Hell has frozen over.
Fade in to the interior shot of a fully furnished, lavish hotel room in downtown London. There is a commotion, people are hustling and bustling all about the room, every person in disarray. A nurse comes flying through the shot, and at that point, the cameraman decides to follow her. We enter a room where Eric Davis lays on a large bed, an oxygen mask over his face, breathing heavily. He attempts to rip his mask off on multiple occasions, but the nurse keeps putting it back on. He gasps for breath, pausing every now and then to speak. His eyes are wide open, looking for an explanation from someone.
Nurse: Eric! Eric, calm down! Please, you need to be still!
Davis: [Gasp.] Wha... this... [Gasp.] Holy mother of God.
Nurse: What is it Eric... what the hell are you trying to say... what caused this?
Davis: [Gasp.] They...[Gasp.]
Nurse: They did WHAT, Eric?
Davis: [Gasp.] ... booked me in a match... [Gasp] against HELLFIGHTER.
The nurse stops what she's doing and looks at Eric with a "what the f*ck is wrong with you" kind of stare.
Nurse: You're such a prick. (Yelling to her fellow workers.) Pack it up... he's just a d*ck.
The expression on Eric's face turns to sorrow as he watches the attendants leave his bedside. He looks on until the door closes behind the last nurse, leaving only Eric and the concierge in the room. Davis looks over to him with a desperate stare.
Davis: I'm ruined. I'm freaking ruined.
Concierge: Sir, are you really that frightened to face this man in the ring?
Davis: You... [still slightly gasping for air.]... have no idea. The thought of having to carry a match with THIS retard in it just gave me a near heart attack. I'm all Terry Anderson up in this piece... and those damn nurses won't even take me seriously.
Concierge: Sir, it can't be that bad.
Davis: Can't be that bad??? CAN'T BE THAT BAD!?!?!? [Cough 2x] The man claimed to be baptized with unholy powerz!! I'm going to cry... this is quite possibly the saddest day of my life. I am seriously contemplating a walk off that balcony over there... this can't be freakin' happening. I went from DAN FREAKING RYAN... TO MICHAEL ... PATRICK... SCHUTT!!!! Get me the phone!
The concierge promptly fetches the nearest cordless telephone and hands it to Davis. He punches in a few numbers, then waits. He speaks into the receiver with conviction.
Davis: Dupree! What... the bloody... HELL?
Davis: Don't get upset??? Don't get upset?!?!
Davis: What the hell do you mean he's booked???
Davis: Wait... so you're telling me... I get Schuttface... and he gets Mark freakin' Windham???
Davis: Of all the (beep)ing people Chad... you just had to pick this one... didn't you? What heinous act did I ever do to you to deserve such a horrible fate?? I may pride myself on being the man who can carry the show... but this weight is unfreaking bearable! Why don't we just bring the gallows down to ringside for a live hanging while we're at it??? That's what this is Chad... it's career freaking suicide!!
Eric slams the phone down in disgust. He looks throws it out the window, straight over the balcony to the street below. The concierge looks on with a concerned yet frightened stare.
Davis: Sands gets Rabesque. DreamMaker gets Cross. What the hell does Eric Davis, number one ratings grabber and GXW savior get? A swift kick in the ass and a match with an oversized, mongoloid jesus freak!!! This was supposed to be a dream card! This was supposed to be my time to shine in front of the world! This is simply unreal... this can't be happening. This is all one big nightmare or something... it has to be.
Eric's gaze snaps to the balcony, then he immediately jumps ouf of his bed. The concierge tries to stop him, but to no avail.
Concierge: Mr. Davis... it's not wise to be moving about like you are right now... you need to relax.
Davis continues out to the balcony, where the cameraman is soon to follow.
Concierge: What are you doing, Mr. Davis?
Davis: I'm looking at the sky, dip(beep), what does it look like?
Concierge: May I ask why, sir?
Davis: I made a promise to a couple of the boys in the back once...
Concierge: What might that have been, sir?
Davis: Told them the day they saw Eric Davis step into the ring with Hellfighter would be the day pigs could fly. You stay here... you see any airborne swine you be sure to yell.
The concierge gives a confused look, and almost makes an effort to stop Davis from going back into the room, but decides against it. He simply fixes his suit and waits on the balcony as instructed. The camera, however, follows Eric back inside. Davis paces back and forth in front of his bed.
Davis: Oh this just isn't good... this just isn't good. Schutt, I don't even know if you're worthy of me speaking a single word about you... but for some reason I feel compelled to set things straight.
The panicking Davis paces faster as the seconds roll by, scratching his head, looking for some sort of answer to it all.
Davis: You... are a loser. ME? I'm a freakin' winner, baby! I do what I want, when I want, and it's all because I've earned the right to! I've earned my place in this business Schutthead... I've earned my right not to face no talent pieces of monkey crap such as yourself. I've worked too damn hard... for too damn long... to come all this way, and be reduced to THIS!
Davis continues to scratch his head, pondering a little more. His thoughts are obviously sporadic at this point.
Davis: But I... I guess I COULD use this opportunity to devastatingly humiliate you in front of the globe, in front of your peers. I'm sorry... MY peers. This could work out bible-b*tch. I COULD turn Battleground into the Hellfighter fairwell show... and quite possibly make it the most popular wrestling event of all time!!!
Davis starts grinning ear to ear. He regains his composure and relaxes slightly. He breathes a sigh of relief.
Davis: Ahhh... that's what I'll do. You know... it's really going to be ok after all, Michael. I'm going to run all over your ass, end your career, and quite possibly become the most well known and adored man in all of sports entertainment. Who could resist loving me after that one? I get rid of you, and the world owes me the largest debt of gratitude since the United States joined the war in 42! God... I'm a genius... there's no damn doubt about it.
Davis flops back onto his bed, hanging his arms out to the side. He is completely calm and relaxed, a far cry from what we saw at the beginning of the tape.
Davis: But don't get the wrong ideas schutteater, YOU'RE a flaming douchebag, and you always will be. Even the greatest match with me couldn't possibly save YOUR career. Yeah... you know those fans who were chantin your name a few weeks ago? I heard it was field trip day for the special olympics and they just so happened to pick that very arena for an outing. But hey Mikey... you can always say you've got SOME fan base, right?
Eric reaches over and grabs a bottle of Crystal which sits opened on his nightstand. He drinks straight from the bottle, swigging it as if it was water.
Davis: Oh, we'll meet at Millennium stadium, Hellfighter, and for one night you just might be considered non-jobber quality... but don't get your hopes up. Because quite frankly Patty, you're simply NOT phenomenal, and you most certainly DO suck. Peace.
As the camera starts to fade out, Davis sits up and holds a hand up to stop the process. He says a few more words...
Davis: Oh and Mikey, don't even bother feeding me that "you need the word of God" horse(beep) either, because I'll just wipe my ass with it as if it was a roll of Charmin. Be prepared for the end, bible-thumper.
Fade to black.