PDA

View Full Version : Round 1: Troy Windham vs. Eugene Dewey



Chad
04-20-12, 07:00 AM
Roleplay period starts on Wednesday, April 25 and ends Tuesday, May 1. 2 roleplay max in this round.

Damien
04-26-12, 07:05 PM
The following statement was prepared by Eugene Dewey following a tweet (http://www.fwrestling.com/showthread.php?22550-Oh-wait-this-is-supposed-to-be-for-hype&p=87917#post87917) posted April 23rd:


I would like to apologise to all of my loyal followers for my use of profanity following the reveal of my bracket, and subsequently, the announcement of my first round opponent in this year’s ULTRATITLE tournament. It was foolish and irresponsible of me to tweet a curse word, regardless of the gravity of the situation in which I find myself, heading into this round one match. I am aware that there are people ,in this world that are offended by such language, and I always try my best to avoid swearing. I have no excuses as to why I felt the need to express myself in such a vulgar way and hope and pray that you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

In an effort to redeem myself to you all, I promise that when I set foot inside that ring, and I look across to my opponent, Troy Windham, I will not shy away. I will not allow his reputation to intimidate me, nor will I back down from the fight. I will do exactly as you, my fans, have come to expect from me over this last year, and that... is win

If I don’t then I’ll cancel my Old Republic subscription.

No wait, I take that back. I TAKE THAT BACK!

-------

“So uhhh, how does that sound?”

Eugene Dewey craned his neck to look over the monitors in front of him in an effort to make eye contact with his brother and manager, Wayne, who was sat opposite.

“Huh?” grunted Wayne as he looked up from his desk, “Sorry, dude, I wasn’t listening.”

“Ugh, come on!” moaned an exasperated Eugene, “You told me I had to write an apology to everyone, the least you can do is listen as I read it out.”

“Dude, all you need to do is tweet ‘sorry’, delete the original tweet and hopefully no one will remember it in a couple of weeks... You don’t need to write an essay.” Wayne replied as he rolled his eyes. “Oh, and say you were exhausted from all the hype you’d been doing about the ULTRATITLE. You can get away with pretty much anything if you say you were exhausted.”

Wayne paused and thought for a second before backtracking..

“Actually, scratch that,” He said, “Say you’d been drinking. Everyone forgives a drinker.”

“But I hadn’t.” said Eugene, “I’m not going to lie to people. I’d rather admit I didn’t know who Troy Windham was until I googled him. And boy what a mistake that turned out to be. I almost cra-”

“Woah!” Wayne shouted interrupting his brother. “Don’t wanna know!”

“No, almost.” Eugene reiterated. “Wayne, this guy is, like, a really big deal apparently.”

“Well, yeah...” Replied Wayne, sounding quite confused as to why his brother would think anyone vying for the ULTRATITLE would be anything less than stellar, “But just imagine how you’re going to look being the one to cause him to fall at the the first hurdle!”

“To.” Eugene whispered, but still loud enough so as his brother could hear.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard it.” Wayne said dismissively. “Look, the fact of the matter is this. Troy Windham is just a man. He can have all the experience in the world, he can be a legend amongst legends, he could even be the greatest wrestler to have ever lived, on this planet or any other, but he’s still just a man. Flesh and bones, muscle and ligaments, tendons and giblets... He can be beat.”

Despite still being unconvinced over Troy Windham’s humanity, Eugene nodded in agreement, purely in an attempt to pacify his brother. A small detail that Wayne was all to experienced to pick up on.

“Look man,” Wayne said as he stood up and headed around the desks to stand at his brother’s side. “There’s no dancing around this, you’re in a tough bracket, and Troy Windham isn’t an easy pick in the first round. But he’s going to be a darned sight easier to compete with now than he would be in round four or five. If you had to face him, now is the very best time. He’s not gonna be as settled as he would be in the later rounds, and you’ve not got the accumulated fatigue that inevitably goes with tournament matches... Lord knows you’re going to be feeling everything throughout this thing.”

Eugene sat silently in his chair and stared stoically at his desk. He knew his conditioning wasn’t up to par with the majority of the ULTRATITLE participants... Actually, that’s quite an understatement, he knew that if everyone were collated into an Excel document and arranged by their level of conditioning in decending order he’d be ranked 129th of 128.

Somehow.

“But don’t let that get you down!” Wayne added quickly in a vain attempt to raise his brother’s spirits. “Because what you lack in conditioning you more than make up for in other aspects. Any Defiance fan could vouch for that!”

Our hero still didn’t respond.

“You’re stronger than you look and you’re well versed in taking a beating and getting right back up!” Said Wayne enthusiastically. “You have better reaction times and more resolve than anyone I know.”

That much was true. You know that Chumbawamba song? Tubthumping? If Eugene weren’t so in love with Mike Tyson’s Punch Out on the NES, and YTMND.com, that would probably be his entrance music. Year upon year of getting bundled into the boys’ restroom and having his hair used as a toilet brush had assisted Eugene in developing an unparalleled sense of self preservation, and his reaction times rivaled those of the greatest racing drivers, and his heart was, unquestionably, impossible to break.

I guess spending 250+ hours on almost every Call of Duty since Modern Warfare didn’t exactly slow him down either.

And Mrs. Dewey said he was wasting his time with those silly little video games.

“I’d be surprised if Troy Windham has ever heard of you before this bracket was announced. I’d almost expect him to dub you ‘Eugene Who-ey’...” joked Wayne in a vain attempt to get his brother to crack a smile.

“But I don’t want you thinking that means he’s going to underestimate you. Anyone in this tournament would be a fool to do that to any of their respective opponents,” Wayne continued as he slapped his brother on the shoulders. “What you’re gonna do is come out of the blocks, hit him hard, hit him fas-...”



“Hit him hard...” He repeated, omitting his previous idea, nothing physical about Eugene Dewey was particularly ‘fast’. “And remember, this match isn’t just about making it to round two. You’re out there to eliminate one of the favourites, that is if he’s not the favourite.”

Eugene’s ear pricked up as he thought about potentially making his mark on the tournament by eliminating a big name slash the biggest name.

“You’re out there representing more than yourself. You’re representing more than Defiance...” Said Wayne, every word he uttered seem to raise Eugene’s spirits a little bit at a time, “You’re out there representing every science club member that got shoved into a locker, you’re out there to get redemption for every atomic wedgie, you’re out there to show every jock that the weedy little nerd they pick on today, can and will make something of themselves tomorrow.”

Eugene turned his head and looked up at his brother. He allowed a smile to spread across his lips for the first time in days.

“You really think I can do this?” He asked like he was in a really bad Disney movie.

Wayne, of course, nodded.

“Dude, when you’re done out there, everyone in the world is going to know the name Eugene Dewey.” Said Wayne with an air of finality, “And Troy Windham, he’ll simply be known as ‘Troy Wind-who?’!”

GreggG
04-27-12, 12:17 AM
Troy Windham stared in the mirror, admiring his newly tinted and highlighted hair. He then took a deep breath and counted to three.

Three seconds. Three seconds is all it takes.

Troy knew that better than anyone. He had been underestimated his entire career. He knew his extracurricular activities -- the proclivities of nightlife when he was young, the roles on Lifetime TV movies later in his career -- caused his peers to not buy into Troy's self-promoted height. Troy didn't put in the time in the weight room that they did. Troy didn't spend his days watching Japanese wrestling tapes or go to MMA dojos.

And Troy used this to his advantage for 18 years. Let the other guy think he has the upper hand... and then get him when he least suspects it. Troy's arsenal of moves stayed essentially the same his entire career -- crisp, simple, easy-to-apply moves that could come at anytime in the match, at any angle. And he also mastered a finisher called The SlackKnife. It was brilliant in its simplicity -- grab the guy by the back of his head and drop down, crashing his skull into the mat.

Because all you needed was three seconds. Three quick seconds to win a match.

And three quick seconds to have a career flushed down the toilet.

Troy blinked and stared in the mirror.

This is it, my man. Everything that's ever happened. It now comes to this.

Troy never heard of Eugene Dewey until his name was unveiled. But he watched the tape of the kid's promos. Troy felt embarrassed for him at first. Some fat kid sitting with a video controller and an annoying brother. They couldn't even be bothered to use 'A Winner Is You' as a catchphrase. Like everyone else in wrestling, they didn't pay any attention to the marketing end. Of how to stand out. If you act important and look important... then you're important.

But Troy saw he had developed a bit of a cult following in Defiance, not that the name of the league meant anything to him. He also saw he sprung a few upsets along the way. His matches weren't much, but one of those Chun-Li Street Fighter uppercuts could connect at anytime. One punch under the jaw from a 300-pound man could do more than rearrange a few crowns in the mouth. It could put you on the mat. It could knock you out.

And all it would take for this to unfold is three seconds. Three lousy seconds. That's all it would take for this kid to spring the biggest upset in wrestling history. Troy Windham's illustrious career... a career he knew had no blemishes... would have a big giant red mark just as he approached the finish line.

Troy cranked his neck. Stiff. Again.

What else is new?

His neck had been damaged for years. He'd been under the knife. Some fusion work. He'd time his neck surgeries with voice-over work for Arther Treacher's Fish-and-Chips, or for a small role in the new Police Academy movie. It'd allowed him some time to rest before his next run. But the pain would always come back in the end.

Troy knew what the doctors said. One slip-up in the ring could put him in a wheelchair permanently. But Troy never backed away from a risk. Jumping off a bridge into a river in high school? Closing his eyes for 10 seconds while speeding down the Interstate in his first sportscar? Line after line after line of cocaine at The Viper Room? Diving off the mezzanine onto Eli Flair? Having Dan Ryan throw him from the ring to concrete?

None of that ever mattered.

But Troy knew this was it. He had enough money in the bank to last ten men one hundred lifetimes. One last run was all he wanted. All he needed to cement to the world that he was the best at what he did.

Eighteen years ago, he started. He said that he would go down as the best of all time. They laughed at him. They made fun of him. They did whatever they could to stop him.

No one ever did.

And the Ultratitle was all he had left.

Troy looked in the mirror.

Three seconds. Three lousy seconds and it could all come to an end.

But, unlike Eugene Dewey, Troy wasn't going to sit down and play some video games.

He was going to work.

He was taking the first step to eternity.

GreggG
04-30-12, 12:48 AM
The Miami sun was typically blazing. Crew members were busy setting up a variety of TV cameras, reflector lights and boom microphones. Troy had known most of these guys for years -- the professional wrestling industry isn't particularly big, and the tech guys change allegiances for paychecks just as quickly as the talent.

Troy was busy pacing along his patio, staring at a yacht sailing down the Intercoastal Waterway right below. He closed his eyes, rolled his neck, and took a few deep breaths. This was a routine he had started nearly 18 years ago, when he was just a kid in this business. Troy had seen thousands come and go. A lot of really physically gifted men had entered in the pro wrestling industry. Guys who spent their whole lives studying Japanese wrestling. Guys wearing MMA gloves who fought grown men when they were mere children. Depressives looking to catch a brief thrill by flying off the ropes into the crowd. NFL washouts who could run a 4.1 40.

They had come and they went. And there was a reason why: They couldn't speak worth a dime. And as much as everyone wanted to deny it -- as much as purists wanted wrestling to be nothing more than a battle between two guys -- the ability to speak on camera or before a crowd was the most important part of the business. If you made people want to see you win matches, or lose matches, that gives you leverage. Promoters will roll out the carpets for you. Referees aren't dumb people -- they're going to give breaks to the guy who is earning them a cut of the PPV shares over a no-name nearly every single time.

It also helped win his matches another way. Troy's verbal wit got in the head of his opponents nearly 95% of the time. An opponent flustered before the match was usually overeager. He wanted to hurt Troy. Badly. Too badly. And that played into Troy's advantage -- rope-a-dope, quick move, pin. Or it intimidated his opponent. A starstruck opponent -- and there were plenty -- felt like he didn't belong. He hesitated. And that, too, was Troy's advantage.

Looking and sounding big time MADE you big time.

Troy opened his eyes and went to his customary patio seat.

"Yo, guys -- let's get it going."

He took one more breath. Even though this was second nature to him, he still always got a little nervous. One verbal slip-up could make him look like an ass. Looking like an ass gives people a reason to attack his reputation. A downgraded reputation takes away your leverage. No leverage means no advantage.

Troy sat down on the chair. The red light of the camera turned on. And a spark emerged on Troy's eyes.

"I have been a professional wrestler for 18 years. For 18 years, I have been THE TOP DOG of professional wrestling. I have been THE EPITOME of this industry. I have main evented matches. I have won World Titles. I have sold out arenas. I have broken PPV ratings. I have done every thing imaginable except for one... and that's hold the illustrious Ultratitle."

Troy smirked. Introduce the setting. Tell them what your goal is. Make your goal IMPORTANT. Now, introduce who you are. Most likely, they KNOW who you are. But just in case they didn't, let them know.

"People have always said I was a dreamer. I said when I was a mere 20-year-old rooking that I one day would be the best of all-time. I said that I would be more than just a wrestler. I would be a multimedia phenom. I would get my face on the cover of magazines. I would be in entertainment news network headlines. I would star in movies and TV shows. I would hang out backstage with rock stars. I DID ALL OF THAT AND MORE. What I said has always been GOSPEL."

Troy then rolled his neck and made a painful face. His neck wasn't bothering him... yet. But sell it. Give the people a story.

"So, it can be said that as far-fetched as my goals may sound... I am actually a realist. A pragmatist, even. And I'm not dumb. I've had a lot of miles put on my engine over the years. And believe me, while I may be a BMW... while I may be a Mercedes Benz... while I may be a vintage Bentley... I feel wear-and-tear. My neck? I've had my verts fused. The docs have told me time and time again that one bad fall -- one awkward landing -- could put me in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. And, frankly, I don't need that. I've made a few, oh, hundred million dollars over the course of my career. And when I'm done, I no doubt have a few more Cable Ace Awards and Daytime Emmy's to put on one of my mantles. I want to enjoy my retirement years. I can -- and I probably SHOULD -- just walk away right now. But I am willing to sacrifice my health... the future of my mobility... the possibility that I may never WALK again... to be able to hold that title in my arms... to have my name ATTACHED to the legend."

Troy paused. Time to address the opponent. Build him up a bit. Make him seem important. Because when you beat him, you seem more important.

"My first round match is against a guy named Eugene Dewey. I am not going to lie to you. Up until a few days ago, I had no idea who he was. But I quickly studied up. A guy in Defiance, which the trades are saying is a damn good promotion. He's sprung a few wins, despite his unfortunate size. The textbook lovable loser. A guy seemingly BORN to pull the biggest upset in wrestling history. A guy born to become our industry's Buster Douglas. A guy who everyone would love to see beat the biggest star of them all."

Troy blinked. Now time to run him down.

"That ain't gonna happen. Eugene Dewey, I saw your taped remarks about me. Your little dialogue with your brother. His oh-so inspirational sermon getting you pumped for me. It was interesting, Eugene. Especially the line where you said you didn't know who I was but learned via Google that I was a big deal. YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHO I WAS... but learned via Google that I was a big deal."

Stare at the camera. Let those words sink.

"Eugene Dewey, how is it that you don't know a thing about me... yet I know a LOT about you? How is it that I know you don't have much in the way of athletic ability or talent. You, in fact, are a fat pig. You're the kid from Stand By Me. You're Angus. You're a slob. You don't have too much in your arsenal. But... but you do have a few accidental wins in your ledger. And you have that Chun-Li Streetfighter uppercut. And you're 300 pounds. Any moron could figure out that one hit from that could knock me out for a bit. All it takes is three little seconds for you to pull off the miracle."

Stare at the camera again. Let the moment have some weight.

"But that's not going to happen. Because I won't LET it happen. I've got every match you've ever wrestled waiting for me to dissect. I've got every promo you've ever cut waiting for me to analyze. I even just bought the services of a 300-plus-pound homeless guy for me to rough up in my gym in hopes to prepare for you. And what are YOU doing this whole time? Huh? You're busy hitting 'Up-up-down-down-left-right-left-right-B-A-START' all day long on your 8-bit system. You need your brother WAAAYNNNNEEEE to psych you up for Ultratitle. You need someone to get you up for a chance to upset THE MOST IMPORTANT MAN IN PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING HISTORY... to start a miracle run at winning THE MOST IMPORTANT TITLE IN PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING HISTORY."

Time to bring it home.

"Well, Dewey, when you're busy sucking artificial cheese off your fat fingers, I'm busy getting ready. I'm busy getting ready to grab that GOLD ON THE CEILING and end up cementing MY name in history. *I* understand the gravitas of this match. *I* understand the gravitas of this moment. You? You're a video game playing CLOWN. Can you get lucky? Yes, you can. I'm aware of that. But you? You're NOT. And that's why, my man, when you wake up staring at the lights, you're going to realize that A WINNER IS NOT YOU!"

And end on a high note.

"But you are learning who I am after using your dial-up modem to Google my name. And now that you know who I am, I'm going to do you a favor. After I beat you, I'll give you a signed, autographed glossy headshot. And you can put it in a frame and place it on top of your NES. And everytime you take it off the NES to blow in the cartridge that has too much dust in it to work... you can stare at my picture and realize that you had a chance at making history. But, instead, you MET history. You met the greatest of all-time."

Troy smiles. He winks at the camera.

"Allright. That's a wrap, folks. I got some beers from that brewery in the Adirondacks if anyone wants a few cold ones before ya'll take off. I'm going to be down in the gym for a bit."

Troy got up. And rolled his neck. This time, it was hurting.

Damien
04-30-12, 07:06 PM
"EUGENE!"

"Hyahhyahhyahhyahhyah!"

"Hey, Eugene!"

"Hyahhyahhyahhyahhyahhyahhyah!"

"Eugene, what the hell are you doing?"

I guess we're going to beat a dead horse and fade in on yours and my favourite scene, the Dewey family's basement. Both brothers were doing as they usually would, Wayne was struggling to reach the top of the wardrobe where he was attempting to hang a bed sheet that he'd spray painted 'ULTRATITLE' onto in big, black block capitals, and Eugene sat on the brown, stained couch flicking away at the control sticks and hammering away at the buttons of his Xbox 360 controller.

"HUH!?" Shouted Eugene over the blaring television.

"I said, what the hell are you doing!" Wayne shouted back as he craned his neck around to look at his brother.

"Playing Street Fighter!" Replied Eugene, slightly perplexed as to why Wayne was asking a question with such an obvious answer.

"No, I mean..." Wayne sighed as he dropped the sheet and stomped over to the couch. Once there, he grabbed the remote from the arm and hit 'mute' as dramatically as possible. "That's better. I meant, why is the only thing I've heard for the last hour Chun-Li's attacking shout?"

"Oh, I've been trying to get her to do a Shoryuken but can't." Said Eugene sounding a little disappointed, "Do you think Troy Windham has some kind of special edition that I don't know about?"

"I think you need to put the controller down and come help me set up the recording area." Said Wayne bluntly, "You know I can't reach the top of the wardrobe."

"Fine." Eugene sighed as he flicked the control stick a little and hit a couple of buttons, sending Chun-Li into a superkicking frenzy until she'd KTFO of Seth. “Maybe he gets different DLC on Planet Windham...”

Our hero threw the controller down next to the half eaten bag of Cheetos onto the spare seat beside him and straightened up. He stretched, yawned and scratched his vast belly, leaving a couple of orange powdery streaks across his gut, as he turned to view his brother's pathetic attempt at preparing the scene for Eugene's planned address of his first round ULTRATITLE opponent.

"You know that sheet's too wide, right?" He said as his yawn drew to an end. "You're never gonna get the whole word in shot."

"I've been trying" Replied Wayne as he walked back over to the wardrobe, "But then I had an idea. Here check it out. If we slide this part along..."

Eugene licked his fingers as he headed over to join his brother and grabbed the sheet right where he was pointing in order to slide it over to where he was told.

"And then we spread this part out as much as we can..." Wayne instructed.

And Eugene obeyed.

"Then we can fit the end on..." He added as Eugene reached up and shifted the dumbbell they kept on top of the wardrobe into place to hold the sheet down. "And we're done. What do you think?"

Together the brothers took a step backwards to admire the set up.

"HA!" Laughed Eugene, "Perfect!"

"See, told you I had an idea." Wayne said proudly. "Now go get the camera, we've got work to do."

And with that Eugene waddled off to Wayne's desk and scooped up the video recorder sat upon it. He bent down and pulled out the tripod from besides the chest of drawers next to said desk and lugged it all back over to his brother.

"Right, I'll set up the tripod, you go sort your hair out. You look like a mess." Said Wayne as he took the AV equipment from Eugene's hands.

"Wash the dishes Cinderelly." Whispered Eugene as he walked over the full length mirror that sat in another corner of the room.

"What's that?" Asked Wayne as he extended the legs of the tripod.

"Nothing!" Replied Eugene as he licked his finger tips and tried to tame the beast atop his head, otherwise known as his jew-fro.

"Ok, I'm all set!" Called out Wayne as he finished tightening the camera onto the tripod. "You done?"

"You tell me." Replied Eugene as he turned to face his brother, despite trying to fix his hair he'd somehow made it look even worse.

Wayne looked the fat sack of fat in front of him up and down before shrugging and sighing "It'll have to do. Now, in the infamous words of Scorpion, GET OVER HERE!"

Eugene obliged and joined his brother in front of their camcorder. Wayne reached into his pocket and pressed the remote, the little red light lit up just to the side of the lens that meant they were now recording.

Not that they weren't being recorded before. But now they're recording within a recording. It's kind of like Inception, just nowhere near as needlessly complex.

"Allow me to open with a word of thanks." Wayne said, chaging his tune almost instantly from grumpy to sincere, “Thanks, Troy, for the ‘Wrestling 101’. Let me guess, next week, body slams? Am I going to have to take you on a ‘Gaming 101’? If I do then lesson one is you never blow on the cartridges. Nintendo say so themselves. Next week, how not to be a noob. I’d highly recommend you don’t miss that one; being blissful in one's ignorance is never a good thing.”

Wayne grinned as Eugene shifted uncomfortably in his skin. He wasn’t a fan of straight up taunting and insulting his opponents, even if Wayne was. That probably had something to do with the fact that he was always the one in the ring with them taking the brunt of their frustrations, not his brother.

“I know overconfidence stems from arrogance,” Wayne continued, “But I’d never have thought you to be so up your own ass to assume that everyone in this world knows who you are by name alone. You claim to know ‘a lot...”

Oh yeah, air-quotes have been used.

“About Eugene here, but you don’t know that until a year and a half ago he had absolutely no knowledge of anything wrestling based?” Asked Wayne, “No, see, as we were growing up, Eugene was interested in Dungeons and Dragons, Hero Quest, Warhammer... You know, the cool stuff. I was always the wrestling geek. And I knew from the moment our bracket was drawn, Eugene would be in for a tough ride. I just let him find out exactly how tough it would be in his own time.”

“It’s all about character building, you see?” Wayne added as he jabbed his brother in the ribs with the point of his elbow, a pretty obvious attempt to get him to step to the side and reveal the banner they had hung not too long ago. “You’re probably more used to character defamation though, right? So you’ll probably get a real kick out of this.”

With a wide smile Wayne stepped aside to fully reveal, what should become, the new ULTRATITLE logo.

'U RA TIT'

"Convenient, isn't it?" Asked Wayne as he stepped back into the centre of his shot. "Omit a couple of characters and you can turn something as epic, and as awesome, as ULTRATITLE into a scathing attack on an opponent."

Wayne gestured for Eugene to step back in and join him, which his brother did willingly.

"Maybe that not so subtle insult isn't quite what we should be doing against a man with your reputation, but sometimes you just can't help but play with fire, eh Troy?" Said Wayne with that smirk that we'd all come to know and love, "But then you should know all about that, huh?"

"Mr Risk-taker himself. The Daredevil of the ULTRATITLE." Exclaimed Wayne, maybe with a little too much grandeur, "Forgive us for being so bland, but the risks we take tend to be a little more mundane than dangerous driving or possession of hard drugs that could lead to being banged up in a federal pound-me-in-the-ass penitentiary."

"Heh, Office Space." Eugene giggled to himself.

Wayne simply ignored his brother's comments and continued on regardless.

"No, the risks we take are more along the lines of..." Wayne paused to the ponder for a moment, "Fishing in Orgrimmar as a Human Warrior. Seriously, do you have any idea just how dangerous that can be for one's repair bill? But unlike the reckless endangerment of every living soul on I-10, our risks have a payoff greater than mere bragging rights."

Eugene nodded along with his brother's words.

"Eugene here spent over twenty hours one day trying to catch 'Old Crafty', all for just a few achievement points." Said Wayne, he genuinely sounded like he was pleading for donations for clean water in Africa or some other Susan Sarandon led cause. "Can your mind comprehend just how long it can take to even find a safe spot to fish in the opposing faction's main hub? Do you even know how long it takes to run back to your corpse from the graveyard? Do you know how many steps you can get before you're struck down again?"

Wayne wiped his eyes and sniffed as Eugene started solemnly at the floor.

"And then, once that safe haven from the city guards has been found, do you have any idea about the mental anguish one goes through being under constant threat of gang rape from a party of Tauren and Trolls?" Wayne continued, "And it goes without saying that the inevitable happened as some orc jerk came along and camped Eugene's corpse for almost two hours!"

Again, Eugene nodded along in verification of his sibling's tale.

I love reading the thesaurus.

"And why did he keep up the unrelenting assault for such a sustained period of time?" Wayne asked rhetorically, "Because he, the orc, thought he, Eugene, didn't belong there. He only saw Eugene as an Alliance member in the Horde's home, it's not because he posed a threat, it's not because he slaughtered all the NPCs in a three zone radius, no, it was simply because he felt he had no purpose being there."

‘Smack’ went Wayne’s fist as he brought it down into the palm of his other hand in a hammer blow. He snorted in anger and shook his head.

"Needless to say, Eugene rode out the assault until the Orc finally vanished... Did he simply get bored? Did he log out? Did he continue with his dailies? Who knows, all we know for sure is that Eugene completed his goal and earned his achievement." Said Wayne as he patted Eugene on the shoulder, the bigger of the Deweys smiled proudly as he folded his arms and puffed out his chest, "I'm sorry, Troy, a man of your age probably doesn't have the faintest idea of what we've been on about. So, allow me to tell you quickly about something from the real world."

Now was Eugene’s turn to shake his head in disappointment. Not at the fact that his brother had just rambled on about something that may be lost on its intended target... but because it probably would be lost on its intended target. How can anyone not know every minute detail of the world’s most popular game?

"I don't think it's any secret that Eugene had his fair share of bullies back in high school." Said Wayne sympathetically, "And, much like any ginger, freckled, acne ridden, coke bottle lens glasses wearing, nerdy freak across America, Eugene lived in constant fear for four long years of a handful of jocks.”

“Walking into school would be like running the ‘Wipeout Zone’ for poor Eugene.” Wayne said with a slight smile as anyone would have were they to imagine Eugene bouncing across those big red balls, “Except instead of dodging boxing gloves, he was dodging real bare knuckled fists. And instead of winning $50,000 at end of it, he’d be able to buy lunch, provided he made it through to lunch without getting knocked out.”

“He wasn’t successful in avoiding the attacks every day though.” Wayne conceded, “But as the old saying goes, ‘It’s not how many times you get knocked down, it’s how many times you get back up’. And every time Eugene got knocked down, he made sure he was right back in that hallway the next day to show those jerks that they couldn’t break him.”

“That and Mom wouldn’t let me drop out and get a GED...” Eugene added quietly.

“Kind of stepping on my point there, Dude...” Wayne replied equally as quietly.

The brothers stared at each other for a moment in silence.



“The point I was trying to make...” Said Wayne getting this train right back on track, “We can have all the fun and games we want defacing the ULTRATITLE logo, but when we tell a story, every single character is important. I could have told you about how Eugene caught ‘Old Crafty’, then went back to Stormwind and logged out. I could have told you all about how Eugene used to lose his lunch money on the odd occasion, but they’re not accurate retellings of those stories. So whether it’s true or not you can claim Eugene needs me to get pumped for this match, but the fact is, as long as I’m around, he will be pumped. And when he is pumped, it doesn’t matter whether he’s in some fantasy land online or in the real world, Eugene won’t give up, and that’s why he’s in this ULTRATITLE tournament.”

Wayne slapped Eugene on the chest a little harder than he normally would. Probably because he was still annoyed over the point stepping.

“Eugene might spend more time playing games than in the gym, Troy, but who are you to look down your nose on that?” Asked Wayne “Didn’t you spend the majority of your time hoping your opponents would come in unprepared for what you brought to the table?

Research really does tend to pay off.

“All you should be hoping for right now is that your eighteen year career isn’t brought to its knees by a guy that’s been competing for less than eighteen months. Because you, I, Eugene, the fans... everyone in the whole world knows...” Wayne said before pausing for more dramatic effect, “Three seconds under Eugene will leave more than a big red blotch on your stellar career.”

“It’ll damn well kill it.”