RELOADED 13: JONES BEACH, NY

[jediPREZ]

RP DEADLINE: 9/12/12 11:59:59 Astral Standard Time
VENUE: Jones Beach Ampitheatre
IN-STORY SHOW DATE: 9/4/12
PREZ NOTE: This lineup has been announced between Nights 1 and 2 of BRAWLAPALOOZA -- so, feel free to start that way thematically if you so choose... There will also be a BRAWL 55 beforehand (TBA after 54 is posted) for anyone wanting setup activity. ALL RP SHOULD GO IN THIS THREAD!

ESEN TELEVISION AND NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING PRESENTS:
RELOADED 13
LIVE FROM JONES BEACH, NEW YORK

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

MAIN EVENT (no commercial interruptions!)
SUMMER GRUDGE SERIES #2: "THE CHALLENGE"
2/3 Falls/CAREERS on the line - NO DQs, NO HOLDS BARRED
TROY WINDHAM vs. MIKE RANDALLS

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE SHOT AT STAKE
Stairway to Hell LADDER match - The games begin after the RAZORWIRE is reached!
ERIC DANE / IMPULSE / BLAINE HOLLYWOOD / LEGION / ROOK BLACK
Special PBP Announcer: CASTOR STRIFE (c)

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

BEST OF 5 KICKOFF
TV CHAMPIONSHIP
Stipulation - TBD that night!
JACK BRYANT (c) vs. DORCHESTER STRATTON

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

HANGING FROM HEAVEN
Cameron Cruise suspended from a cage - His =W= contract at stake!
BOBBY JACK WINDHAM vs. DEACON

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

'Clan Destiny' HANG 'EM HIGH SPECIAL!
EDDIE MAYFIELD vs. PETER WINDHAM

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

HOLLYWOOD's ON FIRE...with LEGION?

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

CAN SOMEONE CATCH THE KOCHI CANNIBAL?

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Card subject to change
aka if you have anything to add - HOLLA!​

 

[LQJT86C]

(FADEIN: SHIRLEY-MASTIC, LONG ISLAND - a young white man in oversized winter clothes trots over a dead-yellow suburban front lawn, and stops at the doorstep of a house with peeled blue paint. He knocks on the screen door; no answer. He opens the screen door, knocks on the inside one, and steps back out so as not to intrude. The weather is 80 degrees, but the humidity is oppressive and it feels like 90. After a few seconds, a disheveled PETER WINDHAM answers the door in a Chris Webber Golden State jersey)

YOUTH: "Hi...I live like, across the street from you. Do you have a spoon I could borrow?"

PW: (scratching head) "A spoon?"

YOUTH: "Yeah, it's for ice cream."

PW: "...hold on, lemme see."

(The young man waits a minute longer on the doorstep. All is quiet save for birds and the X-Men animated series theme song playing in the background from Peter's Xbox NetFlix account. Peter comes back, spoon in hand)

PW: "Here you go!" (hands the kid a plastic spoon)

YOUTH: "Uh...it needs to be, uh, metal."

PW: "I've seen you before. You work at Pathmark, right?"

YOUTH: "No I'm just up there a lot. (scratches arm) Are you sure you don't have another spoon?"

(Peter notices the camera)

PW: "Hey, is that the NFW film crew? FUCK, promo time Pete! (pushes young man aside) Alright dude, get off my property, time for me to work."

(Dejected young man walks away, over the lawn and not the driveway)

PW: "Well dudes, what do you think? (outstretches arms) I finally made it: bought myself a little home here in Mastic! It's like a white trash block party 24/7...sort of. Or maybe it's white knuckle Disneyland. I dunno. Whatever. Anyway, you can't get property like this near the ocean anymore for less than $500k. Thankfully, the crime level is high enough that the home values dropped to the floor. LOVIN' IT."

"Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about...my match. EDDIE MAYFIELD versus PETER WINDHAM. Two legends of the sport, finally meeting after years of anticipation. At Reloaded 13, Eddie, we're going to answer the question for the fans who wondered for years: 'Who would win?' So in the spirit of competition, you have my WORD, Eddie, that nobody is going to interfere on my behalf and taint the result of our contest. I think we can both agree, we need to keep this thing pure."

"That said, there's no TELLING the injuries you'll sustain at my hands! See I have a long memory...and I remember being on the couch, kept off the camera and out of the industry when you took over NFW in 2007. And did you think to do the smart thing by going the money route and bringing in Troy Windham's best friend? NO. You let your ego get in the way, and you did nothing while I collected public funds! True, you actually brought me in during 2008, but still, where the fuck were you in 2007?"

"This is your problem, Eddie Mayfield - you're too thick-headed to admit that there are OTHER PEOPLE BESIDES YOU WHO CAN DRAW MONEY! All these years, you denied the fans the chance to see Problem Child vs. Mayfield, just because you want to be the ONLY GUY making money around here!"

"There was one man who didn't mind having another star on the team. A man who knew that the sum of parts was greater than the equal value...or something. This man...was Troy Windham. And that's why I am PROUD to say I am legally a Windham, because I only align myself with unselfish people!"

"This all reminds me: I was on webcam last night, doing chat roulette. So I'm sitting there, hitting 'Next' on all the Arab dudes with their dicks out in hopes of finding the one girl I can whip out to and jack it like a spider monkey before she Nexts me, and as bad of a situation as I thought the sea of brown cocks were, you know what happened at that moment? I came across a dude...who was letting his dog lick peanut butter off his dick."

"Now that's fucking sick!"

"But it has me thinking: that's what you are Eddie. You're some sick ass dude, making NFW lick peanut butter off your dick, all because you CAN, and you think there's somebody out there enjoying it. And you know what? Maybe there is. Maybe some other sick fuck wants to see your dog do that. But there are also people who want to see me flex the Euro grip at 50 knuckle pumps per minute...why can't we service them as well?"

"Due to the selfless influence of Troy Windham, who didn't care for a second that a PW/Mayfield superfight might take the luster off his BIGGEST MATCH OF ALL TIME with Mike Randalls, the fans will now get a variety of entertainment, not just THE EDDIE MAYFIELD SHOW."

"For once in your career, you're going to share the spotlight with somebody who might outshine you. Can you handle that?? I don't think you can!"

"And what are YOU going to do about it, Eddie, when the dog who would normally eat peanut butter off you, mostly because you're his master and fuck it he's hungry, then turns and realizes that PETER WINDHAM IS RIGHT THERE NEXT TO YOU, with peanut butter, Alpo, Beggin' Strips, and teriyaki sauce just pasted haphazardly all over MY SHIT...huh?"

"NFW, the fans, the entire world...now has another brand of peanut butter to choose from. So now the question becomes: what breaks harder? Your ego, or your ribcage when I throw the mother of Tae Kwon Do spinkicks at your midsection?"

"Don't look now Eddie: I GOT IT CHAMBERED!"

(FADEOUT)

 

[Rook Black]

WELL. NOW.

ROOK: "It brings a smile to my face."

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK stretching lazily as he stands among the wreckage and filth leftover from the BRAWLAPALOOZA FAN EXPO.)

ROOK: "Does it appear to be a sudden insight? A message whispered in my ear from a crack in the earth? Prophecy? Augury?"

(ROOK smirks.)

ROOK: "No, it's nothing so ridiculous. It's the writing on the wall, clear enough for anybody to see as long as they open their eyes and look."

ROOK (tasting each syllable as he enunciates): "Inevitability."

ROOK: "But it's a distinguished trifecta of good omens for the Triple Crown Championship, of which I will list as follows:"

ROOK: "One, the perfect opportunity to finally get to punish Eric Dane for crimes against NFW."

ROOK: "It's absolutely perfect because Eric can't decline. I said he wasn't relevant, he said he is, and now his chance to remain in running for the NFW World Heavyweight Championship is contingent on making an actual appearance in the same ring as me. If he doesn't show, he'll have proven me right, and his time in NFW is basically over. If he does show, I get to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. It's a happy condition to find yourself in, this place where I'm standing right now, when either of two choices that your opponent must make are satisfactory outcomes."

ROOK: "Two, it's a significantly helpful shot towards achieving a singular feat, a step towards carving out my legacy here. To hold the Triple Crown Championship in addition to the NFW World Heavyweight Championship? I think I'd like that. Carrying around several belts at the same time might look like it's cumbersome, but I insist that it's not. The more you have, the lighter they feel, as if you're about to lift off at any moment, buoyed by the sheer hubris of it all no matter how hard you try to remain mindful. A weaker mind could find itself addicted to the idea of starting a collection."

ROOK: "But that's not me. And it's not how I operate. The opportunity to fight for this shot alone defies those who thought that I could be relegated to a single category of matches and defenses, that I could be evaded indefinitely. This opportunity demonstrates that I am a undeniably a threatening presence to anyone's plans for their own greatness. Rook Black is now your problem regardless of your affiliation or position or stance or plans. And best of all, I get to prove this. This match will lay down the rails, it will establish the destination of this particular train, an engine of patience and cunning and ruthlessness, piloted by a mind that will achieve its ends by any means necessary."

ROOK: "Three."

(ROOK smiles.)

ROOK: "A match with four other opponents, a spool of razorwire on a hook that's been weaponized, and no finishes until after the weapon is put into play."

(ROOK looks off into the distance, a bites his lower lip.)

ROOK (clapping his hands together): "I don't know about y'all, but it looks like just the kind of thing I can get excited about. A match along the lines of those that I happen to excel in. A scenario that will test the participants conditioning, cunning, and strength of will. An event of blood, violence, and acts of merciless opportunism at every turn."

ROOK: "I suggest that everybody start familiarizing themselves with proper handling of sharp materials. I suggest everyone begin considering which of their extremities they need to protect the most."

ROOK: "And finally, I suggest we review a classic NFW Show, Midnight Madness II, July 30th, 2005, at the Frontier Days Arena in Cheyenne, Wyoming."

(ROOK winks before turning and walking away from the camera.)

(FTB)

 

[Legion]

For My Demons

So they’ve let the five of us out of our cages? How wonderful…

We fade in to Legion sitting on the floor of an abandoned building, the other thing visible is a collage on a wall in the background of Rook, Eric Dane, Impulse and Blaine Hollywood. Legion’s wearing a t-shirt with the logo to the Swedish black metal band Shining on the front, his hair unkempt while his eyes have darker circles underneath than what we saw at Brawl. The grin on his face as the camera focuses on him seems slightly unhinged, another indication that even though he claims to be moving on the wounds Luci and Stalker left behind linger on.

Legion: Reloaded 13, a night that will forever change the landscape of not only New Frontier Wrestling but quite possibly this world as we know it. A night where two legends fight each other to risk it ALL as whoever loses must forfeit their career but also the chance for five others including yours truly to get the shot at the crown of NFW – the World Heavyweight Championship. This however is not the only thing I have to contend myself with.
Lamont Hollywood has been notified of my intention for earlier in the night and given the reveal at the 2[SUP]nd[/SUP] night of the Everette Memorial Tag Champion tournament my wish has been granted so I shall say this only once: Do the right thing Lamont or face the consequences, it also makes me wonder that that night may end up with you and your son side by side in the same hospital if things aren’t followed exactly the right way.

When it comes to Stairway To Hell my next concern comes to Rook Black – Rook, my friend we’ve got to stop meeting like this, let’s be fair you managed to see a TASTE of what I’m capable of when last we fought and for the record you of all people know I’ve studied your skill with barbed wire, I bought the infamous match with Steve Christ and we’ve also played with barbed wire at Wrestlestock II – if it wasn’t for that Uber Judge character deciding to drop the gavel things may have turned out very differently indeed.

Impulse – you’ve moved on from business with JJ by simply choosing to ignore it, I would advise that even though we’ve got on well in the past not to do the same with me particularly given the stakes of this match. I remember when you first came to NFW and proclaimed that the Messenger was not important, I believe that in order for my message to get across that the opposite reigns supreme, nevertheless I do wish you the best of luck – just watch what I’ve done with barbed wire similar to what Rook advised you on for him..

Finally we come to Eric Dane – the man that had to manipulate contracts to get his first crack at the gold. This time you’ve got to go through HELL to gain a second and I don’t think anyone else in that ring are going to let you gain it that easily as we watch the self proclaimed Only Star fall down into flames..

Until the time is right I await you all but remember these words from the band Katatonia’s for My Demons…

You would never sleep at night
If you knew what I've been through
And this thought is all I have
To trust upon when light is gone

 

[GreggG]

(CUT TO: Main Beach, East Hampton, NY. The camera captures a shot of the Atlantic Ocean at dusk -- the horizon is a mixture of red and blue. The camera pans to the right and shows VERONICA ABRAMS RUMSFELD with her slanted brown wicker hat wearing a blue-hued 'Gottex Goddess' designer bathing suit. Next to her, with a devilish grin on his face, is DORCHESTER STRATTON, shirtless, save for his red/white print Orlebar Brown swim trunks. The two of them stand at the edge of the water.)

RUMSFELD: "There are many things in life that are delicious. The lobster fricasse at Pierre's. A nice glass of a red Bordeaux wine at The American. Those are just two things here in the Hamptons that are delicious that very few people can enjoy. But there's one thing that only I can enjoy here in the Hamptons. That's staying in my auntie's oceanfront villa... and watching Dorchester Stratton destroy two so-called legends all at once over and over again... and having sex for hours and hours."

(Dorchester laughs as she puts her hands on his back and rubs his muscles.)

DORCHESTER: "Complacency. That's a word many people ADHERE to. That's why I was raised by my uncle who was a plumber -- a man complacent enough to spend his worthless life putting a snake down the drain of some sh*t-filled toilet. That's why most of you people whine and cry about your credit card bills and the used car you have sitting on your front lawn. Complacency is not a word one would usually associate with yours truly -- a man who came from dirt and now.." (Dorchester breaths in the ocean air as Rumsfeld laughs.) "Now I'm here in the Hamptons, my feet dipped in the water with another body part about to get dipped in something wet later." (She laughs hysterically at that.) "But I have grown complacent. I was hailed as the most ruthless, cunning and cutthroat wrestling New Frontier Wrestling had ever seen, in my callous acts to climb to the top. But then I started to take advice from Calvin Carlton. Calvin is a smart man. He is a powerful man. And he is a wealthy man. But he is not a man who knows when and how... to make a move. I was put on his 'Do Not Call' list because my teammates let me down in that match where the Windham Clan -- and we'll get to them -- took control of this league. Title shots that should have been GIFTED to me weren't even considered. And that's because of Calvin's pettiness."

RUMSFELD: "Tsk, tsk."

DORCHESTER: "I grew complacent under your charge, Calvin. I did as I was told and look at what happened. The man who destroyed so many lives and careers... saw his own, stalled. But the final breaking point, Cal, was when you tried to recruit over me with Jack Bryant. When you tried to bring him into the fold. Well, if your intention was to use that as nothing more than a wake-up call... well, you made me see that I had to take measures into my own hands." (Rumsfeld shakes her head.) "Jack Bryant, I owe you a major debt of gratitude. When we first crossed paths, I didn't want anything to do with you. You own the NFW TV Title -- a belt that, quite frankly, I believed at the time to be beneath me. But when I saw my spot jeopardized because of you... when you all of a sudden became labelled as the BUZZSAW -- the man that will stop for nothing or no one -- and when Calvin Carlton tried to throw me out and pull you in... well, my man, that's when I knew I had to change my ways. That's when I knew... I knew I had to go into that dark place I've warned you and so many others about... and stop being COMPLACENT."

(The breeze almost blows Veronica's hat off.)

DORCHESTER: "I'm glad the ribs have made a bit of a recovery, Jack. How many centimeters was it from your lungs being punctured after I damn near drove a car through your body? How many hours was it before the swelling went down before the doctors determined that -- PHEW-- you wouldn't need emergency surgery to refix some torn organs? I'm glad you're almost fully healed up. Because, Jack, you have something I don't want. You have something I NEED. YOU HAVE SOMETHING I REQUIRE TO LIVE. You have... the NFW TV Title. It's not the World Title -- and rest assured, I will have that some day. But when I beat you in our series of matches... when I defeat you... that means, Jack, there will be NO DOUBT as to who I am. There will be NO DOUBT that Dorchester Stratton IS THE MOST RUTHLESS, CUNNING *SSHOLE IN PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING TODAY! The buzzsaw that can't be stopped, Jack? It's not you. It's ME."

(Rumsfeld laughs again.)

DORCHESTER: "Jack, I started to get my feet wet again after I came oh-so-close to ending your life. But that was just a taste. That was just a SAMPLING of what I wanted. Oh, I wanted into that tag tournament so desperately once I found out you were tagging with Malik. Ohhhh, I wanted to face off against you so badly. But then when I saw the draw... and then when Veronica got a very interesting phone call... I knew that crushing you was going to have to wait... because you're just one part of my ascent to the pinnacle of this industry."

(Rumsfeld's clasps her hands together.)

RUMSFELD: "We called Calvin on his bluff. We told him to put us into the tag tournament or ELSE. But in the meantime, I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize... but the area code I surely did. 305 -- Miami. South Beach. And on the other line was one of Troy Windham's managers... who put Troy on the phone with me. He said that he was in a bit of a pickle himself. He wants Randalls, whose partner is Akita Hoshi... Dorchester's former partner. And he liked what he saw in Dorchester. He RECOGNIZED some of himself in Dorchester -- a man craven enough to do ANYTHING to get what he wants. And he wanted Dorchester by his side. He said that he could make Dorchester a star. That by winning the EMTs together... Dorchester's name... and mine... would be the most RECOGNIZABLE in professional wrestling."

(Dorchester shook his head.)

DORCHESTER: "As soon as we sealed the deal... my mind started racing. I know that 99.99% of this industry, if Troy Windham reached out to them, they would do everything he said. He thought that with his big-shot Hollywood ego he could have me and Veronica fall under his spell. But what's that word I was using before? COMPLACENCY. I don't use that word just for myself. I can use it for a LOT of other people. I can use it for this entire promotion. I've been here a lot longer than people thing. Troy Windham's been here for not even two years. Mike Randalls has been here for even less. And we're all supposed to give the biggest crap in the world about their upcoming match at Reloaded? Mike Randalls, who hasn't done a damn thing worth mentioning since 1996? Troy Windham who, let's face it, has been surpassed in influence and power by his own protege JJ DeVille?" (Rumsfeld chuckles.) "A few months ago, I would have been perfectly fine to be in that match and by Troy's side and to win those EMTs. But now? After the REAWAKENING OF DORCHESTER STRATTON began? I wanted to use that match as an opportunity to show everyone that I am indeed ruthless. I am indeed cunning. I am indeed THE ASSASSIN DORCHESTER STRATTON. And Mike Randalls and Troy Windham can both tell you first-hand about that, Jack."

(Dorchester cackles as does Veronica, who is massaging her man's back. But there's a buzz off camera. Rumsfeld looks and picks up her Blackberry -- covered in a pink waterproof case. Dorchester's eyes raised intently. She stares at it and laughs louder.)

RUMSFELD: "He's in."

(FTB)

 

[Justin]

Ladders, and Learning Your Place on Them

“One might think that I’d be used to the glaring lack of respect that runs rampant in the New Frontier, but for a wrestler, hell, for a man such as myself, disrespect is never something that can become tolerable.”

“It makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Every.”

“Single.”

“Time.”

[FADEIN: Just outside of the Hershey Park Arena sits NFW’s Optimus Prime production truck. It’s super-tricked out with all of the goods that any promotion could ever need in a mobile A/V masterpiece, but you watch BRAWL so you already know all of that. Night Two of BRAWLAPALOOZA in Hershey has been over and done with for a couple of hours now, but that doesn’t mean much because this is wrestling, and in wrestling promos are shot when and where promos are needed. ERIC DANE stands in front of a New Frontier distressed logo, his head is a dark red mess of crusted blood leftover from the shenanigans that took place earlier during the World Title match and a scowl is etched plainly across his face.]

DANE:
Take tonight, for example.

There I was, minding my own business at the top of the ramp, letting everyone know that I expected to face the winner of the Strife/Atkin match, and who in Christ’s name is Phil Atkin anyhow? But there I was, minding my own business, and who should attack me FROM BEHIND like a little girl?

Rook Black.

That’s right, the esteemed Tri-Force Champion jumped me from behind, taking advantage of the situation like the miscreant that he is, and the next thing I know it’s a goddamned Battle Royal on the entrance ramp.

[The Only Star lets out a deep, resigned breath.]

DANE:
Alright, Rook. You’ve got my attention now.

I hope you’re satisfied.

I’ve tried, and I’ve tried, and I’ve tried to take the high road with you. It’s already obvious to anyone with ocular nerves and a functioning nervous system that I’m without a doubt the Better Man, but now you’ve gone and you’ve put yourself into a position that I can no longer feasibly ignore.

Congratulations, champ, you’re now the future owner of a Grade A shit-stomping, courtesy of the only man in the New Frontier to give Castor Strife a run for his money. And the endgame? Well that’s simple, it’s me wrapping razorwire around your throat, cutting off your endlessly foul and yammering head, and shitting down the hole where your neck used to be. And all of that is gonna happen live on ESEN TV, right in front of anyone and everyone who cares to watch.

FCC be damned.

[He pauses, smirks.]

DANE:
Let me ask you something, Rook. For the entirety of the time that I’ve had to waste space in my brain with the knowledge of you, you’ve been mighty sure of your convictions, mighty sure that you can walk into a ring and rag-doll me like I’m some kinda ham’n egger that’s used to jerking curtains in American Legion Hall’s and whatnot. So I have to ask you...

Why?

What makes you so sure this is gonna go your way? You think you’re gonna give my valet another haircut and I’m gonna magically forget how to punch you in the face? You think that because you’ve got a few screws loose and I prefer to play the psychological game somehow means that you’re tougher than I am?

You think a little bit of razorwire and a ladder scare me?

[He throws his hands up in a pleading gesture.]

DANE:
I wrestled in the nineties, Rook, when hardcore was all the rage. I’ve thrown more than one ungrateful idiot off of more than one ladder in my time. I wrestled in the double-ought’s too, Rook, when ultraviolence was the new sliced bread.

Light Tubes? Been there.

Barbed Wire? Done that.

C4? Got the scars?

Cacti? Yeah, motherfucking cacti.

Golden Spike? Lest ye forget, I peeled Alex Austin’s face off with one just a few short months ago on the way to getting him to hand over Castor Strife’s empire like the puppet that he was always groomed to be.

The sad fact of the matter, Mr. Black, is that you don’t bring anything new to the table that I haven’t already heard from the mouths of any of a plethora of Fisher Price also-rans just like you over the past fifteen years. So you’ve been a champion here in the New Frontier for most of the last couple’a years...

[Golf clap.]

DANE:
Great! I’m happy for you! We all are! You’ve got just enough longevity to stay stacked firmly in the middle of the pack for long periods of time with very little to show for it outside of a belt with three triangles on it and some kind of creepy stalker in the likes of Legion.

You haven’t even made a play at the World Title, the title that matters to everyone in the business apparently but you. You’ve stuck yourself solidly at the kiddies table, and now you’ve finally grown the sack to try and mingle with the adults and you’re about to get backhanded right back down to the table with the multi-colored legs courtesy of yours truly.

So go ahead, flap your gums all you like. Run your game to anybody who’ll listen. But understand that come Reloaded, I’m going to grind you under my bootheel like the overgrown pile of shit that you are, and then I’m gonna scrape you off on the bottom rung of the ladder, right where you belong, on my way to my World Title contract!

[The Only Star smiles, satisfied with himself.]

DANE:
As for the rest of my opponents...

Legion wears skinny-jeans on purpose, Impulse hasn’t done anything outside of losing to JJ DeVille in something like six months, and Blaine Hollywood...

Hell.

I kind of like Blaine. Got nothing bad to say about the guy. Yet.

As is the norm when I set foot in a New Frontier wrestling ring, I assume I’ll be winning this thing hands down in just under fifteen minutes. I imagine I’ll bleed, but I can guaran-the-fuck-tee you that I’m going to show Rook Black a brand new meaning to the phrase outdressed, outmatched, and outclassed when I stick my foot up his ass to far he pukes Italian leather for two weeks. The rest of you, do yourselves a favor and learn from Rook’s mistakes and try not to have me take an interest in your physical well-being.

I won’t be held liable when people start going to the hospital.

[He snorts, rather unceremoniously, and walks off the set stage-left.]

[FADE2BLACK]

 

[Rook Black]

Re: Ladders, and Learning Your Place on Them

ROOK: "It's a satisfying sound."

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK in his ring gear. He's sitting in a director's type chair with the Triple Crown Championship on his shoulder. Behind him is a lot of lighting equipment, boom microphones, cameras, and what appears to be a green screen. A number of extras dressed as Link from LOZ series are hanging around as various people hustle back and forth.)

ROOK: "The small amount of tremor in the voice of a coward, when he's got no where left to run to, and has no course of action but to try and make himself look big."

ROOK: "But you know what, Eric, I'm going to take your words at face value. You say you're coming after me? Now? Finally?"

(ROOK smiles.)

ROOK: "I'll take it. I had thought that perhaps you'd go for broke with the ducking and diving. It is, after all, a match with three others apart from you and me, and that's more than enough bodies to hide behind. If you were to make me chase you, any of those three others could find a way to win the match while I'm otherwise set upon some long delayed retribution. But shit, you're going to make this easy and come right at me?"

(ROOK holds his chin for an ultra-serious scowl.)

ROOK: "Wait a minute, you're a lying sack of shit whose word is, by precedent, the metaphorical equivalent of a sack of shit ingesting some more shit, and then shitting out some ultra blackhole singularity collapsium uberfeces."

ROOK: "You suddenly growing a spine is quite a reversal of your behavior trends. I know that's a mean thing of me to say, but if you have a genuine problem with this assessment, then I suggest you take it up with the person responsible for it. And by that I mean, Eric Dane during his entire NFW run."

ROOK: "I mean, it's possible that you're secretly not a coward. And it's possible that you might be able to win something without stacking the deck against an idiot, good ole Alex whatzizname. And it's possible that you might have brought a challenge to Castor without resorting to a triple team effort."

ROOK: "But it's hardly ..."

(ROOK's eyes scan the room searching for that special word he's looking for.)

ROOK (locking on camera): "Plausible."

ROOK: "You might have genuinely been the kind of bad mother fucker that you say you are at once time, Eric, but lately? Well, if you were all that hard and tough, somewhere along the lines you'd have actually done something that demonstrates those qualities. But you haven't."

ROOK: "People take short cuts because they are weak, Eric. Now, it could be any of a number of precise factors:"

(ROOK lists across his fingers.)

ROOK: "Lazy."

ROOK: "Unimaginative."

ROOK: "Stupid."

ROOK: "Impatient."

ROOK: "Scared."

ROOK: "Or, it could be all of them really. But they all come from the same origin, Eric. They all basically come down the same thing. Weakness. Your time in NFW? It stinks of it. You've saturated yourself in the stench of weakness, made more and more potent with each cowardly choice you've made since you've arrived here."

ROOK: "In most cases, I wouldn't say it's permanent. I think Randalls would suggest that the stink of it could be washed away with enough blood. Perhaps. But you've also pointed out that you came up through the nineties and the aughts, and cited the delightful innovations of violence that you've partaken in. But if your career was going to make you into something other than a coward, Eric, I'm inclined to believe that it would have already happened by now."

(ROOK shrugs.)

ROOK: "But hey, no matter what you do, I still have a hard fought match against some other guys too, so I'm sure I'll have a great time in that ring while you've run off to hide someplace."

ROOK: "By the way, Legion, though I did have a match that night in Cheyenne, I was actually referring to the Miles and Mayfield Jacob's Ladder match, the one with rules not very different from our coming bout. Thanks though, glad you enjoyed it."

 

[User Poets]

Snakes on a Ladder

"I've always been lucky, in one capacity or another."

"Sometimes it just takes longer to get there."

(FADEIN...

I have a dapper new shirt, it says The 'I' in Team stands for Impulse. Already, it's gotten me some strange looks as I go about my day, but I've actually seen a few people who shop in the same store.

Rose is selling the official shirt via the NFW website, and the official shirt has her cupcake logo on the back, but she's also got the image available for free for anyone who wants to make their own.

D - I - Y, it's not just a punk rock thing, it's a lifestyle.

And...)

"While Eric Dane would be quick to point out that I've done nothing but lose to JJ DeVille in the past six months, I should also point out that in the same timeframe, I've taken to the mat, virtually every other member of the Clan except for its founder."

It wasn't for lack of trying, but Troy would rather act out his midlife crisis by reliving his glory days instead of, you know, losing to a younger, faster, better opponent.

"In the same space of time, Eric Dane stole Castor Strife's house, production company, pool, poolboy, manservant, shaving cream, topiary garden, masseuse, treadmill, autographed copy of Epic Movie, life sized model of Tommy Lee's junk, pet dog, pet cat, pet hamster, pet rock, Chia pet, complete collection of Archie Comics, paper clip holder, staple gun, BB gun, piercing gun, spare gas mask, and smoking jacket."

"And I think he was wearing Castor's underwear."

It's the stuff of nightmares, who belongs to those particular skidmarks?

"Despite all that, Eric, you failed to beat Castor Strife for the World Title. Six months wasted."

"I'd say my time was better spent, all things considered. Especially since I can look back on it and say that I did my best, you can look back on it and ask yourself if the Chia Pet was where Castor started to take things personally."

"And we ended up in the same place."

"But I don't think you truly find disrespect nauseating, Eric. You disrespect the rest of the New Frontier on an hourly basis."

At least, if you're going to live by a double standard, be honest about it.

"No, what truly makes you sick to your stomach is the way the rest of the New Frontier doesn't immediately get out of the way so Eric Dane can rule us like a king. After all, you've earned it with your victory over Castor St--"

Ohhhhh.

"But you really showed the world what-for in the Ultrat---"

Ohhhh. That's right.

"The truth of the matter, Eric? You didn't earn your title shot in the ring in the usual fashion. You earned it via contractual frippery and underhanded political maneuverings."

In that sense, you're as worthy a World Champion as a used car salesman named Greasy Dave.

"While I'm sure you subscribe to the philosophy of It don't matter how I got here, what matters is I got here when discussing shots at World Titles, I think any reasonable person can agree that once you lost yours, the natural state of affairs would be for you to shuffle off back down the card to where you were, until you either earn another title shot by climbing the ranks the way us real athletes do, or by tricking Castor into signing another piece of paper, but I honestly think he's too smart to fall for that again."

"And I don't think that getting pinned clean by the World Champion is a match conclusion that begs for a rematch. How dare he beat you, clean and fair, with a three count in the middle of the ring?"

The nerve of him, being all... Champion-y.

"So no, Eric, there was nobody in the world except for Eric Dane who thought Eric Dane was the natural - next - contender. Actually, you should send a nice fruit basket to Eddie Mayfield for the generosity of spirit by which he let you into this top contenders match so you can retroactively earn the shot you already lost and claim superiority via the ruler of the Eric Dane Galaxy, a place nobody else lives, and nobody wants to visit, where losing a match is apparently a better demonstration of skill than taking the Champion to a draw."

"In fact, I think we owe my old partner and apparent enemy Rook Black a round of applause for his unorthodox - but - effective handling of the paperwork surrounding your rematch. At the very least, Rook, you gave us the chance to see the end of the match without a shrill, sharp pain in the inner ear."

For everyone except Eric Dane, at least.

"But you already have a title belt."

"I don't mean to get flippant with you too, Rook... it's just that this is kind of my match."

Team Impulse, it's out there and it's growing.

"I've been trying to figure out how to earn a rematch with Castor Strife for over a year, Rook. While you were in Rook Black Wrestling defending the Rook Black National Championship, the New Frontier continued on in your absence."

"It's nice to see you interacting with the rest of us again, though. Sincerely."

"By the way, I still owe you for the cheap shots. I'm not going to be like Eric and make grandiose claims that I'll never live up to, like sawing off your head or rubbing one out in your ear or whatever else he's threatening."

"But when I both win this match and pointedly keep you from doing the same?"

"Remember."

"And Legion."

"Oh, Legion."

"You have a message to deliver, just like I do."

"But, like the other two that have deigned to speak so far, you're relying on the use of cages, ladders, and razorwire to deliver it. As if the only way to earn a trip to the opposite corner from Castor Strife is via blood."

"Legion, I suggest you pay less attention to Rook Black's warning that echoes across the decades, and more attention to the specifics of this match."

"The match can't end until the razor wire is in play."

"And while my opponents will all be rushing for the wire to use it in ways most nefarious, I'll be looking for a way to win the match."

"Should it end up in my hands, I'll toss it to Eric Dane. He'll be so excited that he can finally do some actual damage in a wrestling match that he won't notice that I've hooked him by the waist, lifted him up and sent him headfirst into the corner until he's already airborne."

"I'll toss it to Rook Black, who will stop and stare, and tell us all what he did with it during the Battle of Gettysburg before the speech and after Robert E. Lee's battle royal, all while pondering the futility of razor attached to wire."

"I'll toss it to Legion, who will slice himself open to make a point about how far he's willing to go to get his Message delivered, and get piled on before he knows what hit him."

"I'll toss it to Blaine Hollywood, who will see the razor wire, hear the word razor, and pass out in fear over the possibility that someone else is about to shave in his presence."

Cheap shot? Maybe.

I promise I'll get all of them out before the match starts.

"Regardless of who I'm facing off with when the match ticks down, this is the culmination of the past year's work. I went through a low point when fighting off the Clan, but the old saying goes, it's always darkest right before dawn."

"And my title shot is just beyond the horizon."

"Approaching fast."

FADE

 

[Justin]

Re: Snakes on a Ladder

[FADEIN: Eric Dane. Eyebrow cocked. Lip twisted into a sneer.]

DANE:
Oh really now?

[FLASHCUT: Rook Black. Being... Rook Black.]

ROOK: People take short cuts because they are weak, Eric.

[FLASHCUT: Eric Dane.]

DANE:
Interesting you should say that.

[FLASHCUT: BRAWL 54.]

ROOK BLACK attacks Dane from behind!

[FLASHCUT: Eric Dane.]

DANE:
You seem to know a little bit about shortcuts yourself.

[FLASHCUT: Rook Black.]

ROOK: People take short cuts because they are weak, Eric.

[FLASHCUT: Eric Dane.]

DANE:
You’re really reaching, kid. The very definition of grasping at straws.

[FLASHCUT: BRAWL 54]

RICE: (V/O) Rook Black blindsides Eric Dane!

[FLASHCUT: Eric Dane.]

DANE:
So, by your own definition, Rook Black, you are weak.

[FLASHCUT: Rook Black.]

ROOK: People take short cuts because they are weak, Eric.

[FLASHCUT: Eric Dane.]

DANE:
Oh, let me guess, it doesn’t count turning it on yourself. You were fighting the good fight, right? Or better yet, you just couldn’t stand listening to me talk anymore so you took matters into your hands and you defined the term weakness for us all.

[FLASHCUT: Rook Black.]

ROOK: People take short cuts because they are weak, Eric.

[FLASHCUT: Eric Dane.]

DANE:
Yeah man, you’re awesome at this.

[The Only Star rolls his eyes.]

DANE:
And I’m supposed to be worried about you?

[His head sways from one side to the other.]

DANE:
This is why I’ve been ignoring you since I got here, Rook, you’re useless. You surround yourself with an array of chaos and you’ve gotten pretty good at stacking the odds in your own favor.

At the end of the day, however.

You just don’t have it in you to take it to the next level.

[FLASHCUT: Rook Black.]

ROOK: People take short cuts because they are weak, Eric.

[FLASHCUT: Eric Dane.]

DANE:
But go ahead, tell me again about me. I’m sure that’ll help.

[Duckface.]

 

[Rook Black]

I've had it up to here with these motherfucking ladders in this motherfucking ring.

ROOK: "Oh, you totally got me."

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK wearing a gray blazer and slacks, white button down shirt, cowboy boots, walking down a city street away from the noise of laughter and revelry.)

ROOK: "I see now that you've exposed me as a horrendous hypocrit for-"

ROOK (stopping in his tracks): "Wait, what?"

(The camera continues to pull away for a split second before putting ROOK back in frame.)

ROOK: "`Rook Black blindsides Eric Dane?'"

(ROOK cocks his head to the side slightly.)

ROOK: "I'm supposed to feel bad about that?"

ROOK: "Why?"

ROOK: "Do you think not waiting for you to turn around before clobbering you is somehow unfair?"

ROOK: "Earlier you were talking about all the splendid hardcore violence you were so experienced in, and now you're feeling sensitive that I felt the need to pound you?"

ROOK: "What can I say, I got lucky. Legion might've gotten there first, and I'd have missed my chance."

ROOK: "So, I guess what I'm trying to say is ..."

ROOK: "Cope?"

ROOK: "Yeah, that."

ROOK (resumes walking): "As for you, Impulse, I suppose you're still feeling betrayed and abused by my opportunistic attack."

ROOK: "This isn't necessarily a surprise. You're a sensitive kid that has a hard time letting things go. There might one day come a time when I feel that you've matured enough for me to explain my actions to you. But that day isn't today, nor will it be tomorrow, nor at reloaded."

ROOK: "You've remarked that I should remember that choice of mine when you do whatever it is you plan to do. Well, that's not a problem, because I don't forget those kinds of things. Tell you what though, let's play hypothetical."

ROOK: "Suppose that I never did that act, and I continued to be your `always in your corner' friend, and then here we are now in this match."

ROOK: "What would it change?"

ROOK: "The rules of engagement of R.K. are pretty clear that you're going to be competitive against anybody you get in the ring with. And the rules of engagement of R.K. are also pretty clear that you won't go against your integrity for revenge."

ROOK: "More pointed immature smart remarks?"

ROOK: "Maybe you'll be a little more motivated? But your rules of engagement basically lay out the broad strokes of how you are going to act. By your own integrity, you ought to wrestle the same match against four enemies as four friends. Right?"

(ROOK smirks, not viciously, but amused.)

ROOK: "Not exactly. Like your namesake, you occasionally make choices that are impulsive. You act on an intuitive level, trusting yourself to behave mostly-fair-enough and mostly-just-enough and mostly-good-enough. Like Eric, weird how this fits actually but bear with me, you can say a lot about who you are but it's your actual choices that tell the real story. What have you done, and what kind of story does that tell once you subtract all the talk from it?"

ROOK: "I could go on, but I try to be mindful of your short attention span. Bottom line, I am, indeed, your enemy, but try not to take it personally."

 

[Biron]

Die Hard


(CUT TO: Jack Bryant, dressed in a crimson “ROLL TIDE” tee and gray Adidas sweatpants, leaning back into a wooden rocker, feet propped on the railing ahead of him, on his Birmingham front porch. A 20-some inch flat-screen LED TV is playing the Alabama vs. Michigan matchup. He leans forward, grimacing slightly, grabs an opened Pabst Blue Ribbon off a side table, and takes a swill of his cold delicious.)

JB: “Ah wish Ah could be layin’ ‘round on a beach, sippin’ fruity cocktails, (scowls and spits) but not everybody has that kinda’ time, Dorchester. ‘nstead, Ah spent mah time goin’ after them EMT Championships with yer old stablemate Malik Anderson an’ Shaniqua Carlton. Speakin’ a’ which, Ah ain’t near tickled ‘bout how things ended up. We were three (holds up three fingers) seconds away from bein’ EMT Tag Team Champions. Ah was three seconds from holdin’ two straps at tha’ same time, from makin’ another mark n’ Frontier lore. People been askin’, “What’s it matter, Jack? You’re still the TV Champ!” (nods) True, but somethin’ Ah’ve never been accused a’ doin’ is restin’ on mah laurels, ‘er bein’ complacent.”

(JB shoots a quick glance at the game, then back.)

JB: “Yanno, ‘chester, ‘fer a man that wanted ta’ step ‘nside a ring with me oh-so badly, you were awful quick ta’ pull tha’ pin on yer partnership with Troy-boy. Even yer interest n’ puttin’ a hurtin’ on ol’ Jack Bryant, (smirks) couldn’t stop ya’ from gettin’ n’ yer own way. You’ve been n’ tha’ Frontier fer a long, long time an’ don’t have nothin’ ta’ show fer it. Rather than make a run at tha’ EMTs, ya’ decided that wailin’ on Windham with a steel chair an’ puntin’ Mike Randalls n’ tha’ skull was tha’ better choice. (grunts) Can’t say Ah was shocked. Ah mean yer known fer two things. Yer in-ring failures an’ tha’ fact that you’ve become a master a’ sneak attacks an’ puttin’ people on tha’ shelf. Well, that’s fine an’ good, but come Reloaded, yer gonna’ have ta’ slap on yer Big Boy boots an’ put some work n’ inside a’ tha’ wrasslin’ ring.”

“Ah know tha’ word “work” makes ya’ shudder, brings up bad memories a’ yer poor Uncle that never did anything, but waste his life away goin’ ta’ work every day an’ puttin’ food on tha’ table, n’ yer spoiled mouth. (shakes head) Ya’ seem ta’ believe that workin’ fer somethin’ is as ridiculous as a one-legged fella winnin’ an asskickin’ contest. All Ah can say is that yer clueless. Anything worth havin’ is gonna’ take some work ta’ get. If it was easy, ‘chester, women an’ children would be out here doin’ it. Take a look ‘round ‘cause yer not gonna’ see many a’ them runnin’ ‘round tha’ Frontier. See, ya’ stand with yer hand out, waitin’ fer somebody ta’ hand all tha’ riches n’ tha’ world ta’ you. Ya’ wanted Eddie Mayfield ta’ hand you tha’ World Title on a silver platter. Well, if yer gonna’ show up at Reloaded an’ hold out yer hand, expectin’ Jack Bryant ta’ roll over an’ bring you a step closer ta’ havin’ tha’ TV strap, yer n’ fer an eye opener.”

(JB rubs his knuckles with the other hand.)

JB: “Ah’m one a’ them blue collar types that ya’ despise so much, ‘chester. ‘an you, yer one a’ them stuck up, silver spoon ‘n yer mouth brats that Ah love puttin’ n’ yer place. Ah like ta’ hear you whinin’ ‘bout how you should have SO-MUCH more than you do. ‘cause fer as long as Ah can remember, Ah’ve been better than folks like you. (smirks) This hard-headed, sonuva steel worker has beat punks like you at every step a’ tha’ way. Tha’ very thing that made you see yer Uncle as weak has turned me ‘nta’ tha’ force that Ah am. Ya’ like ta’ think that all’uva sudden yer not complacent, that yer a changed man, but it’s yer nature, ‘chester. Couple a’ matches with a bruiser like me, with a Southern boy that’s gonna’ make ya’ earn yer keep, an’ you’ll be back ta’ yer true form. It’s exactly why Calvin Carlton wanted ta’ trade ya’ away fer me .. it’s called cuttin’ yer losses. ‘course, Ah’d never let Carlton hook his wagon ta’ me - not like you did, Stratton. Ya’ saw an opportunity ta’ take tha’ easy road ta’ women, championships, an’ fame. How’d that work fer tha’ most cunning (chuckles) man n’ tha’ Frontier? Lookin’ a lil’ light n’ tha’ loafers if yer askin’ me.”

(JB’s attention snaps back to the TV and he gives an approving nod.)

JB: “So now, after hittin’ me with that shitty foreign car .. poor, poor car (smirks) yer coming back ta’ finish tha’ job. Sounds so simple - ta’ swoop n’ an’ snatch mah TV Title away. Ah’m comin’ n’ with banged up ribs an’ yer ridin’ a high a’ killshottin’ a couple a’ Legends. It’s not hard ta’ injure somebody, ‘chester, ‘specially when you hit ‘em with a car. Think yer gonna’ be able ta’ get a car down ta’ ringside? Ah sure as hell don’t. Ah think yer gonna’ have ta’ step ‘nta tha’ ring with a fella ya’ run over an’ left fer dead, but STILL didn’t stop. Now, yer gonna’ have ta’ FINISH tha’ job. Yer gonna’ have ta’ follow this wounded animal back ta’ where he does his huntin’, where he’s MOST DANGEROUS, an’ ya’ll have ta’ put me down. That’s tha’ position ya’ve put yerself n’ with yer chickenshit ways. Ya’ took tha’ easy road a’gin an’, just like ba’fore, it’s gonna’ come back ta’ bite ya’. When Ah’m done tearin’ you apart an’ yer on life support, an’ tha’ thing that you require ta’ live is oh-so close, when tha’ Television Championship is within’ yer grasp, Ah’m gonna’ reach down an’ pull tha’ plug.”

(JB scowls as the shot FTB.)

 

[GreggG]

(CUT TO: A gaggle of seagulls flying around a lighthouse -- the Montauk Point Lighthouse, located at the very eastern tip of Long Island. The camera pans around to show the waves of the Atlantic crash along the rocky seashore. Then there's the sound of a throat being cleared. The camera then pans some more and it reveals JJ DEVILLE -- his hair slicked back into a ponytail, his diamond earrings glistening, wearing a WWJJD T-Shirt with a dressy blue blazer over it and HA-67 light blue denim jeans. He shakes his head in disgust as he looks over the bluff.)

JJ: "Montauk, Long Island. It's the furthest point of this wretched hellhole called Long Island. Right here, on the tip of Long Island, I might as well be at the absolute end of the world. This is a place you nimrods might come with your fat, dumb children during one of the five vacation days a year you get from your pathetic little job where you work for someone like me. You come and relax and hope to have a few Kodak memories and then you go on to your little mundane lives. Me? I'm someone important. I'm the one who calls the shots. I'm the one who RUNS THIS PLACE. So why... why am I here?"

(JJ purses his lips and spits.)

JJ: "Because this place reminds me oh so much of where I was. How I was BLACKBALLED and shut out of an industry I grew up living, all because I dared to stick it in the face of the promoters and power brokers and said 'no' unless they accepted *MY* contract demands. There are a lot of people in this industry who, frankly, don't deserve jobs but they have them anyways. But me? I dare tell the Dan Ryans and the Eddie Mayfields of the world that they better damn well add another zero to the end of that contract and they'd better toss in 'guaranteed five star accommodations' and all of a sudden I'm yesterday's news. I was this lighthouse behind me. Alone in the sea... a forgotten BEACON OF LIGHT left to rot in the ocean mist."

(JJ sneers.)

JJ: "I'm not yesterday's news anymore. Today, I am the man who RUNS NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING. I am the LOCKER ROOM CANCER who also ranks as the most powerful man in professional wrestling today. I AM A MAN THAT SHOULD BE IDOLIZED! I AM A MAN THAT SHOULD BE LOOKED UP TO AS LEGEND! I AM A MAN THAT DESERVES THE MAIN EVENT! I AM A MAN THAT... that deserves to be RESPECTED!"

(JJ pauses.)

JJ: "But you all look at me as if I'm some sort of joke. You all still think of my as some buffoon, the same kid in the nuthugger jeans carrying some ninja equipment around while touting the greatness of Troy Windham. None of you care to think of me as the man who has shut down shows as they're going on. As a man who cancelled an entire European tour. As the man who has made the NFW's biggest superstars fly all over the country at his order just to spend a few minutes talking in front of a lawyer. You look at me and you roll your eyes and you talk behind my back about what a pain-in-the-ass I am but none of you want to admit that you jump when I say jump. But even worse... none of you have any sort of respect for what I have accomplished IN the ring."

(JJ laughs.)

JJ: "Who was the last person in NFW to pin Castor V. Stryfe? Hell, as far as I know, I'm the last guy to pin him over the past couple of years. I beat the man many pundits are now calling the single best champion the NFW has ever had. The unconquerable monster Jack Bryant? Well, I had the TV title while he spent months of his life chasing me all over the country with my outsmarting him every single step of the way. Impulse? The one that so many nitwits have claimed as some sort of technical master? I pinned him right in the middle of that ring, with no doubt about it. I BEAT HIM AT HIS OWN GAME!"

(JJ now balls his fists.)

JJ: "But you all still think I'm a joke. And... most importantly... so does my mentor. So does the man I've spent so much of my life learning from. Troy Windham. First, he snubs me for Dorchester Stratton who turned on Troy the first second he could and nearly ended his career... just as I knew he would. And then he snubs me to continue his neverending game of cat-and-wolf with Mike Randalls? THE SAME MAN HE IS MAIN EVENTING AGAINST AT RELOADED WHEN I AM THE MAN WHO HAS DONE ALL THE WORK--" (JJ's fists unball.) "The game of cat-and-mouse with Mike Randalls... the man who could end up retiring the greatest legend professional wrestling has ever seen."

(JJ purses his lips and chuckles.)

JJ: "Well, New Frontier Wrestling... you all may think of me as a joke. You may laugh at me. You might not have any respect for me. But after Reloaded? Heh.... the joke's going to be on each and every single last one of you."

(FTB)

 

[GreggG]

(CUE UP: The deafening noise of helicopter blades. CUT TO: A camera shows a helicopter landing right on the beach in Amagansett, Long Island, kicking up a gigantic sandstorm. A gaggle of valets -- all wearing red caps and matching vests with tux tails --comes rushing to the helicopter. Someone shouts some instructions while another starts taking out a seemingly neverending stream of Louis Vutton luggage. They scurry off and a man comes walking off the ladder. His freshly tinted hair is blowing in the wind caused by the blades. He has on ruby red John Lennon sunglasses -- not styled-sunglasses, but actual sunglasses John Lennon once wore and is wearing a white dress shirt hanging over his body, three buttons undone, with matching baggy white pants, in true jetset Hamptons cokehead celebrity fashion. This is TROY WINDHAM.

Troy casually steps off the helicopter while the pilot gives a thumbs up. Troy responds in kind and the copter flies away. More sand kicks up and slowly settles down. When the shot is visible once again, Troy is standing on the beach, his arms behind his back, pensively looking out at the horizon.)

TROY WINDHAM: "Welcome to Amagansett, the toniest beachfront community in all of The Hamptons. A few weeks ago, when one of my many, many managers informed me that my match against Mike Randalls would be at Jones Beach, I told him to spare no expenses. I commanded the good people at William Morris to find me the greatest accommodations anywhere in the vicinity of Jones Beach. Somewhere on the ocean, with some seclusion, but just a few minutes away from Nobu and Lexicon in Manhattan via the charter helicopter service. So they found this for me. (Troy holds his arms open godlike.) You can't see it from here, because it's hidden behind the evergreens and brush, but they found me the perfect spot. They got me in touch with its owner -- Alec Baldwin, yes, THE Alec Baldwin, who owes me a few favors after I popped up the ratings on 30 Rock right before they were about to get cancelled back in Season 1. And he said yeah, Troy. You can have the beach house. Me and the kids -- we were going to stay there that month, but since YOU want it, we'll take off for Europe instead. And yes, Troy, you can have our furniture all cleared out and move your stuff all in just as long as everything's back in place when you head back to South Beach. After all, Troy, you're THE EPITOME."

(Troy pauses and then laughs.)

TROY: "So why have I gone to the extent that I have? Because my aforementioned match against Mike Randalls is, quite simply, the biggest match in the history of New Frontier Wrestling. No... it's MORE than that. It's the SINGLE BIGGEST MATCH IN PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING HISTORY. The last two icons from an era, finally standing toe-to-toe against each other. Two out of three falls. The loser retires. The winner gets to forever boast that he destroyed the other."

(Troy seriously stares at the camera.)

TROY: "Let that sink in a bit. The single biggest match in professional wrestling history. This is not hyperbole. This is not exaggeration. There are a few thousand men alive who can call themselves 'professional wrestler' when they fill out a W-2 form at the end of the year. I'll admit that nearly all of those men said they wanted to become wrestlers because of Mike Randalls. But I'll also truthfully state that absolutely all of those men have their houses, cars, childern's educations, gym membership dues and everything else bankrolled off of my success. This entire industry has been propped up because of ME. I'm the man who made wrestling cool. My good looks and brash style caused me to do exactly what I said would happen the first day I stepped into a locker room. I became wrestling's biggest star in our world. I used my fame to get my foot in the door in other entertainment platforms. And, as a result, the people who don't care about wrestling -- the people like Alex Baldwin, IMPORTANT people who are celebrities and wealthy and not some puissant working the graveyard shift overnight at the local Pathmark -- became fans. My name got in the tabloids. Who is Troy dating? Natalie Portman? He's rumored to be cast as Zod in the Superman remake? He's doing a guest run on Gossip Girls? He's doing a guest DJ set at Moby's birthday?"

(Troy once again looks at the beach.)

TROY: "I didn't invest professional wrestling but I certainly CREATED it. But still... after all these years... I'll never get the credit for what I've done INSIDE the ring. I know this. You can take a poll of any number of wrestlers or pundits or fans at home at who is the best in the ring. And my name will NEVER get mentioned. Sure, they'll say, I have The SlackKnife, the greatest equalizer in wrestling history, a move that can be hit at any angle at any time in the ring and end a match. But aside from that? My name is scant. Mike Randalls? The mere mention of his name has caused the bowels of many men to erupt and flow down a pair of ratty-ass sweatpants. Oh, his name's constantly at the top of THAT list. And you know what? I resent that."

(Troy nods his head.)

TROY: "I resent that and I'll resent that to the day I die. Because, Randalls, I know that all the Xeroxed steroid lunkheads and the mystical D&D wizards all worship the ground you walk on. They all think you're the best. But you know what? You may have learned every submission hold and every overhead suplex toss ever invented. You may have invented a whole bunch of them yourself. But that doesn't mean sh*t to me because all it takes is three little seconds to win a match. And there has never been anyone alive better at stealing those three seconds from another man's life than yours truly. And while I know you and everyone else thinks that I'm some pretty-boy who never put in the dues that you did... my neck injuries and scars on every part of my body will prove you otherwise. Mike Randalls, You and everyone else may think you've been through hell and back in your matches... but you haven't. Because you've never had to deal with me. 17 years later, I still have to prove myself in the ring. That, Randalls, says it all right there. You don't think you have to prove a thing to anyone. Me? I have to prove myself every single time I step foot in that ring."

(Troy turns to the ocean.)

TROY: "And you know what? Every single time, I've proven myself. Because everything I say... is GOSPEL."

(Troy casually sits down on the beach. FTB.)

 

[Deacon]

It not happen often, but occasionally I get what I want.

(Scene opens with Deacon sitting in a hardback chair. The room is sparse and the lighting crude. That is one reason it doesn’t look like a Deacon promo. The other is a missing Chris Shepherd.)

Deacon: T’en t’at bring up t’e old cliché, how you say it? (Deacon pauses to consider) Be careful what you want, you may get it. But when what I want is t’e same t’ing I been wanting for 2 year. When what I want is to do what I came to t’e Frontier to do. When what I want is to stop Bobby Jack from injuring t’e name of Christ.

I count on getting it.

T’is match not just a match. T’is not for some title t’at everyone forget about few years later. T’is more t’an t’at. T’is t’e reason I started in t’is sport years ago – to redefine what a Christian is in t’e media. I was tired of t’e cliché. (Deacon smirked) And I hear I never get your cliché right anyway. In t’e media’s rendition of t’ose who claim Christ, it not’ing but inconsiderate, hateful bigots. I entered wrestling to offer somet’ing new, a new creation not seen, or not seen enough and somehow, it worked.

Well Bobby Jack Windham, you not work. What you did until now… was run.

When I arrive, I challenged you. Time and again, I challenge you and t’ough you talk, you never agree to match. And t’en eventually, you even stop talking. Chris used to say t’at in t’e sunlight, t’e illumination of a light bulb is lost. I had to wonder if your particular light had been lost when I brought a real Jesus in here.

And t’en you attached yourself to Cameron Cruise, change who he was, not as new creation in Christ, but as new creation in Windham Clan. And even Cruise learned what you were, and what you were doing. Cruise realize t’at he need out, and I can only hope t’at some of t’e word from God, not from you, made it to him so he may one day see t’is Jesus as t’e true light, and not t’e Windham clan use of Jesus.

All t’at brings us to t’is. Reloaded. Deacon versus Bobby Jack Windham. My words against your words. My skill against your skill. And above, Cameron Cruise in t’e cage you have put him in. If you win, he remain wit’ you. But Windham, you will … not… win. How I know? Because t’is match will not be won by me or you, it will be won by t’e deliverer. T’e same one t’at brought t’e Hebrew people out of Egypt. T’e same one t’at brought Joshua t’rough t’e Holy Land. T’e same one t’at rescued from t’e Babylonians. T’e same one t’at gave us this Jesus you speak of and I know.

For Jesus will not leave Cruise in a cage. T’is Jesus wants him free, just as he wants us all freed of the cages we have entered – t’e cages of sin, of hatred, of t’e desires of our own flesh. And even if Cruise choose to join t’e Windham clan, even if he choose to follow t’em willingly. None of t’at matter because God always choose for Cruise to be free and after Reloaded, he will be.

(CUT)

 

[User Poets]

(FADEIN... on a poster of the Reloaded lineup.

We're doing the Ken Burns thing.

And...)

"Perception is reality, Rook. Perceptions change, reality changes."

"I know you can appreciate the sentiment."

"Troy Windham's perception is that his match is the biggest thing in professional wrestling history, when, due to the long - awaited showdown between Jack Bryant and Dorchester Stratton beginning at Jones Beach, it's not even the biggest thing at Reloaded 13."

Whatever he needs to do to get through the night.

"Just as an example."

"Your perception, Rook, is that I'm predictable. That my actions are a butterfly effect away between one clearly defined action and another."

"One little change and I don't break Bobby Jack's nose."

"One little change and I don't join the Windham Clan for fifteen minutes."

"One little change and I beat Castor a year ago."

One little change and the past year turns out drastically different.

"No, Rook, if you hadn't turned on me months back, this match would be unfolding in much the same way, only it would be working out better for both of us."

"Because I would trust you to work with you to take out Eric Dane, Legion, and Blaine Hollywood, before you and I faced off to see who would ultimately be the number one contender."

"But it wasn't meant to be. And instead of two on three, it's one on one on one on one on one. And I'm fine with that."

"Because I have the inside track, Rook."

"How do I know?"

"Why do you want to win this match, Rook? Because you want a shot at Castor Strife and his New Frontier Championship? Because you want to possess the belt?"

Of course you do.

"That very fact is why you won't win."

Close your eyes. Take a breath. See the belt. Feel the leather. Hear the crowd.

"You see the New Frontier World Title as a possession to win and to hold."

"You want the title so you can have the title."

"Selfishness. Internalization."

"That is not what the New Frontier needs. That is not what the New Frontier will accept."

"Will I win this match?"

"I don't know."

"But I want to win it, and I want to take the World Title from Castor Strife, because this is my home and I want to defend this place from those who would work toward its destruction."

"And, based on past performance, Rook, that's more than I can say for you."

"Or Castor, for that matter."

"The New Frontier provides for those who provide for the New Frontier."

"And you cannot lead this company, Rook."

"Because you cannot keep this company alive."

No offense intended, of course.

This time.

FADE

 

[Justin]

Bullshit Business

“OHAI Impulse!”

(FADEIN: Somewhere. There are things and whatnot. ERIC DANE is ERIC DANE.)

ERIC:
I met your grandpa at ULTRATITLE. He gave me a free wrestling lesson. I sent him a really classy five dollar “thank you” card, do me a favor and tell him to hold his breath until it reaches him in the retirement home or the bar he kind of owns or your girlfriend’s studio or the Ultratitle Finals or wherever he’s hanging out at right now.

(Deadpan.)

ERIC:
Now, I’m not gonna beat the dead horse here...

(Yes I am. You lost to JJ DeVille. Fag.)

ERIC:
...what I wanna do here is break new ground.

You do a damn fine job of seeing bullshit as it flies at you, and I have to respect that. As it were, this is a bullshitters business, so for you to be so adept at seeing it and calling it for what it is, well, that’s something I feel like taking fourteen seconds and congratulating you on.

(Golf clap.)

ERIC:
Congratulations, kid. You graduated Kindergarten.

However.

When you’re too stupid to hear it coming out of your own mouth, well, that’s just inexcusable. You wonder why nobody this side of the New York emo scene likes you? It’s because you fully and wholeheartedly believe that your stupid little values make you better than anyone and everyone else in the business on a fair playing field. It’s beyond confidence to the point of exaggerated self opinion.

That is to say: arrogance.

Your first in a series of classic blunders is to believe in the possibility of such thing as an even playing field. There will always be a referee to be bought, a chair to be swung, eyes to be raked and tights to be pulled. You’ll go on yammering about how your losses don’t matter because your opponents didn’t follow the “rules of engagement” until you’re blue in the face, but in the end all you’ll be left with is a big fat pile of losses.

The details don’t matter, they never did.

What matters is which end of the pay window that you stop by on your way back to your fabulous bullshit of a life after each and every show. What matters is the sheer accrued weight of all those opportunities lost, all because you’re either too naive or too narrow-minded to think about things any little bit outside of the box.

(Nod.)

ERIC:
But, at this point it’s whatever.

I’m past the point of arguing semantics with you, surely “greater men” have tried, am I right? You’ll keep on doing every annoying little thing that you do, and you’ll win some and you’ll lose some and you’ll always be that guy that almost won the big belt, that almost lead the company.

Almost, it could be your middle name.

You and everybody else around here think that I’m a one-trick pony ready to be put out to pasture, and maybe you’re all right about that, but the fact of the matter is until one of you dumb pricks step up and pull the trigger, I’m always going to be around, and I’m always going to be working the long con...

You know, the one that ends with me wearing the World Title.

And maybe it won’t be such a long con after all, all it takes is outsmarting you and Rook Black and some other guys I can’t be bothered to mention for just long enough to make my way up that ladder and grab that contract or briefcase or big red X or whatever else JJ or Troy or Eddie or Craig or Hornet or whoever the fuck runs this place decides to hang above the ring.

(A satisfied smirk etches across his face.)

ERIC:
And maybe by some stroke of dumb luck I won’t win. Then I’ll go back to the drawing board and I’ll figure out how to get myself enough leverage to obtain another title shot. That’s the name of the game, fatboy, leverage. Not honor and not sportsmanship and not whatever else that you’ve been cruising by on for what you call a career.

So go on, tell everybody how you’re better than I am, and try to be real snarky about it.

It’s nothing that anybody here hasn’t heard before.

(The smirk widens into a full blown smile.)

ERIC:
And believe you me, it ain’t gonna matter when the dust settles.

(FADE)

 

[jediPREZ]

Fearless

“What the F(BLEEP!)K do you think you’re winning in three seconds?”

(FADEIN: A vast widescreen shot of a basement floor in a storage warehouse, a sea of white ceiling light rows stretching back to infinity and cold, light grey concrete surrounding the focus of the shot – a standard wrestling ring. Inside the ring, ‘THE WOLF’ MIKE RANDALLS is on one knee and gently scraping his fingers across the mat back and forth, looking down and smirking. RANDALLS is barefoot, wearing a grey Radio Moscow t-shirt and faded blue jeans. His shoulder-length auburn hair hanging downwards, shadowing his face and unkempt beard.)

RANDALLS: “So, your plan is to try and ring Lady Luck NOT ONCE, but TWICE?”

(RANDALLS’ face rises to the camera, he's still smirking and his emerald eyes glare ahead without a single blink.)

RANDALLS: “...Troy, you definitely put YOUR CAREER up against the WRONG MAN.”

(RANDALLS stands up slowly, his eyes gazing back to the mat and circling around it as he speaks…)

RANDALLS: “I know, I’ve said I BELIEVE in TROY WINDHAM. (RANDALLS’ smile widens, his head shaking negatively in contrast…) At least… I WANT to believe in you, Troy. I WANT to believe that you don’t need some sad exterior shell of some star-crossed disrespected Hollywood bullshit to WANT this match with ME. I WANT to believe that if the match happened right here, right now…without the world watching... it’d mean even MORE FOR YOU.”

(RANDALLS smile quickly cuts out, his eyes hollowing and glaring straightforward.)

RANDALLS: “See, I don’t give a f(bleep!)k if the locker room watches three seconds of this match. None of that sh(BLEEP!)t matters, Troy... just YOU...and ME in this ring. I won’t care afterwards if anyone remembers my name and I won’t care what anyone’s PERCEPTIONS are predicting from that opening bell onwards. That’s why pride is such a dangerous sin, Troy… (RANDALLS smiles) Wounded pride brought you back here… it tore apart your Clan… and apparently, your ego's PERCEPTIONS are the cornerstone of why after all this time, Troy Windham BELIEVES… he FINALLY has what it takes to try to take down Mike Randalls. And I WANT to believe you can STAND with me, Troy… I WANT to believe that after 17 YEARS of running from THIS MATCH that you DO understand the importance of it...but right now, I DON’T.”

(RANDALLS starts walking around the ring, lightly brushing his fingers over the ropes and surrounding air…)

RANDALLS: “Because you resent me…”

(RANDALLS leans over the ropes, looking up towards the ceiling…)

RANDALLS: “You f(bleep!)ing resent me…”

(RANDALLS pushes off the ropes, the camera following him as he faces it…)

RANDALLS: “C’mon Troy, take the f(bleep!)ing skirt off. This isn't tenth-grade social studies, take the f(bleep!)ing tissues off your tits. I wasn’t a hard man to find… in fact, at the height of this supposed legacy of OURS, I seem to remember standing over YOUR BEST friend… and YOUR GREATEST title… (RANDALLS holds up one finger…) scalping one, metaphorically pissing on the other… (RANDALLS holds up another finger…) …and you did NOTHING. And that's been the DIFFERENCE, Troy. You always ran as FAST as you could through the crowd ...and I don't fu(bleep!)ing run. Anyone and everyone that's EVER wanted a match with Mike Randalls got one. You were too big of a p(bleep!)sy to STAND for your best friend...and for 17 years instead of manning up and CALLING ME OUT... you resented me like you were some cumstained, jilted cheerleader on prom night. (RANDALLS shakes his head in disappointment) You didn’t do sh(bleep!)t then…and NOW, you’re still being a passive-aggressive, whining P(BLEEP!)SY that’s managed to go from wanting to destroy NFW… to self-promoting and trying to sell this as the greatest wrestling match of the entire universe within it...only after I wire-slashed your neck through the wringer. You have to see it, Troy… that the more you broadcast what this match should mean to the world, the more a dirty, little secret becomes crystal clear.”

(RANDALLS pauses for a few moments… the camera closing in as a smirk creeps onto his face.)

RANDALLS: “You’re F(BLEEP!)ing scared. Deep down, you’ve ALWAYS been f(bleep!)ing scared.”

(The camera pans around, pulling away as RANDALLS looks off to the side…)

RANDALLS: “You AVOIDED this for more than a decade and now you’re walking into this ring wanting to wrestle against the perception of Mike Randalls’ legacy? (RANDALLS cocks his head…) As far as I’m concerned, this match doesn’t mean SH(BLEEP!)T to MY LEGACY. Other people and yourself can talk all you want about history, but to me…this is a means to an end, a final STAKE through your HEART.”

(RANDALLS starts pacing around the ring again…)

RANDALLS: “You’re RIGHT, the WRESTLING…and I emphasize that the WRESTLING industry doesn’t think much of you these days… but that’s because Cameron Cruise wiped his ass with your face in Canada’s third-best promotion… that’s because the last time you were in NFW… you came, you pissed, you teabagged, you got stretchered out. You never adapted, you never EVOLVED. Your legacy got tarnished the moment your last name didn't mean sh(bleep!)t to anyone anymore…and this was NFW’s fault? No, no, no, Troy... Miles and Mayfield lit you up and smoked you out because respect isn't given. It's EARNED...and if you want YOUR NAME to STAND with MINE, then you need to understand what that takes for MINE. At the ALAMODOME, I saw your FEAR… (RANDALLS bounces off the ropes…) And that look was STILL there when you finally decided to finger yourself for the first time and challenge me…”

(RANDALLS pauses in the middle of the ring…)

RANDALLS: “And those eyes CAN’T show up when we stand right in this spot at start of this match, Troy… for this to mean ANYTHING to MY legacy… (RANDALLS lowers his head slightly) Otherwise, this is just about me SNAPPING YOUR F(BLEEP!)ING NECK and ending a sad, tragic tale of vanity and desperation. There’s state medical boards that won’t even commission or clear you to wrestle… there’s thousands of people from Sweetwater, Texas frantically calling and mailing the NFW offices trying to stop this match and save your career. You need to give them reason to believe… give ME reason to believe.”

(The camera closes in on RANDALLS’ face hardening, his teeth gritting…)

RANDALLS: “Because I’d love nothing more to believe, Troy. I’d love nothing more to believe that this match isn’t about perception. I’d love nothing more to BELIEVE that this match isn’t about a question of legacy. I’d LOVE nothing more to BELIEVE than what you better believe about ME… that there is NO FEAR. There is NOTHING to hold back. There are... (RANDALLS smiles evily) NO HOLDS BARRED. We STAND together, Troy...right in the middle of this ring with one objective in mind…”

(Suddenly in the distance, the rows of lights start turning off…)

RANDALLS: “I’m not here for victory. I’m not here for glory.”

(The rows of lights turning off gets closer to RANDALLS and the ring…)

RANDALLS: “I’m not here for 3 seconds. I am here to Walk the Way...”

(As RANDALLS returns to taking one knee on the mat, the last lights turning off… FADETOBLACK)

”...I am here to END you.”

 

[Rook Black]

ROOK: "You've got the wrong idea."

(FADE IN: Rook Black, wearing a new piece of t-shirt merch. Rook, slightly less pixelated, standing over a face down Link from LoZ in the middle of a town square, Rook's fists in the air as his head is thrown back in laughter, which Mayfield had described as "This will be the perfect retro homage ever to one of the most dramatic surprises in console gaming history! KEFKA slays GENERAL LEO! YES!" Then he left the room before anybody could ask any questions. ROOK has otherwise, a pair of track pants and 1080's on. He's a bit sweaty. It's late afternoon outside.)

ROOK: "Both of you. I'll address Eric first, since it's shorter."

ROOK: "Your role in this match is that of a piñata. Stop pretending you have something of merit to say to people in it."

ROOK: "As for you, Impulse ..."

ROOK: "According to my own principles, my particular set of rules of engagement if you will, matches are important because they are competitive. Odd numbered multi-competitor single fall is a case of continually fluctuating temporary alliances. Your ally is actually anybody that is not standing in the way of you on your way to attacking your target of opportunity. Your enemy is always at least two people, whoever has chosen you for a target of opportunity, and whoever is in position to win the match by defeating another opponent."

ROOK: "This is the way it should be. It's the natural progression of each competitor's self interest, each competitor's desire to win. I embrace this."

ROOK: "A sustained alliance over the course of a match, to incapacitate three opponents, and then settle it like a singles match?"

ROOK: "That's completely implausible. Naive. I wouldn't agree to it, and were I stupid enough to agree to it, it would not be successful. Now I know we're still playing hypothetical with that, and it's not actually relevant since you don't trust me enough to engage in such a poorly thought out plan, but it illuminates a particular item of interest."

ROOK: "You're mistrust of me has made you a better competitor."

ROOK: "You're welcome."

ROOK: "I like what you did with the rest of your remarks though. You set up this concept of New Frontier Wrestling as a kind of autonomous, self-aware presence itself that is calling out to a new Champion."

ROOK: "Very visionary. Is this Nova's influence on you? But anyway, it was a pretty fascinating remark."

ROOK: "I'd have thought you be to a liberal really, but here you are throwing in with the folks who want corporations to continue to have the same rights as people do. But you've taken it to a whole new level now by actually giving to a company a human's wants and desires."

ROOK: "This New Frontier Wrestling cries out for a champion, does it? She's unhappy with Castor, who mounts her like a villain and keeps her drugged up, pimps her out at parties maybe? Are you going to save her, Impulse? Is that what this is all about? You're on the hero's journey, and you're beginning your climb back to defeat your ancient foe and save the company?"

ROOK: "You need to grow the fuck up."

ROOK: "This is the real life. This is not just fantasy. In a match where you're facing down four motivated opponents, holding onto a naive worldview is the metaphorical equivalent of walking directly into a landslide. As much as perception does indeed influence reality, reality is inescapable, and no matter what kind of point of view you hold, you don't get to turn up into down, or losses into wins. Open your fucking eyes, take a good look around you, and see reality for what it is."

ROOK: "You are just a confused boy from the east coast, not nearly as sympathetic as you imagine you are. You've got your talent, you've got your warped sense of integrity."

ROOK: "I have a veritable trifecta of virtues that set me apart from the likes of you."

ROOK: "Patience."

ROOK: "Cunning."

ROOK: "Ruthlessness."

ROOK: "I'll achieve victory and earn a shot at Castor's NFW World Heavyweight Championship because I will do what it takes to win, by any means necessary."

ROOK: "Because nothing else matters."

 

[User Poets]

Bearish Business

ROSE: "Such anger, Eric!"

(FADEIN on the Zen Garden.

​

Calico Rose, tank top and yoga pants. Meditation.

Since she first appeared on camera in the New Frontier, even in the background of such events as WrestleStock, I've described her as a strange mix of equal parts city girl metalhead and dirty hippie.

Some things don't change.

And...)

ROSE: "Are you doing your breathing? Do you be sure to sit in a safe space for at least twenty minutes a day, with your incense and herbal tea? Would you like me to send you another DVD? I sent the last one to Castor Strife's mansion, and since I didn't get it back I assumed you had a forwarding address. But you can always find me at TC's--"

(And we static and fade to Team Impulse. Literally, the words. I sat down, in view of the camera, and put my feet up.)

Here's what I don't understand, Eric.

I lose a match to Zippy the Wonderdog, I accept it, and I move on with my career.

You know, like a professional wrestler does, Eric. We've all lost high profile matches since none of us are the Harlem Globetrotters, and we've all had to eat our pride by losing matches that we thought we should've won.

But let's think about it for a second. I lost my match, and I moved on to the next thing.

You lost your match, and you decided that losing your match meant that you actually deserve to get another shot, right away.

By that estimation, your quick, one - sided loss to my grandfather in the Ultratitle means that we fully expect you to show up at Survivalism and declare yourself the winner before any of the semis start. Fortunately, all four semi-finalists are better at this than you and would thoroughly embarrass you if given half a chance.

Or they already did.

That was the snark, by the way. You seem to have trouble picking it out, but I'm a helper.

I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, though, and play out the string. No, I don't wonder why nobody this side of the New York metal scene likes me.

Emo. You've obviously never been to New York. Quick, name me five landmarks that aren't the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the Empire State Building, the United Nations, or Rockefeller Center.

No, I don't wonder why people do or don't like me. The fans do: in general, I get cheered by a pretty overwhelming majority every time I wrestle, and those that I've met individually and away from the arena are either big fans or are at least civil in their dislike.

I portray myself honestly, Eric, and cliche though it is to say it, I'd rather be hated for what I am than loved for what I'm not. If I have to put on a mask and play a part for people to like me, then they don't like me, and what's the point of that?

And you.

You talk of arrogance as if it's an alien concept to you. As if you didn't get pinned by the World Champion. As if you're hoping the entire wrestling world will develop spontaneous mass amnesia and begin to ask ourselves and each other, Why isn't Eric Dane World Champion?

Well, allow me to answer: because you haven't earned it.

Because you're willfully blind, deaf, and dumb.

You tell me that I'm using Rules of Engagement as an excuse for something.

I'm the only one that isn't doing that.

It's a phrase I didn't coin, but it stuck so it is what it is. And it's how I wrestle. Does it make me better or worse at this than anyone else?

If you need to bribe a referee, swing a chair wild, poke an eye or pull tights, then yeah, I think that makes me a better wrestler.

Here's the question, Eric: if we were in a match where we both had a chair, and we were both required to hit each other with chairs, and I was inclined to do so, who would win?

I played baseball in highschool. I've got good aim and a fast arm.

But if we were in a match where there were no weapons allowed, no bribing of referees, and no breaking the rules of any kind tolerated, who would win?

You brag about your shortcuts like they're something to be proud of, but they've gotten you nothing.

Yes: nothing. Because nothing that happens outside the New Frontier matters inside these doors, and you've accomplished nothing here.

Your shortcuts don't make you cool, Eric. You've managed to alienate the fans, the boys, the referees, the road crew, the owners, and the human population in general with your entitlement complex and your own arrogance.

And don't even try to keep your cool, sir - the very fact that you decided to accuse me of being generally disliked by everyone as an attempt to get under my skin tells us all that you obsess over your own appearance to the rest of this company.

Let me end the suspense: this company feels vague annoyance toward you, but other than clogging Castor Strife's toilets with your tampons, you've made no impact.

Should I put it another way? The past year for me has seen me beat Dan Ryan, lose to Castor Strife for the World Title, and defended the New Frontier from the Windows Clan. After fighting for a year, give or take, I find myself here, with another shot at the World Title just one match away.

The past year for you has seen you actually work your Long Con, only to end up with egg on your face when it turns out you're not good enough to beat Castor Strife.

I know I said it before, but it didn't seem to sink in. Our respective years have taken us to the same place, except that I've actually done things that I can be proud of.

I know you're proud of robbing Castor and breaking the rules because you're a rebel and you wish you were my grandfather, but you spent the year accomplishing nothing.

(Static. Rose. Zen garden.)

ROSE: "Reflect over your memories, Eric. Focus on your successes, and let the failures wash over you like the gentle babbling of a mountain stream."

(Static. Impulse. Hello!)

I have some bad news for you, Eric. I realize that this is the New Frontier; the land of the Dildonites and Hallucination Nation and Troy Windham's mid-life crisis and the NFW East, but beyond all the craziness, the New Frontier World Championship has always been based on wrestling, not based on who can con the belt out of a worthy champion.

It won't be dumb luck when you're never the New Frontier's World Champion, Eric... it's simply going to be business as usual.

Besides, all you've done so far this year is reveal your hand. Do you really think anyone will fall for your line of confetti again?

We've never really had any kind of confrontation of note before, have we, Eric?

I'll be DVRing this Reloaded... I don't want to miss the look on your face when you realize that the kid you've been awkwardly berating for the past year outwrestles you from bell to bell.

All without the use of razorwire.

(Static. Zen garden. Rose.)

ROSE: "Feel the universe, Eric. Feel your place in the universe. Be at one with the cosmos. Namaste."

FADE

 

[User Poets]

Re: Bearish Business

Static.

Brief aside.

Nothing special.

"Speaking of which, Rook, you'd make a good politician. You just spoke a lot of words that sounded important, but in the end actually said nothing at all."

"I'm impressed."

Static.