Post by Matt Rydell on Jul 14, 2014 9:48:29 GMT -6
"Why do you insist on wearing that ugly jersey?"
Rydell spins around in his chair to see his assistant, Claire Knox, standing at the door. Her blonde hair is down to her shoulders, wearing a white button down with a black pencil shirt. Rydell's sitting in his new office, in Los Angeles, wearing a pair of black jeans, and a dark green soccer jersey, with light green stripes on the sleeves. Not exactly 'business/casual'.
"Because it reminds me of home, I guess."
"Ah. So it's a Northern Ireland jersey. I see."
Rydell nods, admiring his shirt. Claire, however, does not return the smile. She walks over to his desk, and sits down in the chair in front of it.
"You never talk about home."
"I don't really remember it. I have vague memories and the things my dad told me. Plus, the memories I have are ones I wish to forget."
Claire pauses, watching Matt's eyebrows furrow.
"But you can't forget."
"No. You have to remember, in the early nineties, Northern Ireland wasn't a good place to be. At all. We were embroiled in a civil war between two terrorist organisations. Both fighting for causes that were just, that they thought was for the good of the country. Going all about it all the wrong way. You would turn on the news to see that some police officer had been blown up, or some family had been shot coming out of mass. It was terrible. You would have to go through scanners to go to the shops, barricades were brought down on towns at night so nobody could drive into it. You would get stopped on the road by police, and sometimes by terrorists pretending to be police. It was rough."
Rydell sighs, running his hand down the back of his neck.
"I have two memories of Northern Ireland, as a child. Both when I was three. It was the months leading up to us leaving. The first was an instance when we were in the car. We were driving through Belfast, and suddenly, traffic stopped. People were running around, but I was three and didn't understand what was happening. Then, there was the huge bang. A car bomb went off two streets away from where we were. The car shook, our ears were ringing, it was horrible. The other was a time when we were driving through the countryside to go to my Grandmothers. It was like, ten at night, maybe. Dad saw these figures in the middle of the road, waving us down. They were dressed in camouflage, but they weren't soldiers, and Dad wasn't stopping. He swerved passed them, foot to the floor, and sped away. The shot after us. I remember hearing this bang as a bullet his the rear bumper, it was like someone hit it with a hammer. They didn't chase after us, but I think that was the night that Dad knew he was making the right decision in moving to LA. I've been back home since though, and it's nothing like that anymore. It's just like a normal place, thankfully. Those years of trouble though..."
"I guess that's why I never get nervous. I've been in dangerous situations since I was a kid. When you've been shot at as a toddler, going out into an arena and wrestling isn't that scary."
"I never knew..."
"I don't talk about it. It's a huge part of me, but a part I keep secret."
Claire stares at Rydell, shocked at the stories she's just heard. She stands up to leave, but turns at the sound of Rydell's voice.
"Claire, could you get me some coffee? I'm parched."
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The camera pans up from the ground, as the figure of Matt Rydell stands in front of the interview area.
"Missed me? I know it's been a few weeks since you saw me drop someone on their head, so I'm sure you've been suffering from withdrawal symptoms. It's understand, because I'm bloody brilliant. Meanwhile, I haven't missed any of you, because you're all idiotic sheep who aren't fit to lick the dirt off my boots."
"But I am glad to be back. Truthfully. You see, I thrive on competition. I beg for it. I spend my life, walking around, being better than every single person I walk past in the street. That's why I'm here. You see, I was told that VoW was where the talent was. I was told that if I came here, I would never have an easy night. So far, that's been a lie. Desmond Aster wasn't on my level. He wasn't even on the level below. I knocked him off without breaking a sweat."
"So while others would worry and fret and the prospect of being in a triple threat match, I cannot wait for this match. Because when I win, it'll be all the more impressive. Facing two opponents doesn't scare me, it makes me hungry. I thrive on the chaos, I thrive on the pain. You see, when you back a wolf into a corner, bad things happen. You're about to see it first hand."
"It's feeding time."
Rydell shoves the camera away, and strides down the hall.
Rydell spins around in his chair to see his assistant, Claire Knox, standing at the door. Her blonde hair is down to her shoulders, wearing a white button down with a black pencil shirt. Rydell's sitting in his new office, in Los Angeles, wearing a pair of black jeans, and a dark green soccer jersey, with light green stripes on the sleeves. Not exactly 'business/casual'.
"Because it reminds me of home, I guess."
"Ah. So it's a Northern Ireland jersey. I see."
Rydell nods, admiring his shirt. Claire, however, does not return the smile. She walks over to his desk, and sits down in the chair in front of it.
"You never talk about home."
"I don't really remember it. I have vague memories and the things my dad told me. Plus, the memories I have are ones I wish to forget."
Claire pauses, watching Matt's eyebrows furrow.
"But you can't forget."
"No. You have to remember, in the early nineties, Northern Ireland wasn't a good place to be. At all. We were embroiled in a civil war between two terrorist organisations. Both fighting for causes that were just, that they thought was for the good of the country. Going all about it all the wrong way. You would turn on the news to see that some police officer had been blown up, or some family had been shot coming out of mass. It was terrible. You would have to go through scanners to go to the shops, barricades were brought down on towns at night so nobody could drive into it. You would get stopped on the road by police, and sometimes by terrorists pretending to be police. It was rough."
Rydell sighs, running his hand down the back of his neck.
"I have two memories of Northern Ireland, as a child. Both when I was three. It was the months leading up to us leaving. The first was an instance when we were in the car. We were driving through Belfast, and suddenly, traffic stopped. People were running around, but I was three and didn't understand what was happening. Then, there was the huge bang. A car bomb went off two streets away from where we were. The car shook, our ears were ringing, it was horrible. The other was a time when we were driving through the countryside to go to my Grandmothers. It was like, ten at night, maybe. Dad saw these figures in the middle of the road, waving us down. They were dressed in camouflage, but they weren't soldiers, and Dad wasn't stopping. He swerved passed them, foot to the floor, and sped away. The shot after us. I remember hearing this bang as a bullet his the rear bumper, it was like someone hit it with a hammer. They didn't chase after us, but I think that was the night that Dad knew he was making the right decision in moving to LA. I've been back home since though, and it's nothing like that anymore. It's just like a normal place, thankfully. Those years of trouble though..."
"I guess that's why I never get nervous. I've been in dangerous situations since I was a kid. When you've been shot at as a toddler, going out into an arena and wrestling isn't that scary."
"I never knew..."
"I don't talk about it. It's a huge part of me, but a part I keep secret."
Claire stares at Rydell, shocked at the stories she's just heard. She stands up to leave, but turns at the sound of Rydell's voice.
"Claire, could you get me some coffee? I'm parched."
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14-07-2014
DECC Arena
Deluth, Minnesota
The camera pans up from the ground, as the figure of Matt Rydell stands in front of the interview area.
"Missed me? I know it's been a few weeks since you saw me drop someone on their head, so I'm sure you've been suffering from withdrawal symptoms. It's understand, because I'm bloody brilliant. Meanwhile, I haven't missed any of you, because you're all idiotic sheep who aren't fit to lick the dirt off my boots."
"But I am glad to be back. Truthfully. You see, I thrive on competition. I beg for it. I spend my life, walking around, being better than every single person I walk past in the street. That's why I'm here. You see, I was told that VoW was where the talent was. I was told that if I came here, I would never have an easy night. So far, that's been a lie. Desmond Aster wasn't on my level. He wasn't even on the level below. I knocked him off without breaking a sweat."
"So while others would worry and fret and the prospect of being in a triple threat match, I cannot wait for this match. Because when I win, it'll be all the more impressive. Facing two opponents doesn't scare me, it makes me hungry. I thrive on the chaos, I thrive on the pain. You see, when you back a wolf into a corner, bad things happen. You're about to see it first hand."
"It's feeding time."
Rydell shoves the camera away, and strides down the hall.
