[Baker] 57 Channels and Nothin' On Dec 20, 2019 17:21:29 GMT -5 W A L T E R, Quixote Della Torre, and 2 more like this
Post by Graham Baker on Dec 20, 2019 17:21:29 GMT -5
"It's always the same old cookie-cutter bullshit, isn't it."
Rain drips onto the window next to Graham Baker as he lights up a cigarette, his silhouette illuminated predominantly by the burning stick betwixt his lips. He inhales, before lowering his cigarette and exhaling smoke out into the air. He leans back in his chair, clad in his standard leather jacket and a pair of jeans, the IBW FNC Championship laying upon his right shoulder. He puts the cigarette out on the belt's plate, before continuing.
"When I got into this business, the upper-echelon of pro-wresting, so to speak, I was told that my size would be my detriment, my downfall. That a man like me could never accomplish the world over, would be stuck battling it out with other luchadores and high-fliers and maniacs on the lower-card, toiling night after night to woo the crowd while I nearly broke my fuckin' neck trying to make something of myself. I was small, sure, a natural underdog to many, a kid who could take a loss but wow the crowd, slap hands heading to the back and be patted on the shoulders by his friends who offered him the comfort of a stogie to make up for the empty pit where his pride should've been. I came into this business on my own feet, having my own back, and when I realized that the only person to drag Graham Baker out of his rut would be, well, Graham Baker, I battened down the hatches, sucked it the fuck up, and made plays for myself."
Baker lets out a harsh chuckle as he continues.
"Two years later, with three world championships, two tournaments, and countless other accolades," Baker motions to the IBW championship on his shoulder, "I stand unbeaten. Unbroken. I've taken losses, I've had scars, but I'm still a three-time world champion. I've reached the summit of this business before I turned thirty years old, I've had contract offers from all around the fucking world, and yet I stay here on my own two fucking feet and burn myself out night after night because I love this fucking business. When I lost my debut match at Freedom Pro, I didn't quit, nor when I lost that world championship or any of the others I was lucky enough to hold, I never backed down. I kept moving, a shark on the hunt not for blood but the next biggest animal on my fucking radar. The mountain was blocked off to men like me, to men who looked like me, to men who fought tooth and nail only to be turned away, but me?
I didn't take that shit."
Baker cracks his neck.
"I built my own mountain off the praise of my brethren, the roar of the crowd every fucking night, and I built my footholds off every man who told me I couldn't do this, off my father's dejected words when I left home, off every sneering manager who told me that I wasn't worth the ink it took to print my contract, nah, I took that shit and I ran with it. Marcus Allen Jones, he tapped out. Zakk Night, he passed out. Aaron Arkham, he stayed down when I put him down, and those are just three names of many that I've put in the dirt, that I've stopped in their tracks, that I've pried gold out of the cold, dead hands of. Action Wrestling, we got off to a rough start, but what makes you all think that the names you've put before me are gonna end any differently?"
Baker runs a hand through his hair as he continues.
"Because I've scouted every motherfucker you picked out for this rumble, the undefeated, the unwavering, the unwashed masses looking for their next meal ticket, and I've especially scouted the unbeaten champion, Raging Dead. Let me tell you something, and I hope that champ listens in-the only reason that motherfucker's stood with that belt for so long is because Graham Baker wasn't around to rip it off him earlier."
Baker breathes again, and looks dead into the camera.
"I'm walking in Sunday...and walking out with the fuckin' strap."