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Richard Gregory Rust hadn’t always been ‘Mr. Old School’. No. Hard as it is to comprehend in today’s World of airborn luchadores and chair-wielding bump-machines
Member rating: No Rating | Words: | Submitted: Mon Jan 16 2006
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Richard Gregory Rust hadn't always been 'Mr. Old School'. No. Hard as it is to comprehend in today's World of airborn luchadores and chair-wielding bump-machines, Richard's nonchalant style of wrestling was once the universal norm. He didn't need to refer to himself as "Old School", because, at the time, what he was doing wasn't old at all. It was, in fact, state-of-the-art. Fresh. Dare I say - he was considered "New-School". He sighed. Boy, how things had changed. His two oak-toned eyes glared at the images beaming out of the TV screen. They had seen a lot in their fifty years on this Earth, yet what they currently observed before them was a struggle to comprehend: A young-looking, frail-framed male - clad in an extravagant mask and a UCW T-shit - dove gallantly over an official UCW ring's top rope, landing onto another similar looking lad, who - quite obviously - waited to catch...
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