FADE IN...
Bryan Storms, dressed to the nines in his standard designer slacks, blue pinstriped shirt and blue tinted sunglasses sits in a leather armchair on a TEAM interview set. He stretches out, then pulls his glasses off an sticks them on a coffee table standing next to him.
BS: Another day, another dork.
Story of my life, kiddies. Story of my life.
I sent Shawn Hart's kid sister packing in the most gentlemanly way possible, and now, because TEH SUPERSTAR~! realized he couldn't hang in the ring with an acne-ridden 14-year old unless he got on the gas and the man who was Too Hot for TEAM got a little hot and bothered because he realized that a win meant he'd have to face off with Your New Favorite Wrestler, I'm stuck with the goof who managed to outlast 11 other meaningless never-will-be's.
I'm stuck with one more sacrificial lamb that I get to drop to the canvas and send on his way.
Showtyme, this one's going out to you.
You had a good night against a guy with the reputation for being the biggest choker this side of the Chicago Cubs, and you still couldn't finish the job. And then, because Jess Chapel loves a good human-interest story, he threw your and 11 other mindless goofs into a BATTEL ROYALE~! just to see who gets the privilege of laying down at my feet next.
Good for you, skippy. You beat the largest collection of geeks, retards and brainless jackanapes not located in the state of Mississippi.
What a friggin accomplishment. Want a cookie?
And, by the way, let's not forget that you couldn't even win against THAT group of nerds in any kind of convincing fashion. In fact, if you're asking me, I think your foot hit the mat at the exact same time as "Evil James" and that Chapel should've just moved on, dismissed the entire mongrel horde in that match, including yourself, and allowed me to take a nice, little vacation as I awaited whatever geek managed to stumble into the Sweet Sixteen.
But, I think I might be a tiny bit biased in this instance, so I'll take the situation as is and prove to you, just like I proved to little Felicia, that there's not a wrestler on the planet today as good as I am.
You're little Cinderella story, it's destined to come to an end, Showtyme.
You will not -- and I am guaranteeing this in front of the entire planet -- be able to get your Hollywood ending. Sad as it is for you, you're not going to be Jim Braddock stunning Max Baer.
You won't be the US hockey team against the Soviets, you won't be Jimmy Chitwood.
If it's any ending, it'll be good ol' Rocky I. The upstart challenger goes against the flashy champion, and in the end, the new kid on the block just ain't good enough. And this time, there won't be a sequel, and you will not go the distance.
I don't care if you fancy yourself a legend or an icon in whatever backwoods junior high in some Appalachian goat-farming commune you're used to wrestling in, I don't care if you think you're the star of the show, the man too big for this tournament.
You were a loser in round one, and you're going to be a loser in round two. No changes to the script, no last minute notes.
You get left on the cutting room floor, forgotten like the one-half of a hit wonder that you were in the 2008 TEAM Invitational.
In this, the -- y'know --- CIVILIZED part of the wrestling world, you'll quickly learn that I am the one true superstar, Showtyme. Like it or not, nobody out there really gives a damn who you are or where you'll be a week from Sunday.
But, when people hear the name Bryan Storms, they come flocking like moths to the flame. I'm the guy who draws the big money around here, Showtyme.
You're the guy making the one-shot cameo that'll be forgotten in five seconds. But, hey, maybe it'll be enough to get you that SAG card, maybe get a little work down the road in some upstart, fledgling company in Bozeman or Bothell.
Me? I'm the headline attraction, the Oscar winner and the box office sensation. And I've got my Merritt Trophy acceptance speech ready. All that's left is to put five more geeks into their rightful place.
You just happen to be next on that list. I'll check you off and go on my path to destiny. You? You'll be forgotten in five minutes and no one, not one person, will ever care who you were or what you did.
You'll just be a teeny, tiny little footnote in my autobiography.
Here's an exceprt...
Chapter 16: The 2008 Merritt Trophy.
"In the first round, I waltzed past Felicia Hart so fast they tried to put me on Dancing with the Stars.
"The second round? Ehhhhh...
"I beat some jackass. Can't seem to put my finger on his name right now.
"Oh well. If he were important, I'm sure someone would remember. Anyway..."
And, scene. Sucks to be you, Showboat.
Cut. Print. That's a friggin wrap.
...FADE OUT
