Deal Breaker

[TWhitefield]

Fade in to a house show event followng Prime Time in Anaheim. The <> X-Change sits in their locker room, discussing recent events. Eric Wright, still visibly irate over the procedings at Prime Time, paces back and forth talking loud enough for the group to hear him but by and large talking to thin air. Nathan Storm and J. Bishop sit just out of mic range discussing a few things. Tom Adler sits on a hard wooden bench, his back pressed up against the concrete wall. A duffel bag with the glimpse of the CSWA United States Championship belt peeking out of it lays on the floor besides him. Adler sits... thinking... contemplating... more or less oblivious to the goings on of the other members.

Suddenly.... the corners of his mouth begin to twitch upwards. Moments later, a full blown smile forms across his lips. Adler sits a moment longer... then nods a few time in self approval, then reaches down to his bag, grabs the end of the black leather strap of the US Title belt and in one movement hops up, yanking it from the bag and starts toward the door. Eric Wright stops pacing and reacts...

WRIGHT: Where are you going?

Adler either doesn't hear Wrights querry or simply ignores it and walks out the door and procedes down the hallway toward the arena entrance. A techie quickly radios up to the sound booth and tells them Adler's heading out and to cue up his music.

Adler pushes his way through the black curtain seperating the backstage area from the entrance along the CSVision screen just as Revillusion begins to blare out over the house PA system. Adler forgoes his usual survey of the crowd and walks directly to the ring, grabbing a mic from the ring announcer's table as he passes by and then hops up to the apron and climbs through the ropes. A group of <>X loyalists at ringside flash Adler the <>X symbol and he responds in kind before reaching into the pocket of his denim shorts and pulls out a stick of gum... pulling it from the wrapper with his teeth then crumpking up the foil and tossing it to the floor.

Adler: Ya know... one would think that I oughta be upset by what happened at Prime Time. I mean... let's be honest... I got my <bleep> handed to me.

Crowd reacts in a mixture of cheers and boos

Adler: Certainly my cohorts in the back think I oughta be upset. And... I gotta admit... for a while? I was. But then, it occured to me... all things considerd... Prime Time was actually a pretty good day for Tom Adler.

Crowd quiets down in confusion

Ya see.... whether Chad Merritt likes it or not... I did... exactly what I said I was going to do. I walked out.... STIlLL... the CSWA United States Champion.

Crowd boos

Adler: (smiling) Oh... don't get me wrong... I didn't win that match.... I survived it. You don't WIN matches with Mike Randalls. But then... very few people survive them, either.

Which brings me to Chad Merritt. Ya know, Chad.... I really don't get you. I honestly don't. I mean... I know I come out here... week after week... bitch and complain... posture like everyone knows I should for the sake of a sound byte. But, really... in the two years since I've been back here... who have you had LESS trouble with than Tom Adler?

I mean... come on. I didn't come out here... playing on my legend status... demanding one title shot after another. I didn't come out here... run over the same tired old gripes we've had for eons... threaten to tear this place down... brick by brick... and make a mockery of everything this place supposedly stood for.

And I didn't no show for a pay per view main event because I was too busy throwing some vicadin induced pitty party.

No, Chad... I haven't done any of that. All I've really done around here... is what I've ALWAYS done... win matches.

And you... and Buckley.... and all the people out there who don't like me can talk about how I did this or that all you want. But, each and every one of you know that I didn't do a damn thing that the people I faced didn't do in response.

Nobody had a problem with Ivy taking groin shots or Cameron Cruise nailing me with a chair... but yet, somehow... I'm the bad guy around here for being BETTER at it than anybody else.

Whatever. I've been booed before.... I'll be booed again. I didn't wrestle in the AAWC for fan approval.... I don't need it anywhere else either.

Now... a while back... I came out here and asked you, Chad... who you really thought was best suited to lead this company through it's down period.

And, I've gotta hand it to ya... you've done your best to prove it. I mean... Mike Randalls? That HAD to make every bone in your body cringe.

Well, what did it get you, Chad? I've still got the title... and your hired assassin now hates you as much as he does me.

In short... you've got nothing. Nothing... that is... except luck.

Luck in the form of a man who realized you for the pathetic waste of his time you are long ago and stopped caring about revenge for days gone by. There are others around here... with big pumped up arms... who can run that gimmick into the ground. I don't need one.

As bitter as I OUGHT to be over Prime Time... I'm not. In fact... I'm pretty damn happy it happened. And, there are two reasons why.

The first? Because I realized sometime during the last couple of days that a lot of what Mike Randalls said... while largely intelligible... was right. About me, anyway.

I HAVE been taking the easy way out of things around here. And, I don't mean in the matches I've been wrestling... but in the ones I haven't.

There are a few people around here that I OUGHT to be dealing with... and haven't. That's about to change.

The other reason? Because I beat you, Chad. You have done everything on earth you can think of to get rid of me... to take what I've got away from me... and then you did the unthinkable. You went to the devil himself... in hopes he could destroy an arc angel.

Well, Chad... the way I see it... Prime Time pretty much makes you a three time loser. I kept the belt... your pact with the devil fell through...

Adler pauses for a moment.... and smiles....

And one other little thing. Something that.. I don't know... maybe in your haste... didn't consider... or maybe you were so certain that Randalls would end my career that it wouldn't matter... but you, my friend? You broke the deal.

Ya see... I've made no bones about the fact that you and I had a little conversation after Steve Thomas brought me back in here. One that said that you and I could co-exist in this company as long as I forgot any notions I had about getting in the ring with certain individuals.

Remember that conversation, Chad? Well, I upheld my end of that bargain. I left Hornet alone. I left him alone when he took shots at me during a match. I left him alone when he threw this title in the trash for his own personal demons. I left him alone when he caused the whole issue between me and Shane Southern to begin with.

But Chad... maybe your memory is short... but trust me... mine isn't. There were two names on that list... that you said I would NEVER wrestle as long as I was here. The other? Was Mike Randalls.

I upheld my end of the agreement. You didn't. Well, Chad... whatever hold you may have had over me? It's over. The cuffs are off.

And anybody who thought they didn't like me BEFORE Prime Time? You're gonna f<bleep>in HATE me now!

Adler drops the mic as Revillusion by Tantric cues up over the PA system again. Adler flashes the <>X sysmbol over his head again and hops out of the ring and heads back up the ramp

 

[Chad]

(Hornet's standing in the ring at a houseshow in Sacramento. He's dressed in a white oxford and khakis, minus any facepaint.)

You know, folks, I return from a month long 'vacation,' and all of sudden, the US Champion's calling me out. What's a painkiller addict to do?

In recent months, Adler's had two shots at the World Title, both coming up short. In fact, he talks about me throwing a shot away... but fails to mention that he decided to handcuff Marky Mark to a limousine in attempt to soften him up, apparently.

And then we hear about the woes of dealing with Chad Merritt. Hell, I think I've done the 'woe is me' speech enough in the recent past that you guys are tired of it, right? (Crowd responds)

Tommyboy, if you want me to step in the ring against you for old times' sake, all you have to do is ask. I'm not worth enough to Merritt right now to merit any 'protection.' In fact, I'm not sure I ever was.

You're the US Champ, Tom. The first title I ever held here in the CSWA, and one that's near and dear to my heart. If you don't feel like you're up to the task of defending the title, I'll be happy to take that burden off your shoulders. On the other hand, if you're just worried that Merritt's gonna keep throwing guys like Randalls at you, and you think I'm going to be an easy target, then that's fine too.

I may have taken too many painkillers, Tom, but that doesn't mean the brain cells are dead. I know you see me as an easy mark right now. Emotionally weak, physically drained, right?

I'm no devil, and I'm certainly not an archangel. I guess that leaves me to be just a normal man. I know that being mortal is a sin in your book, Tom, but it's the hand some of us have been dealt.

To quote Popeye, "I am what I am." I know that I'm a 36 year old recovering addict. I know that I'm a step slower than I once was, that I can't bench the weight I used to. I know that I've made, and paid for, a lot of mistakes in my life.

I'm also the one man who holds more wins and more accolades in this business than you do, Tom. And I'm the man that's got your number.

 

[TWhitefield]

First of all, Hornet, I didn't call you out. But, since I'm sure you'd just taken your bi-hourly fix you were probably too warped to know it.

The statement I made was simple. And if you can keep off the script for a few minutes, you'll understand it.

Merritt let me in this federation only so long as I agreed to let him protect a select few individuals. Namely you and Randalls.

You may not think you're worth protecting... but you've been protected none the less. You're STILL being protected.

Come on, Hornet... you think if ANYBODY else in this company had pulled the bull<bleep> that you've pulled for the last six months that they would just get a shrug and a pat on the back from Merritt like you did?

If you wanna insult the fans intelligence, go right ahead. But don't insult mine. While you're at it, don't insult my memory, either. Before you criticize me for how I dealt with Windham, you MIGHT wanna remember that the LAST time that little stunt was pulled, you were neck deep in it.

Oh... and for the record? Merritt ordered the rematch... I didn't request it. But, I'm sure you were too busy rocking back in forth in the waiting room of CVS to be around for that one.

In any case, none of that is here nor there, is it.

You're right... I AM the United States Champion. And make no mistake... I am MORE than up to defending it. And that's exactly what I intend to do.

Oh, I'll admit it... I actually considered resigning as champion. But then, that would just be giving Merritt what he wants, wouldn't it.

So, no... I don't plan on giving it up any time soon.

Now, as for you and Randalls. For the last two years, you two have been coming and going as you please... <bleeping> on not only the fans of this organization but every single worker in the back who have been subjected to Merritt's whims and run in circles while you two get whatever you want.

Well, sorry, but I'm through playing that game.

So, no, I don't have any desire to offer title shots to either of ya.

But, if you think that means I'm afraid of ya... you've taken more of those pills than you think.

No, my grease faced friend... you can have a match any time your blood thinned heart wants. But, as far as I'm concerned, you tossed out any claim to my or any other title.

So, don't come looking to me for any favors. If you want a shot, I'm sure your buddy Chad will be more than happy to throw a cloak over your head and grant you one. He seems to be pretty good at that.

But... you... Mike... and I? Let's be realistic.... this thing has never been about titles with us. You don't need another title any more than I need to beat you for one.

Mike and I didn't beat each other from one end of New Orleans... powerbombing each other off of yugos and using soup spoons for things man never intended because we needed another accolade attatched to our names. We did it because it needed to be done.

For the love of the game. That's how Mike wanted it, isn't it?

You have my number? Bring it. Let's see if it adds up. But do me, the purists... and yourselves one little favor. Leave whatever you and Randalls are on in the medicine cabinet where it belongs.

I know my limitations. I know just how mortal I am. The question is... do you?