View Full Version : SWEET 16 - BOSTON: [3] Kodiak Vic Creed vs. [7] Rocko Daymon

03-14-07, 07:48 AM
Creed defeated:
Thomas Young

Daymon defeated:
Jarod Poe
Mr. Silver

This match will be held at the TD Banknorth Arena in Boston, MA. There is no RP limit, and the deadline is Friday, March 23rd, 11:59:59 PM, give or take a second.

03-17-07, 08:50 PM

(At the tolling of a ring bell, the theme from Rocky begins to play as big white letters scroll across a black screen, reading “R-O-C-K-O”.)

(After the initial fanfare, we immediately cut to a shot of Rocko Daymon jogging through the streets of Boston in a gray sweat suit to the tune of “Gonna Fly Now”. Occasionally, he takes a jab at the air in front of him and punches his knuckles together to pump himself up. He breathes heavily through his mouth but wears a grin of absolute confidence.)

(The camera catches sight of a group of kids playing basketball in a fenced in street court that Daymon passes by. When they notice him running, they immediately stop what they’re doing and begin running after him. One of them goes as far as to pass by Rocko. Daymon’s eyes quickly fill with fire and his leg shoots out to his left, tripping the kid flat on his face.)

Rocko Daymon
Yeah! Take that, you pecker! NOBODY outruns me!

(Daymon turns a corner as the boys fall behind to help their friend up. He quickly spots a building with an expansive staircase leading up. Rocko begins his ascent as the music crescendos. Finally, as it comes to its climax, Daymon reaches the point where it levels off and jumps into the air, cheering with both his fists held high into the air.)

Rocko Daymon
YEAH! I did it! I’m the MAN!


(Daymon’s face quickly turns into a grimace as he sees the stairs continue upward for another twenty feet.)

Rocko Daymon
…ah, screw it.


(As though she had been standing there the entire time, Caitlyn Daymon slides into the frame next to her husband.)

Caitlyn Daymon
Why are you shouting? I’m standing right here.

(Rocko bounces back slightly, caught off guard.)

Rocko Daymon
Ey, YO! Wha bub ya MOOR na embya WUD?

Caitlyn Daymon

Stop doing Stallone impressions and speak English!

Rocko Daymon
First of all, that wasn’t Stallone. That was Kirk Douglas.

What I was asking was, how do you think my new training is working out?

Caitlyn Daymon
Uhm… well, to be honest, I was kind of wondering what the point was.

Rocko Daymon
What’s the point? Aw, come on, Caitlyn! This is about the number seven seed versus the number three seed. Rocko Daymon against Kodiak Vic “Apollo” Creed! The underdog match of the century!

Caitlyn Daymon
Underdog match? Rocko, you’ve truly lost it…

Rocko Daymon
Women weaken legs!

Oh, who am I kidding…

(With an irritated sigh, Daymon unzips the sweatsuit, revealing a standard black t-shirt and jeans underneath. He quickly dumps the training clothes into a waste basket and begins walking astride his wife through along the sidewalk through downtown Boston, passing by other people on the street.)

Rocko Daymon
To be honest, I hate doing the underdog thing…

Caitlyn Daymon
Then why do it?

Rocko Daymon
It’s because of the seeding. You know, I’m the lowest seed left in the Boston bracket. That means I’m the LAST person anybody would expect to go all the way.

But that’s all seeding is… is expectations. It’s no determinant for talent. It holds absolutely no weight in the grand scale of things. It’s merely a number they use to pair you up with somebody else. The thing is, it throws up a few red flags in my head when I see myself put somewhere in the middle.

Here’s my concern… I’ve been wrestling for nearly a decade, and the best people think of me is SEVENTH seed? Normally, I’d be insulted… but I have a hunch that earning this position was more of my own doing. Apparently, I haven’t done enough to show people what I’m truly capable of. Perhaps I’ve sat on my hands for too long, ranting about “true professionalism” and being a man, and in the process I forgot to etch my name into the history books.

When I came into this tournament, my goal was to merely make it further than last year. Well, I’ve come past that point now, and now my mission has changed. If the world really expects a seventh seed performance from me, then I’ll just give them something that goes beyond their expectations. I’ll leave them sitting there scratching their heads, wondering, “Damn, why didn’t we pay more attention to this kid before?”

And then I’ll say, “Jackass, I ain’t no KID, I’m ROCKO DAYMON! I’m thirty freakin’ years old!”

And they’ll be like, “Oh, my bad, I didn’t think you were a day over twenty-three.”

And I’ll be like, “Yeah, I attribute my young, God-like image to regular exercise, being a bad-ass, and a healthy diet that doesn’t include Taco Bell night after night like YOU.”

And they’ll go, “I didn’t eat Taco Bell last night.”

Then I’ll say, “Oh, then your breath just STINKS!!”

(Daymon throws his head back in a fit of laughter. This goes on for several moments.)

Caitlyn Daymon
Uh, Rocko?

Rocko Daymon
Quiet woman! I’m trynna laugh!

(Caitlyn crosses her arms and turns away, dark clouds forming on her expression. Daymon continues laughing for several more moments until he calms himself and wipes a tear from his eye.)

Rocko Daymon
Oh, damn… who was I insulting again?

Caitlyn Daymon
Rocko, the promo?

Rocko Daymon
Oh yeah!

So my new ambition in this tournament is to defy ALL expectations. That’s why this week, I pull the gloves off.

Caitlyn Daymon
You say that every week.

Rocko Daymon
Yeah, but this time, I mean it! Like I said, I’m the last person anybody would expect to win the Boston bracket… much less the entire tournament. I’m willing to bet some even thought I couldn’t make it this far.

Caitlyn Daymon
Well, considering you barely squeaked by the first round thanks to an outside interference, and also considering how you never even had to fight your opponent in the second round because he was jumped backstage, I’d say those people are very much entitled to their opinions.

Rocko Daymon
Oh, give me a break. You know, it’s bad enough that I had to take crap from everyone after the first round… but just because something that is completely out of my hands happens again the second week, suddenly people think I can’t get the job done.

I’m not going to deny I haven’t had a legitimate win in this tournament yet… but that does not mean I can’t get one when I want one. Man, I’d hate to see any future opponents make the fatal mistake in passing that judgment. After all, I’ve made a career out of exploiting those who underestimated my abilities.

Who’s to say I wasn’t going to win those matches? Nobody can… and we’ll never know. But at least those opponents I’ve “beaten” can be thankful that they weren’t eliminated from this tournament through the most painful and humiliating means possible.

Caitlyn Daymon
You don’t think you’re being a tad hypocritical, do you? I mean, after all, you’re notorious for popping out the occasional rant about honor and respect and manhood. Putting yourself ahead on the efforts of others doesn’t quite fall under any of those categories.

Rocko Daymon
Yeah, well, the better man moved on. Besides, who cares?

I care!

(The Daymons come to a stop as a passer-by enters the frame and stands before them. They momentarily take in a middle-aged man in a brown suit toting a briefcase in one hand. He looks like any other man you’d find on the street, making his sudden appearance very random.)

Man In Brown Suit
Forgive me for interrupting. You may not know me personally, but I know much about you. My name is Charles Stratton, accountant, family man, and Rocko Daymon fan.

At least, I used to be. Your philosophy on what it means to be a man inspired me to put my life in order. I used to be a regular shmoe working at a Burger King until I saw you for the first time. Your spirit, your attitude, your determination gave me the drive to finish school. I even took the woman who would later be my wife and the mother of my two beautiful children to an Empire Pro event to see you on our first date.

(Tears begin welling up in Charles Stratton’s eye.)

Man In Brown Suit
But ever since you took advantage of that interference, my life has turned to ruin. I got fired from my job. My wife left me and took the kids. Tomorrow, I’m getting evicted from my home. All this because of you, Rocko Daymon!

(His face twisted in anguish, Charles Stratton falls to his knees, hands ripping out chunks of his hair and teeth painfully clenched together.)

Man In Brown Suit
WHY, Rocko? Why did you have to DO something so cheap and self-centered? Why did you turn against your own words?! HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A THING?!

(Weeping uncontrollably, Charles Stratton collapses in a pathetic heap on the sidewalk. Rocko and Caitlyn uncomfortably exchange a glance. Finally, Rocko pulls out a tablet of notepaper, and begins scrawling.)

Rocko Daymon
“Dear Chuck,

“Your tale has inspired me in ways I can’t describe in words. From this moment on, I won’t rest until I have a BK Double Whopper in my belly! Stay in school!

“Yours Truly, Rocko Daymon.”

(Signing his name and grinning widely, Rocko tears off the autographed sheet of paper, folds it up, and leaves it on Charles Stratton’s back before walking by him, Caitlyn at his side.)

Rocko Daymon
Ah, it always feels great to connect with my fanbase.

Caitlyn Daymon
You can’t ignore it forever, Caitlyn.

Rocko Daymon
Maybe not… but it’s all water under the bridge now. Maybe I have a second goal this week: other than proving to the people that I’m more than what they think I am, I’ll prove that I can put my opponent on his back and stand victorious!

The man in path this time around is Kodiak Vic Creed… another stranger… another newcomer to the tournament. A man who beat up a GIRL to get where he is.

Caitlyn Daymon
Heh heh… I have to admit, I took a little pleasure in watching Foxx get tossed around.

(Rocko looks to the camera, wearing a grin.)

Rocko Daymon
First of all, Creed, I have to congratulate you on making it this far…

Caitlyn Daymon
Wait a minute… you’re not going on another one of your boring fifteen-minute-long rants are you?

Rocko Daymon
Of course I am. And there’s nothing boring about it if people take the time to listen to what I have to say!

Caitlyn Daymon
I’m grabbin’ a burger… I’ll be back in a half an hour.

Rocko Daymon
You don’t want to stick around and listen?

Caitlyn Daymon
You’d sooner find me jamming razor blades under my fingernails and swallowing broken glass…

(Caitlyn mutters something about poisoning his next meal as she leaves the frame. Daymon is left standing by himself on the sidewalk. He gives his full attention to the camera.)

Rocko Daymon
You made it this far, Vic … and for that, I have to give credit where it’s due. That you made it to the Sweet Sixteen shows that you aren’t like all the other wannabes who come in off the street simply to add a little padding to their resume. You know how far you have to go to win a match.

Now we’ll see if you can dig a little deeper in yourself and overcome a real challenge. Everybody left in this tournament is in an unenviable position at this moment. The ending is in sight, and people are getting a little more desperate. They’re only going to push themselves in ways they never thought possible. No doubt, every match in this tournament from here on out will be title match quality.

You’ve developed this reputation that’s crossed over into TEAM… like you’re some sort of unstoppable monster, or matches against you “are given out for free in hell.” No doubt, people expect you to step into that ring and walk all over me, like I was nothing more than a fresh-faced rookie without an ounce of talent in his little finger.

But I’ve been in this industry too damn long and put up with too damn much to give the people what they expect.

The media hype surrounding you doesn’t really faze me, Creed. As I’ve already said, I intend to walk into that ring and give the people the exact opposite of what they expect. I’m going to show the people that doubted me and thought I was right at home in the seventh seed that I can be JUST AS dominant and overpowering as anybody else in this tournament, and more!

And in the case that you DO live up to all the hype? Well, Creed… I’m sure you’ll quickly realize that I can take a lot of punishment before I go down for the count. Even in that case, you shouldn’t feel safe… not for a second. If there’s anything you should’ve learned from my past two matches, it’s that I don’t need to outwrestle you in every way to walk away with the win. All I need is that one opportunity to put your shoulders on the mat for three seconds, and I move on without even looking back.

I’m not denying your talent, Creed. I’m fully prepared to take everything you’re known for. The real question is, are you going to do the same for me, or are you going to make the mistake of seeing me as nothing more than another rung in the ladder?

Hear me well as I say this… many of the athletes that were or still are in this tournament made that same mistake in other leagues outside of TEAM. They all paid the price for underestimating me.

Don’t think for one minute that just because everyone else thinks I’m going to go in there as the underdog… that I’ll fight like an underdog. Don’t let the number seven disillusion you in any way. If you do, then I wouldn’t recommend making any long-term plans to stay in the Boston area.

Now if you’ll excuse me… I have to get back to the gym. First, I gotta find my wife.


Caitlyn Daymon
Jesus Christ, SHUT UP!!

(Again, Caitlyn pops into the frame as though she has been standing there the entire time. Rocko’s plight becomes a choked yelp.)

Rocko Daymon
Oh, there you are. Where’s your hat?

Caitlyn Daymon
Let’s just get back to the hotel. The car’s a block away…

Rocko Daymon (Stallone Voice)
I love you.

(Rolling her eyes, Caitlyn steps out of the frame. Rocko is about to follow when the voice of a child halts him.)

Hey, mister!

(Rocko turns to find the kid he tripped earlier, carrying a basketball and sporting a broken nose. The kid angrily flips him the bird.)

What kind of asshole trips an eleven-year-old?!

Rocko Daymon
This kind of asshole.

(Daymon returns the gesture, and the footage comes to a still shot as the credits theme from Rocky plays. On this image of Daymon grinning and holding up the middle finger, we fade to black.)

03-21-07, 04:37 PM
Eric gave out a “Why me?” sigh while he pushed open the door to Juggernaut Gym, a TEAM camera man following close behind him. He grunted and used his shoulder, his hands filled with a large white plastic bag. Being the assistant to a professional wrestler seemed much more interesting on paper than it was in practice. Well, perhaps that wasn’t exactly true. Being the assistant to a normal professional wrestler might have been a chore, but Eric wasn’t working for just any wrestler. No, his employer was the Main Man himself, Kodiak Vic Creed. A walking wall of muscle and mayhem, Creed had always seemed a bit off-center when Eric had seen him on various wrestling programs. In person, though, he realized television hadn’t done him justice.

Creed was so off-center he was on another plane of reality altogether.

The man paid well, and that suited Eric just fine. He did have to sign a contract for Vic, filled with more legal jargon than he was comfortable with. Without a lawyer present, the text was hard to interpret, but Eric had the feeling that when the word “termination” came up it was more literal than figurative. Also, some of the demands struck him as odd – requests that Eric remained drug free and that his urine might be demanded at any time (to be supplied in vials Creed with provide… with KVC written across the front of them).

Such was the way of the Rich and Famous. A quirky bunch.

Despite being just after seven in the morning, the gym rang with the clanging of heavy metal plates slamming together and the strenuous grunts of the men pushing those plates. The stench of sweat and body odor was strong enough to taste. Juggernaut Gyms were known across North America as being for hardcore lifters. This wasn’t a building with pretty colors and ample spandex, with cute pop music playing over the public address system. If anything played on the PA system, it was music filled with anger and violence, just like the men listening to it.

It was an intimidating place for those who weren’t hardcore weight lifters. For Eric, a young man who associated “heavy lifting” with “that bag of sugar that they always put on the bottom shelf at the supermarket”, Juggernaut Gym was frightening.

These gym demons could smell fear. All eyes turned to Eric as he walked along the outskirt of the weight piles. “I smell virgin blood,” a Mohawk-coiffed lifter said as he dropped the hundred and fifty pound dumbbells he’d been using to the floor. The clang made Eric jump slightly and he quickened his pace to the manager’s office on the opposite side of the building.

A bald man with a tattoo of a skull on the side of his head wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand and watched the camera man scurry behind Eric. “Naw, that smells more like piss to me,” he muttered.

“Animals,” Eric thought to himself. “How obvious is it that Creed owns this place?”

Once safely away from the dangerously high levels of testosterone, Eric stopped in front of the door marked “Office” and knocked. He looked back at the camera man. “You can start anytime you want,” he said and nodded at the camera.

The camera man flipped the power switching on his portable unit while Eric struggled with the door handle with both hands full. Once the door swung into the room, both stepped in quickly. Eric used his heel to kick the door closed behind them, and breathed a sigh of relief as if his life had been in some kind of peril. He reconsidered his safety when he looked over at the desk and saw Kodiak Vic Creed staring at him. The Main Man, his tank top stretched over his massive chest, wasn’t wearing his trademarked sunglasses. That rarely happened outside the ring. With the glare he was getting from his boss, Eric wished Creed had been wearing them.

“This had better be good,” Creed said and set down the pen he held in his hand. He pushed a small stack of papers a few inches across the desk. “Talk.”

The TEAM camera man didn’t wait to be acknowledged. He simply stepped back and let the scene unfold, as Eric had instructed him. That was apparently how KVC liked doing it, and that was how it would be done.

“I know how anxious you were to speak to TEAM,” Eric said and set the bag down in a nearby chair.

Creed raised an eyebrow. “I was what to whom?”

Eric motioned toward the camera. “TEAM. The tournament, sir?”

“Which – oh, that.”

“Yes. I recall you watching the clip of your next round opponent, Rocko Daymon, and you mentioned being anxious to comment.”

Vic scratched his chin, the sinuous muscles in his forearm dancing under the skin with every movement of his fingers. “Oh that guy. I think I was probably drunk when I said that because I can’t imagine being anxious to comment about anything anyone says. Nobody holds that much sway with the Main Man that I feel the need to jump through hoops whenever they open their mouth. Unless, of course, it’s a) a lady, b) I’m pulling out of her brown hoop, and c) I’m putting it in her mouth.”

For a small portable camera unit, it had remarkable color contrasts. From fifteen feet away, it picked up every bit of color that drained out of Eric’s face when he realized what a huge mistake this had been. Creed’s assistant was still new, and was still adjusting to the Main Man’s charm and tact, or complete lack thereof.

Vic looked at the bag. “You brought me lunch?”

Eric swallowed hard. “N-not exactly, no.” He slowly started closing the bag.

Creed stood up. “Not so fast bunky. What’s in the bag?”

Eric closed his eyes, a defeated man. He sighed and reached into the bag. Vic folded his huge arms across his chest and watched as his assistant pulled out a large top hat and what appeared to be boxing trunks, both adorned with the American flag.

“What… the f*ck… is that?” Kodiak Vic Creed asked in a tone that added “… and you better have a VERY GOOD answer if you wish to remain healthy” without actually saying it.

The color returned to Eric’s face. Extra color, in fact. Quite a bit of red. “Rocko called you Apollo Creed, so…”

“So you thought I’d make some witty comeback by dressing up like Apollo Creed?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Let me ask you something Eric. Do I look black to you?” Political correctness be damned. Vic pointed at his cropped white hair. “Do you see a coiffed little afro up there? I know I have a tan, but do I look like a candidate for COPS?”

“No sir.”

Vic studied the color change in his assistant’s face. He pointed at the white plastic bag. “If there’s body paint and a wig in there, you’ll eat the ‘fro and I’ll beat you black AND blue.”

Eric quickly stuffed the clothes back in the bag and tied the top shut.

“You think I care what some guy called me? I saw his little montage. He was playing Rocky. He called me Apollo Creed, like that was something really innovative and clever.” Creed looked at the camera. “Everyone loved that first Rocky flick. Rock trained hard, showed a lot of heart. The cocky champ Creed, he took Rocky lightly. Didn’t train as hard as he should have. Rocky wouldn’t stay down despite being out of his league. Yeah, great story.”

Vic’s lips spread, revealing the toothy grin of a predator. “Who won that fight? Apollo Creed. He did the bare minimum and still won the fight. If he had taken Rocky seriously and trained as hard as a Champion should have, we wouldn’t have had to wait for Ivan Drago to give Balboa brain damage. Creed would have turned him into a drooling mongoloid in the first film. The sequel would have been Rocky 2 – Yo Adrian! I Ate My Crayons Again!”

The mental checklist was going off in Eric’s head. “Slight towards African Americans? Check. A shot at the developmentally challenged? Check. Perhaps he eats a baby to wrap this up.”

KVC continued, “I guess that comparison could carry over into this situation. Rocko’s been in the business for almost as long as I have, and the man generally takes his business seriously. He’s got heart, and he’s had to overcome some big obstacles to get to this point in the tourney. Me? I’ve pimpslapped a glorified backyard wrestler and a woman. I’d say we’ve taken different roads to reach this point. It’d be easy to think I’d be in coast mode by now.”

The camera man felt oddly uncomfortable watching Creed stare at the camera. At him. It was like watching a bull just before it charged and gored you. “Only the Main Man doesn’t coast. He destroys without prejudice. Ten years in the business, ten days in the business, man, woman, it’s all irrelevant. I’ll step on your neck no matter who you are, who you’ve beaten in the past, or how many mouths you have to feed at home.”

“Do I think Rocko has a shot at beating me? I could win the lottery or be hit by lighting. I mean, anything’s possible. The man’s got some skills. He does what he needs to to get the win. I can appreciate that. Will that be enough? He can take a beating before he gets dropped for the last time. Will that be enough? There’s a reason I don’t watch tapes of my opposition anymore. I don’t have to. I’m bigger, I’m stronger, and nature dictates that the strong survive. When you deal with a force of nature, all you can do is ride it out and hope you’re in one piece at the end of the storm.”

The bag was closed, and Eric wanted, really wanted, to get out of there. He thought the testosterone sharks outside were bad, but he was in the room with a Great White. Eric hoped that Vic was ready to wrap up his little informal promo.

Nope. Not quite.

“Don’t worry Rocko,” Creed offered in a comforting tone. “If I break you too badly, I’ll give your old lady something to take her mind off her grief. Here’s a clue: it comes with a side order of crabs, and I’m not talking seafood.”

The red “recording” light turned off on the TEAM camera. Eric wondered if he could get his resume back up on Monster.com by the end of the day.

03-23-07, 10:15 PM
(Fade from black, into a hotel room in Boston. It’s dawn, and a warm yellow glow is cast from the window of the bedroom suite onto the king-sized bed, where Rocko Daymon sleeps in a pair of black pajamas, snoring loudly.)

(The camera pans slightly to the corner, where a plasma-screen TV stands, replaying the last Kodiak Vic Creed promo, but on mute. Closer examination of the bed reveals the TV remote and a tablet of paper.)

(After the camera lingers a moment on this scene, Caitlyn Daymon in a red bathrobe, enters the room, pushing with her a service tray bearing the couple’s breakfast. She pulls up the large metal lid exposing a plate where a fine roasted ham rests. She draws the knife preparing to cut when Rocko mutters in his sleep.)

Rocko Daymon
…Han Solo? How on earth did you get into this boxing ring!

(Caitlyn hesitates with the knife over the ham. Rocko utters once again, mocking a Sly Stallone voice.)

Rocko Daymon
‘Ey, YO! That woogie is a hairy piece of meat, eh?

(She turns and holds up the knife in a stabbing position. A sneer crosses her face as she nears the bed, knife bearing down on Rocko’s neck. She begins speaking in just above a whisper.)

Caitlyn Daymon
Do it, Caitlyn. Just do it. Do it and you’ll finally be FREE!

(The knife draws closer… slowly coming down and shaking until it’s nearly touching his neck… when at once, Rocko’s eyes shoot open.)

Rocko Daymon
HOLY CRAP, it’s day already!

(In surprise, Caitlyn spins around and quickly buries the knife into the ham.)

Caitlyn Daymon
Good morning, “dearest”… would you like a side of bacon to eat?

(Rocko rubs his eyes and looks to the cart.)

Rocko Daymon
You mean ham?

Caitlyn Daymon
Uh, right, Canadian bacon.

(Rocko shakes his head.)

Rocko Daymon
Damn, Caitlyn… gonna have to get you out of New England before it… you know, New England-izes you. Next thing I know, you’ll be eating clam chowder, rooting for the pats, and mispronouncing your R’s.

It can be annoying to any outsider… but I fully intend to bear it for a little while longer. Yessir… I have NO intention… of leaving just yet.

(Daymon throws the sheets aside. In a flutter of fabric, his figure is momentarily obscured. When they fall aside, Daymon is standing on the bed with his hands on his hips, fully dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. You might ask how this is possible, but you just have to understand that Rocko Daymon is cool like that.)

Rocko Daymon
Regardless of what I’m sure many people with money on this match are looking forward to, I won’t be packing my bags and leaving Boston any time soon. Not when I’m this close to my goal.

Caitlyn Daymon
Technically speaking, you’re not even halfway there, so I can’t really see how you’ve come “close”.

Rocko Daymon
Quiet woman, I’m trynna promo…

(Caitlyn gestures to the TV in the corner.)

Caitlyn Daymon
Don’t tell me you slept through the entire thing.

Rocko Daymon
What, like some half-assed attempt to gain laughs by acting like I was bored to tears? Preposterous! I was thoroughly entertained by that Creed promo. I’ve never laughed that much in my life at just how flawed a man’s logic can be.

(Caitlyn rolls her eyes. Rocko reaches for the remote and kills the TV while picking up the tablet of paper in his other hand.)

Caitlyn Daymon
What exactly was so hilarious about the promo? Was it the anal-sex references, or the “I’m going to beat you and bang your wife after the match” shtick I’ve heard a hundred times already?

Rocko Daymon
The source of my amusement, love, comes from the sheer hypocrisy in my own opponent’s words.

For example… here’s a man who claims he doesn’t coast at this point in the game… yet in the practically the same breath, acknowledges me as no different than any of his previous opponents. I’m being criticized by a guy who measures his talent based on the size of his arms as opposed to his ability to get the job done…

Caitlyn Daymon
The job?

Rocko Daymon
The match. The win. You see, my dear… size is irrelevant in this game. In this tournament, it’s all about the bottom line. Who walks out the winner is the one who has the last laugh. My opponent might have the size and strength advantage—as if that didn’t leave me a number of advantages to my own—but even if he puts his talents to use in the perfect way, it’s still a matter of putting my shoulders down on the mat.

Can you remember the last time anybody ever did that, Caitlyn? In NEW, or A1E, or EPW? My opponent can toss me around that ring all he wants… but few ever get lucky enough to actually pin me for the three.

Caitlyn Daymon
And what, exactly, gives you the idea that you can pin him while he uses your skull as a soup bowl?

(Daymon looks directly into the camera. Not like a bull… but like a matador, with a confident smirk as he waves his capes, luring the beast into a cleverly laid trap involving the tip of his sword.)

Rocko Daymon
Survivability, my honey-drop sweet-suckle. My opponent appears there and talks about how he’s dominated his opponents in this tournament… and he’s dominated in whatever hack development federation he’s from as well. He stands there and flexes his muscles at any given opportunity… but did you notice there weren’t many shots of his legs?

It’s because bad legs plus big guys equals disaster.

So maybe the Rocky comparison didn’t work out, considering my opponent allegedly doesn’t underestimate his opponents—and does a fine job doing so by admitting he doesn’t watch their tapes. Forget Rocky. Let’s do another scenario… say, David and Goliath.

No, better yet, forget that idea too. I’ve already acknowledged the fact that I’m not the underdog in this match-up. In fact, I’d put that title on him.

Caitlyn Daymon
…he’s the underdog?

Rocko Daymon
Positively, dew-drop. We can liken him to a rhino. Large… deadly… and overwhelmingly destructive to those who are foolish enough to think they can match him head to head. You can’t outcharge a rhino… so you have to think of a way to put him down before he gets to you. Enter, the hunter… and that’s me.

I’ve got this guy in my sights much like the hunter looks down his rifle at the oncoming target. Suddenly, the charging beast’s path, one that destroyed so many before, becomes his nail in the coffin… a one-way track to certain doom. All I have to do is keep my poise, remain patient… and find that one half of a second opportunity where the target fully exposes himself.

Then I pull the trigger. In the time it takes for the dust to settle, three seconds go by quick.

I’m not suggesting I’m pulling a typical Ali “rope-a-dope”, as I’m sure few would last long enough against him in those circumstances. But I’ve LONG prided myself as a man who know how to adapt to any situation in the ring. Doesn’t matter if it’s a crazy high flyer like JA… a technical expert like Adam Benjamin… maybe a dildo-wielding maniac like Yori… or even a muscle-headed ROID FREAK like my opponent… Dan Ryan.

Caitlyn Daymon

Rocko Daymon

Caitlyn Daymon
Your opponent is Kodiak Vic Creed.

Rocko Daymon
Oh… really?!

Caitlyn Daymon
Jesus, am I to believe you’ve been talking this entire time about the wrong person?

Rocko Daymon
Oh no, you’ve got me all wrong… you see, I just got a little confused. I see a huge, muscular guy carrying the asshole attitude and I immediately think “Dan Ryan”, you know? I guess it’s not that original of a personality. Every fed has one like him.

And just like him, there’s always the guy who says “it doesn’t matter”.

Caitlyn Daymon
What doesn’t matter?

Rocko Daymon
Just about anything. Doesn’t matter who I beat… doesn’t matter what I’ve done… all of it’s irrelevant because he’s beaten everybody and everything. Hell, I’ve used the same line once or twice myself.

There’s guys who think it doesn’t matter… and there’s guys who do. There’s guys who have beaten the guys who don’t think it doesn’t matter, and guys who have beaten all the guys that have beaten all the other guys. Then there’s guys that have beaten all those that claimed they couldn’t be beaten, and of course the guys that beat them too.

You follow, love?

(Caitlyn is busy having a mild stroke on the floor.)

Rocko Daymon
In my eyes, Creed only acknowledges that he approaches this as nothing as routine. And maybe he really does put up one hell of a fight each and every time he steps into the ring… but then again, that’s something I bring as well. But it doesn’t matter how well you do the job… if you do the same thing day after day, eventually you get bored. You get careless. It’s that sort of thing that causes accidents in the workplace—whether it be having a brick hit you in the head cause you went to the worksite one day without your helmet, or having your ass handed to you by a guy you thought you could beat but your brain was too full of sinew and beef jerky to acknowledge your opponent as anything different.

Everybody’s different… and it’s that reason that’s kept me alive in this sport as long as I have.

I don’t have to overcome size and strength to win a match. Nor do I need to stick to a one-dimensional style of wrestling. I’m prepared to go any way I have to in order to win the match… whether I’m taking dives off the turnbuckles, pasting my opponents into the mat, making them scream in pain until they tap, or busting them open with whatever I can get my hands on.

Long story short, there’s a plethora of ways I can take Creed down. All he’s going to do is walk in with the same thing he’s had in mind for however long he’s wrestled. It’s done him well where he’s from… and it’s done him well up until this point in the tournament…

But like I said, all I have to do is wait for a single opportunity, and I’ll finish off Creed before he’ll know what happened to him.

(Caitlyn, having resuscitated herself, arches an eyebrow doubtfully.)

Caitlyn Daymon
So what you’re basically saying is that in spite of the fact that Kodiak Vic Creed has claimed to have beaten everybody who has claimed to be different, though they usually follow the same fate, you, somehow, believe that you’re truly different.

Rocko Daymon
Correct, my precious albino faun!

Cailtyn Daymon
…I doubt you’re going to convince many with that.

Rocko Daymon
I’m not here to convince anybody, Caitlyn. I’m not here to prove anything. People look at the numbers by the names and make their own assumptions in their heads. Maybe Creed has followed suit. I could care less for reputation or dominant attitude… I look past all that hype and look at the man underneath.

Muscle and strength don’t make the man. It’s the soul. It’s the drive. It’s the ******* EYE OF THE TIGER!

Caitlyn Daymon
Christ, here we go again.

Rocko Daymon
Like I said, my delicate little sunflower… I have no intention of packing my bags and leaving Boston at this point. Creed practically has to be reminded that he’s in a tournament—obviously, ANOTHER example of a man who “does not coast”.

So why else would a person who doesn’t care to be here remain here?

Caitlyn Daymon
…to save orphans?

Rocko Daymon
…well, maybe.

Or he could be an ASSHOLE!

And to be completely honest, with Dan Ryan out in Mexico City, there’re just too many assholes in this tournament to go around.

Caitlyn Daymon
Yourself included…

Rocko Daymon
The FINALS to the Boston Bracket are just on the horizon, in the Elite Eight. Even here in the Sweet Sixteen, I still feel I haven’t quite made my presence known. Silver got off easy, and that first guy… well, he’s just sore.

Caitlyn Daymon
Might want to watch yourself there, Rocko. Now that Jarod Poe’s out of the tournament, there’s no reason why he would want to send his buddies to interfere on your behalf. He could just as easily take you out of this tournament.

Rocko Daymon

…oh, yeah, the guy living in his own world. Bah, I try not to dwell on past opponents.

This week, I’m sure I’ll send Kodiak Vic Creed back home to dust himself off, where he will no doubt continue to crush the inferior talent there and pretend that this little embarrassment in his career never happened.

Meanwhile, in the blind corner of his eye, he’ll always just be missing the image of a true professional wrestler standing at the top of the industry!

Isn’t that right, my harmonious siren that doesn’t want to suck out my life-force?

(Caitlyn quickly draws the blade poised over her wrist away and hides it behind her back.)

Caitlyn Daymon
Uh… YEAH, ditto.

(Cut to black.)