A Bleak Outlook...

[Jacob The Mantis OGrady]

You join us at a recreation center just outside of Banbridge, Northern Ireland. Following a recent independent match, a wrestling reporter and her cameraman walk through the halls attempting to track down the wrestlers who just fought. Sure enough, they stumble across the loser of that match, a young technician that, despite his best efforts, has had a string of successive losses for several weeks. He sits on a small staircase in front of a side exit door, clad in his distinctive black and emerald green ring attire, with a dejected, almost sorrowful expression, as if he perhaps had suffered the death of a loved one. The reporter approaches him with a smile, and the camera pans to him.

 

Reporter: Hello there, you must be The Mantis. We just saw your recent match, and we couldn't help but be impressed by your performance. It's such a shame that it had to end in another loss for you.

 

The Mantis looks up at the reporter and her cameraman in disbelief, as if they had just asked him where the moon was. He replies with a tinny North Irish accent:

 

The Mantis: Seriously? You're "impressed"? After that disaster of a match where I was suplexed three bloody times?! How do I know you're not jus' sayin' that 'cause you were told ta'? I guess somebody 'ad to 'ave taken notice and try to comfort me about it...

 

A not so short pause is then broken by the reporter.

 

Reporter: Well, the reason I say so is because you've been developing a bit of a following from your matches, both here in Northern Ireland, the mainland and across the U.K. Many of your fans are counting down the days until you're signed by a more prestigious wrestling organization, such as-

 

The Mantis interrupts her.

 

The Mantis: OCW? Are ye havin' a laugh, lassie? In case ye hadn't been blessed with the gift o' sight, I've lost a good eleven straight matches over the past month, and despite that, you're sayin' that I should get wit' the biggest wrestlin' name in the business? Be a Superstar? I'd bet all me pounds they'd take one look at me 'n laugh until the sun rose again. I'd be nuthin' but a ruddy failure, just as I am here...

 

Reporter: I-if that is the case, what would you say about the rumors making the rounds that OCW are possibly scouting you for a potential spot on their roster?

 

The Mantis: I'd say Mr. Sensation is either drunk off his 'ead, or he's wastin' his time with rejects like me...I'm probably gonna be slavin' away with these bunch 'a lowlifes for the rest o' me life...I'm sorry, but I gotta go...

 

With a noticeable break in his voice, The Mantis suddenly shoots up for the step he was sitting on and forces open the door behind him, and disappears into the Banbridge evening, grumbling obscenities in his native Irish Gaelic. The reporter and her cameraman look at each other with mutual grimaces, as if they'd awoken a hornet's nest.

 

Reporter: Was that too forward? C-can we still use the tape?

 

Cameraman: I think so...it's probably best that you didn't tell him that The Last Blacksmith got the job...

 

Reporter: Yeah, I guess...I just hope that his bad luck turns soon, because he's clearly very passionate about this sport and his craft, and he could certainly use a break...a man can only take so much after all...