Post by Wyziner on Aug 6, 2012 15:02:12 GMT -5
Amidst the raucous cheers of the crowd, the fan-fare of the open moments of the show and the clatter of the scurrying ring crew, there is another sound. It is a small sound that cannot be generated nor heard, it is a sound beneath the sound, the subtle hum of anticipation. Everyone’s focus is on the black velvet curtain that separates the stage from the rest of the arena; it is like a veil between two worlds, the stage is where the man puts on his mask and plays his part, where reality melds with fiction and becomes a beautiful opera, rife with drama, comedy, and sport. It is here where legends are made and stories are written in blood. Here fifteen minutes, three-hundred twenty-four feet of canvas, and two men can compose a symphony that Mozart, in all his genius, couldn’t replicate. Just beyond the veil in the second world where there are no games, everyone rehearses their lines. The actualities of life breed an atmosphere that is much different; debts and responsibilities take away from the pageantry of the affair and every player is here because his life and his livelihood depend on his performance.
Wyziner stands behind the veil and the cluster of butterflies in his stomach buzz continuously. Twenty minutes ago he was slumped over a toilet with his face down to the murky bottom of the bowl; it was an all too familiar position and Wyziner assumed, incorrectly, that it would be the end of the first day jitters. Here he is, seconds away from one of the most important performances of his life and his palms are sweaty, his heart pound like all the drums in Africa, a thunderous, eerie pounding; a war rages in his heart and fear defeats confidence, preparation, and duty. He closes his eyes and lifts his head waiting for the music; his knees buckle, and he stares at the bleak emptiness of the black curtain, considering what lies in wait on the other side with severe trepidation. The fear causes him to tremble, and he clinches his fist to counter-act this affect. Nina Simone, in her steely alto, ebbs in over the clamor of the arena. It’s time.
♪ Birds flying high…you know how I feel…
Sun in the sky…you know how I feel…
Breeze drifting on by…you know how I feel…
It’s a new dawn; it’s a new day…
It’s a new life for me…
It’s a new dawn; it’s a new day…
It’s a new life for me…woo yeah…
And I’m FEELING GOOD.
Instantaneously fear subsides and he tips out from behind the curtain and onto the stage, through the effect of a thick fog created for theatrics. He is cool and walks with boldness, a swagger, pure bravado; and his tall lanky form and dark hair gives him elegance uncommon among the other men in his profession. He is painted with arrogance; it mingles with the confidence that has replaced his fear, and drips from every pore of his body leaving a trail in his wake. He carries this sly smirk on his face, as if he has a secret knowledge to which no one else is privy; as if his all black attire, his walk, and the simplicity of his processional, are all apart of some greater mystery.
"Making his to the ring from Las Vegas; weighing two-hundred pounds, the "Wizard" Bryan Wyziner."
♪Now this old world is a new world…
It’s a bold world…for me…
“We’re going to kick off the night with the return of Bryan Wyziner, who will be re-debuting against a very game Thumbtack Jack.”
“These two had a chance encounter earlier and now that altercation is going to spill over into the ring.”
♪I'm FEELING GOOD!
Wyziner stands behind the veil and the cluster of butterflies in his stomach buzz continuously. Twenty minutes ago he was slumped over a toilet with his face down to the murky bottom of the bowl; it was an all too familiar position and Wyziner assumed, incorrectly, that it would be the end of the first day jitters. Here he is, seconds away from one of the most important performances of his life and his palms are sweaty, his heart pound like all the drums in Africa, a thunderous, eerie pounding; a war rages in his heart and fear defeats confidence, preparation, and duty. He closes his eyes and lifts his head waiting for the music; his knees buckle, and he stares at the bleak emptiness of the black curtain, considering what lies in wait on the other side with severe trepidation. The fear causes him to tremble, and he clinches his fist to counter-act this affect. Nina Simone, in her steely alto, ebbs in over the clamor of the arena. It’s time.
♪ Birds flying high…you know how I feel…
Sun in the sky…you know how I feel…
Breeze drifting on by…you know how I feel…
It’s a new dawn; it’s a new day…
It’s a new life for me…
It’s a new dawn; it’s a new day…
It’s a new life for me…woo yeah…
And I’m FEELING GOOD.
Instantaneously fear subsides and he tips out from behind the curtain and onto the stage, through the effect of a thick fog created for theatrics. He is cool and walks with boldness, a swagger, pure bravado; and his tall lanky form and dark hair gives him elegance uncommon among the other men in his profession. He is painted with arrogance; it mingles with the confidence that has replaced his fear, and drips from every pore of his body leaving a trail in his wake. He carries this sly smirk on his face, as if he has a secret knowledge to which no one else is privy; as if his all black attire, his walk, and the simplicity of his processional, are all apart of some greater mystery.
"Making his to the ring from Las Vegas; weighing two-hundred pounds, the "Wizard" Bryan Wyziner."
♪Now this old world is a new world…
It’s a bold world…for me…
“We’re going to kick off the night with the return of Bryan Wyziner, who will be re-debuting against a very game Thumbtack Jack.”
“These two had a chance encounter earlier and now that altercation is going to spill over into the ring.”
♪I'm FEELING GOOD!
