Post by Office on Aug 23, 2018 17:11:52 GMT -5
“Send It Up” elevated the murmurs of the audience into a full-fledged frenzy. It wasn’t a typical reaction from the Minneapolis crowd, even toward a hated wrestler. There was an aura of volatility in the arena that had everyone feeling uneasy. Rafa Whatley emerged in the entrance way; tonight, he was flanked by his agent Marion Payett. The chorus of jeers and boos swelled the closer they got to the ring. By the time the entrance music ceased, Rafa patrolled the length of the ring and Marion stood in front of him, squeezing a microphone, about to battle the staggering sound engulfing them.
“Please, please,” Marion tried to reason, but the sound only swelled to combat him. “Please, folks, this is all just a series of unfortunate, awful misunderstandings!”
Rafa planted himself behind his agent, face of stone.
“Rafa wants to apologize to the lovely people of Minnesota for these misunderstandings as well as any ill will he may have collected during his time here.” Marion exclaimed, his voice louder and more aggressive. “The cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis have been a remarkable place for Rafa to begin his career. He’s thrilled to compete for you once more tonight, and he can’t wait until the Lion’s Road is back in this great state!”
“Okay, okay, that’s a little unfair,” Marion yelled at those chanting. “Rafa is truly sorry, but you’re all going to hear from me now. My client hasn’t done a damn thing to deserve this!”
“Okay, so Rafa flipped off a crowd of ungrateful hillbillies, so what?! He lost his temper!” Marion snapped. There was a collective gasp from the audience. “But trust me, there is no evidence whatsoever that he spit on that cheap, trailer park tramp! She and her friends provoked Rafa and then lied when he didn’t take the bait. As far as I’m concerned, it’s our word against the unsubstantiated accusations of a couple drunk rednecks!”
The crowd was livid. Several plastic bottles were even hurled toward the ring. Lion’s Road security jumped into action straightaway. Several officers clad in black uniforms infiltrated the stands to apprehend bottle throwers while the others stood guard over the ring.
“Rafa apologized. He’s the bigger man,” Marion’s scathing words persisted. “But it’s obvious these MAGA-morons here tonight will hate us no matter what. They don’t hate us because of what we’ve done, they hate us because of what we look like—"
After a second of confusion, Marion realized the production team backstage had cut his mic. He allowed it to fall it to the ground, peering out at the riot he had nearly just incited. Masses of pissed off Minnesotans would have stormed the ring if not for the security teams’ effectiveness. Still, there was nothing stopping them from spitting every hate-filled word they could toward the ring. Some risked throwing beverages still.
”ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!”
It began in a section but soon it cascaded down from every direction, pouring on Wild Card Rafa.
“Please, please,” Marion tried to reason, but the sound only swelled to combat him. “Please, folks, this is all just a series of unfortunate, awful misunderstandings!”
Rafa planted himself behind his agent, face of stone.
“Rafa wants to apologize to the lovely people of Minnesota for these misunderstandings as well as any ill will he may have collected during his time here.” Marion exclaimed, his voice louder and more aggressive. “The cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis have been a remarkable place for Rafa to begin his career. He’s thrilled to compete for you once more tonight, and he can’t wait until the Lion’s Road is back in this great state!”
”RA-FA SUCKS! RA-FA SUCKS!”
It was clear Rafa wasn’t going to apologize himself, and the fans rewarded him with merciless chants in the New Day rhythm.
“Okay, okay, that’s a little unfair,” Marion yelled at those chanting. “Rafa is truly sorry, but you’re all going to hear from me now. My client hasn’t done a damn thing to deserve this!”
”SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
*clap clap clap clap clap*
”SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
They had shifted focus to Marion.
“Okay, so Rafa flipped off a crowd of ungrateful hillbillies, so what?! He lost his temper!” Marion snapped. There was a collective gasp from the audience. “But trust me, there is no evidence whatsoever that he spit on that cheap, trailer park tramp! She and her friends provoked Rafa and then lied when he didn’t take the bait. As far as I’m concerned, it’s our word against the unsubstantiated accusations of a couple drunk rednecks!”
The crowd was livid. Several plastic bottles were even hurled toward the ring. Lion’s Road security jumped into action straightaway. Several officers clad in black uniforms infiltrated the stands to apprehend bottle throwers while the others stood guard over the ring.
“Rafa apologized. He’s the bigger man,” Marion’s scathing words persisted. “But it’s obvious these MAGA-morons here tonight will hate us no matter what. They don’t hate us because of what we’ve done, they hate us because of what we look like—"
After a second of confusion, Marion realized the production team backstage had cut his mic. He allowed it to fall it to the ground, peering out at the riot he had nearly just incited. Masses of pissed off Minnesotans would have stormed the ring if not for the security teams’ effectiveness. Still, there was nothing stopping them from spitting every hate-filled word they could toward the ring. Some risked throwing beverages still.
Remarkably, through it all Rafa had a massive grin plastered across his face. It seemed he was enjoying himself for the first time in a Lion’s Road ring. "New Orleans is Sinking" by the Tragically Hip interrupts the proceedings and seems to cool the crowd down a bit, Marion Payett exits the ring and security whisks him to the back. Rafa Whatley stays, warming up in the ring. Eli Buchanan walks out, holding his barbed wire chair. The dojo students tell him he has to leave it behind, but he marches to the ring with it. Whatley looks a bit concerned as we go to break.
BEACH BLAST WILL CONTINUE -
AFTER THE BREAK!
