PaulNJ21
I shunned a voodoo witch, decapitated a black cat
The RP/angle deadline is Monday, January 9, 2006 11:59 PM EST. Send all angles to pmiller21@gmail.com
Last edited:
Superbowl of Wrestling: Pat Gordon vs. BP Lightning vs. Mystery Man
- Thread starter PaulNJ21
- Start date
P
Pat Gordon
Guest
Fade in to Mr. Dooley's Irish Pub in Pat Gordon's new home town of Boston, Massachusetts. Gordon sits at the bar with a pint o' Guinness™ in his hand. The light, cream colour of the head contrasts with the dark, smooth colour of the brew itself. The bar is decorated with Mr. Dooley's t-shirts, alcohol advertisements, and sports regalia for New England and other area teams. Gordon has his back to the bar.
P. Gordon: When I heard that WFW was coming so close to my home town, Bean Town, the Irish Catholic capitol of America, I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to appear. I'm really looking forward to stepping back into the squared circle in front of those Foxboro fans.
It's been quite a while since I've been in the ring. Then again, I believe it's also been a while for you, hasn't it, BP Lightning? That's one thing you and I both have in common. The two of us are here mostly because of our pasts. Of course, you and I both know that it's not about our pasts anymore. Neither one of us are quite who we once were, so it's going to be about what we're still able to do, BP, we know that. We're going to have to go out there and define ourselves all over again. We'll have to meet with our doubters, the critics who say that this match is a bad idea and people our age shouldn't be wrestling anymore, and prove them wrong. Are you up for it? I sure hope so, because I'm feeling up to it.
That's what this match is about for me. See, I'm really not concerned with things like title pictures or power rankings anymore, so winning and losing is really inconsequential to me at this stage of my career. I don't plan to wrestle very many matches after this one. In fact, this is going to be my second to last match. I've promised my very last one to a young man who was once my protégé, something of which I've had several long before this silly CSWA contest they're running for Troy Windham, Jay. Two more matches and that space between the ropes becomes a distant memory to me of a land once explored. It's almost poetic, isn't it?
The thing of it is, BP, that we're not the only two people in this match. They've decided to mix things up and add us a mystery opponent. The idea was probably based dually on the company's idea that not only would the element of surprise make people more interested in the match, but that you and I somehow needed the help to get people interested, as much as the mystery combatant's cowardly tactic to remain as a surprise to somehow give him an extra edge.
What our mystery opponent doesn't realize is that between the two of us, we've probably not only seen it all, but been through it all. Mystery opposition isn't the kind of thing that's going to actually phase two ring veterans who have faced such a wide assortment of wrestlers with so many different styles that we've come to be adept to the nuances of each different style. We know the advantages and disadvantages of every style there is to offer. Whatever this guy decides to throw at us, one of us should be able to handle. There really isn't anything that is unknown to either of us and I'm sure that, given a little bit of time, the identity of the so called "X-Factor" to our match will also make itself abundantly clear.
Of course, when it's all said and done, I'm sure that all three of us will be happy to smile, pose for a few pictures, and sign a few autographs of fans whose view of us parallels the views they have on things like Pong, Mr. Belvedeere, and doing the Macarena. Watching us wrestle is nostalgic; it reminds them of their childhoods. Then again, this match is something that's never happened before, so it's probably like some kind of blockbuster breakthrough as if Procul Harem got back together, recorded a new song, and somehow managed to produce more of that same special sound they had so long ago. Something like that isn't just truly magical; it's almost unheard of. That is exactly the kind of thing we can make happen here. That is the reason we don't need any help making this match interesting. That is the reason we're on this card.
Pat Gordon chugs his Guinness™ as the scene fades to black.
P. Gordon: When I heard that WFW was coming so close to my home town, Bean Town, the Irish Catholic capitol of America, I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to appear. I'm really looking forward to stepping back into the squared circle in front of those Foxboro fans.
It's been quite a while since I've been in the ring. Then again, I believe it's also been a while for you, hasn't it, BP Lightning? That's one thing you and I both have in common. The two of us are here mostly because of our pasts. Of course, you and I both know that it's not about our pasts anymore. Neither one of us are quite who we once were, so it's going to be about what we're still able to do, BP, we know that. We're going to have to go out there and define ourselves all over again. We'll have to meet with our doubters, the critics who say that this match is a bad idea and people our age shouldn't be wrestling anymore, and prove them wrong. Are you up for it? I sure hope so, because I'm feeling up to it.
That's what this match is about for me. See, I'm really not concerned with things like title pictures or power rankings anymore, so winning and losing is really inconsequential to me at this stage of my career. I don't plan to wrestle very many matches after this one. In fact, this is going to be my second to last match. I've promised my very last one to a young man who was once my protégé, something of which I've had several long before this silly CSWA contest they're running for Troy Windham, Jay. Two more matches and that space between the ropes becomes a distant memory to me of a land once explored. It's almost poetic, isn't it?
The thing of it is, BP, that we're not the only two people in this match. They've decided to mix things up and add us a mystery opponent. The idea was probably based dually on the company's idea that not only would the element of surprise make people more interested in the match, but that you and I somehow needed the help to get people interested, as much as the mystery combatant's cowardly tactic to remain as a surprise to somehow give him an extra edge.
What our mystery opponent doesn't realize is that between the two of us, we've probably not only seen it all, but been through it all. Mystery opposition isn't the kind of thing that's going to actually phase two ring veterans who have faced such a wide assortment of wrestlers with so many different styles that we've come to be adept to the nuances of each different style. We know the advantages and disadvantages of every style there is to offer. Whatever this guy decides to throw at us, one of us should be able to handle. There really isn't anything that is unknown to either of us and I'm sure that, given a little bit of time, the identity of the so called "X-Factor" to our match will also make itself abundantly clear.
Of course, when it's all said and done, I'm sure that all three of us will be happy to smile, pose for a few pictures, and sign a few autographs of fans whose view of us parallels the views they have on things like Pong, Mr. Belvedeere, and doing the Macarena. Watching us wrestle is nostalgic; it reminds them of their childhoods. Then again, this match is something that's never happened before, so it's probably like some kind of blockbuster breakthrough as if Procul Harem got back together, recorded a new song, and somehow managed to produce more of that same special sound they had so long ago. Something like that isn't just truly magical; it's almost unheard of. That is exactly the kind of thing we can make happen here. That is the reason we don't need any help making this match interesting. That is the reason we're on this card.
Pat Gordon chugs his Guinness™ as the scene fades to black.
B
BP Lightning
Guest
(Scene opens in downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota. The usual bustling nightlife is quiet as the bars have closed and the windchill has dropped below zero. Various vagrants occupy alleys and street corners seeking a helping hand. Former IWF superstar BP Lightning walks the streets alone, clad in a down jacket, BP opts to hand his coat to a homeless, older man.)
BP Lightning - You take this sir.
Homeless Man - Thank you. God bless you.
(BP continues to walk down the blocks of Hennepin county before finally arriving at his destination, an abandoned warehouse. Legend has it an underground boxing community frequented the facility before the county commisioner sealed off entry into the building because of asbestos in the early 1980's. Prior to their usuage, Nordictrack manufactured treadmills for a few years before outsourcing production overseas. What had made the building desireable to the boxers, aside from the huge space and shoddy exercise equipment, was the same thing that brought BP Lightning there this evening. The ring.)
BP Lightning - (Sighs) It's been awhile.
(BP reaches unlatches a sliding door and quietly slips inside the building. He flips a switch and a dim light engulfs the one functioning piece of property in the premise, the aforementioned ring. He steps through the ropes and sits in a corner.)
BP Lightning - This is home. No matter where my life's travels have taken me, there has been one constant. The ring. Pro wrestling runs through my blood. She's my mistress and I am her dog on a chain. And just when I think I can get away from her, she calls me back. And I come running.
(BP stands to test the ropes.)
BP Lightning - The wrestling ring has housed many dreams. Some dreams were realized. Some went down in a blaze of glory. And some dreams were left to waste. Pat Gordon, your dreams were left to waste. We may share a sabbatical in common, but that is where our similarities end. You may look at the Superbowl of Wrestling as just another nostalgic event where promoters commiserate together to make a five figure gate and split amongst themselves. I, however, emerge from the anoynomity I've been living in these last 3 years, incensed that the legend of BP Lightning isn't any better than a petty pop out of recognition from behind the curtain. For nearly 10 years, I had laid the foundation on a career that saw me cross paths with some of the biggest names this industry has ever seen. And when I'm ready to come back and face the music, one more time, Pat Gordon and some unknown are what I get?
(BP climbs the turnbuckle and sits upon the top rope.)
BP Lightning - Pat Gordon, you are more than welcome to bathe in the glow of nostalgia. Come the second of January, I fully intend to re-establish the spotlight on myself. I don't need the fanfare. I don't need the hype. I just need a reason. And my reason is putting away a never-was been like you. Men who aren't worthy enough to assemble the ring I stand in right now. The X-Factor in this triple threat? As far as I'm concerned the more mystery the better. You lay in the shadows my friend. You listen to everything I say. Foxboro Stadium. Show up in the best shape of your life. And face this reality, you are dead where you stand.
(BP steps down from the turnbuckle and stands in the middle of the ring as the light in the warehouse flicker on and off.)
(Scene ends.)
BP Lightning - You take this sir.
Homeless Man - Thank you. God bless you.
(BP continues to walk down the blocks of Hennepin county before finally arriving at his destination, an abandoned warehouse. Legend has it an underground boxing community frequented the facility before the county commisioner sealed off entry into the building because of asbestos in the early 1980's. Prior to their usuage, Nordictrack manufactured treadmills for a few years before outsourcing production overseas. What had made the building desireable to the boxers, aside from the huge space and shoddy exercise equipment, was the same thing that brought BP Lightning there this evening. The ring.)
BP Lightning - (Sighs) It's been awhile.
(BP reaches unlatches a sliding door and quietly slips inside the building. He flips a switch and a dim light engulfs the one functioning piece of property in the premise, the aforementioned ring. He steps through the ropes and sits in a corner.)
BP Lightning - This is home. No matter where my life's travels have taken me, there has been one constant. The ring. Pro wrestling runs through my blood. She's my mistress and I am her dog on a chain. And just when I think I can get away from her, she calls me back. And I come running.
(BP stands to test the ropes.)
BP Lightning - The wrestling ring has housed many dreams. Some dreams were realized. Some went down in a blaze of glory. And some dreams were left to waste. Pat Gordon, your dreams were left to waste. We may share a sabbatical in common, but that is where our similarities end. You may look at the Superbowl of Wrestling as just another nostalgic event where promoters commiserate together to make a five figure gate and split amongst themselves. I, however, emerge from the anoynomity I've been living in these last 3 years, incensed that the legend of BP Lightning isn't any better than a petty pop out of recognition from behind the curtain. For nearly 10 years, I had laid the foundation on a career that saw me cross paths with some of the biggest names this industry has ever seen. And when I'm ready to come back and face the music, one more time, Pat Gordon and some unknown are what I get?
(BP climbs the turnbuckle and sits upon the top rope.)
BP Lightning - Pat Gordon, you are more than welcome to bathe in the glow of nostalgia. Come the second of January, I fully intend to re-establish the spotlight on myself. I don't need the fanfare. I don't need the hype. I just need a reason. And my reason is putting away a never-was been like you. Men who aren't worthy enough to assemble the ring I stand in right now. The X-Factor in this triple threat? As far as I'm concerned the more mystery the better. You lay in the shadows my friend. You listen to everything I say. Foxboro Stadium. Show up in the best shape of your life. And face this reality, you are dead where you stand.
(BP steps down from the turnbuckle and stands in the middle of the ring as the light in the warehouse flicker on and off.)
(Scene ends.)
T
TheMysteryMan
Guest
(The camera fades in from black, onto a dimly lit room. The shades are drawn, letting only a sliver of light creep in. The room is very moody, atmospheric. An unearthly presence is felt inside the room; something that is to be feared. A quiet laughter commences, bringing with it a feeling of uncomfortableness, reluctance to listen. A few moments pass, as a figure stands from a chair in the room, silhouetted from the small amount of light. His figure is massive, unlike any seen before, his face hidden in the sheath of darkness. The laughter subsides, and only a menacing voice remains)
Mystery Man:Here I am... In the WFW. Like so many others before me, I am on a mission, a quest, if you will. A quest for what, you may ask? A quest for judgement. A quest for dominance. A quest for all that is pure in this world. Unfortunately for some, all that is pure is not always "good". You see, I am the reaper that comes to claim what is rightfully mine. I am the God that you fear. I am the bloody revenge you must confront. Most would be afraid of me, of my legacy. If you only knew the power you, BP Lightning were up against, you'd cower into a state of absolute shock and terror. Pat Gordon, your eyes would well up with tears, nightmares would consume you during your sleep. It is not eachother you should be worrying about, Lightning and Gordon. It is the man standing in front of you, prepared to unleash an otherworldly assault upon you.
(The Mystery Man turns his back to the camera, his head staring down to the floor. A hand reaches up, running back through his stringy hair. He bends down, resting his arms on the top of the chair. Upon his back lay many scars, evidence of countless battles over the years. The man sighs slightly, a somber voice taking over the silence)
Mystery Man:The years have passed me by. They've given me nothing but pain. The emotions involved with the endless battles have given me nothing but grief... and sorrow. The one way for me to extinguish the suffering, the relentless torture on my body and mind, is to provide as much agony and malaise as possible. Unfortunately for BP Lightning and Pat Gordon, they have the task of trying to prevent it. But gentlemen..
(The Mystery Man steps back around, his face still not visible)
Mystery Man:I am unpreventable. I am inescapable. Nothing will halt the misery about to be laid upon you in our upcoming match. Not you, BP Lightning, who can't even find a reason for wrestling, wasting his life away in torment over why he does the things he does. Not you, Pat Gordon, the old veteran at the end of his career, unable to realize when the time is right to call it quits. Pat, your career is winding down. The clock is running out. Why stay around, knowing you're going to be defeated? Don't you realize, Pat, that I have seen more, done more, and been more in this business than you can ever dream? Nothing you do in that ring will take me by surprise. Nothing you do in that ring can put my back on the mat for the three count. I am a real legend. You, Pat, know nothing of the agony I will place upon your old and broken body.
(The Mystery Man shakes his head)
Mystery Man:It's going to be a glorious end to your career, Pat. Your fall from grace will be magnificent, the end result being a red stain on the sidewalk of professional wrestling stardom. That is how you will be remembered, Pat. As nothing but a stain on this business. Enjoy your last couple weeks of normality, Pat. When your judgement is complete, the name Pat Gordon will be nothing but an obscure reference.
(The Mystery Man takes a moment to collect his thoughts)
Mystery Man:...and that brings me to you, BP Lightning. Many years ago, you and I fought. I came out victorious. The sole reason is this: nothing you did then could defeat me. What makes you think it will be any differently this time around? BP, the countless matches you've been in, the numerous titles you've won, they matter not. The only thing that matters is right here and right now. In front of your eyes, right here, lies your greatest challenge to date. Right now, I would be apprehensive about climbing between the ropes, finding me there, waiting. Waiting for the chance to wrap my hands around your neck. Waiting for the chance to wring the life from you. Waiting for the chance to show the world why, throughout the countless years, you're still no better than you were the first time I wrestled you. You're no better than the other worthless opponents I've been placed against. BP...
(The Mystery Man sits down in the chair, only his head silhouetted)
Mystery Man:I've watched you. I've waited for the chance to face you once more. At the Superbowl of Wrestling, I will annihilate you. I will destroy your dreams, consume your every thought, and I will enjoy every single second of it. Don't you get it, BP? I live off the suffering of my opponents. I've got nothing but animosity for you. When I step into the ring, there are no friends, there are no allies. There is just good and evil. The good in me will obliterate the evil in your soul. I will take you to my own personal Hell. I will make sure you know exactly what pain feels like. True pain. True suffering. Until I accomplish my mission, I will not rest. I will not focus on anything else. You writhing on the mat in a puddle of your own blood, sweat, and tears is my goal. I will succeed. You will realize my agony. You will respect my authority.
(The Mystery Man stands, grabbing the chair. His turns and heaves it into the wall behind him. The chair splinters apart with a loud crash, as the Mystery Man stands with his back turned to the camera)
Mystery Man:Welcome to the end of days, gentlemen. I am your judge, jury, and executioner. The verdict is guilty. When our match commences, your sentences shall be carried out. Enjoy your lives for the next two weeks. Come the pay per view, there will be nothing left of them but torture and anguish.
(The Mystery Man begins slowly laughing to himself, quietly, menacingly. The camera fades to black)
Mystery Man:Here I am... In the WFW. Like so many others before me, I am on a mission, a quest, if you will. A quest for what, you may ask? A quest for judgement. A quest for dominance. A quest for all that is pure in this world. Unfortunately for some, all that is pure is not always "good". You see, I am the reaper that comes to claim what is rightfully mine. I am the God that you fear. I am the bloody revenge you must confront. Most would be afraid of me, of my legacy. If you only knew the power you, BP Lightning were up against, you'd cower into a state of absolute shock and terror. Pat Gordon, your eyes would well up with tears, nightmares would consume you during your sleep. It is not eachother you should be worrying about, Lightning and Gordon. It is the man standing in front of you, prepared to unleash an otherworldly assault upon you.
(The Mystery Man turns his back to the camera, his head staring down to the floor. A hand reaches up, running back through his stringy hair. He bends down, resting his arms on the top of the chair. Upon his back lay many scars, evidence of countless battles over the years. The man sighs slightly, a somber voice taking over the silence)
Mystery Man:The years have passed me by. They've given me nothing but pain. The emotions involved with the endless battles have given me nothing but grief... and sorrow. The one way for me to extinguish the suffering, the relentless torture on my body and mind, is to provide as much agony and malaise as possible. Unfortunately for BP Lightning and Pat Gordon, they have the task of trying to prevent it. But gentlemen..
(The Mystery Man steps back around, his face still not visible)
Mystery Man:I am unpreventable. I am inescapable. Nothing will halt the misery about to be laid upon you in our upcoming match. Not you, BP Lightning, who can't even find a reason for wrestling, wasting his life away in torment over why he does the things he does. Not you, Pat Gordon, the old veteran at the end of his career, unable to realize when the time is right to call it quits. Pat, your career is winding down. The clock is running out. Why stay around, knowing you're going to be defeated? Don't you realize, Pat, that I have seen more, done more, and been more in this business than you can ever dream? Nothing you do in that ring will take me by surprise. Nothing you do in that ring can put my back on the mat for the three count. I am a real legend. You, Pat, know nothing of the agony I will place upon your old and broken body.
(The Mystery Man shakes his head)
Mystery Man:It's going to be a glorious end to your career, Pat. Your fall from grace will be magnificent, the end result being a red stain on the sidewalk of professional wrestling stardom. That is how you will be remembered, Pat. As nothing but a stain on this business. Enjoy your last couple weeks of normality, Pat. When your judgement is complete, the name Pat Gordon will be nothing but an obscure reference.
(The Mystery Man takes a moment to collect his thoughts)
Mystery Man:...and that brings me to you, BP Lightning. Many years ago, you and I fought. I came out victorious. The sole reason is this: nothing you did then could defeat me. What makes you think it will be any differently this time around? BP, the countless matches you've been in, the numerous titles you've won, they matter not. The only thing that matters is right here and right now. In front of your eyes, right here, lies your greatest challenge to date. Right now, I would be apprehensive about climbing between the ropes, finding me there, waiting. Waiting for the chance to wrap my hands around your neck. Waiting for the chance to wring the life from you. Waiting for the chance to show the world why, throughout the countless years, you're still no better than you were the first time I wrestled you. You're no better than the other worthless opponents I've been placed against. BP...
(The Mystery Man sits down in the chair, only his head silhouetted)
Mystery Man:I've watched you. I've waited for the chance to face you once more. At the Superbowl of Wrestling, I will annihilate you. I will destroy your dreams, consume your every thought, and I will enjoy every single second of it. Don't you get it, BP? I live off the suffering of my opponents. I've got nothing but animosity for you. When I step into the ring, there are no friends, there are no allies. There is just good and evil. The good in me will obliterate the evil in your soul. I will take you to my own personal Hell. I will make sure you know exactly what pain feels like. True pain. True suffering. Until I accomplish my mission, I will not rest. I will not focus on anything else. You writhing on the mat in a puddle of your own blood, sweat, and tears is my goal. I will succeed. You will realize my agony. You will respect my authority.
(The Mystery Man stands, grabbing the chair. His turns and heaves it into the wall behind him. The chair splinters apart with a loud crash, as the Mystery Man stands with his back turned to the camera)
Mystery Man:Welcome to the end of days, gentlemen. I am your judge, jury, and executioner. The verdict is guilty. When our match commences, your sentences shall be carried out. Enjoy your lives for the next two weeks. Come the pay per view, there will be nothing left of them but torture and anguish.
(The Mystery Man begins slowly laughing to himself, quietly, menacingly. The camera fades to black)
P
Pat Gordon
Guest
Back at Mr. Dooley's Irish Pub in Pat Gordon's new home town of Boston, Pat Gordon is putting the finishing touches on yet another pint of Guinness. He mulls over the Mystery Man's words.
P. Gordon: Tears would well up in my eyes? Nightmares would consume me during my sleep? An OTHERWORLDLY assault?
Great Scot! I've figured out who our mystery opponent is and I have to tell you, BP, he's right. I really am scared.
Pat Gordon times a brief dramatic pause with a swig of Guinness. Alright, so the dramatic pause was unintentional. The guy likes his Guinness, okay?
P. Gordon: I'm scared because this isn't your normal seven foot tall, three hundred pound giant that we're facing. This isn't the typical five foot six, one hundred sixty pound luchador, either. This isn't even your typical raging egomaniac whose wrestling skill is far inferior to that of the greatest manager ever known to the sport of wrestling, Wilfredo the Monkey. No, I'm scared because we are facing EL RON HUBBARD! We have to step into the ring with the founder of the worst religious cult ever, Scientology, himself. Do you know what this means? When the bell rings, El Ron is going to unleash upon us ramblings of religious philosophy that is so poorly thought out, it's going to melt our brains. Then, once our brains our melted, he'll talk us into giving him all of our money and taking up B movie careers like John Travolta and Kirsty Allie. Just look at what Scientology did to Tom Cruise! He's a mad man now.
That's why I'll be wearing these.
Pat Gordon's hand travels slightly off screen. When it returns, it brings with it a set of green, white, and orange earplugs.
P. Gordon: No lunatic religious cult founder is going to have me giving him all of my money and waiting for aliens to beam me up to hyperspace heaven! I'm hundred per cent Irish Catholic and I fully intend to stay that way. Don't worry, BP. Although we are eachother's competition in this match, I would not want you to die such a horrible death as having your brain melted by El Ron Hubbard's horrible religious philosophy. That's why I brought a pair for you, too.
Pat Gordon reaches off screen and pulls out another pair of the Irish flag earplugs.
P. Gordon: That ought to keep us safe from his hysterical ramblings about "Why Scientology Is Good for You."
That being said, there's something I'd like the both of you to see.
Fade to black.
At 55 Mount Vernon Street on Boston's historical Beacon Hill, there stands a little brick building known as the Nichols House Museum. Inside this building stands Pat Gordon, admiring the American and European wooden furniture, which dates back to the seventeenth through the nineteenth centuries. He appreciates the Flemish tapestries, oriental rugs, and nineteenth century sculptures by Augustus Saint Gaudens. Then, one of the ancestral portraits catches his eye.
P. Gordon: Quickly, what do the THREE of us have in common with this Bostonian? The answer is history. We're all a part of it. El Ron Hubbard is from BP's past. The three us are all from wrestling's general past. Of course, I've never faced BP Lightning and I'm also apparently not from El Ron Hubbard's past. So, being that I'm the odd man out, they try to downplay MY past as if it were meaningless or never happened. This, of course, is all in an effort to make them each sound like they're the "G*d of Wrestling" Michael Manson himself, which they're not.
You're a "REAL" legend, El Ron? I'm a "never-was-been," BP? Oh come now.
Gordon just shrugs.
Anyhow, the one thing we all share in common is, in fact, past accomplishments. BP Lightning was a big draw in IWF, I was a big draw everywhere else, and El Ron Hubbard schemed thousands of people into believing in some wacky cult idea called Scientology. This is, as BP pointed out, where our paths diverge in the wood. BP has some crazy dreams about resurrecting his clinically dead career here in the present. The present, however, is as far as your dreams stretch, BP. Then there's El Ron, who said himself that the only thing that matters is "right here, right now." Both of you have one other thing in common, as well: you're BOTH living in the past.
I, on the other hand, am not only concerned with the present, but I have plans to make an impact on the future, as well. That's why I've been training wrestlers. That's why I've taken on numerous protégés, such as Jay and Max Hopper. That's why I helped Jonathan Marx start his path to success by putting him over in his debut match in the IWF King of the Death Match. That's why I'm running for President of WFW. That's also why, if you'll kindly look further down the billing, gentlemen, I will be in the corner of the North American Champion, a young up-and-comer named El Arco Iris. I am going to ensure that Iris has a fair chance to walk out of his fourway match with the belt still in his hands. What's the reason for me to do that? It's that I am, as it appears, the only part of the past who realizes that being a part of the past gives him an invested interest in the future.
So you two go ahead and concern yourselves with your "last chances at glory" in the here and now. Ramble on about your past "accomplishments" as if they'll win this match, let alone others, today. Meanwhile, I'll help to create a fertile future for this sport.
Oh, and El Ron, I'm sorry if you felt left out after that first round. BP and I didn't mean to leave you out of our "reindeer games."
Fade to black.
P. Gordon: Tears would well up in my eyes? Nightmares would consume me during my sleep? An OTHERWORLDLY assault?
Great Scot! I've figured out who our mystery opponent is and I have to tell you, BP, he's right. I really am scared.
Pat Gordon times a brief dramatic pause with a swig of Guinness. Alright, so the dramatic pause was unintentional. The guy likes his Guinness, okay?
P. Gordon: I'm scared because this isn't your normal seven foot tall, three hundred pound giant that we're facing. This isn't the typical five foot six, one hundred sixty pound luchador, either. This isn't even your typical raging egomaniac whose wrestling skill is far inferior to that of the greatest manager ever known to the sport of wrestling, Wilfredo the Monkey. No, I'm scared because we are facing EL RON HUBBARD! We have to step into the ring with the founder of the worst religious cult ever, Scientology, himself. Do you know what this means? When the bell rings, El Ron is going to unleash upon us ramblings of religious philosophy that is so poorly thought out, it's going to melt our brains. Then, once our brains our melted, he'll talk us into giving him all of our money and taking up B movie careers like John Travolta and Kirsty Allie. Just look at what Scientology did to Tom Cruise! He's a mad man now.
That's why I'll be wearing these.
Pat Gordon's hand travels slightly off screen. When it returns, it brings with it a set of green, white, and orange earplugs.
P. Gordon: No lunatic religious cult founder is going to have me giving him all of my money and waiting for aliens to beam me up to hyperspace heaven! I'm hundred per cent Irish Catholic and I fully intend to stay that way. Don't worry, BP. Although we are eachother's competition in this match, I would not want you to die such a horrible death as having your brain melted by El Ron Hubbard's horrible religious philosophy. That's why I brought a pair for you, too.
Pat Gordon reaches off screen and pulls out another pair of the Irish flag earplugs.
P. Gordon: That ought to keep us safe from his hysterical ramblings about "Why Scientology Is Good for You."
That being said, there's something I'd like the both of you to see.
Fade to black.
At 55 Mount Vernon Street on Boston's historical Beacon Hill, there stands a little brick building known as the Nichols House Museum. Inside this building stands Pat Gordon, admiring the American and European wooden furniture, which dates back to the seventeenth through the nineteenth centuries. He appreciates the Flemish tapestries, oriental rugs, and nineteenth century sculptures by Augustus Saint Gaudens. Then, one of the ancestral portraits catches his eye.
P. Gordon: Quickly, what do the THREE of us have in common with this Bostonian? The answer is history. We're all a part of it. El Ron Hubbard is from BP's past. The three us are all from wrestling's general past. Of course, I've never faced BP Lightning and I'm also apparently not from El Ron Hubbard's past. So, being that I'm the odd man out, they try to downplay MY past as if it were meaningless or never happened. This, of course, is all in an effort to make them each sound like they're the "G*d of Wrestling" Michael Manson himself, which they're not.
You're a "REAL" legend, El Ron? I'm a "never-was-been," BP? Oh come now.
Gordon just shrugs.
Anyhow, the one thing we all share in common is, in fact, past accomplishments. BP Lightning was a big draw in IWF, I was a big draw everywhere else, and El Ron Hubbard schemed thousands of people into believing in some wacky cult idea called Scientology. This is, as BP pointed out, where our paths diverge in the wood. BP has some crazy dreams about resurrecting his clinically dead career here in the present. The present, however, is as far as your dreams stretch, BP. Then there's El Ron, who said himself that the only thing that matters is "right here, right now." Both of you have one other thing in common, as well: you're BOTH living in the past.
I, on the other hand, am not only concerned with the present, but I have plans to make an impact on the future, as well. That's why I've been training wrestlers. That's why I've taken on numerous protégés, such as Jay and Max Hopper. That's why I helped Jonathan Marx start his path to success by putting him over in his debut match in the IWF King of the Death Match. That's why I'm running for President of WFW. That's also why, if you'll kindly look further down the billing, gentlemen, I will be in the corner of the North American Champion, a young up-and-comer named El Arco Iris. I am going to ensure that Iris has a fair chance to walk out of his fourway match with the belt still in his hands. What's the reason for me to do that? It's that I am, as it appears, the only part of the past who realizes that being a part of the past gives him an invested interest in the future.
So you two go ahead and concern yourselves with your "last chances at glory" in the here and now. Ramble on about your past "accomplishments" as if they'll win this match, let alone others, today. Meanwhile, I'll help to create a fertile future for this sport.
Oh, and El Ron, I'm sorry if you felt left out after that first round. BP and I didn't mean to leave you out of our "reindeer games."
Fade to black.
Fin.