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View Full Version : Dusting Off The Past. "The English Gent" Lawrence Stanley, Gold Rush RP1



RMcConnell
07-25-06, 11:00 AM
The sunlight poured into the bedroom as the large hand tweaked the blinds, allowing the rays to cascade into the plush surroundings. The Los Angeles mansion was secluded and a home from home for the large figure who stood staring into the mirror. Time had been relatively kind to him, although scars of battle still adorned the naked chest of the man. He stood there in newly found wrestling tights, the distinctive black tights sported a Union Jack on each side and in yellow writing had “TEG” LS: HARD TO THE CORE.

Lawrence Stanley stared at himself in the mirror, not an arrogant perusing, but a stern check. He subconsciously rolled his had down his front, his once barrel chest now was slightly less chiselled than it once was, but for a man who had turned forty two he was in surprisingly good shape. As he tested the conditioning of his right knee he allowed himself to glance outside at the landscaped garden, the shrill bird song punctured the silence and absorbed into Stanley’s mind.

“So the rumours are true then?”

Stanley snapped back to reality, glancing round he saw a familiar site, a man in his early eighties stood in the doorway, he looked immaculate in cream slacks, a salmon coloured shirt and cream hat. The trademark cane was now used in a more conservative manner, used as a prop to keep the old gentleman upright. Stanley allowed a relaxed smile to spread across his face.

“Morning Alfred, I was expecting you.”

Stanley turned and rested once hand on Alfred’s shoulder as he motioned to him to make his way outside to the patio section. As Alfred’s hip was degenerating Stanley had time to stop in the kitchen and ready a pitcher of home made lemonade and put two ice filled glasses on a tray and follow his long time mentor outside. The garden was in full bloom and Stanley pulled two chairs and a table into the middle of scent filled garden and gestured for Alfred to sit.

“Well?” enquired Alfred, smiling as he motioned at the Gent, “Do you want to tell me why?”

“Tell you what?” ribbed Stanley, pouring out two glasses of lemonade and taking a long sip of his.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but after almost five years out of the ring, I would think it odd for you to wear your wrestling attire.”

Stanley nodded, held a hand up as if to excuse himself and walked briskly into the house, returning moments later with a magazine in his hand. He casually dropped the copy of Sports Illustrated on the table and thumbed through to an article near the middle of the magazine.

“That’s why Alfred, have a read for yourself” said Stanley, running his finger under the title ’50 OF THE GREATEST SPORTS STARS NEVER TO MAKE IT TO THE TOP’.

“Hmm, give me a minute Lawrence, I have my reading glasses on me somewhere.” Alfred rummaged around his pockets before finally pulling them out of his shirt pocket, and replacing his sunglasses with them.

As Alfred read, Stanley took the opportunity to stand up, take his glass of lemonade and walk casually round the garden, stopping to admire some English roses that have grown quite magnificently in his self-created home. Los Angeles was not London, but as Stanley spent so much time still in America he needed a home base. The hills provided the right amount of privacy and allure to him, and his mansion was created to give the Gent the subtle blend of privacy yet the feel of community with his neighbours.

“That’s a finely written article Lawrence, but I’m a little confused, I didn’t see any mention of your name.” Alfred finally said, replacing his glasses and drinking deeply from his glass. Lawrence drained his and walked purposefully back to the table where he sat.

“Exactly old chap” he enthused “Although I’m not mentioned the theme of the article hit a note, take a look a those names, the very cream of the crop in their chosen field. People synonymous with their sport, and what will people’s abiding memories of them be? They never won a championship ring, they never broke a World record, won a gold Olympic medal, won their main title belt….” Stanley looked away as he allowed his words to trail off.

“So that’s it is it?” smiled Alfred “You fear you are going to be eventually labelled in that group?”

“Partially my friend, but that is not the sole reason.” Again Stanley got to his feet, pacing like an expectant Father, allowing his feet to trace the patterns of his paving. “I’ve made a fabulous life and career out of professional wrestler, especially when you consider that you took me out of a children’s home Alfred and now we live like this.” The Gent made a sweeping gesture with his hand at his surroundings as he did so.

“But its always been about more than finance with you Lawrence, I know that.” responded Alfred calmly.

“Exactly old chap, and despite my years in the CSWA, and my many victories and titles held….I’ve never held the UNIFIED title.”

Alfred stared at Stanley, he looked him up and down, the steely fiery determination that he saw in him as a young boy in a hostel, which stayed with him during his successful wrestling career, and now was rekindled, was there, although as the saying goes, the mind is willing, but the body seems weak.

“I already know the answer Lawrence….but where is this going?”

Stanley grinned at his mentor, Alfred always could read him like a book. He rocked bag on his chair, like a young boy agitating before trying to convince his parents to let him go on an expensive school excursion. “I want to go back to the CSWA, I need to go back and complete my legacy.”

“Gold Rush.”

Stanley nodded, Alfred always was on the ball and today was no exception, his age may have withered his body but his mind was as razor sharp as ever. Alfred tapped his stick on the floor as if trying to conjure up the necessary sentence.

“It has to be said Lawrence, and I do not mean to be offensive….but why now? Its almost five years since your last competitive match. Its not as if you have been training regularly, a bit of journalism here, a sport on commentary here, along with your business dealings, your mental relationship with wrestling has never diminished…..but your physical side….” Alfred allowed the sentence to trail off, instead he meekly gestured to the Gent. The once dominant Englishman now had a support on his right knee, a slight paunch to his barrel chest and he was a walking mural to the scars of war.

“I’ll not lie to you Alfred, this is more my heart ruling my head. I understand if I do go back for Gold Rush I’ll have to perfectly balance getting into match shape with not overdoing it and breaking myself down completely.”

Alfred let out a small sigh “If you failed to conquer that challenge five years ago, when you were at peak physical condition…..do you really think you can compete now?”

Stanley allowed a slight grimace to appear “I have to be sensible old chap, what I lack in physicality now I like to think I make-up in experience and ring-smarts.”

A scratch of the head summed up Alfred’s temperament as he got slowly to his feet and asked Lawrence to walk with him round the garden. “I know you Lawrence, I know you better than anyone, maybe better than you know yourself. I believe you have it in you to succeed, and if this were a come-back one on one match, then I would see few problems…..but a five ring battle royal?!?!”

The Gent supported Alfred over a small step before speaking “Its not ideal I know, but what can I do? Sometimes I think situations arise that suggest that it a calling to you. I have always felt the UNIFIED title would one day be round my waist. Plus the thoughts of Troy Windham representing the CSWA just turn my stomach.”

Alfred nodded in agreement “How have the CSWA reacted to your news?” Stanley looked quite sheepishly at Alfred “You haven’t approached them have you Lawrence?!?!”

“I hadn’t formulated my plans Alfred, I didn’t know how it would work…..” Alfred picked up the sentence “…You didn’t know if I’d be up to it did you?!?!”

Stanley stopped dead in his tracks “I’m not expecting you to come back to the CSWA with me Alfred, I know you’re not as spritely on your feet as you used to be.”

Alfred flicked his hand dismissively at the Gent “Wherever the Gent goes you had best know Lord Alfred will be there. Decaying hip or not, we are a double act Lawrence and I’ll be there for you, through think and thin.”

“I knew that would be the answer old chap, now if you could sort out my entry to both Gold Rush and the CSWA in general I’d be grateful.”

Alfred frowned at Stanley ”Where the blazes are you going?”

“I need to go and sort my training schedule out, Gold Rush is not long now, and I have five years inactivity to dispel!” Stanley shouted the last bit as he made his way back into the house.

Alfred just smiled and shook his head slowly, turning to watch the sun shine through Stanley’s trees and the heat continued to bear down on Stanley’s garden.

GreggG
07-26-06, 06:24 PM
The sunlight poured into the bedroom as the large hand tweaked the blinds, allowing the rays to cascade into the plush surroundings. The Los Angeles mansion was secluded and a home from home for the large figure who stood staring into the mirror. Time had been relatively kind to him, although scars of battle still adorned the naked chest of the man. He stood there in newly found wrestling tights, the distinctive black tights sported a Union Jack on each side and in yellow writing had “TEG” LS: HARD TO THE CORE.

Lawrence Stanley stared at himself in the mirror, not an arrogant perusing, but a stern check. He subconsciously rolled his had down his front, his once barrel chest now was slightly less chiselled than it once was, but for a man who had turned forty two he was in surprisingly good shape. As he tested the conditioning of his right knee he allowed himself to glance outside at the landscaped garden, the shrill bird song punctured the silence and absorbed into Stanley’s mind.

“So the rumours are true then?”

Stanley snapped back to reality, glancing round he saw a familiar site, a man in his early eighties stood in the doorway, he looked immaculate in cream slacks, a salmon coloured shirt and cream hat. The trademark cane was now used in a more conservative manner, used as a prop to keep the old gentleman upright. Stanley allowed a relaxed smile to spread across his face.

“Morning Alfred, I was expecting you.”

Stanley turned and rested once hand on Alfred’s shoulder as he motioned to him to make his way outside to the patio section. As Alfred’s hip was degenerating Stanley had time to stop in the kitchen and ready a pitcher of home made lemonade and put two ice filled glasses on a tray and follow his long time mentor outside. The garden was in full bloom and Stanley pulled two chairs and a table into the middle of scent filled garden and gestured for Alfred to sit.

“Well?” enquired Alfred, smiling as he motioned at the Gent, “Do you want to tell me why?”

“Tell you what?” ribbed Stanley, pouring out two glasses of lemonade and taking a long sip of his.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but after almost five years out of the ring, I would think it odd for you to wear your wrestling attire.”

Stanley nodded, held a hand up as if to excuse himself and walked briskly into the house, returning moments later with a magazine in his hand. He casually dropped the copy of Sports Illustrated on the table and thumbed through to an article near the middle of the magazine.

“That’s why Alfred, have a read for yourself” said Stanley, running his finger under the title ’50 OF THE GREATEST SPORTS STARS NEVER TO MAKE IT TO THE TOP’.

“Hmm, give me a minute Lawrence, I have my reading glasses on me somewhere.” Alfred rummaged around his pockets before finally pulling them out of his shirt pocket, and replacing his sunglasses with them.

As Alfred read, Stanley took the opportunity to stand up, take his glass of lemonade and walk casually round the garden, stopping to admire some English roses that have grown quite magnificently in his self-created home. Los Angeles was not London, but as Stanley spent so much time still in America he needed a home base. The hills provided the right amount of privacy and allure to him, and his mansion was created to give the Gent the subtle blend of privacy yet the feel of community with his neighbours.

“That’s a finely written article Lawrence, but I’m a little confused, I didn’t see any mention of your name.” Alfred finally said, replacing his glasses and drinking deeply from his glass. Lawrence drained his and walked purposefully back to the table where he sat.

“Exactly old chap” he enthused “Although I’m not mentioned the theme of the article hit a note, take a look a those names, the very cream of the crop in their chosen field. People synonymous with their sport, and what will people’s abiding memories of them be? They never won a championship ring, they never broke a World record, won a gold Olympic medal, won their main title belt….” Stanley looked away as he allowed his words to trail off.

“So that’s it is it?” smiled Alfred “You fear you are going to be eventually labelled in that group?”

“Partially my friend, but that is not the sole reason.” Again Stanley got to his feet, pacing like an expectant Father, allowing his feet to trace the patterns of his paving. “I’ve made a fabulous life and career out of professional wrestler, especially when you consider that you took me out of a children’s home Alfred and now we live like this.” The Gent made a sweeping gesture with his hand at his surroundings as he did so.

“But its always been about more than finance with you Lawrence, I know that.” responded Alfred calmly.

“Exactly old chap, and despite my years in the CSWA, and my many victories and titles held….I’ve never held the UNIFIED title.”

Alfred stared at Stanley, he looked him up and down, the steely fiery determination that he saw in him as a young boy in a hostel, which stayed with him during his successful wrestling career, and now was rekindled, was there, although as the saying goes, the mind is willing, but the body seems weak.

“I already know the answer Lawrence….but where is this going?”

Stanley grinned at his mentor, Alfred always could read him like a book. He rocked bag on his chair, like a young boy agitating before trying to convince his parents to let him go on an expensive school excursion. “I want to go back to the CSWA, I need to go back and complete my legacy.”

“Gold Rush.”

Stanley nodded, Alfred always was on the ball and today was no exception, his age may have withered his body but his mind was as razor sharp as ever. Alfred tapped his stick on the floor as if trying to conjure up the necessary sentence.

“It has to be said Lawrence, and I do not mean to be offensive….but why now? Its almost five years since your last competitive match. Its not as if you have been training regularly, a bit of journalism here, a sport on commentary here, along with your business dealings, your mental relationship with wrestling has never diminished…..but your physical side….” Alfred allowed the sentence to trail off, instead he meekly gestured to the Gent. The once dominant Englishman now had a support on his right knee, a slight paunch to his barrel chest and he was a walking mural to the scars of war.

“I’ll not lie to you Alfred, this is more my heart ruling my head. I understand if I do go back for Gold Rush I’ll have to perfectly balance getting into match shape with not overdoing it and breaking myself down completely.”

Alfred let out a small sigh “If you failed to conquer that challenge five years ago, when you were at peak physical condition…..do you really think you can compete now?”

Stanley allowed a slight grimace to appear “I have to be sensible old chap, what I lack in physicality now I like to think I make-up in experience and ring-smarts.”

A scratch of the head summed up Alfred’s temperament as he got slowly to his feet and asked Lawrence to walk with him round the garden. “I know you Lawrence, I know you better than anyone, maybe better than you know yourself. I believe you have it in you to succeed, and if this were a come-back one on one match, then I would see few problems…..but a five ring battle royal?!?!”

The Gent supported Alfred over a small step before speaking “Its not ideal I know, but what can I do? Sometimes I think situations arise that suggest that it a calling to you. I have always felt the UNIFIED title would one day be round my waist. Plus the thoughts of Troy Windham representing the CSWA just turn my stomach.”

Alfred nodded in agreement “How have the CSWA reacted to your news?” Stanley looked quite sheepishly at Alfred “You haven’t approached them have you Lawrence?!?!”

“I hadn’t formulated my plans Alfred, I didn’t know how it would work…..” Alfred picked up the sentence “…You didn’t know if I’d be up to it did you?!?!”

Stanley stopped dead in his tracks “I’m not expecting you to come back to the CSWA with me Alfred, I know you’re not as spritely on your feet as you used to be.”

Alfred flicked his hand dismissively at the Gent “Wherever the Gent goes you had best know Lord Alfred will be there. Decaying hip or not, we are a double act Lawrence and I’ll be there for you, through think and thin.”

“I knew that would be the answer old chap, now if you could sort out my entry to both Gold Rush and the CSWA in general I’d be grateful.”

Alfred frowned at Stanley ”Where the blazes are you going?”

“I need to go and sort my training schedule out, Gold Rush is not long now, and I have five years inactivity to dispel!” Stanley shouted the last bit as he made his way back into the house.

Alfred just smiled and shook his head slowly, turning to watch the sun shine through Stanley’s trees and the heat continued to bear down on Stanley’s garden.

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, cradling his title, in is state-of-the-art television studio.)

TROY: Oh yeah, I remember this guy! I let you hold the ropes open for me that one time you had the honor of teaming up with me and Eddy Love. Did you get the glossy photo? Stanley -- how does it feel to know that you were once a blue chip, can't miss prospect who completely and, as you Brits like to say, ROYALLY crapped out and showed he didn't belong on wrestling's main stage. From the looks of things, it hasn't changed too much for you -- you're still nothing more than a glorified jobber completely in over your head. (FTB)