The Red River
I’ve never been a religious man.
But I ain’t some ignorant prick that doesn’t know his way around the bible, neither.
The River Jordan was once the fastest flowing river of its size. They say the Jordan created a barrier between Canaan and the lands to the east, preserving the treasures that laid in wait, whilst serving as a line of defence for the Lord’s men when pursued by covetous foes.
Beginning at the foot of Mount Hermon, the River Jordan travelled about twenty-five miles before emptying into the Sea of Galilee. Despite only being fifty feet wide, the name Jordan was derived from words meaning to descend or go down – adopting it the name, the Red River.
You see whilst many ancient cultures thought rivers to be sacred, the Israelites saw the Jordan as a barrier to conquer; something to be crossed before moving forward in their life’s calling.
As they gazed at the riches in Canaan from the banks of the eastern side, imagining their acquisitive hands upon them, the Jordan stood as the last obstacle to their entry into the Promised Land.
The river of Old School Wrestling has long been a hurdle to overcome for the pilgrims who have flocked to its shores.
Many a man, woman and creature has stood on the banks of this intimidating inlet, observing as its fast-flowing floodwaters charge violently through the estuary, taking with them anything that dares to step across its haphazardous threshold.
The river is as notorious as it is deadly, succumbing tens, hundreds, perhaps thousands of avaricious wayfarers who stand upon its bank and stare gluttonously at the reserves on the opposite side.
In doing so, their eyes become fixated on the reward. They become so obsessed, so preoccupied, so enraptured by the riches beyond the course that they ignore their duty to conquer the impediment that lies between them and glory.
Because by overlooking the perilous river; by refusing to separate their gaze from the prize, they all fall into the same trap, stepping out without care or concern, and becoming victims of the river’s sovereignty and rule.
You’d known all about that, wouldn’t you, Dream Demon? For this is your third attempt at crossing the mighty river that is yours truly – Viper fucking Roberts.
On Monday night, you will again stand on the banks of my river where you will eagerly try to pass to the other side where glory awaits.
Just as before, you will make the same mistakes, recklessly stepping out into the deluge, where the tides turn quickly against you, dragging you under the swell and submerging you deep beneath my impalpable eagre.
Once again, you will drown at the mercy of the Head Snake and leave the struggle empty handed whilst the river endures.
Because it always endures.
At Bad Attitude, the river will run red with your blood, Jack.
There’ll be no dreaming, no imagination, no fantasies.
The time to wake up from the Sandman’s reign of folly and falsities is now.
Old School Wrestling – you have your headline.
Now I’m just sellin’ you the news.