One might believe that I would respect someone like Ryback. Visually, he looks like someone that would have been a huge attraction during my father's era. He almost doesn't look like a real human being. A cartoon of sorts that someone like Vince McMahon still to this day gets a hard on for. Someone you could have envisioned Hulk Hogan being pitted against in the 1980's.
No. I do not respect Ryback. I don't have the same distaste for him as say..Bobby Lashley. Or any of the numerous steroid enhanced, immovable beasts from days gone past. But he still resembles those sort of relics from the era when only men of his size were given true opportunities.
Not to mention that he is, undeniably repulsive to look at. It's all just muscle on top of muscle. One of his eyes are bigger than the other, his ears are too big for the shape of his head and his choice in singlets are dated. Airbrushing? In 2013? I really don't know what to say about that. I don't believe Ryback brings anything to the table that hasn't been seen before.
My name is Cody Rhodes. I'm an EBWF Superstar and the number one contender for the prestigious Intercontinental Title. I'm not ugly and I don't wear anything airbrushed. On the contrary. I am ridiculously handsome and the white suit and black tie I'm wearing are worth more than what most people make in a month. My hair, as always, is perfect. My skin is flawless. I'm about to be interviewed so it has to be. I'm staring at my reflection in the mirror of a bath room of the arena. I've washed my hands about five times now. I don't feel clean. I only see perfection when I gaze into this mirror but I don't feel perfect. I feel completely, utterly empty.
I have this quick flash of Ryback. His eyeball pops right out of his head and red, discolored muscle fiber comes spilling out. Tangled up, like spaghetti and oozing down his face. I snicker. Not a small laugh. But an almost giddy, overly excited "hehehe" type of sound.
I come compose myself. That was a worrying vision. Push it aside, I straighten my tie and exit the bath room. I head into a hallway where Todd Grisham is standing. He tries to exchange some sort of pleasantries but I'm not interested in conversing with him. He's merely a vessel for my words. A mannequin could do his job and probably dress better while doing it. I'm not sure where he buys his suits but it makes me sick just looking out at how..ordinary it is. "Ladies and gentleman" He begins, the usual spiel for these announcers. "..I'm standing here with a man who will compete on the 500th episode of Warfare."
The 500th episode. I've already made sure that all of my ring gear is completely new so I'll look better than everyone else. Not that it's particularly difficult. By the time he has my attention again I've realized that he's mentioned Ryback and how impressive he looked in his debut against Antonio Cesaro the previous week.
"Ryback was very impressive. Extremely impressive." I agree with a nod. "..To someone without a basic grasp on what we do. I watched Ryback's match. All I saw was two slabs of meat running into each other. It just so happened that one slab of meat happened to run into the other a little harder. I did not find myself compelled by his performance."
Of course, Todd has to inform me, as if I didn't know, that Ryback is a very powerful man. As if anyone with a pair of eyes couldn't tell that. He goes on state that Antonio Cesaro's beating was so severe that he's no longer a member of the active roster. Or the company at all.
"I'm aware of how strong Ryback is, Todd. We all are. But it takes more than physical strength to worry me and I am certainly no Antonio Cesaro. Obviously, Cesaro was a coward if one beating was enough to send him packing. My conditioning, my finesse, my speed, and my intelligence will be more than enough of a match for Ryback. He's not facing someone as mindless as his last opponent. He's facing the next Intercontinental Champion."
The talking head asks me if I'm looking past Ryback and if my focus is more keenly locked upon my future match with John Cena.
"No. Not at all." The words coming from my stern, unfriendly features. "If I somehow lost to Ryback I wouldn't look as though I deserved my title match, now would I? I won't be remembered as someone who lost on the 500th episode of Warfare. Instead, the only thing any is going to rave about is how Cody Rhodes thoroughly outclassed a man twice his size. And how he made it look easy." Cool headed as ever, I don't give Todd a second longer to present any more inane queries to me. I've left him and this interview behind. I put up my guise and said what was expected of me. I truly don't believe a match with Ryback is going to evoke any great feeling from me. I'll systematically tear him apart and weather whatever offense he's able to inflict upon me. It's not the first time I've been in the ring with someone who is stronger than me and it certainly won't be the last. Somewhere I hope he can stir something inside of me, ANYTHING, that makes me feel alive. But I have my severe doubts.
