Friends, Romans, TiTs...Lend Me Your Ears.

[Nova]

(FADE IN: NOVA lounges in a folding chair in front of a large black TEAM banner, the Championship of Champions slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing a sleeveless black t-shirt with “The West is the Best” printed across the chest in yellow, and a fat spliff droops from his mouth.)

NOVA: “I guess a few people have been asking around…‘is Nova gonna enter the TiT? Is the TEAM Wrestler of the Year for 2007 gonna lay down one of those classic, savory beat-downs we’ve come to love and expect from him?’ Well, to be honest, I didn’t even realize I was TEAM’s Wrestler of the Year for 2007, but that dubious distinction aside…”

(The EAGLEstar rips on the doobie with lungs so steely Ice Tre wants to staple them to his rims and rock ‘em around town.)

NOVA: “…no, I’m not. If the belt over my shoulder didn’t set off alarm bells for ya, I’m the Champion of Champions. The winner of the TEAM Invitational Tournament gets a shot at…me. And lemme see, who’s the only person with a banked shot at my belt anytime they want it? Ummm…shoot, I’m having trouble with the name…oh, right! Me. So even if I lost the strap tomorrow, I could challenge for it on Wednesday. Everyone see where I’m going with this? In order to come out on top of sixty-three other competitors in what will surely be a grueling series of contests, you have to want it so bad you wake up in the middle of the night throwing up over it. I just don’t have a lot of incentive to toss my name into the hat for a chance to beat myself that I already have locked away in the TEAM treasure chest. When I entered the Tournament of Champions last year, I was fresh off defeat at the hands of my man Big Rav for the Challenge Championship. In the wake of other successes I became obsessed with proving to the world that my name belonged in the same breath as Lindsay Troy, Dan Ryan, and other FWrestling legends. And I did that by winning the tournament. I did it again by defeating the afore-mentioned, along with James Irish, to win this belt. And I did it yet again – albeit after almost half a year’s downtime – by successfully defending the CoC against the Ego-Buster over the holidays. Now I sit here staring at an as-yet uncertain field of potential challengers, and I see no compelling reason to join them.”

(He delicately snubs the joint, rests it against the edge of his ash-tray, and lights a cigarette.)

NOVA: “Now I know what some – or maybe all – of you might be thinking…‘What a cop-out. He’s sitting on top like an arrogant fat-rat having grapes dangled into his mouth, too good to mingle with ‘commoners’ like us who have the balls to pit ourselves against the best in the industry. He’s too scared to face me.’ And to anyone who is thinking that…show me why I should be. Win the TiT, challenge me for the Championship of Champions, and put the proverbial cash where your cakehole is. Sound like a plan?”

(NOVA grunts as he stands up, backing off of the chair and swinging it around to lean against.)

NOVA: “So, friends…good luck, and hopefully, I’ll be seeing one of you on the other side.”

(FTB)

 

[t r e]

Homies, Peoplez, Tre'niacs ...show me your TiTS!!

FADEIN: Four blinged-out, pasty white fingers brush off what has to be a shoulder. We hear a snicker, possibly a giggle, and the jingle-jangle of twelve pounds of fake-ass chains that hang from the neck of the Crunk Daddy, Himself. He ain't Heavy and He Ain't No Brother.

ICE TRE: Bounce wit' me, bounce wit' me.

He is Ice Tre.

ICE TRE: Yeh, yeh, BOUNCE wit' me, BOUNCE wit' me.

The camera pans back, capturing the essence of his majesty. Taking in the full effect of his allure. His posture says: "What". His clothes scream: "Unngh". He is a mack of the highest order. A player whose pedigree has NEVER been questioned.

ICE TRE: What, WHAT.

He isn't known as "The Most Talked About Wrestling Star of 2007" for nothing. Actually, he earned that honor by talking about himself. At length. More than anyone else DARED. Tell me that's not gangster. Go ahead. And I'll label YOU as a Freedom Hater.

ICE TRE: This one goin' out to all my TiTTIES out there! Holla'tchaboy! ShOuT OuTz to My PeOpLeZ! The Peers and the Queers -- you know who you be! This one goin' out to every TiTTIE in AND outta mah circuit! This one goin' out to ALL OF Y'aLL SNITCHES. And it's MOS DEF goin' out to that PUNK, Nova!

Let's take a moment to take Tre in, can we? For the (gasp!) uneducated, the wrestler known to the world as Ice Tre is, quite possibly, the saddest physical specimen to ever lace up the proverbial boots. He is as pale as he is unattractive.

And Ice Tre is fairly pale.

His clothes are four to five sizes too large. 'Baggy' is absolutely not the word. Every stitch of clothing is crisp, clean and -- as the kids say -- "on point". His red hat matches his red and white button up shirt -- only the top button is buttoned. That same red hat is cocked -- but only slightly, just enough to affect his equilibrium. He never stands still, how CAN he, when the camera rolls and the blood is pumping. Bobbing and weaving to the ever-present beat in his mind, Tre smirked the smirk that he was known to smirk.

ICE TRE: That's right! I'm talkin' to you too, *****! You pat yo'self on the back for being the CHAMPION of CHAMPIONS, but the reality of the situMAYtion is ... that you never faced me. You've never broken the Ice. You may have beat a few peeps who beat some peeps who held some belts an' won some sh_t. But you ain't NEVER beat ... the T. The R. OR the E.

Tipped his head back, smirk morphing before our eyes into a grill-filled poo-eating grin.

ICE TRE: But don't friggity-FRET, Nova! You in GOOD COMPANY, G! You just a face in a clown.

He meant "crowd". Really, he did.

ICE TRE: An' let me TELL YOU SOMETHING, 'ova...

Tre grew strikingly serious. Camera took notice and zoomed in.

ICE TRE: I HATE clowns.

Oh boy.

ICE TRE: You may be a champion. But Ice Tre? Straight ROYALTY, know'm'sayin'? EPW K'ang of the CAGE [not really]. More than even THAT? The Undisputed K'ang of the STREETZ. Reckonize the TRUTF! You may be the champion of sweaty dudes in speedos ... but THIS ... THIS BE *MY* KINGDOM!

CUTTO: A longshot. Tre stands on what is clearly a soundstage, a poorly crafted "Ghetto Set" behind him. His eyes look "sky"-ward, arms stretched at his sides, as if inviting an embrace. Suddenly, Tre glances off-set, likely to a playback monitor.

ICE TRE (under his breathe): ...you ain't panned all da way out, IS you? ...Dag, yo!

Quickly composing himself, the shot soon centers back on Your Boy.

ICE TRE: I came from the bottom, rose to the top ... and there ain't a DAMN THANG CAN STOP ME from doin' the same in the TiTTY-TOURNEY, nah'mean? I mean ... damn ... who else even IN the damn thang? Nova ain't! He doin' his thang, holdin' his jimmy, watchin' the action. I admit it, the cat EARNED the RIGHT to roll like he wanna roll. The one thing he AIN'T earned ... the one thing he ain't never ever gonna be able to REP ... the one thing that 'ova can't EVER claim ...

He closes his eyes.

ICE TRE: He ain't EVER gonna garner the accolades, the acclaim, the rolodex OR the rolex on the level of The T-R-E. There ain't a PUNK IN THIS ***** who can stand up to what I bring to the dance. Who we got?

Jason Payne?
He comin' into this thang lookin' like he Str8 Outta Spinal Tap! But *I* ain't fooled. He ain't HALF as hard as he CLAIMIN'! He ain't HALF the man of the TRE. Not impressed.

Simply Beautiful?
All I really know about THIS cat is that he somehow got ranked AHEAD of Ice Tre in EPW's Top Ten on Eff-Dubya-Dot-Com by being boring and textbook. All I know is that he's, for all intents and purposes, bland and tanned. Tre got somethin' to prove against THIS particular NOBODY. B'lee dat.

Karla Starr?
This is a lady with a Camel Toe NEARLY as daunting as Caitlyn Daymons. But not nearly as ... pronounced. Ya heard?

Matt 'The Hitman' Fury?
Where do I even START? I've never even HEARD of this loser, never seen him spit word ONE, don't know if he's the Best of the BEST? ...or the Best of NFW. But from that derivitive-ass name ALONE, I could drop some SICK knowledge on his likely-talentless ass! But I won't. I'mma hold up. I'mma bite my tongue. See? Tre knows Restraint, G. Holla.

Dan Ryan?
Let me tell you something about DAN RYAN. I been wantin' to get ths off my chest from day ONE! I stepped into EPW, the brightest, fastest rising star that promotion has seen in it's storied history and since that day, I did what you just saw me do wit' my homie, the Furious Hitman. I Bit My Tongue. But I'mma SPIT IT. I'mma say how I feel about Dan Ryan. And I want the WORLD to hear it. I want it to RING OUT.

Tre cleared his throat, somewhat dramatically.

ICE TRE: Dan Ryan is a genius.

Of course.

ICE TRE: When TEAM was throwin' the 2007 Dupree Cup, Ryan put together his Team. But they flaked out on the BOSS. Nowhere to be found. They BAILED on they HOME!?! D got RIGHT ON THE PHONE, G. Holla'd at my boy, Cassanova, and BOOM -- Ice Tre is on TEAM EPW. Wait -- not just ON the TEAM. But the CAPTAIN of the TEAM. He CHOSE ME to be his partner. To be his SOLDIER. Come match-time...

Tre shrugged.

ICE TRE: ... Dan Ryan blew the match and, somehow, we lost! All I know is ... I gotsts MAD respect for the Boss, but if push come to shove? He goin' down just like the rest. I just hope I still have a job on the other side, know'm'sayin'?

He scratches his chin. Wait, is that stubble? Really?

ICE TRE: Who ELSE in the mix? Who ELSE a movin' TARGET? ...

Suddenly, Tre's bleary eyes light up.

ICE TRE: Oh yeah. Of course. Sean Stevens.

Tre abruptly worked up a loogie and unleashed it on the "pavement" without conscience.

ICE TRE: *****.

FADEOUT, son. Preach.