ULTRATITLE Wrestler Profile
Wrestler Name Sammy Brown
Wrestler Height 6'3"
Wrestler Weight 248
Wrestler Age 46
Theme Music "Papa Was A Rolling Stone" by The Temptations
Wrestler's Finisher Dumb Luck - A tornado ddt that he barely manages to spin on. Looks alot like a desperation move that he got lucky on, hence the name.
Wrestler moveset Elbow drop
Leg Drop
Lariat
Back Body Drop
Botched Piledriver
Torture Rack
Sharpshooter
Belly to belly suplex
Bear Hug
Big Boot
Leagues Currently Active In none
Brief Biography Sammy Brown grew up in a low class neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York. His father killed himself day in and day out working odd jobs here and there, mostly as a super for the run-down rat trap they happened to reside in, while his mother worked part-time cleaning homes for high class families in Manhattan. This left Sammy with a lot of time to do pretty much whatever he wanted at home. While Sammy was never interested in much at school, he did get decent grades, but extracurricular activities weren't his sort of thing. He had always had an interest in playing a sport like football or wrestling, but never felt the full desire to commit himself to either sports team.
Sammy had always loved professional wrestling, ever since he first watched it when he was young. At the height of professional wrestling's most recent surge of popularity, Sammy decided to suck it up and join a small independent promotion based in New Jersey. Training diligently during all his free time, Sammy hardly spent any time at home. The lecture he received when he finally told his parents what he was doing could not have motivated him any stronger. He was dead set on proving them wrong, showing them that he could have success in a business he knew would be looking for someone with his size, strength, and personality.
Now, twenty two years later, there is no one left to prove anything to. His parents have both since passed away, his father murdered by some thug that got upset when Sammy's father told him that he had no money. His mother of cancer, from years of chain smoking that became worse after his father had been murdered. The small promotion he started out with has since closed it's doors, leaving him no option to move on and find other small time promotions.
He always dreamed of his name being up in lights, but even after a nice run in the 6th Golden Turnbuckle Tournament a few years back nothing really panned out for him and the hype of his victories were lost beneath the shadow of Jason's Snow grand run and ultimate victory. Sammy knows that while he has the size, strength, and personality to be a great wrestler, he has never had the skill or natural ability to be anything more than a career mid-carder. It was time for him to throw all of his inhibitions aside. There was no more time to wait for something great to happen to him. At his age he would be lucky to have a fed call him up to be a part of the ring crew…
Now that he was an expert at.
He didn't care if his mediocre skills would not get him as far as it did the last time he dared to try something like this. He wanted to try one last time, have one last run, and let the chips fall where they may.
Brief Roleplay Average.
It was no secret that many people referred to him in this way, but Sammy Brown had never denied that he may just be another face in the crowd. He had grown accustomed to being nothing more than just some forgettable name in a sea of talent that includes the likes of Doctor Curiosity, Rich 'The Renegade' Rollins, and Seymour Almasy. He knew deep down inside his gut that he may never have his name mentioned among them, that there is a chance that no one will even remember that he entered GTT6. This was just a chance he felt he needed to take when he sent the online application to the PrimeTime Central offices.
He had grown tired of living his life how everyone else expected him to live it. Sure, he took time away from friends and family to sneak around to different cities and towns, wrestling for less money than he had spent on gas for the ride over there, but he still had to sneak around to do it. To Sammy, this was his life. It may not have been as successful as he would have hoped when he first started out, but after more than twenty years in the business he wasn't about to quit now.
His friends and family never understood that about him. His friends only cared about what kind of job he had, what part of town he lived on, and what restaurants he decided to dine in. His family wanted to know why he never settled down, why he wasted so much time on something that was not going to be a part of his life forever. Considering he was an only child, the only son of an only son, he was expected to continue the family name.
Without a son of his own, the weathered branch of a dilapidated family tree would simply end with him.
Considering he was a single man of forty four years, what was left of his hair had begun to gray, and he had a slight gut that blocked his view of his feet; among other things. It should be safe to say that his chances of finding a woman desperate and lonely enough to settle down with him were not that great. About the only thing he could depend on right now, was the folded up piece of paper he had tucked into his back pocket.
A confirmation letter that he had made it into GTT6.
That letter, even if it was just a confirmation that he would be allowed to compete with no other guarantees, had changed something within him. He had an extra skip in his step, and just like spinach for Popeye… he felt stronger and more confident.
As he stood there in front of his manager's office door, he knew that this was going to be his only chance to do something with what had become his mediocre life. Summoning up the power contained in the ink of the letter, Sammy knocked three times on the door.
"Come in," came the call from the other side of the door.
And so he did.
¤=¤=¤=¤=¤
Sammy Brown was still making his way through the revolving door when he noticed Bradley Stevenson, night manager of the Bellesford, sitting comfortably in one of the plush velvet chairs that littered the lobby. Sammy felt his heart begin to pound in his chest, I hate it when he has that look in his eyes, he thought. It was too late to turn back now, and he needed to make his way to the back so he could clock out for the evening. His shift was over and he needed to make it home to pack up a few more things for his trip to Hong Kong.
Bradley was making his way across the white marble floors of the shabby chic elegant lobby, one of his pudgy little hands extended in Sammy's direction as he made his way through the door. The Bellesford had a Riverside Drive address, in the West 70's if you know the area, not very large but smart. A couple dressed for a night out on the town passed Sammy as he took a firm grasp of the manager's hand, removing his hat from atop his head to reveal a very distinguishable receding hairline.
"Sammy, I'd like to apologize for what happened earlier. I know I was a bit harsh on you when you asked for time off, but there was some stuff that I had to take care of. I really took it out on you when I shouldn't have, and I apologize."
"Thank you Mr. Stevenson."
"Please," the smile on his face would have made the Mona Lisa jealous, "call me Brad."
Stevenson glanced around the small lobby, all eyes had focused on them when Stevenson had approached Sammy. After what had happened earlier in the day, they didn't know what to expect.
"Okay Mr. Ste-" Sammy grinned nervously, unsure how to react to this newfound sense of appreciation from a man that usually talks down to him. "Brad."
"Now, do you think we can go to my office, maybe have a more civilized discussion about your request for time off?"
"Sure thing Mr. Steven-" Sammy chuckled nervously under his breath as Stevenson gave him a cross look. "Brad."
"Good, follow me."
¤=¤=¤=¤=¤
Mr. Stevenson seemed to be acting a bit different than he normally did, something Sammy couldn't put his finger on as he walked through the door of the vanilla tinted office, pictures of the building and various tenants that had once made the Bellesford their home. Having opened in the early 1900's, the Bellesford had it's fair share of struggling artists trying to make a name for themselves in the big city. Struggling artists that had finally made it big after years of determination.
Looking over the various pictures that hung on the walls, Sammy could almost feel his confidence rising. He paid no mind to anything else in the room, not the faux-Persian rug on the white marble floor, the lamps that stood tall in the far corners of the room, casting their soft yellow glow over the room, or the desk-lamp that beamed down over the humidor resting on the edge of the desk. None of it mattered as he stared in awe of the celebrities that had once worked or lived in the place that had become a second home to him.
He wanted his picture to be up there, left to mingle with the others that had fought their way into bigger and better things.
"Would you like a cigar, Sammy?"
Sammy was snapped back into reality by Stevenson's voice, who had taken a seat in the chair beside him, instead of his usual seat behind the desk. Stevenson's hand was resting atop the humidor as he smiled in Sammy's direction.
"No thank you… Brad." He had finally said it right, it didn't matter if he had to catch himself before saying Mr. Stevenson again. "Never picked up the habit… especially after I saw what it did to my mom, she passed away a few years ago from lung cancer."
Stevenson grinned nervously, pulling his hand back onto his lap.
"It's okay, Brad," Sammy reassured him. "It's not like you knew."
Stevenson let out a sigh, a sigh that Sammy had already heard once before today. That's why he brought me in here, Sammy thought to himself. This is where Stevenson felt secure, this was his source of strength when he had to deal with people. Even earlier when Sammy had arrived for his shift, Stevenson had this aura about him… as if he was untouchable. This place made him feel more secure, somewhere that expressed his authority without having to say a single word. There was no doubt in his mind that Stevenson had conducted a lot of business in this room, not to mention the managers that had came before him. The pictures may have changed, the rug had probably been replaced, and bulbs must have come a dime a dozen.
"Sammy, I know we started off on the wrong foot earlier, but I want to make you a business proposition."
Sammy didn't have a clue what to expect, after the way Brad -- Mr. Stevenson -- had acted as if the two of them were old pals back in the lobby, Sammy was thrown aloof.
"I happened to hear it through the grapevine that you wanted to take this time off to participate in some sort of wrestling tournament."
His intentions were still a mystery, but Sammy could almost hear the wheels turning inside of Stevenson's head.
"After doing some checking," Stevenson stood up from his chair and walked over to a sheet of paper that happened to be resting on the desk. "It turns out that you have become some sort of underdog favorite to pull out a win in the first round."
He handed the paper to Sammy, who up until this point had no idea there was actual odds being made in his favor. "I… I don't understand, Mr. Stevenson."
He called him Mr. Stevenson, and this time there was no correction to call him Brad. He was no longer in control of the situation, it was just like it always was.
"I have this friend," Stevenson was sounding more and more confident by the second, and it was making Sammy uneasy to the point where he kept shifting in his seat. "This friend says that if we were to place a substantial bet on AJ Palmer, we could end up making a lot of money."
Sammy began to twirl what little hair he had left between his forefinger and thumb. "I'm still not sure I understand."
"Five hundred thousand."
The words seemed to keep repeating themselves over and over in his mind, but Sammy tried to focus on what was really beginning to unfold.
"Half a million dollars for you to lay still for three seconds, Sammy."
Sammy couldn't shake the thought that Stevenson has said something similar before -- just not for that ridiculous amount of money and surely not for anything having to do with wrestling. Professional wrestling, that is.
"I've taken the time to do some research, and considering this Palmer guy is some sort of champion and you're a nobody… no one is going to think twice about it. They expect you to lose."
"But I-"
"No buts, Sammy," Stevenson interrupted. "This is a chance for you to leave all of this behind. You'll have enough money to invest and live off of for the rest of your life. You're old, your body cannot take too much more punishment. You'd have to be a fool to pass this opportunity up."
"I don't know."
"What don't you know," Stevenson asked as he walked over to one of the pictures hanging on the wall. "Please don't tell me you believe a man of your age could actually beat a kid with a hard on for making a name for himself in this thing." Stevenson grabbed the edge of the picture frame, pulling it forward to reveal a small safe built into the wall. He twiddled with the dial for a bit before pulling the door open and reaching in for something.
"I've never had an opportunity like this before, Mr. Stevenson." He was nervous, but he tried his best not to stumble with his words. He had to sound confident, even if he was staring at the floor. "I think I should actually give it a shot."
A dull thud on the desk in front of him caused him to look up, just as another thud is heard. It was the sound of two bundles of hundred dollar bills being tossed onto the cherry veneer top of the desk, and two more stacks were still in Stevenson's stubby little fingers. "This is a hundred grand, Sammy."
His mouth seemed to dry instantaneously. He couldn't even open it to ask for a glass of water.
"I'm going to give this to you now," Stevenson stacked the two bundles on top of the other two, "and you'll get the rest after you throw the fight."
Sammy stared at all of the money that was stacked up in front of him, more money than he would make in two years at the rate he was going… considering he would still have a job if he decided to turn down Stevenson's offer.
"Well?" Stevenson was slowly losing his patience. Considering the amount of money on the table and Brown's actual chances of coming out of this thing with anything more than a quick exit in the first round, Stevenson couldn't believe there was anything Brown had to think about. It was cut and dry as far as he was concerned.
But he wasn't Sammy, and he had no clue how much this actually meant to him. How long he had waited patiently for an opportunity like this.
Still, Sammy reached for the money.
¤=¤=¤=¤=¤
It was a little past midnight when Sammy watched the rest of the passengers scrambling to find their seats. One woman, a tall brunette with petite lips that appeared to be permanently pursed, walked past him with a young girl in tow. The girl -- presumably her daughter -- as innocent as could be with two little auburn pigtails dangling on each side of her head, followed with perfect poise. It looked as if she had been taught to carry herself with confidence, to stand with her head held high and acknowledge people on their own level. It was a forgotten art, the age old position of parent, where a child was taught at an early age that they should obey what they are told. No longer is this something that parents do, choosing instead to allow Dora the Explorer and JoJo's Circus to raise their children for them.
What ever happened to the good old days, when you would be walking through a store and a child would be pleading for their mother to purchase them a toy they had already been told outside they were not going to get; only for the mother to turn and give one expression that silenced the child for the remainder of their time in the store.
These days, children toss themselves onto the floor, screaming and kicking enough to convince their parent that buying them what they want is the only way to quiet them down. Of course, it does not help when people with no children of their own would be the first to pick up their cell phones and call the authorities if you dared to lay a hand on your own child.
That did not change Sammy's outlook though. He had been raised to respect his elders, to do as he was told, and it was a trait he intended to pass on to any children he would have… if he ever had any of course. Sure, people now would consider what Sammy went through as abuse, but that was the way things were back then. He knew that the discipline instilled within him at such a young age is what has made him so determined to succeed when things have appeared to be falling apart around him.
As he glanced down at the small brown briefcase tucked between his legs, he could not imagine when he had forgotten everything he had ever learned. For that brief instant in Stevenson's office, Sammy Brown had closed his eyes to what was right and what was wrong. He was taught to know better, to always make the right decisions no matter how good wrong could be.
Yet, he still managed to cast it aside for a few minutes. The case between his legs with -- One Hundred Thousand reasons to turn his back on something he had waited so long for, give or take a few hundred he had spent on a couple of suits he may choose to wear during his stay in Hong Kong -- was a slap in the face to everything he had learned from his parents. But they never understood either. All they worried about was his well being, that he would be financially stable to raise a family. While they always wanted the best, even if they could not afford to give it to him, they never could comprehend why he cared so much about the sport of wrestling.
Only Sammy understood, and as he looked down at the symbol of failure that rested on the floor at his feet, a single tear streamed down his face.
Had he really sold out?
As the last of the passengers slowly trickled aboard, scrambling like ants to find their seats and place their carry-on luggage in the overhead compartments, Sammy couldn't help but think back to a simpler time. A time when he had a chance to settle down, when he had found a woman that cared enough for him to stand by his side… no matter how hard life was going to be on his salary. She had told him that she loved him, and he had pushed her aside. He ignored her request to leave the business, telling her that her asking him to leave something he loved was proof enough that she did not truly care for him as she had said.
Now, with the money right there on the table and the promise of more to come, Sammy had forgotten himself; just why he had shunned everyone and everything else for this sport. And now, as the shame began to eat at him from within, he knew that the money would never make him happy. He would regret this choice for what little amount of time he had left to live, and he could not bear to live like that.
Picking up the phone receiver on the back of the chair in front of him, Sammy slipped some change through the slot and waited for the dial tone to chime in his ear. Dialing a few numbers, the phone number to the Bellesford, Sammy waited for the ringing to commence; his heart racing.
"Hello Jenny," he responded to the welcoming voice of the night operator, "do you think you could transfer me to Mr. Stevenson's office… Thanks."
It seemed like a lifetime had passed as he waited for Stevenson to pick up the phone, and when he did he blurted out the words he should have said hours ago. "I'm not going to do it."
It didn't take more than a brief hesitation for Stevenson to realize who it was, then the threats began.
"I'm sorry, but win or lose I will be sending you your money back." He paused slightly as Stevenson warned him about the consequences of backing out on their deal. It had gone too far to turn back, as the bet had already been made. "If I lose you still win, Mr. Stevenson. I just cannot promise you that is going to happen."
A few more curse words are screamed through the receiver, but Sammy did not care. There was no way he could turn his back on his dreams…
… even if it would cost him his life.
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