Clapper vs. Black vs. Douglas
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
- Start date
Punishment Everlasting
SCENE BEGINS
(A nice January day is all one needs to feel inspired. At Heathrow, a private jet has touched down. Waiting by a black BMW on the runway is Guy Hoerneman, leaning against the vehicle's passenger side as he awaits only one man. The door to the jet folds open into a set of stairs leading down to the asphalt.)
(In the opening appears the one and only Clapper. No robes. No trains. No parades or special entrance effects. Just plain Clapper, in the usual black shades and trench coat. He takes a moment to gaze out over the horizon, and takes in a deep breath. Then he lights up a cigarette, relieved to finally be off the plane so he can have a smoke.)
Clapper
London, England...
(He says it casually, strolling down the steps to the asphalt and approaching the car waiting for him. He smiles when he sees who his driver is.)
Clapper
Guy...
Guy Hoerneman
Clapper. It's been a while.
Clapper
It certainly has.
(Clapper pats his friend on the shoulder a few times, then opens the door on the passenger side of the car. Hoerneman crosses over to the driver's side.)
Guy Hoerneman
Where to?
Clapper
The hotel, Guy.
Guy Hoerneman
You have any luggage?
Clapper
No. Everything I need is there.
Guy Hoerneman
Gotcha.
(Stepping into the car, Guy Hoerneman pulls off with Clapper riding as passenger.)
======================
(Fade into a Battleground: Britain marquee. Clapper, seated on a stool and still wearing his usual threads, sits with his customary quiet countenance as we get the full picture. Then he begins to speak.)
Clapper
And just like that, Battleground: Britain is here! Lah-dee-fanuckin'-dah... just another big, massive Pay Per View to give the commentators something to talk about in glorious detail. I swear, you'd think God himself was competing in some of these matches.
Cross!
Mark Windham!
Eli Flair!
Shawn Hart!
Of course, my first question is... who the F*CK are these people? The second is, why are they these non-GXW talents on a GXW card, getting more hype than someone like myself, THE XTREME CHAMPION, who has spent the last couples months busting his ass in this very federation, for spots and noteriety, and even more important a little hype...
Then suddenly, a friend of Dupree's or Zieba's strolls in looking for something to do in London, England during the month of January. Now it's like their coming here is the greatest thing to ever happen! There are matches on this card, booked above my own, that have NOBODY from GXW competing in them. Hell, we have TITLE matches, with belts from other federation!
(He shakes his head in disappointment.)
Clapper
Seems to me, we could have spent that airtime a little better on OURSELVES...
...or are we just better as a federation when we leave the Cruiserweight Title unoccupied, and practically ignore our Women's Champion? I really can't tell... I guess the guys in charge feel world titles from other federations are more important than our own.
But whatever... I could b*tch about this all day if I wanted to, but I have more pressing matters at the moment.
(He clears his throat.)
Clapper
As it is at every great Pay Per View, my glorious Xtreme Title is on the line once again. Not only that, but the fed heads are still pushing their lame Spin the Wheel/Make a Deal angle, so it will be interesting as to what match this turns out to be. This is... my first defense of the belt, since plucking it off of David Allen Black at Global Warfare a while back. Now, Black tries to get it back... and we have another guy thrown into the mix, with the same motives, named Troy Douglas... another former Xtreme Champion.
First and foremost... congratulations, David Black, on your victory over Reuben Fasco. Somewhere in the middle of Nebraska, your one and only fan, Bob Harris...
(Cut to a family photo of an average looking man smiling for the camera.)
Clapper
...was going apesh*t when you won that match. So it's good to know SOMEBODY celebrated.
But now that the party's over, it's time to get serious once again. You have an "opportunity" to take your title back. And maybe, "opportunity" isn't the right word. More appropriately, it should be... hope, or dream. Goal would even be sufficient. But the word "opportunity" implies chance.
And Black... simply put, you have NO chance of winning.
Don't argue, because you have no grounds on which to stand. Look at your career, and compare it to mine. You barely won the Xtreme Title in the August of 2003... you had to pin some third jobber in order to take it away from Troy Douglas. Other than that and your match against Fasco that had as much explosive power as a rat fart, you have had basically NO career. Had people not watched me pin your ass at Global Warfare, they probably wouldn't even know you existed!
"David Black? Isn't he the guy from the crappy black/white gimmick tag team?"
(Clapper shrugs.)
Clapper
I, on the other hand... I've done nothing but progress through this federation. From my humble beginnings, I have proven more of myself to the people watching at home and the fans across the entire WORLD than the likes of you or other jobbers, like Fasco and Shutt.
At Global Warfare, I didn't only decimate the competition in one match... I did it in three. Not only did I win the Xtreme title, but I also punked on FOUR OTHER JOBBERS in the same night. Six men felt my wrath, and for that reason I have every right to be hailed as the Xtreme Champion...
But you? You are nothing. I am convinced that you were conceived with your father's last few drops of piss. You keep hankering around on my ass like a zit, with this impression that we have some sort of unfinished business. Black, there's nothing else to say...
At Global Warfare, I put you down. Right away, you came out talking trash, that you were "still standing," as though every f*cking drop of sweat I spent at Global Warfare was a total waste, in spite of the Xtreme title and credibilitiy I gained that night. Are you so pompous? Or are you just retarded?
I put you down at Global Warfare, but that didn't sink in, did it? Then at Battlground: Britain, perhaps I'll put you AWAY. I still don't think that will beat any truth into your thick skull, but when you're spending the rest of your days drooling onto a towel on your shoulder next to Donovan Jackson, who's going to complain?
(He shrugs again.)
Clapper
The very fact that you seek the World Title, as you went on about following Global Warfare, is disturbing. It'll be a cold day in hell when you wear this Xtreme Title a second time... but the day you EVER step into the ring with the World Title on the line, that's when heaven goes up in flames!
I will personally crush your dreams at Battlground: Britain, along with your body. It will be a pleasure... my untold duty to Global Xtreme Wrestling.
(He nods, a slight smirk on his face.)
Clapper
And of course next is Troy Douglas. Unlike Black, this guy is a valid THREAT to the title. I missed out on your reign, man, because to tell you the truth, I just sort of exploded when I arrived. But you did too, right? Ten man battle royale at Genesis, and YOU walked out with the belt.
That's remarkable...
Then one day, at Revolution, that f*ckwad named David Allen Black pins a jobber by the name of Eric Gibson, and takes your title. Now, at Battleground: Britain, we have the same premise... two competitors, and a jobber thrown between them.
I'd be lying if I said I would never suspect you of stripping me of my title by getting an easy win over David Allen Black. And I wouldn't blame you if you did, cause when the rules are Xtreme, you need to resort to Xtreme methods, and that's not all tables, ladders, and chairs. It's the ONE thing that made David Allen Black Xtreme enough to hold the belt... and it's obvious that it's in you as it is in me.
Does that worry me? Somewhat. Then again, for a man who carried six men in three seperate matches in one night, handling two at once seems all too easy for me. I know, I know... you're thinking that six don't compare to nine, right? Well try fighting those nine guys when anything goes... instead of simply throwing them over the ropes.
(He nods twice, giving the viewer, or rather, the person of subject, time to think it over.)
Clapper
But here's what gets me, Troy. You see, up until today, I've been under the impression that this was going to be David Allen Black versus the Xtreme Champion, Clapper. Nothing else. Then my friend tells me that you were added into the match. I took me a whlie to understand why...
After all, was there not a number one contendor's match at the last Revolution, between Black and Fasco, to determine who I would face at Battleground: Britain? Where were you for that? What have you done, aside from losing to Max Blackshire, that placed you here in this very match?
Then I realized... it's not what you've done since your return--practically nothing, mind you--but what you did before you left. You were, after all, one hell of an Xtreme Champion. That enough gives you the priviledge of fighting me. Not the opportunity to win... but the priviledge and honor to fight. Congratulations on your part for getting this far.
Another thing that concerned me is the fact that... you left, as soon as Black stole your belt. Why exactly was there a reason to leave, if you don't mind my asking? You didn't immediately feel the need to come back and reclaim your unjustly taken belt?
I won't press you on the matter, Troy, because I doubt its any of my business, and it's impossible to understand on my behalf, being the kind of guy who seems to shrug off personal issues. But you left, Troy... you turned your back on GXW and the Xtreme Title to "heal" after your "loss."
There's a lot of idiots in this federation, many of whom I've gone up against, who stick to this federation like flies around a slob's face, Black being one of them. It would do me PHENOMENAL pleasure to see them pack their bags and leave every time THEY lost. But call it stubborness... or maybe retardation. Either way, they never leave, no matter how many times they are beaten.
But you? Troy Douglas? The great Xtreme Champion of mid-2003, who took this fed by storm? How WEAK of a man are you to run back home and "heel" following a hollowing defeat?
(He reaches down off camera, and pulls up the Xtreme Title.)
Clapper
Ever since I won this title, I've done NOTHING but live for this federation. If you don't have that same sort of focus and motivation... or, if you're going to let yourself be distracted with "personal" matters, then you have no right to hold onto this belt. In fact, you have no right to be a professional wrestler.
This is an industry where only the cold-blooded and black-hearted survive, which is why I've been doing well since I arrived.
And if I ever lose this belt, will I give up? Hell no... I'll be back the very next day with a pen in hand to sign the dotted line of the contract that will get me my rematch. I don't walk away until I'm SATISFIED with what I've done, and by looking at GXW, I can see I've got a lot of work left over...
(He slings the belt over his shoulder.)
Clapper
Black... Douglas... the two of you will be facing the most dangerous man in Global Xtreme Wrestling. I've ended title reigns... I've ended careers... and I've ended lives. What will be the end for the two of you at Battlground: Britain?
Take the week to consider it... and think about your position. Neither of you will be walking away with this belt, but the Xtreme Title is the least of your worries now. Survival is what's most important. Keep that in mind, at all times.
Sleep tight...
(With a nod, the camera fades to black.)
SCENE ENDS
SCENE BEGINS
(A nice January day is all one needs to feel inspired. At Heathrow, a private jet has touched down. Waiting by a black BMW on the runway is Guy Hoerneman, leaning against the vehicle's passenger side as he awaits only one man. The door to the jet folds open into a set of stairs leading down to the asphalt.)
(In the opening appears the one and only Clapper. No robes. No trains. No parades or special entrance effects. Just plain Clapper, in the usual black shades and trench coat. He takes a moment to gaze out over the horizon, and takes in a deep breath. Then he lights up a cigarette, relieved to finally be off the plane so he can have a smoke.)
Clapper
London, England...
(He says it casually, strolling down the steps to the asphalt and approaching the car waiting for him. He smiles when he sees who his driver is.)
Clapper
Guy...
Guy Hoerneman
Clapper. It's been a while.
Clapper
It certainly has.
(Clapper pats his friend on the shoulder a few times, then opens the door on the passenger side of the car. Hoerneman crosses over to the driver's side.)
Guy Hoerneman
Where to?
Clapper
The hotel, Guy.
Guy Hoerneman
You have any luggage?
Clapper
No. Everything I need is there.
Guy Hoerneman
Gotcha.
(Stepping into the car, Guy Hoerneman pulls off with Clapper riding as passenger.)
======================
(Fade into a Battleground: Britain marquee. Clapper, seated on a stool and still wearing his usual threads, sits with his customary quiet countenance as we get the full picture. Then he begins to speak.)
Clapper
And just like that, Battleground: Britain is here! Lah-dee-fanuckin'-dah... just another big, massive Pay Per View to give the commentators something to talk about in glorious detail. I swear, you'd think God himself was competing in some of these matches.
Cross!
Mark Windham!
Eli Flair!
Shawn Hart!
Of course, my first question is... who the F*CK are these people? The second is, why are they these non-GXW talents on a GXW card, getting more hype than someone like myself, THE XTREME CHAMPION, who has spent the last couples months busting his ass in this very federation, for spots and noteriety, and even more important a little hype...
Then suddenly, a friend of Dupree's or Zieba's strolls in looking for something to do in London, England during the month of January. Now it's like their coming here is the greatest thing to ever happen! There are matches on this card, booked above my own, that have NOBODY from GXW competing in them. Hell, we have TITLE matches, with belts from other federation!
(He shakes his head in disappointment.)
Clapper
Seems to me, we could have spent that airtime a little better on OURSELVES...
...or are we just better as a federation when we leave the Cruiserweight Title unoccupied, and practically ignore our Women's Champion? I really can't tell... I guess the guys in charge feel world titles from other federations are more important than our own.
But whatever... I could b*tch about this all day if I wanted to, but I have more pressing matters at the moment.
(He clears his throat.)
Clapper
As it is at every great Pay Per View, my glorious Xtreme Title is on the line once again. Not only that, but the fed heads are still pushing their lame Spin the Wheel/Make a Deal angle, so it will be interesting as to what match this turns out to be. This is... my first defense of the belt, since plucking it off of David Allen Black at Global Warfare a while back. Now, Black tries to get it back... and we have another guy thrown into the mix, with the same motives, named Troy Douglas... another former Xtreme Champion.
First and foremost... congratulations, David Black, on your victory over Reuben Fasco. Somewhere in the middle of Nebraska, your one and only fan, Bob Harris...
(Cut to a family photo of an average looking man smiling for the camera.)
Clapper
...was going apesh*t when you won that match. So it's good to know SOMEBODY celebrated.
But now that the party's over, it's time to get serious once again. You have an "opportunity" to take your title back. And maybe, "opportunity" isn't the right word. More appropriately, it should be... hope, or dream. Goal would even be sufficient. But the word "opportunity" implies chance.
And Black... simply put, you have NO chance of winning.
Don't argue, because you have no grounds on which to stand. Look at your career, and compare it to mine. You barely won the Xtreme Title in the August of 2003... you had to pin some third jobber in order to take it away from Troy Douglas. Other than that and your match against Fasco that had as much explosive power as a rat fart, you have had basically NO career. Had people not watched me pin your ass at Global Warfare, they probably wouldn't even know you existed!
"David Black? Isn't he the guy from the crappy black/white gimmick tag team?"
(Clapper shrugs.)
Clapper
I, on the other hand... I've done nothing but progress through this federation. From my humble beginnings, I have proven more of myself to the people watching at home and the fans across the entire WORLD than the likes of you or other jobbers, like Fasco and Shutt.
At Global Warfare, I didn't only decimate the competition in one match... I did it in three. Not only did I win the Xtreme title, but I also punked on FOUR OTHER JOBBERS in the same night. Six men felt my wrath, and for that reason I have every right to be hailed as the Xtreme Champion...
But you? You are nothing. I am convinced that you were conceived with your father's last few drops of piss. You keep hankering around on my ass like a zit, with this impression that we have some sort of unfinished business. Black, there's nothing else to say...
At Global Warfare, I put you down. Right away, you came out talking trash, that you were "still standing," as though every f*cking drop of sweat I spent at Global Warfare was a total waste, in spite of the Xtreme title and credibilitiy I gained that night. Are you so pompous? Or are you just retarded?
I put you down at Global Warfare, but that didn't sink in, did it? Then at Battlground: Britain, perhaps I'll put you AWAY. I still don't think that will beat any truth into your thick skull, but when you're spending the rest of your days drooling onto a towel on your shoulder next to Donovan Jackson, who's going to complain?
(He shrugs again.)
Clapper
The very fact that you seek the World Title, as you went on about following Global Warfare, is disturbing. It'll be a cold day in hell when you wear this Xtreme Title a second time... but the day you EVER step into the ring with the World Title on the line, that's when heaven goes up in flames!
I will personally crush your dreams at Battlground: Britain, along with your body. It will be a pleasure... my untold duty to Global Xtreme Wrestling.
(He nods, a slight smirk on his face.)
Clapper
And of course next is Troy Douglas. Unlike Black, this guy is a valid THREAT to the title. I missed out on your reign, man, because to tell you the truth, I just sort of exploded when I arrived. But you did too, right? Ten man battle royale at Genesis, and YOU walked out with the belt.
That's remarkable...
Then one day, at Revolution, that f*ckwad named David Allen Black pins a jobber by the name of Eric Gibson, and takes your title. Now, at Battleground: Britain, we have the same premise... two competitors, and a jobber thrown between them.
I'd be lying if I said I would never suspect you of stripping me of my title by getting an easy win over David Allen Black. And I wouldn't blame you if you did, cause when the rules are Xtreme, you need to resort to Xtreme methods, and that's not all tables, ladders, and chairs. It's the ONE thing that made David Allen Black Xtreme enough to hold the belt... and it's obvious that it's in you as it is in me.
Does that worry me? Somewhat. Then again, for a man who carried six men in three seperate matches in one night, handling two at once seems all too easy for me. I know, I know... you're thinking that six don't compare to nine, right? Well try fighting those nine guys when anything goes... instead of simply throwing them over the ropes.
(He nods twice, giving the viewer, or rather, the person of subject, time to think it over.)
Clapper
But here's what gets me, Troy. You see, up until today, I've been under the impression that this was going to be David Allen Black versus the Xtreme Champion, Clapper. Nothing else. Then my friend tells me that you were added into the match. I took me a whlie to understand why...
After all, was there not a number one contendor's match at the last Revolution, between Black and Fasco, to determine who I would face at Battleground: Britain? Where were you for that? What have you done, aside from losing to Max Blackshire, that placed you here in this very match?
Then I realized... it's not what you've done since your return--practically nothing, mind you--but what you did before you left. You were, after all, one hell of an Xtreme Champion. That enough gives you the priviledge of fighting me. Not the opportunity to win... but the priviledge and honor to fight. Congratulations on your part for getting this far.
Another thing that concerned me is the fact that... you left, as soon as Black stole your belt. Why exactly was there a reason to leave, if you don't mind my asking? You didn't immediately feel the need to come back and reclaim your unjustly taken belt?
I won't press you on the matter, Troy, because I doubt its any of my business, and it's impossible to understand on my behalf, being the kind of guy who seems to shrug off personal issues. But you left, Troy... you turned your back on GXW and the Xtreme Title to "heal" after your "loss."
There's a lot of idiots in this federation, many of whom I've gone up against, who stick to this federation like flies around a slob's face, Black being one of them. It would do me PHENOMENAL pleasure to see them pack their bags and leave every time THEY lost. But call it stubborness... or maybe retardation. Either way, they never leave, no matter how many times they are beaten.
But you? Troy Douglas? The great Xtreme Champion of mid-2003, who took this fed by storm? How WEAK of a man are you to run back home and "heel" following a hollowing defeat?
(He reaches down off camera, and pulls up the Xtreme Title.)
Clapper
Ever since I won this title, I've done NOTHING but live for this federation. If you don't have that same sort of focus and motivation... or, if you're going to let yourself be distracted with "personal" matters, then you have no right to hold onto this belt. In fact, you have no right to be a professional wrestler.
This is an industry where only the cold-blooded and black-hearted survive, which is why I've been doing well since I arrived.
And if I ever lose this belt, will I give up? Hell no... I'll be back the very next day with a pen in hand to sign the dotted line of the contract that will get me my rematch. I don't walk away until I'm SATISFIED with what I've done, and by looking at GXW, I can see I've got a lot of work left over...
(He slings the belt over his shoulder.)
Clapper
Black... Douglas... the two of you will be facing the most dangerous man in Global Xtreme Wrestling. I've ended title reigns... I've ended careers... and I've ended lives. What will be the end for the two of you at Battlground: Britain?
Take the week to consider it... and think about your position. Neither of you will be walking away with this belt, but the Xtreme Title is the least of your worries now. Survival is what's most important. Keep that in mind, at all times.
Sleep tight...
(With a nod, the camera fades to black.)
SCENE ENDS
CuseTroy
League Member
Turning Point
FADE IN...
It's a dreary winter day in Cardiff, Wales on the 12th of January, almost exactly like every other winter day in this portion of the United Kingdom. Just like any other day, the city of Cardiff is flowing gently along with the tide of the day's business. But, for one man, the city is no source of calm. Troy Douglas, former Global Xtreme Wrestling Xtreme Champion, leans against a lamppost on a street corner, attempting to hail a cab. After a few unfruitful attempts, he manages to flag down a cab just before it whizzed by. As the car comes to a screeching halt, Troy pulls open the curbside door and sits down, removing his beat up tan leather jacket to reveal a dark blue button down shirt, worn open, with a simple black t-shirt underneath. As he settles into his seat, he asks the cabbie to roll down the window between the front and back seats.
"What can I do for ye, mate?"
"Winchester Royal Arms Hotel on Berry Street. And I'll give you an extra twenty quid if you get me there in 10 minutes."
"You got it sir. Winchester Royal Arms on Berry in 10."
"Thanks."
The driver rolls up the window, and, soon as its closed, Troy begins to speak to the camera.
"Clapper. The GXW X-treme champion. Good for you kid. That's a hell of an impression to make at the beginning of your career. Let's me think you've got some good days ahead of you. You've come on the scene and impressed a lot of people, including me. But, to be honest, I know you by reputation only. From what I can tell, your a competitor after my own heart. I respect you for that. But, Clapper, you've still got a hell of a lot to learn about what it means to be a champion.
"I hear you talking about David Allen Black as if he weren't worth a single grain of sand out of the billions of other grains of sand. You might not like the circumstances with which he won that X-treme belt in August, and neither do I. But, the man earned it fair and square with a three count in the middle of that ring. And even though he never pinned me, he played by the rules set down for the match and, like it or not, that's all that counts. But David, I'll get back to you later.
"That brings me back to you, Clapper. You talk about how I went through nine other men to get that title, lost it in a less than ideal fashion, and disappeared. Well, you're right. You spoke about how I needed to heal. You're right about that too. My mind and my body where beaten to bits, and I needed to get myself back together before I could make another run at GXW glory. But, I really don't feel like pulling the skeletons from my closet right about now, Clapper. Instead, I want to talk about your one incorrect observation.
"You believe I turned my back on GXW because I needed to cope with not having my title. That thought, my friend, is exactly the kind of thing that's going to get you in a lot of trouble come Battleground Britain. I may have left, but every day, and I mean every single day, I was aching for the moment when my physician would say , 'Troy, you're good to go. Good luck.' Waiting for that moment for nearly half a year nearly killed me, Clapper. I'm the last man to turn my back on someone or something, especially GXW. This organization, especially Mr. Zieba and Mr. Dupree, gave me a chance. They tolerated my injuries and gave me time to heal when my personal life went to hell. Without GXW and its fans, there is no Troy Douglas. That's all I have left is this company. So don't you dare say I ran away. I left because if I had gone back in the ring right then, I wouldn't be wrestling in this match right now. I would be sitting in a wheelchair back in Greensboro, North Carolina, instead of having a shot to reclaim the X-treme Title.
"Speaking of the X-treme Title, I now return to the man who took it away from me last summer. Black, you may not have pinned me, but you did beat me. Be well aware that it's not just the champ that I'm aiming for in this match. I won't hesitate to take you to the woodshed either, David. You earned your right to be here by beating Fasco. Me, I got thrown into this situation because someone upstairs decided they'd like to see the last three X-treme Champions go at it in a match that gets picked by a wheel. Those are there terms. I'll take them. Just give me that chance to get back to where I once was. Then, all the rehab, all the emotional recuperation, it'll be worth it.
"Yeah, my career's been pretty good. A couple of titles in a couple of organizations, plus taking some of the greats in this business to the limit, like Dan Ryan and Kevin Powers. But, its not my purpose to jabber on about what I did, or what I'm going to do. No, I've always been about three things; opportunity, respect, and work. At Battleground Britain, we'll spin a wheel and make a deal. But, that really doesn't matter. It doesn't matter who we are right now, or who we were before. All that matters is what we bring into the ring, what we leave in the ring, and what we take out of the ring. Pride is one thing, that title is another. That match won't end without everything I've got being put out on the line. Win, lose, draw, that's what it's all about. At Battleground Britain, we'll see whose got the heart to step up and be a champion."
The taxi driver rolls down the window.[/]
"Winchester Royal Arms Hotel, mate."
"How much?"
"19 pounds. Have a nice day."
Troy pulls two twenty pound notes from his wallet and gives them to the driver. As he exits the cab, he pulls on his leather jacket. Troy slams the door shut and turns to enter the hotel as this part of the tale ends.
...Fade to Black
FADE IN...
It's a dreary winter day in Cardiff, Wales on the 12th of January, almost exactly like every other winter day in this portion of the United Kingdom. Just like any other day, the city of Cardiff is flowing gently along with the tide of the day's business. But, for one man, the city is no source of calm. Troy Douglas, former Global Xtreme Wrestling Xtreme Champion, leans against a lamppost on a street corner, attempting to hail a cab. After a few unfruitful attempts, he manages to flag down a cab just before it whizzed by. As the car comes to a screeching halt, Troy pulls open the curbside door and sits down, removing his beat up tan leather jacket to reveal a dark blue button down shirt, worn open, with a simple black t-shirt underneath. As he settles into his seat, he asks the cabbie to roll down the window between the front and back seats.
"What can I do for ye, mate?"
"Winchester Royal Arms Hotel on Berry Street. And I'll give you an extra twenty quid if you get me there in 10 minutes."
"You got it sir. Winchester Royal Arms on Berry in 10."
"Thanks."
The driver rolls up the window, and, soon as its closed, Troy begins to speak to the camera.
"Clapper. The GXW X-treme champion. Good for you kid. That's a hell of an impression to make at the beginning of your career. Let's me think you've got some good days ahead of you. You've come on the scene and impressed a lot of people, including me. But, to be honest, I know you by reputation only. From what I can tell, your a competitor after my own heart. I respect you for that. But, Clapper, you've still got a hell of a lot to learn about what it means to be a champion.
"I hear you talking about David Allen Black as if he weren't worth a single grain of sand out of the billions of other grains of sand. You might not like the circumstances with which he won that X-treme belt in August, and neither do I. But, the man earned it fair and square with a three count in the middle of that ring. And even though he never pinned me, he played by the rules set down for the match and, like it or not, that's all that counts. But David, I'll get back to you later.
"That brings me back to you, Clapper. You talk about how I went through nine other men to get that title, lost it in a less than ideal fashion, and disappeared. Well, you're right. You spoke about how I needed to heal. You're right about that too. My mind and my body where beaten to bits, and I needed to get myself back together before I could make another run at GXW glory. But, I really don't feel like pulling the skeletons from my closet right about now, Clapper. Instead, I want to talk about your one incorrect observation.
"You believe I turned my back on GXW because I needed to cope with not having my title. That thought, my friend, is exactly the kind of thing that's going to get you in a lot of trouble come Battleground Britain. I may have left, but every day, and I mean every single day, I was aching for the moment when my physician would say , 'Troy, you're good to go. Good luck.' Waiting for that moment for nearly half a year nearly killed me, Clapper. I'm the last man to turn my back on someone or something, especially GXW. This organization, especially Mr. Zieba and Mr. Dupree, gave me a chance. They tolerated my injuries and gave me time to heal when my personal life went to hell. Without GXW and its fans, there is no Troy Douglas. That's all I have left is this company. So don't you dare say I ran away. I left because if I had gone back in the ring right then, I wouldn't be wrestling in this match right now. I would be sitting in a wheelchair back in Greensboro, North Carolina, instead of having a shot to reclaim the X-treme Title.
"Speaking of the X-treme Title, I now return to the man who took it away from me last summer. Black, you may not have pinned me, but you did beat me. Be well aware that it's not just the champ that I'm aiming for in this match. I won't hesitate to take you to the woodshed either, David. You earned your right to be here by beating Fasco. Me, I got thrown into this situation because someone upstairs decided they'd like to see the last three X-treme Champions go at it in a match that gets picked by a wheel. Those are there terms. I'll take them. Just give me that chance to get back to where I once was. Then, all the rehab, all the emotional recuperation, it'll be worth it.
"Yeah, my career's been pretty good. A couple of titles in a couple of organizations, plus taking some of the greats in this business to the limit, like Dan Ryan and Kevin Powers. But, its not my purpose to jabber on about what I did, or what I'm going to do. No, I've always been about three things; opportunity, respect, and work. At Battleground Britain, we'll spin a wheel and make a deal. But, that really doesn't matter. It doesn't matter who we are right now, or who we were before. All that matters is what we bring into the ring, what we leave in the ring, and what we take out of the ring. Pride is one thing, that title is another. That match won't end without everything I've got being put out on the line. Win, lose, draw, that's what it's all about. At Battleground Britain, we'll see whose got the heart to step up and be a champion."
The taxi driver rolls down the window.[/]
"Winchester Royal Arms Hotel, mate."
"How much?"
"19 pounds. Have a nice day."
Troy pulls two twenty pound notes from his wallet and gives them to the driver. As he exits the cab, he pulls on his leather jacket. Troy slams the door shut and turns to enter the hotel as this part of the tale ends.
...Fade to Black
Devoured By Hate
SCENE BEGINS
(Nothing is more fragile than a dream. That's why they break so easily. Talk to a man who has no dreams... who cannot conceive hope, or aim for a goal. He can only crush dreams, erase hope, and make goals forgotten. How black is his heart? How little does he care?)
(And how much longer do you have until you feel his wrath?)
(We fade into the arranged locker room at the Millenium Arena, designated only for the Xtreme Champion, and any guests he may bring. But Clapper was never known as the kind of guy who welcomed company; he was a loner, at best.)
(Truly, he needs no dressing room. He fights how he dresses naturally. He never fancied himself as a "wrestler" in any case. Seated in a folding chair against the wall, with his legs propped up on a tool box, the Clapper sits quiety in though, his eyes hidden behind his trademark sunglasses, smoking on a cigarette.)
(Then he opens his mouth, and your heart stops again.)
Clapper
I get more and more eager to get on with this match, as the days go by... to see that wheel spin, and take whatever stipulations that come--battle royal, ladder match, cage, whatever. Every day I sit in this room, I feel like I'm getting weaker. I should be out there, shedding blood... doing what I do best.
But no, I'm trapped here... in this prison, with nothing to do but listen. And listen, I have done little.
(With his smoke finished, Clapper extinguishes his cigarette by rubbing it into his sleeve neart the rest on his long leather coat. He exhales a final plume of gray smoke through his teeth, and goes.)
Clapper
Exactly, where is the former Xtreme Champion, the man I took this belt from? Where the F*CK is David Allen Black? Where has he been all week? What has he been doing other than cutting promos, doing what you're supposed to do, and building hype for this match?
But I know the answers to all of those questions. I know EXACTLY what David Allen Black is doing.
He's sitting at home... hiding under his bed. Because you see, he knows he has no chance at beating me with words, or on a psychological level. Therefore, he hides with his head under his pillow and ass pointed to the ceiling, quivering from head to toe as he thinks of what I'm going to do to him at Battleground: Britain.
(He scoffs.)
Clapper
Then... five minutes before our match takes place, he'll muster up the minimum requirement of courage to cut a last-minute piece of sh*t promo. Take it from me, his long-time opponent. He does it at every turn, but he fails to realize it gets him nowhere...
Black, you can't win matches by hiding from me. You can't expect to take this belt if you don't have the balls to show your face and speak your mind, and explain all the idiotic little fallacies that you whip out every week. I know you're afraid... and I know you know you are going to lose this match, no matter what you will bring, no matter what you SAY you will bring, and no matter what hope you have in that narrow-minded head of yours.
You're doomed to feel my wrath, and be crushed beneath it. You little turd, it's hard to believe that you even posed a minimal challenge to me at Global Warfare! This time, I pull no punches... the gloves come off and I go for the throat. If you aren't wheeled out of that arena on a stretcher, then I'll GLADLY hand you the Xtreme Title. If I'm telling a lie this very moment, and you aren't beaten within an inch of your life at Battleground: Britain, then I have no right to be the Xtreme Champion. I will be a failure in my own eyes, win or lose.
(He shakes his head, as if dismayed to even imagine such a possibility.)
Clapper
Let me give it to you this way, Black-Head. Before you even THINK of coming onto the airwaves at promptly 11:50 Saturday evening, hoping to get some quick words in for a cheap last laugh... before you go on with your idiotic "MEEEE's" and "YOOOUU's"... just think back to Global Warfare...
Think back to our last meeting. I told what to expect... I telegraphed every move... and still, somehow, your ass was lying on the mat unconscious in the final moments, soaked in your own blood with I piledrived your ass on a bed of nails made of thumbtacks. I stripped you of a belt you had NO RIGHT to carry. I proved you wrong in every sense... I showed the ENTIRE WORLD that David Allen Black is nothing... a failure, a jobber, a complete and utter SPOT on the face of the earth, who serves NO PURPOSE, not even to himself!
And still... you couldn't keep your trap shut. You went on and on... about how I didn't do a good enough job, and how you were still standing.
Where are those tough words now, David? You've been asking for a rematch all this time, beckoning me every step of the way with your simply MORONIC words... you cost me a match against the KING of jobbers, HellFighter. And then, ALAS... you get your f*ckin' rematch, and YOU DISAPPEAR OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH!!
Are you THAT f*cking stupid?! You spent weeks--MONTHS being a zit on my ass, a mosquito in my ear, and suddenly you duck away from this confrontation? Don't you have any PASSION for this title? Did you EVER want a rematch? Or are you simply just f*cking around with my time? I guess it really doesn't matter WHAT goes on in your head, cause the punishment I intend to deal out at Battleground: Britain will be something equal to a lobotomy. After our match, you'll be what the psychiatric ward calls... a Vegetable.
(He nods, an evil sneer crossing his face.)
Clapper
I know you have something planned for Battleground: Britain, David Allen Black... I know there's a card up your sleeve, a stupid idea that only YOU would dream of pulling off. But the thing is, Black, while you've been hiding at home, too chicken to show your face to your opponents, I've been eagerly anticipating dismantling you in that ring--and I've openly expressed my enthusiasm.
Any plans you have will blow up in your face, I garuntee this to you now. You might as well hold a gun to your head and expect to shoot ME. Think real, Black-head... considering you lost our last encounter, you should assume--rather, KNOW--that the same outcome can--will--happen at Battleground: Britain. That's a hell of a monkey wrench thrown into your cogs... but knowing you, that won't get through your head.
(He shakes his head and waves his hand, brushing the topic aside.)
Clapper
I'm done talking to you, Black... but only for today. You obviously don't have the passion or participation required to take this title. GXW gave you a chance... an opportunity to fight for this belt a second time. They put you in a match against Reuben Fasco, and you won. They practically gave you a free ride, and what do you do to repay them?
You disappear... you don't even have the balls to promote your own match. You are a scar on the face of GXW... an ugly blemish in the Xtreme division. I hope I end you at Battleground: Britain... your hopes, your dreams, your career... your train of thought, your conscious freedom, and, if I'm lucky, your life.
(He clears his throat.)
Clapper
I'm going to talk about Troy Douglas now... the REAL competitor in this match. The ONLY guy, other than myself, who deserves this belt, at least from what I've seen. Obviously, in his last promo, ol' Troy's got a little sand in his vagina...
And obviously a problem distinguishing age superiority. I'm 32 years of age... and though I've only been in this industry for a couple years, I've been doing jobs that require my kind of skill and physical prowess for nearly my entire life. I'd hardly register as a "kid."
But seriously... after watching Troy's promo, it was pretty obvious that I made a grave misperception. And I admit, I made a mistake. But I quote myself in my first promo, "it's impossible to understand on my behalf, being the kind of guy who seems to shrug off personal issues." And it really ISN'T my kind of thing to understand...
All I know is, I practically called Troy Douglas a coward... but his words in his last promo helped me realize that I was wrong to say that. He truly had no choice. When you've got to choose between your health--or life--and the ring, it's obvious that you have to think of long-term consequences.
(He pauses a beat.)
Clapper
For that, Troy, I apologize...
But you're still a f*ck-off for that "kid" comment.
Just who the f*ck do you think you are, talking to me like that? Do I look like some talentless rookie with a spur of luck to you? My taking this belt has come from years--YEARS, *******it!--of training and endurance, surviving in real life dangerous situations, and streets smarts, that until recently have been applied to the ring.
I've been snapping necks and taking bullets in the chest long before you realized that thing hanging off in front of you was used for ****in'. It seems that I'm not the ONLY person between the two of us who has made a fatal misperception. Well, I apologized and admitted to my faults for my own mistake... let's see you do the same, kid.
(He clears his throat again, and cracks his knuckles. They reverberate through the cold room, loud and tumultuous.)
Clapper
Let me be straight with you two... this is not your ordinary match, with the possibility of a chair or table being involved. This is an Xtreme match of my own rules, and if you don't expect to be bleeding, or burnt, or fighting somewhere in that arena that isn't the ring, then you're in for a world of hurt. Likewise, I'm not your ordinary opponent. I didn't train in gyms with other professional wrestlers, nor do I have any respect for that technical fairy crap. I was trained as a hitman, a bodyguard, and an assassin. My skill lies in maiming, crippling, and destroying. And if I have to use anything other than my bare hands, you better drop to your knees and pray you stay awake after the impact and pain that is bound to follow.
I have brought GREAT THINGS to this division with the belt over my shoulder, and I plan to continue doing so. So I'm sorry to tell you guys, I'm not looking forward to giving this belt up. Not this soon... not to Troy Douglas, and CERTAINLY not to David Allen Black. From the look of things, I don't really see any motivation from either of you that can match my own... nor do I believe you have the skill.
When you come at Battleground: Britain, you will fight very bravely... you will sweat, bleed, and hurt all over the ring, and all over the arena... wherever I choose to take you. No matter what the wheel falls on, you will dread every second you find yourself in my grip. But for all the pain, terror, agony, neither of you will win. There just isn't enough heart in your chests for me to rip out.
I hope this reality doesn't deter you in any way from going through with this match, cause I'm eagerly waiting for this fight. I'm going to prove to the two of you, and to the entire world, that the epitome of Xtreme in GXW has only one name.
And you guessed that is by now, I hope.
See you there, boys.
(With a nod, Clapper signals the camera to fade to black.)
SCENE ENDS
SCENE BEGINS
(Nothing is more fragile than a dream. That's why they break so easily. Talk to a man who has no dreams... who cannot conceive hope, or aim for a goal. He can only crush dreams, erase hope, and make goals forgotten. How black is his heart? How little does he care?)
(And how much longer do you have until you feel his wrath?)
(We fade into the arranged locker room at the Millenium Arena, designated only for the Xtreme Champion, and any guests he may bring. But Clapper was never known as the kind of guy who welcomed company; he was a loner, at best.)
(Truly, he needs no dressing room. He fights how he dresses naturally. He never fancied himself as a "wrestler" in any case. Seated in a folding chair against the wall, with his legs propped up on a tool box, the Clapper sits quiety in though, his eyes hidden behind his trademark sunglasses, smoking on a cigarette.)
(Then he opens his mouth, and your heart stops again.)
Clapper
I get more and more eager to get on with this match, as the days go by... to see that wheel spin, and take whatever stipulations that come--battle royal, ladder match, cage, whatever. Every day I sit in this room, I feel like I'm getting weaker. I should be out there, shedding blood... doing what I do best.
But no, I'm trapped here... in this prison, with nothing to do but listen. And listen, I have done little.
(With his smoke finished, Clapper extinguishes his cigarette by rubbing it into his sleeve neart the rest on his long leather coat. He exhales a final plume of gray smoke through his teeth, and goes.)
Clapper
Exactly, where is the former Xtreme Champion, the man I took this belt from? Where the F*CK is David Allen Black? Where has he been all week? What has he been doing other than cutting promos, doing what you're supposed to do, and building hype for this match?
But I know the answers to all of those questions. I know EXACTLY what David Allen Black is doing.
He's sitting at home... hiding under his bed. Because you see, he knows he has no chance at beating me with words, or on a psychological level. Therefore, he hides with his head under his pillow and ass pointed to the ceiling, quivering from head to toe as he thinks of what I'm going to do to him at Battleground: Britain.
(He scoffs.)
Clapper
Then... five minutes before our match takes place, he'll muster up the minimum requirement of courage to cut a last-minute piece of sh*t promo. Take it from me, his long-time opponent. He does it at every turn, but he fails to realize it gets him nowhere...
Black, you can't win matches by hiding from me. You can't expect to take this belt if you don't have the balls to show your face and speak your mind, and explain all the idiotic little fallacies that you whip out every week. I know you're afraid... and I know you know you are going to lose this match, no matter what you will bring, no matter what you SAY you will bring, and no matter what hope you have in that narrow-minded head of yours.
You're doomed to feel my wrath, and be crushed beneath it. You little turd, it's hard to believe that you even posed a minimal challenge to me at Global Warfare! This time, I pull no punches... the gloves come off and I go for the throat. If you aren't wheeled out of that arena on a stretcher, then I'll GLADLY hand you the Xtreme Title. If I'm telling a lie this very moment, and you aren't beaten within an inch of your life at Battleground: Britain, then I have no right to be the Xtreme Champion. I will be a failure in my own eyes, win or lose.
(He shakes his head, as if dismayed to even imagine such a possibility.)
Clapper
Let me give it to you this way, Black-Head. Before you even THINK of coming onto the airwaves at promptly 11:50 Saturday evening, hoping to get some quick words in for a cheap last laugh... before you go on with your idiotic "MEEEE's" and "YOOOUU's"... just think back to Global Warfare...
Think back to our last meeting. I told what to expect... I telegraphed every move... and still, somehow, your ass was lying on the mat unconscious in the final moments, soaked in your own blood with I piledrived your ass on a bed of nails made of thumbtacks. I stripped you of a belt you had NO RIGHT to carry. I proved you wrong in every sense... I showed the ENTIRE WORLD that David Allen Black is nothing... a failure, a jobber, a complete and utter SPOT on the face of the earth, who serves NO PURPOSE, not even to himself!
And still... you couldn't keep your trap shut. You went on and on... about how I didn't do a good enough job, and how you were still standing.
Where are those tough words now, David? You've been asking for a rematch all this time, beckoning me every step of the way with your simply MORONIC words... you cost me a match against the KING of jobbers, HellFighter. And then, ALAS... you get your f*ckin' rematch, and YOU DISAPPEAR OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH!!
Are you THAT f*cking stupid?! You spent weeks--MONTHS being a zit on my ass, a mosquito in my ear, and suddenly you duck away from this confrontation? Don't you have any PASSION for this title? Did you EVER want a rematch? Or are you simply just f*cking around with my time? I guess it really doesn't matter WHAT goes on in your head, cause the punishment I intend to deal out at Battleground: Britain will be something equal to a lobotomy. After our match, you'll be what the psychiatric ward calls... a Vegetable.
(He nods, an evil sneer crossing his face.)
Clapper
I know you have something planned for Battleground: Britain, David Allen Black... I know there's a card up your sleeve, a stupid idea that only YOU would dream of pulling off. But the thing is, Black, while you've been hiding at home, too chicken to show your face to your opponents, I've been eagerly anticipating dismantling you in that ring--and I've openly expressed my enthusiasm.
Any plans you have will blow up in your face, I garuntee this to you now. You might as well hold a gun to your head and expect to shoot ME. Think real, Black-head... considering you lost our last encounter, you should assume--rather, KNOW--that the same outcome can--will--happen at Battleground: Britain. That's a hell of a monkey wrench thrown into your cogs... but knowing you, that won't get through your head.
(He shakes his head and waves his hand, brushing the topic aside.)
Clapper
I'm done talking to you, Black... but only for today. You obviously don't have the passion or participation required to take this title. GXW gave you a chance... an opportunity to fight for this belt a second time. They put you in a match against Reuben Fasco, and you won. They practically gave you a free ride, and what do you do to repay them?
You disappear... you don't even have the balls to promote your own match. You are a scar on the face of GXW... an ugly blemish in the Xtreme division. I hope I end you at Battleground: Britain... your hopes, your dreams, your career... your train of thought, your conscious freedom, and, if I'm lucky, your life.
(He clears his throat.)
Clapper
I'm going to talk about Troy Douglas now... the REAL competitor in this match. The ONLY guy, other than myself, who deserves this belt, at least from what I've seen. Obviously, in his last promo, ol' Troy's got a little sand in his vagina...
And obviously a problem distinguishing age superiority. I'm 32 years of age... and though I've only been in this industry for a couple years, I've been doing jobs that require my kind of skill and physical prowess for nearly my entire life. I'd hardly register as a "kid."
But seriously... after watching Troy's promo, it was pretty obvious that I made a grave misperception. And I admit, I made a mistake. But I quote myself in my first promo, "it's impossible to understand on my behalf, being the kind of guy who seems to shrug off personal issues." And it really ISN'T my kind of thing to understand...
All I know is, I practically called Troy Douglas a coward... but his words in his last promo helped me realize that I was wrong to say that. He truly had no choice. When you've got to choose between your health--or life--and the ring, it's obvious that you have to think of long-term consequences.
(He pauses a beat.)
Clapper
For that, Troy, I apologize...
But you're still a f*ck-off for that "kid" comment.
Just who the f*ck do you think you are, talking to me like that? Do I look like some talentless rookie with a spur of luck to you? My taking this belt has come from years--YEARS, *******it!--of training and endurance, surviving in real life dangerous situations, and streets smarts, that until recently have been applied to the ring.
I've been snapping necks and taking bullets in the chest long before you realized that thing hanging off in front of you was used for ****in'. It seems that I'm not the ONLY person between the two of us who has made a fatal misperception. Well, I apologized and admitted to my faults for my own mistake... let's see you do the same, kid.
(He clears his throat again, and cracks his knuckles. They reverberate through the cold room, loud and tumultuous.)
Clapper
Let me be straight with you two... this is not your ordinary match, with the possibility of a chair or table being involved. This is an Xtreme match of my own rules, and if you don't expect to be bleeding, or burnt, or fighting somewhere in that arena that isn't the ring, then you're in for a world of hurt. Likewise, I'm not your ordinary opponent. I didn't train in gyms with other professional wrestlers, nor do I have any respect for that technical fairy crap. I was trained as a hitman, a bodyguard, and an assassin. My skill lies in maiming, crippling, and destroying. And if I have to use anything other than my bare hands, you better drop to your knees and pray you stay awake after the impact and pain that is bound to follow.
I have brought GREAT THINGS to this division with the belt over my shoulder, and I plan to continue doing so. So I'm sorry to tell you guys, I'm not looking forward to giving this belt up. Not this soon... not to Troy Douglas, and CERTAINLY not to David Allen Black. From the look of things, I don't really see any motivation from either of you that can match my own... nor do I believe you have the skill.
When you come at Battleground: Britain, you will fight very bravely... you will sweat, bleed, and hurt all over the ring, and all over the arena... wherever I choose to take you. No matter what the wheel falls on, you will dread every second you find yourself in my grip. But for all the pain, terror, agony, neither of you will win. There just isn't enough heart in your chests for me to rip out.
I hope this reality doesn't deter you in any way from going through with this match, cause I'm eagerly waiting for this fight. I'm going to prove to the two of you, and to the entire world, that the epitome of Xtreme in GXW has only one name.
And you guessed that is by now, I hope.
See you there, boys.
(With a nod, Clapper signals the camera to fade to black.)
SCENE ENDS
CuseTroy
League Member
Fueld by Pride
FADE IN...
The camera pulls in on Millennium Stadium in Cardiff, Wales on this mid-January afternoon. Outside a gate labeled "Athletes Entrance", a taxi pulls up to the side of the road. When the door opens, out comes Troy Douglas, one of the top contenders to GXW's X-treme Championship. He weats his traditional leather jacket over his clothes, and a green and black Philadelphia Eagles ski cap adorns his head. A black GXW Battleground Britain duffel bag is slung over his right shoulder. On his face, he wears nothing but a steely look of grim determination. As he enters the bowels of the stadium, he pulls a security pass out of his pocket and presents it to the guard at the door to the locker area. However, instead of heading to the locker room, Troy saunters out to the field area, where a gaggle of construction workers are putting the finishing touches on the Battleground Britain set. Troy walks across the field until he finds an open gate to the seating area, which he walks through and proceeds to sit in this first row.
"You know, it's amazing how far this business has come. When I started my career, I suffered through working in half empty bingo halls and junior high school gyms and now, here I am in one of the grand sporting venues of the world, Millennium Stadium here in Wales. But, while it is an honor to be competing on such a stage, y'all know that ain't what I'm here to talk about.
"No, I'm here to say a few choice to a man who just happens to share his name with an electrical appliance favored by the elderly. That's right, Clapper, this one is for you. That doesn't mean I'm ignoring David Black, but if he doesn't wanna talk, I don't feel the need to direct much of my verbal energy toward him. But, Clapper, you I like dealing with."
Troy laughs to himself.
"Now, if this were any other facet of life, I'd thank you for taking back your little 'coward' comment. But, this ain't any other facet of life. This is GLOBAL X-TREME WRESTLING, and you and I both know that no one here give a sh*t about the f*cking pleasantries. So that's that. But, according to you, that ain't it. No, you want to be all pissy about me calling you 'kid' in my last promo. So you're 32 and I'm just 27 years old. You seem like an intelligent enough guy to notice this Clapper, the number of candles they put on your birthday cake last year ain't got sh*t to do with this, kid.
"You might be 5 years older than me, but when you're talking about that belt, that Global X-treme Wrestling X-treme Championship belt, you only sound about 5 years old. You're like a f*cking preschooler at play time on the circle rug with that damn thing. Someone comes up to you asking you to share, and all you say is, 'Can't have. Mine.' You know what happens to the naughty f*cking little boy who doesn't share, Clapper? Teacher comes up and takes it away. So go ahead and be petulant Clapper, because I'm here with just one purpose, to take that belt off your waist and raise it high into the Welsh night after I take you the f*ck down, man.
"Clapper, you've been flapping your gums about how, because this is an X-treme match, the match goes by 'your rules.' You're f*cking kidding me, right Clapper? Do you have any idea what the word 'extreme' means? It means there are absolutely NO RULES except this one, get your hand raised at the end of the night. Yeah, we'll probably end up in some godforsaken garbage depository in the bowels of this arena. Yes, you, Black, and I will probably end up bludgeoning each other with barbed wire, baseball bats, chairs, tables, cinder blocks, steel poles, and anything else you can think can be used as a weapon. But, hell, that won't be because you said so. That'll be because my definition of 'extreme' is just three little words: WHATEVER IT TAKES."
Troy raises himself from the seat and leans on the front row protective security railing.
"At Battleground Britain, right here in Cardiff, Wales, the jewel of all the British Isles, you, me, and David Allen Black will decide who gets the honor to walk out of this stadium with the X-treme championship belt in their posession. I have no doubt that you'll throw everything you've got at me in order to keep the strap, Clapper. Just the same, I'm sure that Black, as silent as he's been to this point, won't just lay down and die. Remember, he once had this title, just as you now do and I once did. Whatever match the spin of the wheel decides we should fight in, the three of us will spill each others blood before the damn night is through, and I can guarantee that. I can't guarantee I'll win, much as I'd like to, but I can guarantee that you'll get hell from Troy Douglas before my end comes. To be simple, I'll do everything in my power to make sure that it's lights out on your championship reign, Clapper. Or, to put it into terms that you might be able to discern, I'll give it you like this. Come Battleground Britain, Spin The Wheel, Make a Deal, it's gonna be Clap the F*ck Off. See ya there, KID."
...FADE TO BLACK
FADE IN...
The camera pulls in on Millennium Stadium in Cardiff, Wales on this mid-January afternoon. Outside a gate labeled "Athletes Entrance", a taxi pulls up to the side of the road. When the door opens, out comes Troy Douglas, one of the top contenders to GXW's X-treme Championship. He weats his traditional leather jacket over his clothes, and a green and black Philadelphia Eagles ski cap adorns his head. A black GXW Battleground Britain duffel bag is slung over his right shoulder. On his face, he wears nothing but a steely look of grim determination. As he enters the bowels of the stadium, he pulls a security pass out of his pocket and presents it to the guard at the door to the locker area. However, instead of heading to the locker room, Troy saunters out to the field area, where a gaggle of construction workers are putting the finishing touches on the Battleground Britain set. Troy walks across the field until he finds an open gate to the seating area, which he walks through and proceeds to sit in this first row.
"You know, it's amazing how far this business has come. When I started my career, I suffered through working in half empty bingo halls and junior high school gyms and now, here I am in one of the grand sporting venues of the world, Millennium Stadium here in Wales. But, while it is an honor to be competing on such a stage, y'all know that ain't what I'm here to talk about.
"No, I'm here to say a few choice to a man who just happens to share his name with an electrical appliance favored by the elderly. That's right, Clapper, this one is for you. That doesn't mean I'm ignoring David Black, but if he doesn't wanna talk, I don't feel the need to direct much of my verbal energy toward him. But, Clapper, you I like dealing with."
Troy laughs to himself.
"Now, if this were any other facet of life, I'd thank you for taking back your little 'coward' comment. But, this ain't any other facet of life. This is GLOBAL X-TREME WRESTLING, and you and I both know that no one here give a sh*t about the f*cking pleasantries. So that's that. But, according to you, that ain't it. No, you want to be all pissy about me calling you 'kid' in my last promo. So you're 32 and I'm just 27 years old. You seem like an intelligent enough guy to notice this Clapper, the number of candles they put on your birthday cake last year ain't got sh*t to do with this, kid.
"You might be 5 years older than me, but when you're talking about that belt, that Global X-treme Wrestling X-treme Championship belt, you only sound about 5 years old. You're like a f*cking preschooler at play time on the circle rug with that damn thing. Someone comes up to you asking you to share, and all you say is, 'Can't have. Mine.' You know what happens to the naughty f*cking little boy who doesn't share, Clapper? Teacher comes up and takes it away. So go ahead and be petulant Clapper, because I'm here with just one purpose, to take that belt off your waist and raise it high into the Welsh night after I take you the f*ck down, man.
"Clapper, you've been flapping your gums about how, because this is an X-treme match, the match goes by 'your rules.' You're f*cking kidding me, right Clapper? Do you have any idea what the word 'extreme' means? It means there are absolutely NO RULES except this one, get your hand raised at the end of the night. Yeah, we'll probably end up in some godforsaken garbage depository in the bowels of this arena. Yes, you, Black, and I will probably end up bludgeoning each other with barbed wire, baseball bats, chairs, tables, cinder blocks, steel poles, and anything else you can think can be used as a weapon. But, hell, that won't be because you said so. That'll be because my definition of 'extreme' is just three little words: WHATEVER IT TAKES."
Troy raises himself from the seat and leans on the front row protective security railing.
"At Battleground Britain, right here in Cardiff, Wales, the jewel of all the British Isles, you, me, and David Allen Black will decide who gets the honor to walk out of this stadium with the X-treme championship belt in their posession. I have no doubt that you'll throw everything you've got at me in order to keep the strap, Clapper. Just the same, I'm sure that Black, as silent as he's been to this point, won't just lay down and die. Remember, he once had this title, just as you now do and I once did. Whatever match the spin of the wheel decides we should fight in, the three of us will spill each others blood before the damn night is through, and I can guarantee that. I can't guarantee I'll win, much as I'd like to, but I can guarantee that you'll get hell from Troy Douglas before my end comes. To be simple, I'll do everything in my power to make sure that it's lights out on your championship reign, Clapper. Or, to put it into terms that you might be able to discern, I'll give it you like this. Come Battleground Britain, Spin The Wheel, Make a Deal, it's gonna be Clap the F*ck Off. See ya there, KID."
...FADE TO BLACK
Slipping Down the Throat of a Devil
SCENE BEGINS
(In the presence of something so dark and mysterious, you can't help but to feel anything but cold. Something about the presence of this man makes blood turn to ice and the air in your lungs become black and heavy. Seeing him now makes you feel like that... )
(We're not in any arena, or before any backdrop... in fact, we don't know where the hell we are. We're in a small, dank room, lit only with a light bulb hanging from the ceiliing. When people get carried off in the middle of the night, this is likely where they look up. These dark brown walls of brick are probably the last thing they see before their life ends.)
(What better place is there to meet a man of this calibre? Clapper, the Xtreme champion, stands leaning against the wall. He's wearing the usual long black coat, sunglasses, and cigarette in his mouth. No belt.)
Clapper
Welcome back.
I'm just going to get a few things across before I leave for the Millenium Arena to defend my title. You won't be hearing anything more out of me until I arrive, but I almost garuntee that chickensh*t Black will sneak in to get the Final Word before it's go time. And if he DOESN'T cut a promo any time later today, then I will admit that I was actually SURPRISED for the first time this week.
I really don't know what he has planned, but I know exactly what's going through his head. He is captivated with terror. He KNOWS that's I intend to cripple him for life in this match. He knows there's no way to escape it... he can either show up, and take the beating like a man, or run away, only to be hunted down by yours truly.
The final hours of David Allen Black, the former Xtreme Champion, are at hand.
(Clapper pushes himself off the wall and approaches the camera. He stops next to the room's only object, the light bulb. Moving his position causes the light to be cast differently on his face. It's now eerily masked in shadow, with his clean, dome-like head reflecting the illusion of a hellish halo around his cranium.)
Clapper
I think everyone is familiar with the coward known as David Allen Black. We giggleed when he arrived with a partner, whose last name was white, and just happened to be an African-American. Mr. Black and Mr. White... har-dee-har. But when David Allen Black came a day after Global Warfare, stating he was challenging the WORLD CHAMPION for the belt, that giggling become boisterous LAUGHTER!
David Allen Black? Against the champ, John Miller? Not on my clock. David Allen Black doesn't have an accomplishment to his name in GXW outside of pinning Eric Gibson and keeping my title warm for the few weeks prior to my claiming it. Having him with with the Xtreme Title was pretty much ignored to begin with... obviously, Troy Douglas didn't have the sort of electricity that I would bring to the ring much later, so the entire Xtreme division was all but ignored.
But World Title material? No, I'm afraid not. We all had a good laugh about that one, because we know it's a joke to even conceive David Allen Black getting that far. That's like asking us to take Reuben Fasco SERIOUSLY.
(He snickers to himself, conceiving that notion.)
Clapper
You see, the talent in GXW can be divided into two big categories. There's a fine line between them. On one end, you have the guys who win and lose. And on the other, you have guys that do NOTHING but lose. Black is one of the latter. And anytime he does manage to bend the rules of physics and come out with a win, you can bet your ass it was a genious stroke of luck. David Allen Black wins as often as an eskimo gets hit by lightening.
The bottom line is, to even think that this guy poses a threat to my title is laughable. That's something someone should hand over to SNL for a latenight sketch on their show. I see Jimmy Fallon doing great things. But at Battleground: Britain, I'm going to do more than defend my title against him... I'm going to do this fed a favor. I'm going to make sure that David Allen Black never gets in another person's way for the rest of his professional wrestling career.
I'm going to rid this federation of the stain that calls himself David Allen Black. That's a promise.
(He turns away for a moment to open his coat and pull out his pack of cigarettes. As he does, his shoulder hits the lightbulb, sending it swinging like a pendulum. His shadow cast on the wall behind him swings by like a looming monsters. The darkness covering his face dances, painting a multitude of gruesome expressions on his demeanor.)
Clapper
And I suppose now, I'll talk about Troy Douglas. And let me guess...
I was right when I said he had sand in his vagina? Yeah, looking at that last hissy fit, I'd say I am right indeed. Obviously, Mr. Douglas is trying to puff out that chest of his a little more as he strolls into this match to challenge me for the belt that I rightfully earned. And do I blame him? No... because sometimes, blowing up your ego is a good way of walking right into a trap. Fighting matches against overconfident opponents like Troy Douglas, to me, is like slaughtering lambs.
It's just so easy for you... and they walk right into it.
After watching Douglas' last promo, I feel really damn good...
(With a sinister smile crossing his face, Clapper lights up his cigarette and takes a couple drags. With his hand, he catches the swinging light, and steadies it in the center of the room again.)
Clapper
Let me get this straight, Troy. I, suddenly, a person you only know by "reputation", am a five-year-old? I, a man who wasn't satisfied with destroying two to take this belt so he went after four more, don't know the meaning of "extreme"? This match is suddenly going by the creed, "whatever it takes"?
Un-f*ckin'-believable...
Let's just analyze this. Troy sees me as a five-year-old when I talk about my belt, hm? Yes, and I'm sure HE'S quite the Albert Einstein. But here, I'm a five-year-old... and, someone is asking me to... "share".
(He smiles, shaking his head in disbelief.)
Clapper
I'm sorry, Troy... I didn't know a title was a thing that one "shares". I suppose that being champion holds no priviledge... means nothing about being the best of the best. A belt is simply something you hold onto for a couple months, then willingly hand it over to the next guy.
Wait wait wait... everything's coming together now. This explains so much. No WONDER David Allen Black was champion; you intentionally lost that match, so you could "share" that belt, am I right?
(He chortles laughter.)
Clapper
Douglas, you f*cking moron. A title is not a normal piece of life that you take for granted. It's a reward... an incentive. The fact that I AM the champion gives me every right to hold onto this belt for as long as I please. That's how I prove myself to this world... how I can not be beaten.
Just because there hasn't been a challenger talented enough to take this belt from me does NOT imply I'm a greedy snot-nosed brat, Douglas. It means I'm a God among insects... the King of the Hill, who cannot be knocked off. Furthermore, I don't see what puts you in the position of a teacher, if I was a preschooler... did you facilitate the title? Did you intentionally hand it over to me? Are you looking at everybody in this federation as intellectual and physical inferiors to yourself?
Looks like you're in need of a wake-up call, Troy. I'm the best, and the belt will be mine as long as I continue to dominate. And no, I won't hand it over to you... if that makes me greedy, Douglas, then maybe you should just hug a tree and go to a soup kitchen, you whiny little bastard. Also, your analogies suck.
(He takes a few more drags of his cigarette and continues.)
Clapper
Now lets talk about the RULES of this match. First and foremost, I ask what gives you any right to call me out on understanding the rules of this match. Do me a favor, and watch Global Warfare. When you're done, come back and tell me to my face that I don't understand the rules. The fact of the matter is, YOUR perception is narrow-minded...
For proof, look at every match involving the Xtreme Title that included you. Chances are, it looked the exact same as any NORMAL match in this federation. As champion, Douglas... you provided nothing to this division. Your matches were clean, in spite of doing "whatever it takes".
I have made "extreme rules" insignificant. I have made the Xtreme matches something to watch, fighting by MY rules. My rules, of course, don't restrict this match in any way. I've fought by my rules my entire life, and its got me this far.
I don't think you understand the difference between extreme rules and Clapper's rules, so here it is. In your idea of "extreme" matches, you do "whatever it takes" to win. That's okay, but when you fight any match against Clapper, you do "whatever you can think of". Simply put, if you walk into this match with the simple plan of making a pin and taking this belt, you're mistaken. You have to cross the threshold of "extreme"... you have to step into Clapper's world, where you have to do more than "whatever".
I'm not going to try and pin you, Douglas... I'm going to try and put you on life support. THAT'S what it takes to serve a challenge against me. If you aren't prepared to go the entire way, you might as well lay down and die. The fact of the matter is, people didn't watch Xtreme matches until they started being fought on Clapper's rules...
Why? Cause MY rules are the DEFINITION of Xtreme! It's called piledriving David Allen Black onto thumbtacks! It's called running over an idiot named Shawn Matthews with a car! It's called MORE than a regular match, but after watching the tapes of your old matches, you could HARDLY understand that, am I right?
(He shakes his head.)
Clapper
You're not ready for my belt, Douglas. You require more drive. By looking at your promos, there isn't anything that tells me that you even WANT this belt. You've been yacking away, talking about Black and myself, as you would in any regular match. But this is an Xtreme Circumstance, Douglas. You've got my belt on the line, but you seem more inclined to throw foolish insults at me rather than express your intentions of being champion again.
No, you are not at all ready. You're still looking for a fight instead of trying to accomplish a dream. You make everything out to be a cheesy sob story. You...
(He blatantly scoffs, unable to finish the sentence.)
Clapper
...nah, I can't even waste another word on you. You are that disappointing, Troy.
(He clears his throat and moves to one end of the room, where the door is.)
Clapper
Now... I've got a cab to catch. I hope to see the both of you in the ring when the bell rings, or this is going to be one PPV. Gentlemen, don't disappoint me... I have a duty to entertain these fans, and carry this belt into 2004 with pride. I need you to make me look good...
So... off we go.
(He opens the door and exits. As he does, the light hanging in the middle of the room burns out, and flickers to black.)
SCENE ENDS
SCENE BEGINS
(In the presence of something so dark and mysterious, you can't help but to feel anything but cold. Something about the presence of this man makes blood turn to ice and the air in your lungs become black and heavy. Seeing him now makes you feel like that... )
(We're not in any arena, or before any backdrop... in fact, we don't know where the hell we are. We're in a small, dank room, lit only with a light bulb hanging from the ceiliing. When people get carried off in the middle of the night, this is likely where they look up. These dark brown walls of brick are probably the last thing they see before their life ends.)
(What better place is there to meet a man of this calibre? Clapper, the Xtreme champion, stands leaning against the wall. He's wearing the usual long black coat, sunglasses, and cigarette in his mouth. No belt.)
Clapper
Welcome back.
I'm just going to get a few things across before I leave for the Millenium Arena to defend my title. You won't be hearing anything more out of me until I arrive, but I almost garuntee that chickensh*t Black will sneak in to get the Final Word before it's go time. And if he DOESN'T cut a promo any time later today, then I will admit that I was actually SURPRISED for the first time this week.
I really don't know what he has planned, but I know exactly what's going through his head. He is captivated with terror. He KNOWS that's I intend to cripple him for life in this match. He knows there's no way to escape it... he can either show up, and take the beating like a man, or run away, only to be hunted down by yours truly.
The final hours of David Allen Black, the former Xtreme Champion, are at hand.
(Clapper pushes himself off the wall and approaches the camera. He stops next to the room's only object, the light bulb. Moving his position causes the light to be cast differently on his face. It's now eerily masked in shadow, with his clean, dome-like head reflecting the illusion of a hellish halo around his cranium.)
Clapper
I think everyone is familiar with the coward known as David Allen Black. We giggleed when he arrived with a partner, whose last name was white, and just happened to be an African-American. Mr. Black and Mr. White... har-dee-har. But when David Allen Black came a day after Global Warfare, stating he was challenging the WORLD CHAMPION for the belt, that giggling become boisterous LAUGHTER!
David Allen Black? Against the champ, John Miller? Not on my clock. David Allen Black doesn't have an accomplishment to his name in GXW outside of pinning Eric Gibson and keeping my title warm for the few weeks prior to my claiming it. Having him with with the Xtreme Title was pretty much ignored to begin with... obviously, Troy Douglas didn't have the sort of electricity that I would bring to the ring much later, so the entire Xtreme division was all but ignored.
But World Title material? No, I'm afraid not. We all had a good laugh about that one, because we know it's a joke to even conceive David Allen Black getting that far. That's like asking us to take Reuben Fasco SERIOUSLY.
(He snickers to himself, conceiving that notion.)
Clapper
You see, the talent in GXW can be divided into two big categories. There's a fine line between them. On one end, you have the guys who win and lose. And on the other, you have guys that do NOTHING but lose. Black is one of the latter. And anytime he does manage to bend the rules of physics and come out with a win, you can bet your ass it was a genious stroke of luck. David Allen Black wins as often as an eskimo gets hit by lightening.
The bottom line is, to even think that this guy poses a threat to my title is laughable. That's something someone should hand over to SNL for a latenight sketch on their show. I see Jimmy Fallon doing great things. But at Battleground: Britain, I'm going to do more than defend my title against him... I'm going to do this fed a favor. I'm going to make sure that David Allen Black never gets in another person's way for the rest of his professional wrestling career.
I'm going to rid this federation of the stain that calls himself David Allen Black. That's a promise.
(He turns away for a moment to open his coat and pull out his pack of cigarettes. As he does, his shoulder hits the lightbulb, sending it swinging like a pendulum. His shadow cast on the wall behind him swings by like a looming monsters. The darkness covering his face dances, painting a multitude of gruesome expressions on his demeanor.)
Clapper
And I suppose now, I'll talk about Troy Douglas. And let me guess...
I was right when I said he had sand in his vagina? Yeah, looking at that last hissy fit, I'd say I am right indeed. Obviously, Mr. Douglas is trying to puff out that chest of his a little more as he strolls into this match to challenge me for the belt that I rightfully earned. And do I blame him? No... because sometimes, blowing up your ego is a good way of walking right into a trap. Fighting matches against overconfident opponents like Troy Douglas, to me, is like slaughtering lambs.
It's just so easy for you... and they walk right into it.
After watching Douglas' last promo, I feel really damn good...
(With a sinister smile crossing his face, Clapper lights up his cigarette and takes a couple drags. With his hand, he catches the swinging light, and steadies it in the center of the room again.)
Clapper
Let me get this straight, Troy. I, suddenly, a person you only know by "reputation", am a five-year-old? I, a man who wasn't satisfied with destroying two to take this belt so he went after four more, don't know the meaning of "extreme"? This match is suddenly going by the creed, "whatever it takes"?
Un-f*ckin'-believable...
Let's just analyze this. Troy sees me as a five-year-old when I talk about my belt, hm? Yes, and I'm sure HE'S quite the Albert Einstein. But here, I'm a five-year-old... and, someone is asking me to... "share".
(He smiles, shaking his head in disbelief.)
Clapper
I'm sorry, Troy... I didn't know a title was a thing that one "shares". I suppose that being champion holds no priviledge... means nothing about being the best of the best. A belt is simply something you hold onto for a couple months, then willingly hand it over to the next guy.
Wait wait wait... everything's coming together now. This explains so much. No WONDER David Allen Black was champion; you intentionally lost that match, so you could "share" that belt, am I right?
(He chortles laughter.)
Clapper
Douglas, you f*cking moron. A title is not a normal piece of life that you take for granted. It's a reward... an incentive. The fact that I AM the champion gives me every right to hold onto this belt for as long as I please. That's how I prove myself to this world... how I can not be beaten.
Just because there hasn't been a challenger talented enough to take this belt from me does NOT imply I'm a greedy snot-nosed brat, Douglas. It means I'm a God among insects... the King of the Hill, who cannot be knocked off. Furthermore, I don't see what puts you in the position of a teacher, if I was a preschooler... did you facilitate the title? Did you intentionally hand it over to me? Are you looking at everybody in this federation as intellectual and physical inferiors to yourself?
Looks like you're in need of a wake-up call, Troy. I'm the best, and the belt will be mine as long as I continue to dominate. And no, I won't hand it over to you... if that makes me greedy, Douglas, then maybe you should just hug a tree and go to a soup kitchen, you whiny little bastard. Also, your analogies suck.
(He takes a few more drags of his cigarette and continues.)
Clapper
Now lets talk about the RULES of this match. First and foremost, I ask what gives you any right to call me out on understanding the rules of this match. Do me a favor, and watch Global Warfare. When you're done, come back and tell me to my face that I don't understand the rules. The fact of the matter is, YOUR perception is narrow-minded...
For proof, look at every match involving the Xtreme Title that included you. Chances are, it looked the exact same as any NORMAL match in this federation. As champion, Douglas... you provided nothing to this division. Your matches were clean, in spite of doing "whatever it takes".
I have made "extreme rules" insignificant. I have made the Xtreme matches something to watch, fighting by MY rules. My rules, of course, don't restrict this match in any way. I've fought by my rules my entire life, and its got me this far.
I don't think you understand the difference between extreme rules and Clapper's rules, so here it is. In your idea of "extreme" matches, you do "whatever it takes" to win. That's okay, but when you fight any match against Clapper, you do "whatever you can think of". Simply put, if you walk into this match with the simple plan of making a pin and taking this belt, you're mistaken. You have to cross the threshold of "extreme"... you have to step into Clapper's world, where you have to do more than "whatever".
I'm not going to try and pin you, Douglas... I'm going to try and put you on life support. THAT'S what it takes to serve a challenge against me. If you aren't prepared to go the entire way, you might as well lay down and die. The fact of the matter is, people didn't watch Xtreme matches until they started being fought on Clapper's rules...
Why? Cause MY rules are the DEFINITION of Xtreme! It's called piledriving David Allen Black onto thumbtacks! It's called running over an idiot named Shawn Matthews with a car! It's called MORE than a regular match, but after watching the tapes of your old matches, you could HARDLY understand that, am I right?
(He shakes his head.)
Clapper
You're not ready for my belt, Douglas. You require more drive. By looking at your promos, there isn't anything that tells me that you even WANT this belt. You've been yacking away, talking about Black and myself, as you would in any regular match. But this is an Xtreme Circumstance, Douglas. You've got my belt on the line, but you seem more inclined to throw foolish insults at me rather than express your intentions of being champion again.
No, you are not at all ready. You're still looking for a fight instead of trying to accomplish a dream. You make everything out to be a cheesy sob story. You...
(He blatantly scoffs, unable to finish the sentence.)
Clapper
...nah, I can't even waste another word on you. You are that disappointing, Troy.
(He clears his throat and moves to one end of the room, where the door is.)
Clapper
Now... I've got a cab to catch. I hope to see the both of you in the ring when the bell rings, or this is going to be one PPV. Gentlemen, don't disappoint me... I have a duty to entertain these fans, and carry this belt into 2004 with pride. I need you to make me look good...
So... off we go.
(He opens the door and exits. As he does, the light hanging in the middle of the room burns out, and flickers to black.)
SCENE ENDS
CuseTroy
League Member
This is the End
FADE IN...
It's just after midnight on the night before Battleground: Britain, and in his hotel room in Cardiff, Global X-treme Wrestling star Troy Douglas can't buy a wink of sleep. He lays uncomfortably in the hotel bed, staring out the window into the Welsh winter night. The room is lit only by starlight and the ambient glow of the city buildings, giving an air of eerie foreboding Right now, Troy is a pained man, bereft of any feeling but that of grim determination. The intensity oozes from his every pore, his mannerisms, his movements, and his facial expressions all depict a man filled with a very focused anger. He moves to a table lamp and flips it on, giving a bit more illumination to the surroundings. He snatches a remote control from the nightstand, and turns on the television, followed by the VCR. The video features GXW X-treme Champion Clapper delivering his final promo before the pay-per-view. Troy watches intently as the titleist speaks.
Clapper:
Let me get this straight, Troy. I, suddenly, a person you only know by "reputation", am a five-year-old? I, a man who wasn't satisfied with destroying two to take this belt so he went after four more, don't know the meaning of "extreme"? This match is suddenly going by the creed, "whatever it takes"?
Un-f*ckin'-believable...
Let's just analyze this. Troy sees me as a five-year-old when I talk about my belt, hm? Yes, and I'm sure HE'S quite the Albert Einstein. But here, I'm a five-year-old... and, someone is asking me to... "share".
"It's me again, old friend. We seem to be entangled in quite the war of words, you and I. You punch, I counter. You thrust, I parry. You kick, I deflect. No, Clapper, like you said, I'm no Albert Einstein. I don't claim to be either. But, clearly, my cerebral activity is on a completely different plane than yours, buddy. Maybe you got me wrong, maybe I wasn't clear enough to get it into your thick skull. I never meant for you to share the belt. I meant for you to share the respect. This summer, I didn't give David Allen Black the time of day, and he came up from behind me and took the X-treme title, MY X-treme title. Today, clearly, despite all of your endless, idiotic rambling, you aren't giving me the time of day either."
Clapper:
Douglas, you f*cking moron. A title is not a normal piece of life that you take for granted. It's a reward... an incentive. The fact that I AM the champion gives me every right to hold onto this belt for as long as I please. That's how I prove myself to this world... how I can not be beaten.
Just because there hasn't been a challenger talented enough to take this belt from me does NOT imply I'm a greedy snot-nosed brat, Douglas. It means I'm a God among insects... the King of the Hill, who cannot be knocked off. Furthermore, I don't see what puts you in the position of a teacher, if I was a preschooler... did you facilitate the title? Did you intentionally hand it over to me? Are you looking at everybody in this federation as intellectual and physical inferiors to yourself?
Looks like you're in need of a wake-up call, Troy. I'm the best, and the belt will be mine as long as I continue to dominate. And no, I won't hand it over to you... if that makes me greedy, Douglas, then maybe you should just hug a tree and go to a soup kitchen, you whiny little bastard. Also, your analogies suck.
"It was a SIMILE you f*cking dimwit! If you took the SATs, which I'm beginning to doubt you did, because apparently, you've been, and I quote you on this one, 'snapping heads' since you were about 13 years old, you'd have realized that an analogy goes like this; CAT
OG::KITTENUPPY. What I said is that you are acting like a 5 year old child. But hey, I'm not one to target the mentally irregular. I want to talk about some mistakes, both yours, and mine.
"I'll start with my own first, because I'm one to clear the air first. In this past week, I've been talking with a great deal more ego than I'm used to. I'll admit this because I'm a big man, Clapper; you've gotten to me, probably more than anyone I've ever faced in my 8 year professional wrestling career. It's not the constant swearing, or the tough guy talk, or with your seeming obsession over me having sand in some metaphorical vagina. No, behind all of the bullsh*t, you've raised some serious questions in my mind. There are a lot, but there's one big one.
"Do I still have it?
"I hate mind games, Clapper. I consider myself a reasonably intelligent guy, but when it comes down to it, I'd rather get a clean win against a focused opponent than a cheap sh*t win against a distracted one. That may sound a little altruistic to someone as pragmatic and goal-oriented as you seem to be, but that's my code. But, when you started to get into my head, you pulled me out of my element. I tried to pull you back in and level the playing field, but so far, it hasn't worked worth a pile of sh*t. I'll give you this, you're a step ahead of me this week. But you know what, that's all over now. This is the end of the line. No more fancy talking, no more screwing with each other's heads, just a pure, good old, down and dirty fight to the finish.
"To be honest, that's just the way I like it."
Troy smiles derisively at the camera and pulls himself to the edge of the bed, an intense stare fixed on his face as he leans purposefully towards the lens.
"But, like I said, this just ain't gonna be me admitting my mistakes. You screwed up pretty bad this week too, Clapper. Let's go to the tape, shall we?"
Clapper:
Now lets talk about the RULES of this match. First and foremost, I ask what gives you any right to call me out on understanding the rules of this match. Do me a favor, and watch Global Warfare. When you're done, come back and tell me to my face that I don't understand the rules. The fact of the matter is, YOUR perception is narrow-minded...
For proof, look at every match involving the Xtreme Title that included you. Chances are, it looked the exact same as any NORMAL match in this federation. As champion, Douglas... you provided nothing to this division. Your matches were clean, in spite of doing "whatever it takes".
I have made "extreme rules" insignificant. I have made the Xtreme matches something to watch, fighting by MY rules. My rules, of course, don't restrict this match in any way. I've fought by my rules my entire life, and its got me this far.
I don't think you understand the difference between extreme rules and Clapper's rules, so here it is. In your idea of "extreme" matches, you do "whatever it takes" to win. That's okay, but when you fight any match against Clapper, you do "whatever you can think of". Simply put, if you walk into this match with the simple plan of making a pin and taking this belt, you're mistaken. You have to cross the threshold of "extreme"... you have to step into Clapper's world, where you have to do more than "whatever".
"You went on for a while, but I'll stop it right their and spare the world more of your mouthing off. Clearly, you and I have, if you'll pardon the pun, extremely different views of what that word, 'extreme', really means. In my mind, it's not about violence. It's not about what you can use to beat a man within an inch of his life with. It's especially not about taking such cowardly measures as running a man down with a car just to win a wrestling match. To me, 'extreme' means going above and beyond your own limits to get the job done. 'Extreme' is putting everything you've got on the line every time you step into the ring, and summoning every last ounce of strength, courage, and willpower that you have in order to close the deal. Last April, I won a ten-man 'extreme' Battle Royal for that belt that you now hold. I did it without bashing everyone with a bat, but it was still extreme.
"Come Battleground: Britain, you'll bring your rules and I'll bring mine. You want to say that it'll take more than 'whatever', and you're probably correct. It's gonna take anything and everything. And hell, with the type of match that wheel could sentence us to, it could be a sh*tload more than that. But where you're dead wrong is in this matter. In the end, all that this is will be three guys in a fight, and the guy who gets the pin wins the belt. That may seem ignorant or arrogant, but in your mind and your heart, you f*cking know that it's the gospel truth.
"Just across town, this'll all come to loggerheads. Three men striving for one belt. A belt that at one time or another, all of us have had the honor of holding. You'll try and defend it Clapper, and it would be my absolute honor to take it from you. No, I'm not taking this differently than any other match. That's not because I don't care about this match, but because every time I hear my music play and the crowd roar, and I step through that curtain and down the aisle, that's the most important match I've ever fought. It could be against a two-bit jobber or the world champion, but I'm gonna go above and beyond the call of duty so that, at the end of the day, I know I did good.
"A week of trading barbs has come down to these last few sentences from a guy in a Welsh hotel room. I want that title more than anything in the world right now. I didn't give up four months of my life of recuperation so that I could come back as Troy Douglas, former superstar. I did it to come back and become the greatest wrestler in the world. Step one is Battleground: Britain, and it's the biggest step. I'm not overlooking it, because I respect the man who holds that title. You may be the champion, but I'm the one with everything to lose. I fall at Battleground, and it may as well be back down to the bottom of the ladder for this Carolina boy. Nothing's on my side but my own determination. This is either the end of a road, or the beginning. I plan to make it the latter.
"This won't be easy Clapper, neither for you nor for me, not by a f*cking longshot. Be confident, but not cocky. Don't make an ass out of yourself because you think nobody can touch the great Clapper. You're mortal just like anyone else, not a god among insects. I'm driving up the mountain you now stand on top of. It's just like the Anzacs going over the hill at Gallipoli back in WW1. It may not be pretty, but I won't give up until there's a new king of the mountain. That's my part in the story, plain and simple. I guess I'll see you in the one place that really matters.
"So look out, because the underdog's on the charge.
"How will you try and stop me?
"That's my bit. Good night, good luck, and god bless you GXW fans. See you on the battleground. See y'all soon."
Troy flicks off the lamp to his side and stands up to move to the window. We get one last ghostly image of Troy bathed in the etheral light of the night before he snaps the blackout curtains shut and we...
...FADE TO BLACK
FADE IN...
It's just after midnight on the night before Battleground: Britain, and in his hotel room in Cardiff, Global X-treme Wrestling star Troy Douglas can't buy a wink of sleep. He lays uncomfortably in the hotel bed, staring out the window into the Welsh winter night. The room is lit only by starlight and the ambient glow of the city buildings, giving an air of eerie foreboding Right now, Troy is a pained man, bereft of any feeling but that of grim determination. The intensity oozes from his every pore, his mannerisms, his movements, and his facial expressions all depict a man filled with a very focused anger. He moves to a table lamp and flips it on, giving a bit more illumination to the surroundings. He snatches a remote control from the nightstand, and turns on the television, followed by the VCR. The video features GXW X-treme Champion Clapper delivering his final promo before the pay-per-view. Troy watches intently as the titleist speaks.
Clapper:
Let me get this straight, Troy. I, suddenly, a person you only know by "reputation", am a five-year-old? I, a man who wasn't satisfied with destroying two to take this belt so he went after four more, don't know the meaning of "extreme"? This match is suddenly going by the creed, "whatever it takes"?
Un-f*ckin'-believable...
Let's just analyze this. Troy sees me as a five-year-old when I talk about my belt, hm? Yes, and I'm sure HE'S quite the Albert Einstein. But here, I'm a five-year-old... and, someone is asking me to... "share".
"It's me again, old friend. We seem to be entangled in quite the war of words, you and I. You punch, I counter. You thrust, I parry. You kick, I deflect. No, Clapper, like you said, I'm no Albert Einstein. I don't claim to be either. But, clearly, my cerebral activity is on a completely different plane than yours, buddy. Maybe you got me wrong, maybe I wasn't clear enough to get it into your thick skull. I never meant for you to share the belt. I meant for you to share the respect. This summer, I didn't give David Allen Black the time of day, and he came up from behind me and took the X-treme title, MY X-treme title. Today, clearly, despite all of your endless, idiotic rambling, you aren't giving me the time of day either."
Clapper:
Douglas, you f*cking moron. A title is not a normal piece of life that you take for granted. It's a reward... an incentive. The fact that I AM the champion gives me every right to hold onto this belt for as long as I please. That's how I prove myself to this world... how I can not be beaten.
Just because there hasn't been a challenger talented enough to take this belt from me does NOT imply I'm a greedy snot-nosed brat, Douglas. It means I'm a God among insects... the King of the Hill, who cannot be knocked off. Furthermore, I don't see what puts you in the position of a teacher, if I was a preschooler... did you facilitate the title? Did you intentionally hand it over to me? Are you looking at everybody in this federation as intellectual and physical inferiors to yourself?
Looks like you're in need of a wake-up call, Troy. I'm the best, and the belt will be mine as long as I continue to dominate. And no, I won't hand it over to you... if that makes me greedy, Douglas, then maybe you should just hug a tree and go to a soup kitchen, you whiny little bastard. Also, your analogies suck.
"It was a SIMILE you f*cking dimwit! If you took the SATs, which I'm beginning to doubt you did, because apparently, you've been, and I quote you on this one, 'snapping heads' since you were about 13 years old, you'd have realized that an analogy goes like this; CAT
OG::KITTENUPPY. What I said is that you are acting like a 5 year old child. But hey, I'm not one to target the mentally irregular. I want to talk about some mistakes, both yours, and mine."I'll start with my own first, because I'm one to clear the air first. In this past week, I've been talking with a great deal more ego than I'm used to. I'll admit this because I'm a big man, Clapper; you've gotten to me, probably more than anyone I've ever faced in my 8 year professional wrestling career. It's not the constant swearing, or the tough guy talk, or with your seeming obsession over me having sand in some metaphorical vagina. No, behind all of the bullsh*t, you've raised some serious questions in my mind. There are a lot, but there's one big one.
"Do I still have it?
"I hate mind games, Clapper. I consider myself a reasonably intelligent guy, but when it comes down to it, I'd rather get a clean win against a focused opponent than a cheap sh*t win against a distracted one. That may sound a little altruistic to someone as pragmatic and goal-oriented as you seem to be, but that's my code. But, when you started to get into my head, you pulled me out of my element. I tried to pull you back in and level the playing field, but so far, it hasn't worked worth a pile of sh*t. I'll give you this, you're a step ahead of me this week. But you know what, that's all over now. This is the end of the line. No more fancy talking, no more screwing with each other's heads, just a pure, good old, down and dirty fight to the finish.
"To be honest, that's just the way I like it."
Troy smiles derisively at the camera and pulls himself to the edge of the bed, an intense stare fixed on his face as he leans purposefully towards the lens.
"But, like I said, this just ain't gonna be me admitting my mistakes. You screwed up pretty bad this week too, Clapper. Let's go to the tape, shall we?"
Clapper:
Now lets talk about the RULES of this match. First and foremost, I ask what gives you any right to call me out on understanding the rules of this match. Do me a favor, and watch Global Warfare. When you're done, come back and tell me to my face that I don't understand the rules. The fact of the matter is, YOUR perception is narrow-minded...
For proof, look at every match involving the Xtreme Title that included you. Chances are, it looked the exact same as any NORMAL match in this federation. As champion, Douglas... you provided nothing to this division. Your matches were clean, in spite of doing "whatever it takes".
I have made "extreme rules" insignificant. I have made the Xtreme matches something to watch, fighting by MY rules. My rules, of course, don't restrict this match in any way. I've fought by my rules my entire life, and its got me this far.
I don't think you understand the difference between extreme rules and Clapper's rules, so here it is. In your idea of "extreme" matches, you do "whatever it takes" to win. That's okay, but when you fight any match against Clapper, you do "whatever you can think of". Simply put, if you walk into this match with the simple plan of making a pin and taking this belt, you're mistaken. You have to cross the threshold of "extreme"... you have to step into Clapper's world, where you have to do more than "whatever".
"You went on for a while, but I'll stop it right their and spare the world more of your mouthing off. Clearly, you and I have, if you'll pardon the pun, extremely different views of what that word, 'extreme', really means. In my mind, it's not about violence. It's not about what you can use to beat a man within an inch of his life with. It's especially not about taking such cowardly measures as running a man down with a car just to win a wrestling match. To me, 'extreme' means going above and beyond your own limits to get the job done. 'Extreme' is putting everything you've got on the line every time you step into the ring, and summoning every last ounce of strength, courage, and willpower that you have in order to close the deal. Last April, I won a ten-man 'extreme' Battle Royal for that belt that you now hold. I did it without bashing everyone with a bat, but it was still extreme.
"Come Battleground: Britain, you'll bring your rules and I'll bring mine. You want to say that it'll take more than 'whatever', and you're probably correct. It's gonna take anything and everything. And hell, with the type of match that wheel could sentence us to, it could be a sh*tload more than that. But where you're dead wrong is in this matter. In the end, all that this is will be three guys in a fight, and the guy who gets the pin wins the belt. That may seem ignorant or arrogant, but in your mind and your heart, you f*cking know that it's the gospel truth.
"Just across town, this'll all come to loggerheads. Three men striving for one belt. A belt that at one time or another, all of us have had the honor of holding. You'll try and defend it Clapper, and it would be my absolute honor to take it from you. No, I'm not taking this differently than any other match. That's not because I don't care about this match, but because every time I hear my music play and the crowd roar, and I step through that curtain and down the aisle, that's the most important match I've ever fought. It could be against a two-bit jobber or the world champion, but I'm gonna go above and beyond the call of duty so that, at the end of the day, I know I did good.
"A week of trading barbs has come down to these last few sentences from a guy in a Welsh hotel room. I want that title more than anything in the world right now. I didn't give up four months of my life of recuperation so that I could come back as Troy Douglas, former superstar. I did it to come back and become the greatest wrestler in the world. Step one is Battleground: Britain, and it's the biggest step. I'm not overlooking it, because I respect the man who holds that title. You may be the champion, but I'm the one with everything to lose. I fall at Battleground, and it may as well be back down to the bottom of the ladder for this Carolina boy. Nothing's on my side but my own determination. This is either the end of a road, or the beginning. I plan to make it the latter.
"This won't be easy Clapper, neither for you nor for me, not by a f*cking longshot. Be confident, but not cocky. Don't make an ass out of yourself because you think nobody can touch the great Clapper. You're mortal just like anyone else, not a god among insects. I'm driving up the mountain you now stand on top of. It's just like the Anzacs going over the hill at Gallipoli back in WW1. It may not be pretty, but I won't give up until there's a new king of the mountain. That's my part in the story, plain and simple. I guess I'll see you in the one place that really matters.
"So look out, because the underdog's on the charge.
"How will you try and stop me?
"That's my bit. Good night, good luck, and god bless you GXW fans. See you on the battleground. See y'all soon."
Troy flicks off the lamp to his side and stands up to move to the window. We get one last ghostly image of Troy bathed in the etheral light of the night before he snaps the blackout curtains shut and we...
...FADE TO BLACK