Generic promo
::FADEIN on the rickety, sagging ring at the Basham-Schultz Wrestling Academy. ”The Wolf” Chris McMillan sits perched on the top turnbuckle, attired as usual in jeans, harness boots, and a tattered Dogs of War t-shirt. McMillan smiles, a twinkle in his eye as he looks into the camera::
THE WOLF: That’s me, all right. Boring, generic Chris McMillan. And at Raucous, we’re going to step into a boring, generic wrestling ring. We’re going to have a generic catch-as-catch-can wrestling match. And I’m going to score a generic pinfall.
THE WOLF: I can see that you’re disappointed in stepping into the ring with me. After all, you’re forced to elevate me to your level, right? You’re gonna have to carry someone who doesn’t have an EIGHTH of your talent, right? I suppose that you’ve completely managed to overlook the fact that you’re wrestling this match because you LOST last week. Oh, that’s right. If you were exactly what you say you are, you wouldn’t be entered into the sudden death tourney for the company’s number two title. But you are, aren’t you? That tells me that you’re just a big, fat loser like the rest of us.
THE WOLF: I get a kick out of guys like you. The guys that project all their own faults on to everyone else, conveniently forgetting the fact that they’re just as rife with flaws as the rest of us. How you manage to rationalize yourself to yourself is beyond me. Personally, I know what’s wrong with me, and I make a conscious effort to recognize and overcome my flaws. You, on the other hand, don’t seem to have any flaws. I mean, elevating me up to your level, bringing me into your shadow … those are noble and gracious things for a man such as yourself to do, right? But I’d hate for you to soil yourself with the like of me. Why don’t you just stay on your level, I’ll stay on mine, and we’ll see who’s REALLY on top.
::McMillan hops off of the turnbuckle and stalks to the center of the ring::
THE WOLF: So this is the American … a pompous, inflated windbag who’s too good for the likes of the common man, eh? A man who continues to boast of his greatness, his superiority while totally putting aside the fact that it was failure that got him here in the first place. How do you live with yourself? If I were you, I’d have tried to chew out my own throat years ago. Since you’ve yet to put yourself out of your misery, though, I’ve got to figure that you’ve managed to delude yourself into thinking that you’re something special. Someone special. One of these days, though, once you’ve finally realized that you’re nothing more or less than the rest of us, what will you do?
THE WOLF: You don’t know, do you? After all, it’s something you’ve never considered. Something you’ve never had to consider. Something you’ve never even considered considering. Yet there you sit, cowering behind a wall of empty words, dumb spite, and pseudo-intellectualism. You’re protected from the real world by your smug self-righteousness that is almost impossible to penetrate. I’ll do my best to bring that wall down, though. Where I can’t use the sledgehammer of cold reason, I’ll use the wrecking ball of simple physical pain. When you’re lying there on the mat, stripped bare and vulnerable for the first time, you’ll know what I’m saying. Then, as you said, when you’re lying on the floor the logic of the situation confronts you, you’ll see that all I did was force you to face yourself. That is the state of the American, and what must be done will be done. My will be done.
::FADE TO BLACK::