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Rodgers vs. Matthews




[updated:LAST EDITED ON Jan-15-03 AT 06:49 PM (EST)]Fade in to a black backdrop with a green and white Ratings Boost insignia. A pair of steel chairs have been set up in front of the backdrop. In one chair sits a blond man of average height, clad in white dress pants and a white suit coat; his features are reminiscent of a teen heartthrob, though the build of his body and the thickness of his neck suggest that he's most certainly not a fluff pop artist. The other chair is used for the man to rest his feet on.

Obviously, this is the self-styled Show Stealer, Dean Matthews.

"So yeah," Dean says as he leans back in the chair, clasping his hands behind his head. "You people out there watched Revolution. You know why I'm here. But let's recap. I, Dean Matthews, the Show Stealer, am here to make your lives better. I know all you little boys and girls out there in TV land are tired of watching fat sacks of roids stink up GXW, so I'm here to save the day. And ladies, yes, I'm single- and I steal the show in the bedroom just as well I do in the squared circle."

"But I'm sure you yokels didn't tune in to hear me rant and rave about my d*ck size. God knows everyone in GXW does that anyway. Instead, I'd like to direct a few words to Erik Zieba and Chad Dupree. No hard feelings, fellas, ah? It's all about business. I can understand why you may be a little angry with us now, but once the latest batch of Nielsen ratings come in you'll be praising us like we were kings."

Dean pauses to swing his feet off of the second chair, kicking it aside.

"With that aside, I'm going to get onto this match I've been booked on on... Onslaught? Against... Derrick Rodgers? Translation: I'm wrestling a curtain jerker on the B show. Oooooooh. Punishing me for something, Erik? You think after we made SUCH an impression on you on Revolution you'd feel convinced to put me on X-Perience with the REST of the Ratings Boost. But no problem... I'll be in the house."

"But I'm digressing. Back to Rodgers. So, Dirk. I don't know you... but I DO know you were scheduled for a match on the recent episode of Revolution. What happened? You chickened out. Don't give me that contract differences bullshmeet. Fact of the matter is that you were SCARED to get into the ring with Kevin Powers, even WITH Troy Douglas on your team. See, if that were ME booked in that match, I'd have walked in there, sat the little ol' Throwback down, and took Good God the Beerville Drunk to school myself. But you don't have that kind of talent, do you? No... only thing you know how to do is whine and run."

"But lemme ask you a question, Dirky. Do you honestly think you were put in this match as even competition for me? N'uh-uh. No way. You were put in this match so I could tuck an easy win under my belt and move on to bigger things. The fact of the matter is... I'm just better than you. For all your D-Bombs and D-Drillers and D-Stroyers and D-Busters and any other move in your arsenal that can conceivably be spelled with a D, you STILL can't hold a jock to me. I'm the best technical wrestler in Global X-Treme Wrestling today. I've got more years of amateur wrestling under my belt than you could even begin to guess. I'm a legend on the indy circuit. I've taken down men over twice my size easily. What it all adds up to, Dirkin, is that Dean Matthews equals ratings. You don't. Dean Matthews equals talent. You don't. And Dean Matthews equals winner. You don't."

"So do yourself a favor. Hop in your car, Drive down D-Dumb@ss Drive until you hit downtown, hang a left at D-Dipsh*t Lane, park on the top D-Deck of the parking lot at the D-Days Inn, then get your D-Dorky @ss down to the stadium and get ready to get D-Molished. 'Cause I'm D-Dean Matthews, and I'll be D-Damned if I let myself get D-Feated by a D-D1ldo like you. D-Doucheb@g."

Fade out.


The Rookie Arrives...

*Belfast, Ireland*

This is the site of GXW's upcoming 'Onslaught' and more importantly the debut of Derrick Rodgers. Well alright. So it's not an earth shaking event, but it's important to him none the less. After years of busting his hump going around the American independents our subject who has been nicknamed 'D-Rod' has been given a golden opportunity of a life time. That opportunity being the chance to showcase himself on a world-wide stage and getting paid a hefty sum of money compared to what he was making on the indy scene isn't too bad neither.


We join our newcomer in a hotel room. The room is very simple with only the bare necessities. The bed has been moved aside so there is a large clearing where Rodgers is down on the floor doing pushups. Beside him is a black plush chair that is near the window of the room that looks out into the dreary Ireland sky. Next to the chair is a small table that has two bottles, both of which being bottles of water.

"997... 998... 999... 1000..."

Rodgers pops up from the floor and stretches his body a bit before taking a seat. He grabs one of the bottles, twists off the cap and takes a slug of water before setting it back down on the tables top. He huffs out a heavy breath of air and simply stares out into the grey sky through the window.

"After a long, long, loooong time. I finally have arrived to the big leagues, to GXW. Top of the world ma!"

He grins slightly.

"Less than two months ago I was still breaking my back in front of crowds of maybe a thousand people, tops, give or take a few hundered and getting paid peanuts most of the time or next to nothing at all. Maybe a few bucks for gas and that was it, heh, those were the good days."

Pause as he takes another drink.

"But now... Now I'm going to be taking a quantum leap. Instead of maybe a thousand people in the stands, there will be tens of thousands of people screaming their heads off and millions all over the world who're watching on the boob tube. Nah, it's intimidating in the least."

He rolls his eyes at that.

"Sort of like my opponent. Type of guy who wastes his time coming up with lame ways of insulting me and then trying to make us believe he's somehow better than anyone else on the roster when he himself probably hasn't done anything worthy of being called a 'Show Stealer."

"Is calling me Dirk supposed to get under my skin? Is poking fun at my arsenal of 'D-moves' supposed to get me mad? Well, it doesn't and matter of fact Dean, you won't be laughing much about those 'D-moves' when I start dropping you on your mellon with them."

"You can spend your time talking about much I suck and how great you are. But in the end what usually happens to guys like you is for all your talk of how great you like to say you are. When you get put in the ring with someone who doesn't buy into your bull#%@# you end up being seen for what you really are."

"Talk and nothing but."

And with that we take our leave.



You're A Moron

Fade in to the backstage area of the Odyssey Arena. Seated at a table near the lockers is Dean Matthews, clad in his typical white suit coat and trousers; he is currently playing Solitaire. A four of hearts is held loosely in his right hand. He thoughtfully lays the card down, then looks up at the camera.

"This should give you an idea of how much I give a damn about you, Dirkin," Dean says with a broad smile. "Training? Naw, you're not good enough for me. Instead, I'll just sit here and play Solitaire while shooting down your feeble attempt at a verbal defense."

"So you think I haven't done anything to deserve my 'Show Stealer' moniker, huh? Are you blind?! I laid out Chad Dupree and Erik Zieba - the owners of this company - ON MY DEBUT NIGHT!!! I'm a charter member of the stable that's going to carry this company through 2003! I left Zell Hunter a mangled wreck! If you want to look to other federations, you'd also find that I've NEVER ONCE been pinned in singles competition. But yeah, I've done nothing 'cause Mr. Rogers SAID I didn't do anything. Ain't that right, Dirky?"

"As for me not laughing at your silly D-DRIVERS and D-BOMBERS and D-DUNKERS and D-D1LDOS... I'll still laugh. Know why? 'Cause no amount of D-BOPPERS or D-DOINKERS or D-DINGLEDORFS will get you a win over me, buckaroo. I've been through a lot worse than you, pally. I mean, come on - I've lasted against men with OVER a hundred pounds of weight on me, and I've STILL pulled out the win every time. If I can survive against titans like that, I can sure as hell kick YOUR skinny little @ss from here to Kathmandu, you dorky little D-Dumbf*ck."

"So you don't buy into my bullsh1t, eh Gherkin Dirkin? That's good, because THERE IS NO BULLSH1T. I am everything I say I am. I AM the Show Stealer, I AM the consummate technical wrestler in this federation, and I AM the guy who's gonna take your @ss to school Greco-Roman style and drop you like a bad habit. Think THAT'S BS? You'll be singing a different tune when your head's bouncing off the canvas. And it'll go something like this... 'Ouch! Ouch! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry please stop!'"

"Aaaaaand with that said... I'm gonna finish this game. Maybe next time you send out a promo, Dirkling, it'll actually be more than ten seconds long. I can't wait. Wait, wait... yes I can."

"See ya later, bozo."

Fade out.


[updated:LAST EDITED ON Jan-20-03 AT 00:50 AM (EST)]*Back in Ireland*

*Last and first time we checked in with the rookie newcomer of GXW he was making a new friend by the name of Dean Matthews. A blabbermouth*

"You sound like a stuttering retard, Dean, maybe you ought to get that checked out, eh?"


We're outside.

The morning sky is still dark as the sun is still hours away from rising. The only light comes from the moon that is high up in the sky and shines down upon this particular Belfast street.

This is where the rookie newcomer by the name of Derrick Rodgers is jogging along the streets totally in peace. He wears a dark grey hooded pull-over with a red and white "GXW Property" logo on the chest as well as a pair of black sweats and a cross trainers.

He runs, we follow. He talks, we listen.

"Seriously Dean. That stutter you got could be something serious and you should get that looked at. Heh. I don't know too many show stealing stuttering retards, but hey, you could be the first. At least you've done one thing to make me look bad."

He nods in agreement of himself.

"You have done things, but..."

There's always a but, right? He slows his pace as he reaches a bench that rests near a street lamp. He sits and continues.

"It was still nothing that screams 'Show Stealer'. Not to me anyway and I'm sure that means nothing to you. So we know you can drop the owners of the company like a bad habit."


"Bravo, Dean, bravo."

"You laid out the owners, joined another pair of whining maggots and proclaimed yourselves the group that is going to change the company forever."

He mockingly yawns at this.

"Haven't we seen this hundereds of times already? Probably more than a few times here in GXW I'm sure. What's so great about that? If there's anything there that's supposed to be stealing the show, you'll have to explain it to me because I'm not seeing it. And then you beat the hell out of Zell Hunter..."


"Three on one. Impressive. Very impressive in fact. You bum rush a guy, three on one, and then beat #%$@ out of him. Is that supposed to be a warning or is that you just giving away your game plan going in against me, Dean?"

A smirk curls up on to his face.

"So like I asked Dean. What about you makes you anything even remotely resembling a 'Show Stealer'? We know you can run with a pair of bitching cry babies. We know you can beat down a couple of executives. And we know you can do all of this with your little friends. Until you do anything of real importance, and on your own, you're not a 'Show Stealer.' But go ahead, Dean. Keep jabbering on like a stuttering fool, we'll see what you can do against me when the time for talking is over."

He gets up from the bench and starts to move away, but stops.

"Assuming you can do it or anything else for that matter without the help of your new buddies."

He runs off into the night.



The Short Bus Blues

[updated:LAST EDITED ON Jan-20-03 AT 11:01 AM (EST)]Fade in to a park somewhere in Ireland, where Dean Matthews is sitting in a bench under a tree. His arms are draped across the back of the bench; a thick leather coat protects his body from the chill wind blowing by.

"You know," Dean muses, raising a hand to his chin. "When I jumped ship to the GXW, I was told I'd be facing opponents who could keep up with me both physically and mentally. So... where the hell are they, huh? 'Cause Derrick Retard out there certainly can't keep pace with my astounding wit. Honestly, Dirkin. If the best you can come up with is 'Stop stuttering, you cheating dirty scoundrel!', then you're in trouble. Maybe you should hop on the short bus with TLC and Reuben Fasco and ride off into the sunset while singing Kumbayah. Honestly."

"But guess what, D-Dirkin? It's time for some fun! We're gonna play a little game called 'Dean Matthews Makes Dirky Rodgers His Verbal B*tch.' Ready?"

Dean's face promptly hardens. "First off, don't you DARE call Eric Davis and Inferno whining maggots, you scrawny little no-talent son-of-a-b*tch. BOTH of those guys have done more in their careers than you've done in your LIFE. Hell, Eric Davis is a former GXW World Heavyweight Champion. Can you top that, Dirk? No, didn't think so. But better yet, both of those guys have more talent in one finger than you have in your entire body. So do I, for that matter. Why the hell do you think we've teamed up? Answer's simple: We're going to save GXW from ratings Hell. We're it's salvation from people like YOU who couldn't bring in a crowd if we coated you in crowd cologne and stuck you in the middle of a crowd herd in crowd mating season. It's people like me, people like Davis, people like Inferno who draw the crowds, and to suggest otherwise is just ludicrous. Do you think they come to see YOU, Derrick? Yeah, right... they come to see the Ratings Boost make GXW watchable, and you damn well know it."

"As for me apparently being nothing on my own... you're a moron. I've built my CAREER as a singles star. I'm undefeated in singles competition. I used to wrestle for a fed called NAW, and did you know that I not only won their Mid-Atlantic Title IN MY SECOND MATCH, I was NEVER defeated for it? I retired it voluntarily when my contract expired. All while STILL main-eventing against their 400-pound World Champion - AND WINNING. I'll admit that the caliber of talent in GXW is superior, for the most part - which is why I'm here - but if you think you're going to end MY winning ways, I've got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell ya."

"Why is it that whenever a new stable comes into existence, people automatically assume that one member can't succeed without the others doing his dirty work? Do you honestly think I need Davis and Inferno to beat a punk like you, Dirk? That's... well, that's pretty damned arrogant of ya if I do say so myself. Thinking you're SO hot that it'll take three men to defeat you. Too bad you'll be singing a different tune once I humble you a little."

With a low breath, Dean folds his hands in his lap and smiles slightly at the camera.

"You seem to think that I'm all talk... too bad you couldn't be further from the truth. My past matches clearly show that I'm a technician of the highest caliber and I'm fully capable of humbling you or anyone else who wants to roll with the Show Stealer. Maybe you don't think I'm worthy of my moniker now, but let me tell you this: I didn't earn the 'Show Stealer' moniker by running my mouth. I earned it by backing up my sh*t-talk in the ring. I've built my reputation on my wrestling ability, and that's why you're going to lose - because try as you might, you just can't measure up to the Show Stealer's technique."

"And with that said, I'll let you get back to all that intense training, Dirky... maybe it'll help you last for more than ten seconds against me. D-Dipstick."

Dean rises off the bench and walks off screen to the right as we fade to black.

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