Title: Fernando Torres, Silence & A Point To Prove.
-Having fully heard what Leyenda has had to say, Alex sits on the bed in his dingy, flea-ridden motel. In truth, Ocho was right, maybe Alex wasn't as good as he thought, maybe he was working small promotions. Maybe Alex was the victim of his own device. Maybe his talent and his opportunity had passed him by and the well had dried up. Maybe good fortune had eluded him. Yet as he sat there in a white Chelsea FC jersey, the crest stitched over his heart, the number 9 of Fernando Torres stenciled onto his back, LeBlanc had a retort, even if it may not be of the usual chipper and happy-go-lucky manifestation.-
LeBlanc: So, my opponent finally made himself heard. In doing so, Ocho presented himself as a video-game nerd, likening himself to Mario and played through the opening stages of Super Mario Bros. in an attempt to get into my head with an array of metaphors, a cleverly-developed message that must have taken him ages to construct, and potshots about where I've worked, a cute little dig about my intelligence and how seemingly, I'm a disappointment to Canadians.
All of this is well and good, and frankly, was irrelevant to me because I saw through the song and dance and saw a man so utterly confused about what to say, a man so utterly confused as to what points he wanted to touch upon that he had to resort to the tried-and-true video-game reference in order to have something to say about me. Not only that, but as is usually the case in these little tournaments, "Ocho" puffed out his chest about how his company is superior.
Now, I'm guilty of doing much of the same. I ranted about my opponent without knowing much about him, I levied my talent against his, propped up my accomplishments, made fun of his style, and even made fun of his luchador mask. In essence, I'm just as condemnable as Leyenda de Ocho is. If I were to make a reference now to...let's say sports, instead of video games? Well, then you could say we're just about even.
The only difference is, I'd do it better.
-Alex looks down at the crest on his jersey and smirks a bit before looking up to the camera, the smirk turning into a Cheshire Cat grin. Clearing his throat, the Canadian native speaks once more.-
Alex: Now while "Ocho" had himself video games which gave rise to his pursuit of justice and righteousness, I always had soccer. I had the "beautiful game" and before wrestling sank its hooks into me and made me its personal *****, soccer was my first love, enchanting and alluring, as much of a stage, as much of a theatre as the world of Professional Wrestling.
The cast of characters so wide and vast, so different yet so relatable, it wasn't long before I found myself embracing some of the athletes as favorites, much the way Leyenda has seemingly embraced certain video game characters to be personifications of his struggles, his frustrations and his strengths.
-Licking his lips, Alex pauses for a minute collecting his thoughts, trying to elaborate on it a bit, pensive, but not at all combative. If anything, LeBlanc is more conversational in tone, more "matter-of-fact" then anything else.-
LeBlanc: One of my favorites, if we're being honest, is Fernando Torres.
If you don't know anything about the man, he's a 27 year old former prodigy, a man who set the world on fire when he first debuted for Athletico Madrid when he was still just a teen. With low expectations, he surprised many with his talent, earning a call from a bigger and better locale, Liverpool being the destination.
Seeing as his talent was so great, so infinite, he went to Liverpool, became an icon to the fan-base, a man whose name was cheered every time they saw his face. His accomplishments bountiful, it wasn't until father-time finally started catching up to him that it seemed his talent and his opportunity to truly cement his legacy as one of the greats was going to allude him.
Be it bad timing, injury, a lack of form, crisis in the organization's management, things never quite panned out the way he hoped they would. At age 27, with that window of opportunity closing, this former prodigy, this child star signed onto Chelsea FC and dove headfirst trying to finally establish his legacy.
He had a bit of a rough go of it at first. For the first 18 months, he couldn't score. He was a disappointment. It seemed he couldn't live up to the billing, he couldn't meet the requirements of the task. He hung in the shadows, he sat on the bench, he watched as the game continued to bypass him.
Then just last night, fate intervened. An opportunity arose. A chance. As a teammate was substituted off in a high-pressure situation, Torres came on the field in a Semi-Final match. The stakes high, the opportunity having finally presented itself, Torres caught the ball off a long pass, streaked down the middle of the field, and found himself one-on-one with the goalie.
Torres faked him out, effortlessly slotted the ball in the net, sealed victory, booked Chelsea's ticket to the final and finally, at long last, etched his name into immortality. Finally, he had carved out his legacy...
-Clutching at the crest over his heart, Alex shakes it, poignantly, looking at the camera, almost bitterly whispering at it as not to scream at it, getting his message across through gritted teeth.-
LeBlanc: The reason he's one of my favorites, the reason he'll always be someone I root for is because I relate, because his redemption, his vindication is something I crave!
With one swing of his foot, and with one well-timed shot, he changed his stars, he rewrote history and instead of going down as someone who never lived up to the potential, he grabbed fate by the horns and he made it his, deciding for himself how he'd be remembered and whether or not his name would be spoken reverently...
-Chest heaving, Alex pants, continuing on, speaking excitedly, almost as if he has finally come to life, pushed to a breaking point.-
LeBlanc: I've said it since this tournament was first announced, I NEED this, I don't just want this.
In one tournament, I can take every criticism, every doubt, every ounce of frustration and every crippling disappointment that I've ever felt in my career and turn it on its axis. I can take every comment made about never having the capability of hanging at the top tier, every judgement passed as being someone who couldn't hack it...and I can rewrite it with one tournament, with one run fueled by desire and urged forward by the shot at vindication.
This tournament to me is not about a belt. It's not about a title, or any of the rewards.
This tournament is my opportunity to prove a point, my chance to finally silence the masses and hush all the whispers.
-Alex snickers to himself, hand still over his chest.-
LeBlanc: The tale spun by Leyenda de Ocho about my impending demise has been greatly exaggerated. I'm not going anywhere, rest assured. He's merely the first in a long line of opponents who will be shocked and awed by what will be a series of surprises, a "Coming-Out" Party for someone who should have arrived a long, long time ago.
-Looking back down at the crest on the jersey, that Cheshire Cat grin returns, the Canadian slowly looking back up at the camera with a hint of deviousness in his eyes.-
LeBlanc: I crave the opportunity to shut up everyone whose ever had a criticism, everyone who has ever had a doubt, everyone who has ever told me I wouldn't get this far, and everyone who is telling me that I won't go much further.
When I'm done, this tournament over and my point proven, you won't hear a thing.
-LeBlanc cocks his head and leans forward. His hands falling to his sides, he whispers at the camera.-
LeBlanc: Enjoy the silence...
FADE