Pro wrestling has a long, long tradition of guys using packaged segments to talk. This action, known as promo cutting, is essential for revealing motivations and building storylines, as well.
Everything – including parallel and egregious/repetitive name dropping – here has been done intentionally, remaining as faithful as possible to actual/real life wrestling tropes. Cutting promos is a chance for me to blow off steam irrationally, in a way I would never present myself in my normal writing. Have fun with it. 🙂
[We open the segment with repeated clips of the final 15 seconds of the USA-Portugal game. The camera pulls back to reveal the television screen playing the clip is actually mounted, a part of a sparse scene, set with a stereotypical, plain curtain as the backdrop. Your promo cutter, me, appears standing next to the monitor, glowering at the screen to start.]
That was a helluva pass, Ronaldo. A helluva pass. The kind of pass, the kind of assist that still kicks at my soul even now, tearing through the nets of my conscience.
[I turn to face the camera, speaking deliberately and in weary tone that barely conceals my seething intensity.]
Cristiano Ronaldo, I haven’t slept since our match at the World Cup, because EVERY TIME I CLOSE MY EYES…
I see this. Just this. Over and over again. [Gesturing to the monitor, before I turn back to face the camera again.]
I see YOUR pass, curling so perfectly, like God himself had guided it there, right onto Varela’s forehead. I see myself surging, angry, frustrated, wanting to counterattack, want-ing to regain the lead…
But there is nothing. Nothing, except in the final moments before waking, just before I wake up, the always present referee, blowing the final whistle on our 2-2 draw. [The last three words are said with a quiet venom, as if I’m spitting them disdainfully.]
[I glower again, gathering my senses before continuing.]
Cristiano Ronaldo, you and that goddamned right foot of yours took something that should have been ours that night in Manaus — two points that we fought and clawed for 94 minutes to keep.
You took from us a World Cup W, and it’ll be four more years before we get another.
But Saturday, July 26th at Memorial Stadium, you and the rest of your Herbalife sponsored fucks, and yes, you’ll need all 22 of them to fend off what’s coming…you’ll be setting foot not in the steaming jungles of Brazil, but in my territory — my ground — and here in my domain, in these steel, 63,000-seating steps that make my kingdom, I plan on getting something nearly as sweet.
Because I do not fear any man, any self styled Adonis whose body is kept bound solely by elaborate hair treatment, do not scare at the sight of those who have gel running in their veins, FIFA’s Best In The World award be damned.
You think you broke me in Manaus no…nononono.
My thirst for justice is far stronger than any kick you can muster, and it WILL be quenched, with you as its victim.
Do you wanna know why they call it Memorial Stadium, Cristiano Ronaldo? Let me give you a little lesson…
That building you’re about to enter was built in 1922, years and years before you and I were ever born, as a monument, an honoring to those who have passed fighting a great battle.
At the end of our next match, you. Will. Join. Them.