Twenty-Four Hours
Saturday, September 13, 2003 - Bismarck, ND
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The evening was one where the pains of the evening must be rewarded.
But not through an evening of over-indulgence and alcohol.
But through words.
Through unleashing their ultimate frustration and exhaustion of the arrogance of the Authority.
They have time and time again slandered and degraded the former World Tag Team Champions.
Endless threats.
Endless comments about the misjustice of never having a World Tag Team Title shot.
Well.
Tough shit.
Get over it. The Whiskey Devils reigned supreme and held their championships with greater dignity and prestige than the Authority ever did with their Central States Tag Team Championship.
Or ever will.
The devils of whiskey chose the arena they were to fight in just twenty-four hours from then to make their final words be known to the Authority, having listened endlessly to their endless comments.
The scene fades in.
Lancaster.
Finnegan.
The Whiskey Devils.
Stand in the middle of the ring.
Prepared. And willing to take on the Authority anyday, any time, in any way.
The time was NOW.
The camera zooms in so that the Whiskey Devils remain in the centre of the lens. Seamus breathes heavily as his eyes glare.
"No more talk...no more talk, Napalm...Constantine...talkin's fer diplomats, an' as far as myself an'Robert are concerned...the time fer diplomacy...IS...OVER!!! Oh aye...the two o'ye like to run yer goddamned mouths about how feckin' great the two o'ye are, how the two o'ye are gonna put us in the hospital...yak yak yak...ah've heard it all before, an'from greater men than either o'the two o'ye bastards combined...an'just like every single one o'them that came before...tomorrow night, right here, in the middle o'this feckin' ring...yer blood will be splashed across the canvas, yer carcasses strewn across the mat...an' the two o'ye...the two o'ye will know the true meaning of pain, courtesy o'the Whiskey Devils."
Lancaster begins. His voice is tired, disgusted.
"Alex. Enough. I
beg of you. I have little time for a man whose ego has for years been
unable to decide which forces he stands for, whether with the Darkness to
the Authority and then away from the Authority once again. You say you
woke up and decided what a joke Adam was. Why is that, Alex. Because
he held the title you could not successfully win. Because you had to
realize that you yourself are the punchline to one of the saddest lives and
careers in the CSWA, because of your petty insecurities."
He sighs.
"And Napalm. You declare
we are not in your league. And you are correct. For we are so
far above you in mere stature and respect that you cannot possibly comprehend
the joy in knowing that we are not in your league. Collectively.
Your time as the sad champions that you are. Is over."
Seamus speaks now, riled up, annoyed. Violent.
"An' Napalm...aye, yer damn right I nearly finished yer worthless arse off a couple weeks ago, an' aye, this here friend o'mine that I like to call 'Mr. Shillelagh' may have gotten a wee bit involved as well...[Seamus paused for a moment, before angrily tossing the shillelagh to the outside and shouting straight into the camera] FECK MR. SHILLELAGH!!! I WON'T NEED IT TOMORROW NIGHT, BECAUSE ALL THE ANGER AN' HATRED THAT'S BUILDIN' UP INSIDE O'ME, NOT ONLY WILL IT BE MORE THAN ENOUGH TO FINISH THE JOB I STARTED TWO WEEKS AGO, IT'LL BE ENOUGH...TO END...YER GODDAMNED CAREER!!!"
Seamus continues in a quiet,
almost hauntingly hushed tone.
"An' as for Constantine...'Devil's Own,' aye??? Well tomorrow night...tomorrow
night when we kick yer feckin' teeth in...YOU WILL BE...THE DEVILS' BITCH!!!"
Lancaster holds his hand up to the camera and concludes
his train of thought.
"Any more words from us regarding
this match would be a waste of words on our part. We've had enough
of you Constantine and Napalm. Face reality. The next twenty-four
hours will not be pleasant ones for you, and yes, us too. Just do us
a favour. Shut your mouths, and brace yourselves. Your time is over.
The renaissance of one of the greatest teams in history will be tomorrow,
at your expense."
The Duke casts an unforgiving sneer of disgust.
Seamus stared a cold, sinister
stare at the camera as he uttered his final words...
"An' if ye don't like that..."
Seamus slowly, thoughtfully, raised both his middle
fingers at the camera, still keeping his cold, sinister stare, and as he
balled his right hand into a fist, which he threw towards the camera...
"Tough sh*t."
