Post by bobbyoshea on Oct 22, 2007 14:47:04 GMT -5
A cool crisp wind streaks through the air as the camera pans over a vast field packed to the brim with emerald green shamrocks. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that we are somewhere in Ireland as the camera rolls over the endless sea of green.
The camera suddenly reaches a pair of stone grey shoes, and black track pants. The camera pans up to reveal a green windbreaker which ripples slightly in the quick breeze. The camera pans up even more to reveal the face of the School of Hard Knox’s newest acquisition; Bobby O’Shea.
The sky behind Bobby is grey and meek, it suggests that rain may be on the way but for now the ground is dry.
Bobby’s look is solemn, nobody knows who he is, nobody in the SOHK has ever heard of him before. I’m sure they were either informed or found out in some way that a new member was joining their roster, but who are they to care about some middleweight Irishman?
It’s Bobby’s job to make them care, to make them know and fear the name Bobby O’Shea.
Bobby’s look turns from solemn to intense; he molds his hands into fists and cranes his neck from side to side. He takes in a long and deep breath before addressing the camera, his thick Irish accent is evident as he speaks.
Bobby: Hullo, the name’s Bobby O’Shea, newest member of the School of Hard Knox. Now I suppose you’re wondering “who the hell is this bloke, why should I give a damn about what he’s got to say?” Well I’ll tell you.
Here in Ireland we have a saying; Eat, or be eaten. For years I’ve been living by this motto, those words delve deep into my mind and into my soul. Its meaning is obvious, either live, or die. Either fight, or be a coward. Either win…or lose.
I’ve come to the School of Hard Knox for many reasons, but you better believe that reason number one is to win. I’m not some watered down chap you see fighting the boxcar bums, I am a fierce and fearsome competitor, and I pity anyone who has to find that out for themselves first hand.
I intend to make a hell of an impact when I arrive in Washington, and you better believe it when I tell you that if you face me you will be staring up at my victorious body while you lay on the mat in a puddle of your own defeat.
So, Middleweights of the School, heed my warning; Your time in good health is running up, once you face me, there will be nowhere to go but to the emergency room. And a word to all of you in other weight classes, don’t think you’re immune just because you’re heavier or lighter than the Middleweight class…you’re time will come soon enough.
Bobby stops for a moment, letting his threats sink in.
Bobby: Of course, there is nothing I can do right now that can back up my words…but soon…very soon…you will all feel the surge of power that is Bobby O’Shea. Whether you like it or not, you will succumb to my skills, my work ethic, and my heart.
Pretty soon, everyone here will fear the day the go up against…[/color]
Bobby walks up to the camera.
Bobby: TKO’Shea.
The Camera pans away from Bobby quickly, focusing on the shamrocks as it fades to black.
The camera suddenly reaches a pair of stone grey shoes, and black track pants. The camera pans up to reveal a green windbreaker which ripples slightly in the quick breeze. The camera pans up even more to reveal the face of the School of Hard Knox’s newest acquisition; Bobby O’Shea.
The sky behind Bobby is grey and meek, it suggests that rain may be on the way but for now the ground is dry.
Bobby’s look is solemn, nobody knows who he is, nobody in the SOHK has ever heard of him before. I’m sure they were either informed or found out in some way that a new member was joining their roster, but who are they to care about some middleweight Irishman?
It’s Bobby’s job to make them care, to make them know and fear the name Bobby O’Shea.
Bobby’s look turns from solemn to intense; he molds his hands into fists and cranes his neck from side to side. He takes in a long and deep breath before addressing the camera, his thick Irish accent is evident as he speaks.
Bobby: Hullo, the name’s Bobby O’Shea, newest member of the School of Hard Knox. Now I suppose you’re wondering “who the hell is this bloke, why should I give a damn about what he’s got to say?” Well I’ll tell you.
Here in Ireland we have a saying; Eat, or be eaten. For years I’ve been living by this motto, those words delve deep into my mind and into my soul. Its meaning is obvious, either live, or die. Either fight, or be a coward. Either win…or lose.
I’ve come to the School of Hard Knox for many reasons, but you better believe that reason number one is to win. I’m not some watered down chap you see fighting the boxcar bums, I am a fierce and fearsome competitor, and I pity anyone who has to find that out for themselves first hand.
I intend to make a hell of an impact when I arrive in Washington, and you better believe it when I tell you that if you face me you will be staring up at my victorious body while you lay on the mat in a puddle of your own defeat.
So, Middleweights of the School, heed my warning; Your time in good health is running up, once you face me, there will be nowhere to go but to the emergency room. And a word to all of you in other weight classes, don’t think you’re immune just because you’re heavier or lighter than the Middleweight class…you’re time will come soon enough.
Bobby stops for a moment, letting his threats sink in.
Bobby: Of course, there is nothing I can do right now that can back up my words…but soon…very soon…you will all feel the surge of power that is Bobby O’Shea. Whether you like it or not, you will succumb to my skills, my work ethic, and my heart.
Pretty soon, everyone here will fear the day the go up against…[/color]
Bobby walks up to the camera.
Bobby: TKO’Shea.
The Camera pans away from Bobby quickly, focusing on the shamrocks as it fades to black.
