 20, 2015 23:31:52 GMT -5
Verdi's "Dies Irae" plays in the arena as the crowd roars for the arrival of the young veteran, Anthony Caffrey. He emerges from behind the curtain, but it is easy to see that he does not match the J.S. Dorton Arena's positive energy. He walks slowly down to the ring, dressed in a simple black-and-white t-shirt that reads "Caffrey's Gonna Cut You Down" and a pair of blue jeans. He is carrying his Around the Clock contract with him as he steps in the ring, passing up the opportunity for selfies with the fans. He is handed a microphone, and looks to start speaking as the noise dies down.
Caffrey goes to begin speaking, but he stops before he starts. He licks his lips and looks around the arena, at the fans, before starting again. Nothing comes out. This continues on for about another minute, before Caffrey sighs. He then speaks.
Anthony Caffrey: I don't know what to say.
Caffrey: When I'm thinking up what I want to say to all of you, I sit wherever I am - backstage, my hotel room, wherever - with a copybook in hand, and I sit there, and I scribble my thoughts down. I try...I try to craft the perfect words for whatever I'm feeling. If I'm feeling goofy, I do something kind of funny, for example. I write down a bunch of ideas and maybe even some clever and witty one-liners, and I take all of that, put it together, rehearse it more times than you'd care to know, and then I come out and say it to you.
Caffrey: Whenever a page is bad, I rip it up and throw it out, even if I've gotten all the way down the page. I must've started writing for this about four five or six times, running through a list of ideas. I was going to stand in this ring, dressed as Michael, and make fun of him for about fifteen minutes. That felt like the wrong idea. I was going to invite Michael for an interview, stand in the center of the ring, and watch as a man in one of those yellow full body things came out, followed by a man in a cow suit with "ard" written on the back, and then finally a man in a giant chicken costume. I thought that idea was really funny, and it hit home some points - that Michael is a yellow coward, a giant chicken, hahaha, but it quite wasn't what I wanted to say.
Caffrey: I've thought so hard about this. I'm boiling on the inside, Mike. You got me. You got me with egg on my face in the center of the ring, you pulled a fast one. You limped out of the arena with my championship and laughed at me. And I've never stood here with so much to say and no idea how to say it. I was going to give up and just wait for the announcement of the situation until I listened to your entrance music, Michael.
Caffrey: I'm a big Johnny Cash fan, and the song "God's Gonna Cut You Down", man what a powerful song from a man God would cut down just a short time later. Cash was dead when they released it, actually. But he sings a really powerful verse, I'm not going to try to sing it, but it goes, "you can run on for a long time, run on for a long time, run on for a long time, sooner or later God'll cut you down, sooner or later God'll cut you down."
Caffrey looks down at his shirt as the words rings out. He licks his lips and nods before looking back up.
Caffrey: Unfortunately, God is not here right now. God is not here to stand in this ring, in His greatness, and to serve you the punishment that you so righteously deserve. God's a little bit busy right now, and I'm stuck here instead. My entrance song is a bit different - the chant translates to "That day of wrath...shall consume the world to ashes...so David and the Sybil prophesied." And I'm here to tell you, Michael, that day of wrath is coming.
Caffrey looks straight into the camera as the crowd pops. He walks even closer to it, speaking directly into it, ignoring the crowd.
Caffrey: When I won this contract, it wasn't personal, Michael. I didn't really care who held it - it was just a matter of when, where, things like that. You just happened to be champion. But now, now it is personal. I feel it in my bones. It's no longer a game of Caffrey against Brewer. It's...it's a war between Anthony and Michael. I would call it a battle of two men, but there's a clear difference between me and you: I am a man. You are a giant spoiled child. You have no courage, no bravery, no guts, no honor, and damn sure you've lost my respect. You've spoiled yourself absolutely rotten, and it's time for someone to bend you over their knee and hand you the great ass-whooping your mother and father should have handed you a long time ago.
Anthony: Consequences. That's the big buzzword in the past twenty-four hours. Everyone wants to know what the Front Office will do, you and I both included. While I can't predict what those consequences can be, I can say this. You said you can do whatever you want because you're Michael Brewer. But there are consequences to your actions, Michael. The Front Office can do whatever they want, but I can tell you what I'm going to do. The next time I see you, you better hope your legs are all healed up, because you're going to be running again. And if you ever stop running, which would be a gigantic mistake, I will be right behind you. And when I get my hands on you...I will cripple you.
Anthony: Just keep running, Michael. Just keep running.
Anthony drops the microphone as the crowd cheers loudly. He exits up the ramp, not taking a moment to look at the fans or anyone. He disappears into the back.
Caffrey goes to begin speaking, but he stops before he starts. He licks his lips and looks around the arena, at the fans, before starting again. Nothing comes out. This continues on for about another minute, before Caffrey sighs. He then speaks.
Anthony Caffrey: I don't know what to say.
Caffrey: When I'm thinking up what I want to say to all of you, I sit wherever I am - backstage, my hotel room, wherever - with a copybook in hand, and I sit there, and I scribble my thoughts down. I try...I try to craft the perfect words for whatever I'm feeling. If I'm feeling goofy, I do something kind of funny, for example. I write down a bunch of ideas and maybe even some clever and witty one-liners, and I take all of that, put it together, rehearse it more times than you'd care to know, and then I come out and say it to you.
Caffrey: Whenever a page is bad, I rip it up and throw it out, even if I've gotten all the way down the page. I must've started writing for this about four five or six times, running through a list of ideas. I was going to stand in this ring, dressed as Michael, and make fun of him for about fifteen minutes. That felt like the wrong idea. I was going to invite Michael for an interview, stand in the center of the ring, and watch as a man in one of those yellow full body things came out, followed by a man in a cow suit with "ard" written on the back, and then finally a man in a giant chicken costume. I thought that idea was really funny, and it hit home some points - that Michael is a yellow coward, a giant chicken, hahaha, but it quite wasn't what I wanted to say.
Caffrey: I've thought so hard about this. I'm boiling on the inside, Mike. You got me. You got me with egg on my face in the center of the ring, you pulled a fast one. You limped out of the arena with my championship and laughed at me. And I've never stood here with so much to say and no idea how to say it. I was going to give up and just wait for the announcement of the situation until I listened to your entrance music, Michael.
Caffrey: I'm a big Johnny Cash fan, and the song "God's Gonna Cut You Down", man what a powerful song from a man God would cut down just a short time later. Cash was dead when they released it, actually. But he sings a really powerful verse, I'm not going to try to sing it, but it goes, "you can run on for a long time, run on for a long time, run on for a long time, sooner or later God'll cut you down, sooner or later God'll cut you down."
Caffrey looks down at his shirt as the words rings out. He licks his lips and nods before looking back up.
Caffrey: Unfortunately, God is not here right now. God is not here to stand in this ring, in His greatness, and to serve you the punishment that you so righteously deserve. God's a little bit busy right now, and I'm stuck here instead. My entrance song is a bit different - the chant translates to "That day of wrath...shall consume the world to ashes...so David and the Sybil prophesied." And I'm here to tell you, Michael, that day of wrath is coming.
Caffrey looks straight into the camera as the crowd pops. He walks even closer to it, speaking directly into it, ignoring the crowd.
Caffrey: When I won this contract, it wasn't personal, Michael. I didn't really care who held it - it was just a matter of when, where, things like that. You just happened to be champion. But now, now it is personal. I feel it in my bones. It's no longer a game of Caffrey against Brewer. It's...it's a war between Anthony and Michael. I would call it a battle of two men, but there's a clear difference between me and you: I am a man. You are a giant spoiled child. You have no courage, no bravery, no guts, no honor, and damn sure you've lost my respect. You've spoiled yourself absolutely rotten, and it's time for someone to bend you over their knee and hand you the great ass-whooping your mother and father should have handed you a long time ago.
Anthony: Consequences. That's the big buzzword in the past twenty-four hours. Everyone wants to know what the Front Office will do, you and I both included. While I can't predict what those consequences can be, I can say this. You said you can do whatever you want because you're Michael Brewer. But there are consequences to your actions, Michael. The Front Office can do whatever they want, but I can tell you what I'm going to do. The next time I see you, you better hope your legs are all healed up, because you're going to be running again. And if you ever stop running, which would be a gigantic mistake, I will be right behind you. And when I get my hands on you...I will cripple you.
Anthony: Just keep running, Michael. Just keep running.
Anthony drops the microphone as the crowd cheers loudly. He exits up the ramp, not taking a moment to look at the fans or anyone. He disappears into the back.