This is from Creative Copy Challenge. The object is to use ten words and build a cohesive story. The ten words are bold. Original Post
Here it my big moment. My time to shine. My time for glory.
My music blares through the speakers of the arena as the crowd jumps to their feet. I step through the curtain and the noise is deafening. I want to thank each and every one of them for the support they've given me through my entire run. I'm getting older and I'm not as quick as I used to be. Each year goes by and I get further and further behind in this sport. New moves. New characters. Just like the seasons, everything has changed.
Before I was married, I would let this monopolize my time. Every chance I got, I would find ways and reasons to come return. The locker room was like a co-ed dorm with all of us hanging out. Some of us would leave of our own accord. Some of us were kicked out.
I managed to come back for this last big run. I trained and I practiced. I even hired a dietician to help me with my weight. Since I got married, I put on a few pounds. Sure I wasn't as fast as I was ten years ago, but I could still work the crowd.
I was at the end of the ramp now. The ring only a few feet from me. I let the cheers and support are my tailwind of encouragement in what many have called an epic battle.
On Pay Per View none the less.
My opponent is "MaddSkillz" Mike Joseph, my protégé. I pretty much taught him this sport. He's young. He's quick. He also struts around the ring with a cocky confidence. Is it because he thinks he can beat his old mentor? To make him tap out?
I take a few moments to watch his antics. I can't help it but smile. I climb the steps, go through the ropes and keep my muscles loose in my corner. The referee calls us to the center. Explains the rules and signals for the bell.
I don't know what hit me. MaddSkills attacks like a rattlesnake. He attacks me from all different directions. He throws me into the ropes. The turnbuckles. I spend more time on the ground than I do on my feet. He's hits burn like the sting of a bumblebee. I really don't know how much more I can take.
Honestly, I'm pretty much done. I can't even muster enough energy to stay on my feet. MaddSkillz is loving this. He's just toying with me now. He kicks me in the gut which sets up his finisher.
The Propeller.
He lifts me on his shoulders, spins around and slams me face first on the mat. He rolls me over and the ref counts.
1...
2...
3!!!!
He won again.
I suck. I suck. I suck. I suck.
"I'm done playing this game with you!!!"
I throw the controller down it slams against his bookcase and I storm out of my son's room the worst of the sore losers. No sportsmanship whatsoever. Great example of being a father. He didn't even give me a chance.
I need to practice when he's at school. That's how I'll beat him.
Here it my big moment. My time to shine. My time for glory.
My music blares through the speakers of the arena as the crowd jumps to their feet. I step through the curtain and the noise is deafening. I want to thank each and every one of them for the support they've given me through my entire run. I'm getting older and I'm not as quick as I used to be. Each year goes by and I get further and further behind in this sport. New moves. New characters. Just like the seasons, everything has changed.
Before I was married, I would let this monopolize my time. Every chance I got, I would find ways and reasons to come return. The locker room was like a co-ed dorm with all of us hanging out. Some of us would leave of our own accord. Some of us were kicked out.
I managed to come back for this last big run. I trained and I practiced. I even hired a dietician to help me with my weight. Since I got married, I put on a few pounds. Sure I wasn't as fast as I was ten years ago, but I could still work the crowd.
I was at the end of the ramp now. The ring only a few feet from me. I let the cheers and support are my tailwind of encouragement in what many have called an epic battle.
On Pay Per View none the less.
My opponent is "MaddSkillz" Mike Joseph, my protégé. I pretty much taught him this sport. He's young. He's quick. He also struts around the ring with a cocky confidence. Is it because he thinks he can beat his old mentor? To make him tap out?
I take a few moments to watch his antics. I can't help it but smile. I climb the steps, go through the ropes and keep my muscles loose in my corner. The referee calls us to the center. Explains the rules and signals for the bell.
I don't know what hit me. MaddSkills attacks like a rattlesnake. He attacks me from all different directions. He throws me into the ropes. The turnbuckles. I spend more time on the ground than I do on my feet. He's hits burn like the sting of a bumblebee. I really don't know how much more I can take.
Honestly, I'm pretty much done. I can't even muster enough energy to stay on my feet. MaddSkillz is loving this. He's just toying with me now. He kicks me in the gut which sets up his finisher.
The Propeller.
He lifts me on his shoulders, spins around and slams me face first on the mat. He rolls me over and the ref counts.
1...
2...
3!!!!
He won again.
I suck. I suck. I suck. I suck.
"I'm done playing this game with you!!!"
I throw the controller down it slams against his bookcase and I storm out of my son's room the worst of the sore losers. No sportsmanship whatsoever. Great example of being a father. He didn't even give me a chance.
I need to practice when he's at school. That's how I'll beat him.
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