Tucker G. Alston is working out in his local gym. He is working a weight machine and is covered in sweat.

Tucker G. Alston:
Seventeen… Eighteen… Nineteen… … Twwwwwenty.

With the final clank of the machine, Tucker lets out a big sigh and sits up. He grabs a towel and wipes his forehead and then starts to talk.

Tucker G. Alston:
Only days away from the biggest match of my career. It sounds like a broken record really. I’ve been saying that almost every time I have a match. But I don’t really care. It has been warranted every single time. I’ve had multiple shots at the Southern Heritage Championship. The initial title match. Two shots at Chance one on one. I’ve had matches I’ve needed to win to stay the number one contender. My career has been filled with chances that most people will never see in their entire life.

But these chances aren’t just given to me. I haven’t paid for them. I haven’t disappeared under a desk. I haven’t kissed a single ass. I’ve done it all the hard way. With blood, sweat and tears. With hard work. With spending hours in this gym, building this body, learning everything I can. New moves, old moves, strategy.

That’s what’s gotten me chance after chance at this title. Hard work. And yet… I haven’t been able to make that final push and get over the hump and win myself the title I’ve been focused on for the last several months. The title that I deserve.

Months ago I spoke of Chance Von Crank in a very negative way. I know shocking. But what I said then is even more true now. I spoke of how he doesn’t have watch it takes to be a champion. Sure he’s held that title for a couple of months, but he is no champion.

It takes a lot to be a champion. You need a lot of very hard and distinct character traits to be one. Chance has none of them. He’s not a hero. He’s not a leader. He’s not a role model. He’s everything that is wrong with this world. That is wrong with society. And having him hold that title around his waist is an insult to everyone that used to watch DEFIANCE on tv, or paid their hard earn money to watch us perform in person.

Chance just doesn’t have the drive to be a great champion. To be someone that is looked up and revered. He hasn’t worked hard enough to be the man that needs to hold that title around their waist. He hasn’t worked hard enough to be the man that earns the respect and prestige to be champion.

But I have.

The door to the gym busts open. The metal door clanks against the wall. The bright light of the sunny day bursts into the gym. Silhouetted in the door frame is a small frail image of a person. That person slowly walks into the gym. The man that enters looks to be older than dirt. He’s hunched over and walks with a weird kink in his legs that’s hard to explain, but clearly comes from bad knees. His skin is a pale pinkish hue with freckles scattered about.

Old man:
Hey fuckhead. Where can I find that beancounter that’s picked up wrestling for a hobby?

Tucker G. Alston:
Wh…Who? Wait. I’m in the middle of something here.

Old man:
Ah Christ. It’s fuckin’ you ain’t it?

Tucker G. Alston:
Um…

Old man:
Tuckah right?

Tucker G. Alston:
Yes.

Old man:
Ah fucks sakes. Great. C’mon here.

The old man has finally reached the ring in the gym. He takes everything it takes to slowly climb and slide into the ring.

Tucker G. Alston:
You know there’s stairs in the corner over there.

Old man:
Do I fucking look like a guy who needs to use those fairy stairs?!

The old man finally climbs into the ring and uses the ropes to get himself upright. Tucker shrugs and athletically gets into the ring, jumping over the top rope.

Old man:
Ah Christ. You tryin’ to fuckin’ break ya ankle? Come here.

Tucker listens to the man and walks to the middle of the ring.

Tucker G. Alston:
I… I… Who are you?

Old man:
Jozef Sitarski. At ya fuckin’ service.

The name stuns Tucker, just as it would stun any historian of the sport. Jozef Sitarski the old school wrestling legend of the 40s and 50s.

Tucker G. Alston:
The Polish Pitbull?!

As Tucker reaches his arm out to shake his hand, Jozef grabs it with amazing speed and flips Tucker over his body and hard to the mat, and quickly locks it into an armbar which causes Tucker to scream and tap the mat repeatedly.

Jozef Sitarski:
Ah Christ. Tappin’ already ya pansy?

Jozef pulls on the arm harder and Tucker reacts in obvious pain.

Jozef Sitarski:
And ya fuckin’ want to be a champion? Ha. You don’t deserve it.

Jozef pulls even harder on the arm and Tucker continues to tap. Finally Jozef lets go and Tucker quickly rolls to the corner holding his arm in obvious pain.

Tucker G. Alston:
What the hell was that for?

Jozef Sitarski:
Get up. C’mon. Get ya fuckin’ yellah ass up.

Tucker looks at the Polish Pitbull with shock and confusion, all while continuing to rub his arm. He slowly gets up.

Jozef Sitarski:
If you want to be champ, we got a lot of work to do. Let’s go. Tie up.

Tucker takes a moment to register what has just happened and then charges the old man and locks up.

More Propaganda | View Tucker G. Alston's Biography