Post by Grady Kilbride on Dec 19, 2021 15:00:07 GMT -5
In bygone days, Harland & Wolff shipyard etched a proud imprint on Belfast's collective consciousness. It bore a gritty mystical ambience, romantically entwined with the profound tragedy that emanated from its mechanical mastery in 1911. Today, its charm long since absconded in a globalised grey industrial haze. The similarly unkempt but decidedly less manufactured Grady Kilbride, sitting on a wall in the shadow of a monstrous crane, shows blasé contempt in flicking a cigarette butt over his shoulder.
"UNFATHOMABLE! ... That the RMS Titanic, Bourgeoisie pride and joy lovingly crafted in the very Belfast shipyard I call home, blessed with safety features out the wazoo, would sink to the bottom of the deep."
A loutish looking labourer in a white van drives by an adjacent shipping container. He casts a scowl in Grady's direction, ominously winding down his front window. His radio blares out "Joy To The World" as his visage shifts, beaming a smile of seasonal goodwill.
"UNFATHOMABLE! ... That a despised baby, born amongst livestock, would amass the most followers in human history."
Grady's tone softens and his voice lowers to tentative melancholy.
"Unfathomable... that Action Wrestling would trawl through filthy sediment to permit a 42 year old wreck to barge his way into the shark-tank that is CruiserHavoc."
"There's a stench of death in the air. CruiserClash is a different kettle of fish to the heady days of Baker, Quixote, Raging Dead and Kaz. They long slipped adrift. More recently, the likes of Pettis, Taijin, Soldado and Mall couldn't keep their heads above water. What remains is the steer of a remnant of that intoxicating era, JC Keeton; a man who threw caution to the wind and set a mighty course in this battle two years ago. Keeton, you bit hard that night like a hungry piranha but you fail to see that, somewhere along the journey, you became a stale fish. Going through the motions of these oceans, decked out in your speedos and Raybans, oblivious that this boat's being rocked. Mistaking a sinking ship for a cruise liner."
"This used to be a place where the brightest adventurers could ride the wave to unchartered territory. Now it's the Mary Celeste. Addy, Teo, Karlie, Vebbins... you sought safe harbour to rest and rejuvenate tired bones but instead you're drowning, along with the sorrows of anyone forced to watch you."
"Regan, you're the exception; battening down the hatches of Wrestler of the Year. Rulers of our Kind are similarly torpedoing up the ranks. You three are the only souls twisting a knot in my stomach. In pure ability terms, I'm up the creek without a paddle compared to you. I'll pin my colours to the mast - I've been rudderless for the best part of three decades. I once knew deep love. I hoped to be her rock but instead I ended up being less 'anchor' but more something rhyming with it. I've known every rock bottom and scoured the bottom of every bottle for even a ripple of meaning to this life. Nothing."
His eyes study the unforgiving blue foam beyond the dock. The clutch of harsh arms he knows only too well.
"I sunk as deep as I could go. Only fools cast prophecies and premonitions like 'I'm going to win CruiserHavoc' and bigger buffoons swallow it hook, line and sinker. This storm's too wild to navigate. Given the gulf in class, youth yet experience, between the others and I, I'd be even more insane to forecast my glory. I'm battered, I'm broken! 'What is even the point, OLD MAN?' you may ponder."
"Well..."
"This poor sailor's the only one who hears the requiem, the siren's sad song. Meanwhile, you decorate the decks, inflate your dingy, swim against the tide. I lurk in the cabin of the Titanic known as CruiserHavoc 'til the bitter end. No one's hurling me a life-raft or throwing me overboard. Your pride prevents you diving as low as I'm willing to descend. When the waters get rough, I get ready. This is the brawl to end all brawls, the scraping of the bottom of the barrel."
"And who knows... right there at that cold, cruel bottom... may lie... GOLD..."
"Unfathomable?"
"UNFATHOMABLE! ... That the RMS Titanic, Bourgeoisie pride and joy lovingly crafted in the very Belfast shipyard I call home, blessed with safety features out the wazoo, would sink to the bottom of the deep."
A loutish looking labourer in a white van drives by an adjacent shipping container. He casts a scowl in Grady's direction, ominously winding down his front window. His radio blares out "Joy To The World" as his visage shifts, beaming a smile of seasonal goodwill.
"UNFATHOMABLE! ... That a despised baby, born amongst livestock, would amass the most followers in human history."
Grady's tone softens and his voice lowers to tentative melancholy.
"Unfathomable... that Action Wrestling would trawl through filthy sediment to permit a 42 year old wreck to barge his way into the shark-tank that is CruiserHavoc."
"There's a stench of death in the air. CruiserClash is a different kettle of fish to the heady days of Baker, Quixote, Raging Dead and Kaz. They long slipped adrift. More recently, the likes of Pettis, Taijin, Soldado and Mall couldn't keep their heads above water. What remains is the steer of a remnant of that intoxicating era, JC Keeton; a man who threw caution to the wind and set a mighty course in this battle two years ago. Keeton, you bit hard that night like a hungry piranha but you fail to see that, somewhere along the journey, you became a stale fish. Going through the motions of these oceans, decked out in your speedos and Raybans, oblivious that this boat's being rocked. Mistaking a sinking ship for a cruise liner."
"This used to be a place where the brightest adventurers could ride the wave to unchartered territory. Now it's the Mary Celeste. Addy, Teo, Karlie, Vebbins... you sought safe harbour to rest and rejuvenate tired bones but instead you're drowning, along with the sorrows of anyone forced to watch you."
"Regan, you're the exception; battening down the hatches of Wrestler of the Year. Rulers of our Kind are similarly torpedoing up the ranks. You three are the only souls twisting a knot in my stomach. In pure ability terms, I'm up the creek without a paddle compared to you. I'll pin my colours to the mast - I've been rudderless for the best part of three decades. I once knew deep love. I hoped to be her rock but instead I ended up being less 'anchor' but more something rhyming with it. I've known every rock bottom and scoured the bottom of every bottle for even a ripple of meaning to this life. Nothing."
His eyes study the unforgiving blue foam beyond the dock. The clutch of harsh arms he knows only too well.
"I sunk as deep as I could go. Only fools cast prophecies and premonitions like 'I'm going to win CruiserHavoc' and bigger buffoons swallow it hook, line and sinker. This storm's too wild to navigate. Given the gulf in class, youth yet experience, between the others and I, I'd be even more insane to forecast my glory. I'm battered, I'm broken! 'What is even the point, OLD MAN?' you may ponder."
"Well..."
"This poor sailor's the only one who hears the requiem, the siren's sad song. Meanwhile, you decorate the decks, inflate your dingy, swim against the tide. I lurk in the cabin of the Titanic known as CruiserHavoc 'til the bitter end. No one's hurling me a life-raft or throwing me overboard. Your pride prevents you diving as low as I'm willing to descend. When the waters get rough, I get ready. This is the brawl to end all brawls, the scraping of the bottom of the barrel."
"And who knows... right there at that cold, cruel bottom... may lie... GOLD..."
"Unfathomable?"