UNLEASHED '08: Main Event, World Title Match - JA (c) vs. "Triple X" Sean Stevens
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TH
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Re: UNLEASHED '08: Main Event, World Title Match - JA (c) vs. "Triple X" Sean Stevens
"It's become the ultimate cliché... 'we won despite no one believing in us.'"
The scene is an empty locker room, but not a wrestling locker room. The camera is close up to a stall that has a glove, a white baseball jersey with red pinstripes and a few pictures hanging in it. On the bench in front of it sits Jericoholic Anonymous, slightly hunched over, hands on top of a baseball bat leaning on the floor as if it were a cane. He has a red shirt on, but the design on the front can't be seen.
JA: I mean, it seems that nearly every team that wins a professional sporting Championship these days sports that as their mantra from the second they win until the next season begins. And you know, some of it has some merit. I mean, every team at some point faces questions, slumps, rough points. People start to doubt them, fans, media, whatever. That kind of sentiment can be valid sometimes, I suppose. I mean, who doesn't face criticism from time to time? If no one said a cross word to anyone, things would be boring, and no one would improve on their mistakes.
But then you get teams that take that mantra and it's totally uncalled for. They get bent out of shape because some douche like Jay Mariotti rides them like a mule and then they go putting the chip on their shoulder out of overreaction. Then, at the parade they start repeating "no one believed in us" over and over again to an adoring fanbase that... yep, you guessed it, believed in them all along. Some of those fans don't mind it. Some of them think that the players are only referring to the jackals in the media, but some of them do feel hurt, and who can blame them? The fans who stuck by those players through thick and thin are now painted as the enemies. They get alienated by the same people they supported through thick and thin.
JA stands up revealing his shirt to say "PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES 2008 WORLD CHAMPIONS." The camera zooms out a little bit, showing the name above the stall to read "5 BURRELL." The EPW World Championship is strapped around his waist.
JA: That's why it's so refreshing to see a team like the Phightin' Phils come along and not play the chip-on-shoulder card, but thank us Philly phans for our support, to come out and say that they won the titles for themselves and for the great city of Philadelphia. A team that won because they wanted to be the best and because they wanted to give the people that support them a return on their investment instead of out of spite. Man, how cool is it to hear that?
So what does this all have to do with us, Sean? With the Ee-Pee-Dubya World Championship? Well, I guess in a lot of ways, the Phillies and I have a lot in common. No, I'm not going to sit here and say that my fans and Phillies fans are long-suffering. I mean, I do have a World Championship to my name that I garnered before this one. Plus, I always give my fans their money's worth, which is more than anyone can say about the Phillies between the years of 1994 and 2000. And I'll leave the obvious Philadelphia comparison to the peanut gallery, although maybe the fact that we're all Philadelphians or at least represent the City of Non-Gay Brotherly Love speaks to a revolution in this grand town and maybe in sports in general.
You see, it all started with the Philadelphia Soul, a measly Arena Football League team, but they went out and won because they wanted to bring Philly some hardware, because they wanted to be the best in their field. Then, it was me, who came into the New Orleans Arena, with a message of confidence, of winning the ultimate prize in the Empire for myself and for the fans who've been there for me, be it from the beginning when I was a n00b getting my feet wet in Aye-One-Ee or those who had just jumped on the Anglo Express. Don't you see, Sean? The Nineties are over. Angst and doom and gloom and "me against the world" is so passe. Positivity, hope, change... that's the wave of the future. Even if you're a cynical Republican who thinks that Obama's words are empty, the overwhelming amout of people who long for a bright outlook believe in that message.
That's why you and your constant whining about how people have been out to get you since day one doesn't work anymore, Trip. When you mire yourself in negativity, you end up fulfilling your own demises. That's what happened in this town for the longest time, when the players on the teams constantly mistook our passion as phans as denigration, and kept trying to work in spite of us instead of in congress with us. They blamed the fans, they blamed the turf, they blamed this and that. You do the same. You blame everything but your own shortcomings for your failures. But you know what, Sean, it's going to be your lucky day when we get to Unleashed, because I've got a stipulation in hand that will make you pretty happy. You want to know what it is? Well, you can wait until we have our press conference.
But it will make things a lot easier for you in the long run. See, you won't have to blame Ice Tre or Fusenshoff or Troy Douglas for not winning the Championship. You won't have to blame shoddy refereeing. Hell you won't even have to blame the environment not favoring you. The only thing you'll have to blame for not beating me for MY World Heavyweight Championship is yourself. Then you can go back to being emo and not caring about this strap any longer. You can have your wish and you can keep going back and seething in your sea of negativity, thinking about everything that could have been.
Meanwhile, me? Well, the biggest difference is that when the Phils were done winning their title, they got a parade and an offseason to rest on their laurels, to bask in the glow so to speak. What do I get? Well, I get more title defenses. But you know what? Bring it on. I want to prove night in and night out that I'm the best, because while the Phils got their day of glory to take in all the fans going crazy for them... I get it every time I step into the ring. I get my own parade when I enter the arena, and I get one after I'm done winning. That's the best part, really.
At Unleashed, in San Francisco... well, I'll get to experience that again. That I'm positively sure of.
Fade to the EPW logo.
"It's become the ultimate cliché... 'we won despite no one believing in us.'"
The scene is an empty locker room, but not a wrestling locker room. The camera is close up to a stall that has a glove, a white baseball jersey with red pinstripes and a few pictures hanging in it. On the bench in front of it sits Jericoholic Anonymous, slightly hunched over, hands on top of a baseball bat leaning on the floor as if it were a cane. He has a red shirt on, but the design on the front can't be seen.
JA: I mean, it seems that nearly every team that wins a professional sporting Championship these days sports that as their mantra from the second they win until the next season begins. And you know, some of it has some merit. I mean, every team at some point faces questions, slumps, rough points. People start to doubt them, fans, media, whatever. That kind of sentiment can be valid sometimes, I suppose. I mean, who doesn't face criticism from time to time? If no one said a cross word to anyone, things would be boring, and no one would improve on their mistakes.
But then you get teams that take that mantra and it's totally uncalled for. They get bent out of shape because some douche like Jay Mariotti rides them like a mule and then they go putting the chip on their shoulder out of overreaction. Then, at the parade they start repeating "no one believed in us" over and over again to an adoring fanbase that... yep, you guessed it, believed in them all along. Some of those fans don't mind it. Some of them think that the players are only referring to the jackals in the media, but some of them do feel hurt, and who can blame them? The fans who stuck by those players through thick and thin are now painted as the enemies. They get alienated by the same people they supported through thick and thin.
JA stands up revealing his shirt to say "PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES 2008 WORLD CHAMPIONS." The camera zooms out a little bit, showing the name above the stall to read "5 BURRELL." The EPW World Championship is strapped around his waist.
JA: That's why it's so refreshing to see a team like the Phightin' Phils come along and not play the chip-on-shoulder card, but thank us Philly phans for our support, to come out and say that they won the titles for themselves and for the great city of Philadelphia. A team that won because they wanted to be the best and because they wanted to give the people that support them a return on their investment instead of out of spite. Man, how cool is it to hear that?
So what does this all have to do with us, Sean? With the Ee-Pee-Dubya World Championship? Well, I guess in a lot of ways, the Phillies and I have a lot in common. No, I'm not going to sit here and say that my fans and Phillies fans are long-suffering. I mean, I do have a World Championship to my name that I garnered before this one. Plus, I always give my fans their money's worth, which is more than anyone can say about the Phillies between the years of 1994 and 2000. And I'll leave the obvious Philadelphia comparison to the peanut gallery, although maybe the fact that we're all Philadelphians or at least represent the City of Non-Gay Brotherly Love speaks to a revolution in this grand town and maybe in sports in general.
You see, it all started with the Philadelphia Soul, a measly Arena Football League team, but they went out and won because they wanted to bring Philly some hardware, because they wanted to be the best in their field. Then, it was me, who came into the New Orleans Arena, with a message of confidence, of winning the ultimate prize in the Empire for myself and for the fans who've been there for me, be it from the beginning when I was a n00b getting my feet wet in Aye-One-Ee or those who had just jumped on the Anglo Express. Don't you see, Sean? The Nineties are over. Angst and doom and gloom and "me against the world" is so passe. Positivity, hope, change... that's the wave of the future. Even if you're a cynical Republican who thinks that Obama's words are empty, the overwhelming amout of people who long for a bright outlook believe in that message.
That's why you and your constant whining about how people have been out to get you since day one doesn't work anymore, Trip. When you mire yourself in negativity, you end up fulfilling your own demises. That's what happened in this town for the longest time, when the players on the teams constantly mistook our passion as phans as denigration, and kept trying to work in spite of us instead of in congress with us. They blamed the fans, they blamed the turf, they blamed this and that. You do the same. You blame everything but your own shortcomings for your failures. But you know what, Sean, it's going to be your lucky day when we get to Unleashed, because I've got a stipulation in hand that will make you pretty happy. You want to know what it is? Well, you can wait until we have our press conference.
But it will make things a lot easier for you in the long run. See, you won't have to blame Ice Tre or Fusenshoff or Troy Douglas for not winning the Championship. You won't have to blame shoddy refereeing. Hell you won't even have to blame the environment not favoring you. The only thing you'll have to blame for not beating me for MY World Heavyweight Championship is yourself. Then you can go back to being emo and not caring about this strap any longer. You can have your wish and you can keep going back and seething in your sea of negativity, thinking about everything that could have been.
Meanwhile, me? Well, the biggest difference is that when the Phils were done winning their title, they got a parade and an offseason to rest on their laurels, to bask in the glow so to speak. What do I get? Well, I get more title defenses. But you know what? Bring it on. I want to prove night in and night out that I'm the best, because while the Phils got their day of glory to take in all the fans going crazy for them... I get it every time I step into the ring. I get my own parade when I enter the arena, and I get one after I'm done winning. That's the best part, really.
At Unleashed, in San Francisco... well, I'll get to experience that again. That I'm positively sure of.
Fade to the EPW logo.
jayshort
Long Live THE KING
Re: UNLEASHED '08: Main Event, World Title Match - JA (c) vs. "Triple X" Sean Stevens
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]FADE: Sean Stevens in front of a plain white backdrop, in a wife beater, and black cargo shorts...[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]...sitting on a throne.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"Your strongest quality is your ability be stupid, while seem innocent."[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]The 'Blue-Eyed Badass' stared directly into the camera, from the look on his face, one would think he was nose-to-nose with someone. His hair hung gently below his shoulders, he had a day old five o'clock shadow, and wore a pair of three hundred dollar Ray Ban sunglasses.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X:Your retarded innocence is the reason why you can lie, and cheat, and steal ... why you can be a company's World Heavyweight Champion, when you know, I know and THEY know that you're not even one of this company's top ten performers, and get away with it. You're a throwback to the eighties, back in the days when promos didn't have to make sense, when matches that consisted of a couple of chops, and an awe inspiring dropkick were considered ground breaking, and all you had to have was either a physique or a mask, and you were the most over babyface on your circuit. When you could ramble on and on for hours on end, about sh_t that has nothing to do with your match, using a bunch of confusing four syllable words to ultimately say nothing important over and over again, to rousing applause, and platinum t-shirt sales. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"You're not the biggest dog in the yard, considering you're about as skinny and frail as a crack addict ... but, you wear the mask with pride, and remind our big, dumb ape of an owner of a time when he was relevant without having to book himself as relevant, and that's why you get thrown into title matches that your skill level suggests you shouldn't be in.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"And, because you're better for TV. Because your story reminds everyone of a classic C-rate, lifetime movie, starring Troy Windham – and, well ... because you know how easy it is for Troy to walk in these doors and instantly main event, because he's Troy ... people look the other way when your shortcomings are put on display. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"Like a couple of weeks ago, when I whipped your ass, easily."[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]The camera panned back, getting a full shot of Stevens' body. From the tattoos on his arms, to the slit across his throat, to the six pack print, showing through his tank top.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X: I don't really have anything to lose, JA. Craig Miles said it best, I'm on a eight-or-nine match losing streak, to a bunch of people whose names I can't remember. I no longer give a flying f'k about being screwed, because if I can lose nine matches in a row, yet somehow manage to still be called upon to wrestle in this company's main event, as well as, defend it against outsiders, like I did last week, while you – our champion – sat in the background, and allowed Craig Miles to verbally sh_t on the company you supposedly love, because it offered you an opportunity to get a cheap shot on me ... then I've done my job. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"I am a legend in this business, JA. I've reached a plateau where wins and losses no longer define me. I've fought some of the best, I've beaten everyone that the world considered the best, and whether I beat you or not, it still doesn't change the fact that you're not in my top fifty. If you beat me? Nobody's going to stand up and applaud you for being better than Sean Stevens. More than likely, they'll just dismiss it as luck, just like we dismissed your last victory over me as a screw job.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"So, who really has something to prove here, JA? Me? I'm a six time world champion, with big belt reigns that have lasted more than a week, or one title defense. Are you? You have to validate your stance as EPW World Heavyweight Champion, because as proud as you are, you can't help but hear the rumblings of people, who aren't your fans, that know what they're talking about, that just don't believe in you as a headliner. Or a guy that can carry this company, or any, for that matter. If you don't beat me, you're a transitional champion. A guy that had one good night, that still couldn't get the job done without help. When I beat you? I'm a bully, that beat up a midget that I had no business losing to in the first place, because he was never in my league.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"This is the defining moment in your career. And, as important as the EPW title is, and as much as I'd like to lay the claim to being the first ever two time champion, for me? It's just another match. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"And, that's the difference between you and me. That's why I'm a king, and it's why you have to work so hard just to reach the level below me."[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]FTB[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]
[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"Look a little clearer I can show you what desire is[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]Look into the mirror I can show you what a liar is.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]YOU ... I'm talking to you[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]You probably think you're better, that was never, ever true[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]I mean, never, ever, ever, never, ever could you do[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]Something that I couldn't[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]You can't fit your foot inside my shoe."[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]- Reignman, Smoke N' Aces[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]FADE: Sean Stevens in front of a plain white backdrop, in a wife beater, and black cargo shorts...[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]...sitting on a throne.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"Your strongest quality is your ability be stupid, while seem innocent."[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]The 'Blue-Eyed Badass' stared directly into the camera, from the look on his face, one would think he was nose-to-nose with someone. His hair hung gently below his shoulders, he had a day old five o'clock shadow, and wore a pair of three hundred dollar Ray Ban sunglasses.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X:Your retarded innocence is the reason why you can lie, and cheat, and steal ... why you can be a company's World Heavyweight Champion, when you know, I know and THEY know that you're not even one of this company's top ten performers, and get away with it. You're a throwback to the eighties, back in the days when promos didn't have to make sense, when matches that consisted of a couple of chops, and an awe inspiring dropkick were considered ground breaking, and all you had to have was either a physique or a mask, and you were the most over babyface on your circuit. When you could ramble on and on for hours on end, about sh_t that has nothing to do with your match, using a bunch of confusing four syllable words to ultimately say nothing important over and over again, to rousing applause, and platinum t-shirt sales. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"You're not the biggest dog in the yard, considering you're about as skinny and frail as a crack addict ... but, you wear the mask with pride, and remind our big, dumb ape of an owner of a time when he was relevant without having to book himself as relevant, and that's why you get thrown into title matches that your skill level suggests you shouldn't be in.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"And, because you're better for TV. Because your story reminds everyone of a classic C-rate, lifetime movie, starring Troy Windham – and, well ... because you know how easy it is for Troy to walk in these doors and instantly main event, because he's Troy ... people look the other way when your shortcomings are put on display. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"Like a couple of weeks ago, when I whipped your ass, easily."[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]The camera panned back, getting a full shot of Stevens' body. From the tattoos on his arms, to the slit across his throat, to the six pack print, showing through his tank top.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X: I don't really have anything to lose, JA. Craig Miles said it best, I'm on a eight-or-nine match losing streak, to a bunch of people whose names I can't remember. I no longer give a flying f'k about being screwed, because if I can lose nine matches in a row, yet somehow manage to still be called upon to wrestle in this company's main event, as well as, defend it against outsiders, like I did last week, while you – our champion – sat in the background, and allowed Craig Miles to verbally sh_t on the company you supposedly love, because it offered you an opportunity to get a cheap shot on me ... then I've done my job. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"I am a legend in this business, JA. I've reached a plateau where wins and losses no longer define me. I've fought some of the best, I've beaten everyone that the world considered the best, and whether I beat you or not, it still doesn't change the fact that you're not in my top fifty. If you beat me? Nobody's going to stand up and applaud you for being better than Sean Stevens. More than likely, they'll just dismiss it as luck, just like we dismissed your last victory over me as a screw job.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"So, who really has something to prove here, JA? Me? I'm a six time world champion, with big belt reigns that have lasted more than a week, or one title defense. Are you? You have to validate your stance as EPW World Heavyweight Champion, because as proud as you are, you can't help but hear the rumblings of people, who aren't your fans, that know what they're talking about, that just don't believe in you as a headliner. Or a guy that can carry this company, or any, for that matter. If you don't beat me, you're a transitional champion. A guy that had one good night, that still couldn't get the job done without help. When I beat you? I'm a bully, that beat up a midget that I had no business losing to in the first place, because he was never in my league.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"This is the defining moment in your career. And, as important as the EPW title is, and as much as I'd like to lay the claim to being the first ever two time champion, for me? It's just another match. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]"And, that's the difference between you and me. That's why I'm a king, and it's why you have to work so hard just to reach the level below me."[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]FTB[/FONT]
TH
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Re: UNLEASHED '08: Main Event, World Title Match - JA (c) vs. "Triple X" Sean Stevens
The scene is a vacant lot, somewhere in Oakland. The sparse, haunting opening guitar noodle of Metallica's "King Nothing" can be heard. It grows louder and explodes into the main riff. In a flash, a haggard homeless looking man wearing tattered rags, sporting a tarnished silver crown on his head and scars on his arms appears and then disappears instantaneously. Fading in slowly is a holographic image of "Triple X" Sean Stevens holding high the EPW World Heavyweight Championship. Then, the song goes straight into the chrous...
Then it all crashes down...
FLASH CUT to Rocko Daymon plastering Stevens' skull across the canvas with a Brain Rocker from the top rope.
And you break your crown...
FLASH CUT to Stevens, eyes glazed over laying in the middle of the ring.
And you point your finger but there's no one around...
FLASH CUT to Stevens talking into a microphone with his Fallen stablemates flanking him.
Just want one thing, just to play the king...
FLASH CUT to Jericoholic Anonymous drilling Stevens on a steel chair with the Karelin Driver.
But your castle's crumbled and you're left with just a name...
Fade into Stevens, laying broken and bloodied in the ring.
WHERE'S YOUR CROWN, KING NOTHING?
The scene fades to black quickly and it's dead air for five seconds before it slowly fades back into the same vacant lot. Holographic images are gone, JA is there, wearing a pair of dusty jeans, a Watchmen t-shirt featuring the Comedian's pin with the red streak of blood on it and of course, the EPW World Heavyweight Championship strapped tightly around his waist.
JA: So Trip, you're a king, and you have nothing to lose. A king with nothing to lose. Funny, you'd think that by definition, a king would at least have his kingdom. I mean, you can get all the emo kids down at the coffee shop to nod their heads in sheepish agreement as their minds half-wander to which razor blade they're going to use to cut themselves later on, but no matter how you slice it, it's quite the brainless combination of terms to use. It's almost like the emotastical portion of your brain is in bitter conflict with your massive ego.
But what do I know. I'm no shrink. I'm a pro wrestler, and the best one in the industry to boot, as evidenced by this piece of hardware that I have around my waist. I guess having to wade through the bulldookie spewed by not just you, but by half the wrestlers in this industry can give you sort of an apprentice's knowledge of the craft. But even if I can't spot psychosis, I can surely spot dishonesty. I mean, it's almost funny how you can go about accusing me of being a knowing cheat and a liar when you're the king of that... well how about that, you do happen to be the king of something! Bully for you, Trip. I'll buy you a cookie after Unleashed is over, as my feudal tribute.
But I mean, here you go, accusing me of outright thievery, when, well, let's go back to N'Awlins, shall we? We're wrestling along, and pretty much every single one of your flukies run out of the back to try and backdoor you the title, and you have the nerve to keep harping on Ice Tre, like I paid him to come out and help me? I mean, I'm not blind, and I'd be even more insecure to try and pretend that the Trester's interference didn't have a hand in my win, but let's be real for a second here, Sean, or as they say in the ghetto, rill. If I was really as sneaky as Roderick McRatrick with a fake Eye-Dee and the lights turned out, then why would I be frothing at the mouth to face you again? Why was it you that wanted to duck me at first? Why would I put the stipulation in play that will be revealed to all at the press conference, one that, without spoiling what it is for all the marks out there, will definitely make sure it's a fair fight, one that you might even have an advantage in? Do you think I'd be riding this wave of positivity and good vibrations if I knew in my heart I didn't deserve this?
Oh, but of course I would, according to you, Captain No-Sell. That's why you remain so special. I mean, you're the only person in the world who would cry for the ref to disqualify Craiggers after someone came into the ring with the intent to squishify him, only to use his wits and pull you in the way of the oncoming gravy train. You're the only person that would b!tch at someone for picking his spot despite the fact that the people you were contracted to fight were getting outnumbered on the outside of the ring. I guess the only difference this time is that it wasn't your flunkies doing the bidding, just the two biggest meth-heads in Ee-Pee-Dubya and their ooey-gooey-blobby-blooey drone.
But yeah, picking my spot. You'd never do something like that, would you? Except that's how we got into this mess in the first place, because your zombies took out Rocko because you had sand in your vagina over losing the strap to him. Yeah, you thought you'd have it easy, you know, injure the World Champion, claim it for yourself in some bullsh!t manner and then have your losers do the gruntwork for you. But you didn't expect on the chickens coming home to roost. You didn't count on the scrappy little bag of muscles and aerodynamics would finally realize his full potential and dethrone you. You didn't think unlike in the rinky dink two-week comeback feds that people would stand up to you and your shenanigans. So because people don't bow down and tell you your feces smells like freshly-baked cinnamon buns with vanilla icing and a light hint of chicory, you now feel like the cards are against you, like you have nothing to lose.
Which brings us back to the original premise of this little piece... a king with nothing to lose. How absurd... unless it isn't. Because what if you do have nothing, so you have nothing to lose? But then, if you're the monarch with zilch to his name, that makes you like everyone else who isn't a king. A commoner, a peasant, a thane, a fief, a serf.
Oh, but what about your precious World Championship reigns? You mean, the six reigns that happened because you happened to have a career longer than mine and happened to enter more feds than I cared to work in at the same time? Or your name recognition? Yeah Trip, you see, there are names in this fed that are bigger than you. You just don't want to see it because they never wrestled in the eff-Dubya-oh or didn't get above Presidential level in Greensboro.
But then again, for a notion that is just as antiquated as the monarchy, it should be no surprise that your head is lodged so far in the past that you can just smell the honey mead being fermented down at the monastery. That's part of the reason why *EYE* hold the gold and you're just trying to get one last glimpse before you fade back into the obscurity of getting your ass handed to you by Tre on a weekly basis.
The other part? Well, I already outlined that. I've got the mojo, the positive energy, the can-do attitude and of course, the raw talent and wrestling ability combined in one perfect package.
So when Unleashed is all said and done, and you're left with nothing, because that's what you had to lose going into the match... well, don't worry. You can pretend to wear your crown and reign over nothing. I won't mind. In fact, I won't be paying attention, because I'll have the Beasts and the Fusenshoffs and the Hiroshis of the world challenging me for my World Championship.
JA smirks through his mask as he turns and walks into the dusty lot. The end of the song picks up in volume...
Where's your crown, King Nothing? Oooh you're just nothing... heh heh heh
Fade to the EPW logo.
The scene is a vacant lot, somewhere in Oakland. The sparse, haunting opening guitar noodle of Metallica's "King Nothing" can be heard. It grows louder and explodes into the main riff. In a flash, a haggard homeless looking man wearing tattered rags, sporting a tarnished silver crown on his head and scars on his arms appears and then disappears instantaneously. Fading in slowly is a holographic image of "Triple X" Sean Stevens holding high the EPW World Heavyweight Championship. Then, the song goes straight into the chrous...
Then it all crashes down...
FLASH CUT to Rocko Daymon plastering Stevens' skull across the canvas with a Brain Rocker from the top rope.
And you break your crown...
FLASH CUT to Stevens, eyes glazed over laying in the middle of the ring.
And you point your finger but there's no one around...
FLASH CUT to Stevens talking into a microphone with his Fallen stablemates flanking him.
Just want one thing, just to play the king...
FLASH CUT to Jericoholic Anonymous drilling Stevens on a steel chair with the Karelin Driver.
But your castle's crumbled and you're left with just a name...
Fade into Stevens, laying broken and bloodied in the ring.
WHERE'S YOUR CROWN, KING NOTHING?
The scene fades to black quickly and it's dead air for five seconds before it slowly fades back into the same vacant lot. Holographic images are gone, JA is there, wearing a pair of dusty jeans, a Watchmen t-shirt featuring the Comedian's pin with the red streak of blood on it and of course, the EPW World Heavyweight Championship strapped tightly around his waist.
JA: So Trip, you're a king, and you have nothing to lose. A king with nothing to lose. Funny, you'd think that by definition, a king would at least have his kingdom. I mean, you can get all the emo kids down at the coffee shop to nod their heads in sheepish agreement as their minds half-wander to which razor blade they're going to use to cut themselves later on, but no matter how you slice it, it's quite the brainless combination of terms to use. It's almost like the emotastical portion of your brain is in bitter conflict with your massive ego.
But what do I know. I'm no shrink. I'm a pro wrestler, and the best one in the industry to boot, as evidenced by this piece of hardware that I have around my waist. I guess having to wade through the bulldookie spewed by not just you, but by half the wrestlers in this industry can give you sort of an apprentice's knowledge of the craft. But even if I can't spot psychosis, I can surely spot dishonesty. I mean, it's almost funny how you can go about accusing me of being a knowing cheat and a liar when you're the king of that... well how about that, you do happen to be the king of something! Bully for you, Trip. I'll buy you a cookie after Unleashed is over, as my feudal tribute.
But I mean, here you go, accusing me of outright thievery, when, well, let's go back to N'Awlins, shall we? We're wrestling along, and pretty much every single one of your flukies run out of the back to try and backdoor you the title, and you have the nerve to keep harping on Ice Tre, like I paid him to come out and help me? I mean, I'm not blind, and I'd be even more insecure to try and pretend that the Trester's interference didn't have a hand in my win, but let's be real for a second here, Sean, or as they say in the ghetto, rill. If I was really as sneaky as Roderick McRatrick with a fake Eye-Dee and the lights turned out, then why would I be frothing at the mouth to face you again? Why was it you that wanted to duck me at first? Why would I put the stipulation in play that will be revealed to all at the press conference, one that, without spoiling what it is for all the marks out there, will definitely make sure it's a fair fight, one that you might even have an advantage in? Do you think I'd be riding this wave of positivity and good vibrations if I knew in my heart I didn't deserve this?
Oh, but of course I would, according to you, Captain No-Sell. That's why you remain so special. I mean, you're the only person in the world who would cry for the ref to disqualify Craiggers after someone came into the ring with the intent to squishify him, only to use his wits and pull you in the way of the oncoming gravy train. You're the only person that would b!tch at someone for picking his spot despite the fact that the people you were contracted to fight were getting outnumbered on the outside of the ring. I guess the only difference this time is that it wasn't your flunkies doing the bidding, just the two biggest meth-heads in Ee-Pee-Dubya and their ooey-gooey-blobby-blooey drone.
But yeah, picking my spot. You'd never do something like that, would you? Except that's how we got into this mess in the first place, because your zombies took out Rocko because you had sand in your vagina over losing the strap to him. Yeah, you thought you'd have it easy, you know, injure the World Champion, claim it for yourself in some bullsh!t manner and then have your losers do the gruntwork for you. But you didn't expect on the chickens coming home to roost. You didn't count on the scrappy little bag of muscles and aerodynamics would finally realize his full potential and dethrone you. You didn't think unlike in the rinky dink two-week comeback feds that people would stand up to you and your shenanigans. So because people don't bow down and tell you your feces smells like freshly-baked cinnamon buns with vanilla icing and a light hint of chicory, you now feel like the cards are against you, like you have nothing to lose.
Which brings us back to the original premise of this little piece... a king with nothing to lose. How absurd... unless it isn't. Because what if you do have nothing, so you have nothing to lose? But then, if you're the monarch with zilch to his name, that makes you like everyone else who isn't a king. A commoner, a peasant, a thane, a fief, a serf.
Oh, but what about your precious World Championship reigns? You mean, the six reigns that happened because you happened to have a career longer than mine and happened to enter more feds than I cared to work in at the same time? Or your name recognition? Yeah Trip, you see, there are names in this fed that are bigger than you. You just don't want to see it because they never wrestled in the eff-Dubya-oh or didn't get above Presidential level in Greensboro.
But then again, for a notion that is just as antiquated as the monarchy, it should be no surprise that your head is lodged so far in the past that you can just smell the honey mead being fermented down at the monastery. That's part of the reason why *EYE* hold the gold and you're just trying to get one last glimpse before you fade back into the obscurity of getting your ass handed to you by Tre on a weekly basis.
The other part? Well, I already outlined that. I've got the mojo, the positive energy, the can-do attitude and of course, the raw talent and wrestling ability combined in one perfect package.
So when Unleashed is all said and done, and you're left with nothing, because that's what you had to lose going into the match... well, don't worry. You can pretend to wear your crown and reign over nothing. I won't mind. In fact, I won't be paying attention, because I'll have the Beasts and the Fusenshoffs and the Hiroshis of the world challenging me for my World Championship.
JA smirks through his mask as he turns and walks into the dusty lot. The end of the song picks up in volume...
Where's your crown, King Nothing? Oooh you're just nothing... heh heh heh
Fade to the EPW logo.
jayshort
Long Live THE KING
Re: UNLEASHED '08: Main Event, World Title Match - JA (c) vs. "Triple X" Sean Stevens
FADE: Darkness.
SFX: Thunder, Lightning, Horses, Chariots, grunts, growls and other sounds of Gladiator-style war.
SCREAMING GLADIATOR: ….AND THE PROPHECY READ THAT ONE DAY, LIKE THE PHOENIX THAT ROSE FROM THE ASHES, THAT A BOY WOULD BE BORN UNTO A FAMILY IN THE SLUMS!"
CUT TO: Several images flash starting with an up-close photo of a blue-eyed baby – crawling, playing football, and basketball … things that babies generally do.
"THIS BOY WOULD GO ON TO USE THE KNOWLEDGE HE GAINED, WHILE FIGHTING FOR SURVIVAL IN THE STREETS TO BECOME A GREAT LEADER!"
CUT TO: Several more images. The first was an older Sean Stevens, in amateur wrestling gear; in a cap and gown – signifying graduation. The scene then shifted to Sean in the audience, in what looked to be a wrestling arena, before cutting to the final image of Sean, in the middle of a death defying leap from a forty-foot high camera tower, as his foe – below – laid unconscious.
"AND IN TIME, THAT BOY WOULD GROW TO BECOME .... a KING."
CUT TO: The very last image. One of "Triple X" Sean Stevens in the center of the ring, being handed a crown, tired, sweaty, yet triumphant.
FTB
There was momentary silence...
VOICEOVER: "Time to ride, [BEEP]."
FADE:
CUE UP: "King Back," by TI as the camera faded in to a snowy/blurry, black-and-white image of EPW superstar Sean 'Triple X' Stevens in a tight white "King Me" t-shirt, and faded blue jeans. In the background, courtesy of green screen, were mighty gladiators of all shapes, sizes, and color in the heat of battle, where heads are decapitated, arms are severed, and lives are lost. In the midst of this bloody, violent, war, one thing was noticeable. There were no screams of terror, no shrieks of agony ... the whole scene was mute.
Until Stevens calmly spoke.
TRIPLE X: How can I be KING with nothing to lose? That's a stupid question. No, wait ... that's you being Beaver Cleaver again, isn't it? If you act innocent enough, and ask all of the right questions, you don't have to accept the reality of the fact that the reason that I can go into this match with a 'Nothing to Lose' mentality is because, ultimately, there is nothing that you or the EPW can do to me to tarnish my place in history.
"And, as proud as you are, for finally getting your hands on the most prestigious prize in our industry, your "Why would I ask for this match, if I didn't think I could beat you?" diatribe makes you look incompetent. You figure if you say all the right things, and appear confident, it'll translate into actual results, and I get it. I'm apart of Oprah's book club. I read "The Secret" too. But, don't play on the intelligence of the fans that cheer you on a nightly basis, and pretend that that's going to be enough to beat me.
"The facts are the facts. I'm not inspired to wrestle you, because you pose no threat to me. There are jealous wrestlers behind the scenes that'll move the heavens and the earth to see to it that I don't succeed, and THEY are the only reason why you finally managed to get that elusive victory over me. You're this company's main guy, yet when Craig Miles decided to disrespect it, who did they call on to defend it? You? No, me. When your other company waltzed onto our territory and decided they'd make a name for themselves at our expense, and a war was waged ... who was the first person that Dan Ryan phoned? You? Think again, mental midget ... it was me. Who's the group that inspires wrestlers to come out of the woodwork because they know deep down in their hearts that they have not arrived until they can say that they have a victory over us? Is it you? Angle-aholic Anonymous? Benoit-aholic? Wrong again. It's The Fallen. Laugh and crack all the jokes you want, Kin Hiroshi – the man you said you'd be defending the title against, if you beat me – doesn't give a sh_t about EPW unless he's wrestling the Stalker. Look at the promos he's cut last week, compared to this week.
"Exactly.
"And, you have the audacity to question why I'm King?
"A belt doesn't make a KING. A king is a king whether he has his crown jewels or not. That's what you've failed to understand, JA. You beat me in a match, then sat on a throne, being fed grapes by groupies with a crown on your head, attempting to get under my skin, succeeding in looking stupid. You thought that in beating me, it'd mean you finally burst through that glass ceiling, but you've since realized that the EPW World Heavyweight title doesn't make a man a next level performer. A next level performer makes the EPW title prestigious, and since you're clearly not ... in the month and some change since you've been champ, it's seen as nothing more than a over hyped prop.
"And, that's why you offered to wrestle me again. Because it's a win-win for you. You lose, it's expected, so you're still able to sell a couple of action figures, and the pressure of being an absentee failure of a champion is off of your shoulders. If you somehow manage to stumble into another victory, and you're challenged on the fact that you can't carry this company? You'll be able to throw my name around, because you know it carries weight, and a clean victory over me validates you.
"In our last three matches, I've beaten you – easily – on two occasions, and in the last match I dominated you for – what? – ten? ...fifteen minutes, before Tre knocked me out with a baseball bat? How many moves did you successfully execute before all of that happened? Three? Four? Hell, you probably don't remember considering you were on your back, seeing stars when the events that made you a champion took place. The next day, I went to a fashion show in Milan, the next week, I wrestled Craig Miles, while you used that time for recovery. Yeah, I see why I should be worried about you, champ."
Sarcasm.
TRIPLE X: I know it makes you feel good about yourself as a tough guy, to think that the Fallen were at ringside in our last match because deep down, I was somehow afraid, or felt as though I needed them to beat the bricks off of you ... and, while I'm sure you missed it, because you were nervously putting the pieces together for your screwjob the night of our match ... I'd advise you to do yourself a favor and watch that show again, this time, paying specific attention to those elaborate 'The Fallen Kidnaps Cassidy Stewart' segments, then get over yourself. Then, ask yourself why exactly it is that you brought your Merry Band of Midcarders down to ringside?
"I know, but you'll, of course, decorate the cold, hard truth with big words, and knock-knock jokes. Rocko Daymon tried his hand at being funny too, then I ended his career, and contrary to what you'll have the public believe, it wasn't because I was upset because I lost to him, it was, well ... because I wanted to.
"Don't think for one second that I won't do the same to you. Don't think for one single, solitary second that because a bunch of idiots helped you survive me two weeks ago, you have the ability to survive me again. Because that'll get you killed, JA. And, believe me ... if you're hanging on that ledge, and your fingers are slipping, I'll step on them and finish the job. I've done it before, and I'll do it again.
"All you have to do is keep trying my patience."
FTB
FADE: Darkness.
SFX: Thunder, Lightning, Horses, Chariots, grunts, growls and other sounds of Gladiator-style war.
SCREAMING GLADIATOR: ….AND THE PROPHECY READ THAT ONE DAY, LIKE THE PHOENIX THAT ROSE FROM THE ASHES, THAT A BOY WOULD BE BORN UNTO A FAMILY IN THE SLUMS!"
CUT TO: Several images flash starting with an up-close photo of a blue-eyed baby – crawling, playing football, and basketball … things that babies generally do.
"THIS BOY WOULD GO ON TO USE THE KNOWLEDGE HE GAINED, WHILE FIGHTING FOR SURVIVAL IN THE STREETS TO BECOME A GREAT LEADER!"
CUT TO: Several more images. The first was an older Sean Stevens, in amateur wrestling gear; in a cap and gown – signifying graduation. The scene then shifted to Sean in the audience, in what looked to be a wrestling arena, before cutting to the final image of Sean, in the middle of a death defying leap from a forty-foot high camera tower, as his foe – below – laid unconscious.
"AND IN TIME, THAT BOY WOULD GROW TO BECOME .... a KING."
CUT TO: The very last image. One of "Triple X" Sean Stevens in the center of the ring, being handed a crown, tired, sweaty, yet triumphant.
FTB
There was momentary silence...
VOICEOVER: "Time to ride, [BEEP]."
FADE:
CUE UP: "King Back," by TI as the camera faded in to a snowy/blurry, black-and-white image of EPW superstar Sean 'Triple X' Stevens in a tight white "King Me" t-shirt, and faded blue jeans. In the background, courtesy of green screen, were mighty gladiators of all shapes, sizes, and color in the heat of battle, where heads are decapitated, arms are severed, and lives are lost. In the midst of this bloody, violent, war, one thing was noticeable. There were no screams of terror, no shrieks of agony ... the whole scene was mute.
Until Stevens calmly spoke.
TRIPLE X: How can I be KING with nothing to lose? That's a stupid question. No, wait ... that's you being Beaver Cleaver again, isn't it? If you act innocent enough, and ask all of the right questions, you don't have to accept the reality of the fact that the reason that I can go into this match with a 'Nothing to Lose' mentality is because, ultimately, there is nothing that you or the EPW can do to me to tarnish my place in history.
"And, as proud as you are, for finally getting your hands on the most prestigious prize in our industry, your "Why would I ask for this match, if I didn't think I could beat you?" diatribe makes you look incompetent. You figure if you say all the right things, and appear confident, it'll translate into actual results, and I get it. I'm apart of Oprah's book club. I read "The Secret" too. But, don't play on the intelligence of the fans that cheer you on a nightly basis, and pretend that that's going to be enough to beat me.
"The facts are the facts. I'm not inspired to wrestle you, because you pose no threat to me. There are jealous wrestlers behind the scenes that'll move the heavens and the earth to see to it that I don't succeed, and THEY are the only reason why you finally managed to get that elusive victory over me. You're this company's main guy, yet when Craig Miles decided to disrespect it, who did they call on to defend it? You? No, me. When your other company waltzed onto our territory and decided they'd make a name for themselves at our expense, and a war was waged ... who was the first person that Dan Ryan phoned? You? Think again, mental midget ... it was me. Who's the group that inspires wrestlers to come out of the woodwork because they know deep down in their hearts that they have not arrived until they can say that they have a victory over us? Is it you? Angle-aholic Anonymous? Benoit-aholic? Wrong again. It's The Fallen. Laugh and crack all the jokes you want, Kin Hiroshi – the man you said you'd be defending the title against, if you beat me – doesn't give a sh_t about EPW unless he's wrestling the Stalker. Look at the promos he's cut last week, compared to this week.
"Exactly.
"And, you have the audacity to question why I'm King?
"A belt doesn't make a KING. A king is a king whether he has his crown jewels or not. That's what you've failed to understand, JA. You beat me in a match, then sat on a throne, being fed grapes by groupies with a crown on your head, attempting to get under my skin, succeeding in looking stupid. You thought that in beating me, it'd mean you finally burst through that glass ceiling, but you've since realized that the EPW World Heavyweight title doesn't make a man a next level performer. A next level performer makes the EPW title prestigious, and since you're clearly not ... in the month and some change since you've been champ, it's seen as nothing more than a over hyped prop.
"And, that's why you offered to wrestle me again. Because it's a win-win for you. You lose, it's expected, so you're still able to sell a couple of action figures, and the pressure of being an absentee failure of a champion is off of your shoulders. If you somehow manage to stumble into another victory, and you're challenged on the fact that you can't carry this company? You'll be able to throw my name around, because you know it carries weight, and a clean victory over me validates you.
"In our last three matches, I've beaten you – easily – on two occasions, and in the last match I dominated you for – what? – ten? ...fifteen minutes, before Tre knocked me out with a baseball bat? How many moves did you successfully execute before all of that happened? Three? Four? Hell, you probably don't remember considering you were on your back, seeing stars when the events that made you a champion took place. The next day, I went to a fashion show in Milan, the next week, I wrestled Craig Miles, while you used that time for recovery. Yeah, I see why I should be worried about you, champ."
Sarcasm.
TRIPLE X: I know it makes you feel good about yourself as a tough guy, to think that the Fallen were at ringside in our last match because deep down, I was somehow afraid, or felt as though I needed them to beat the bricks off of you ... and, while I'm sure you missed it, because you were nervously putting the pieces together for your screwjob the night of our match ... I'd advise you to do yourself a favor and watch that show again, this time, paying specific attention to those elaborate 'The Fallen Kidnaps Cassidy Stewart' segments, then get over yourself. Then, ask yourself why exactly it is that you brought your Merry Band of Midcarders down to ringside?
"I know, but you'll, of course, decorate the cold, hard truth with big words, and knock-knock jokes. Rocko Daymon tried his hand at being funny too, then I ended his career, and contrary to what you'll have the public believe, it wasn't because I was upset because I lost to him, it was, well ... because I wanted to.
"Don't think for one second that I won't do the same to you. Don't think for one single, solitary second that because a bunch of idiots helped you survive me two weeks ago, you have the ability to survive me again. Because that'll get you killed, JA. And, believe me ... if you're hanging on that ledge, and your fingers are slipping, I'll step on them and finish the job. I've done it before, and I'll do it again.
"All you have to do is keep trying my patience."
FTB