GreggG
Moderator
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 810
- Points
- 18
(CUT TO: Troy Windham, on the rear patio of his North Shore Oahu estate. The Pacific ocean crackles behind him, waves crashing onto his private beach. Troy's wearing a Hollister shirt and is holding his CSWA Unified Championship.)
TROY: (Troy breathes in deeply, gulping the ocean air.) MMM, I do love the smell of the ocean. It's so refreshing, it's so invigorating. It's why, whenever I got something on my mind -- a new plot to unhatch, a new foe to dismiss, a new movie deal to consider -- I always go to one of my many houses on a coastline... from here in Hawaii, to Miami's South Beach... from the sands of Rio to my palatial island castle in Ibiza... I go to where the ocean's blue.
As I stated earlier, I'm here in Hawaii to dedicate myself to one thing and one thing only... to walk into Gold Rush with the whole wrestling world against me carrying the CSWA Unified Title... and to walk out of it, holding the title, and this time as the greatest wrestler this planet has ever seen.
You've got my arch-rival, Eli Flair, and his ratty best friend, Ivy... telling the world of my greatness, coming out of retirement to try and stop the inevitable, but admitting already he's going to fall a little bit short.
You've got Dan Ryan, the man whom I own in the squared circle, the man I am undefeated against, going on for hours and hours about his plans for me, and then doing his best Troy Windham impersonation, heading out to the beach himself, staying in a comp room and trying to drop my name to get the buffet discount downstairs.
You have Lawrence Stanley, the man who so graciously undressed me of my Size 16 wrestling boots after the time he held open the ropes for me in his one CSWA main event, obsessed with me, the guy with a drink in one hand and a girl in the other, threatening to give me forced oral.
You have Kin Hiroshi taking the time out of his busy day to read up on HTML coding, just to make a web page so I'd give him a little bit of my time.
You have Lindsay Troy, Mrs. Troy Windham, coming out here talking tough and then clamming up when she realizes she's going to have to actually back up her empty threats in a REAL wrestling promotion.
You have the lowest 1/15th of the EPW roster has thrown their names in the hat, each of them spending hours upon hours trying to run down my name, and then retreating to humility after I dismiss them with no less than three sentences.
You've got JJ DeVille running around, telling everyone how he belongs with the big boys because he got lucky, one time, and did a feat only a few can boast of... and that's pinned my shoulders to the mat.
You've got Joey Melton retreating back to this sport's minor leagues, since he knows he's never been able to compete with the man who has trumped him in every way possible.
You've got someone like Jay Smash grabbing his head as his dinosaur-sized brain and moaning in pain as he tries to come up with a complete sentence in a futile attempt to save grace.
You've got the Measuring Stick, coming out here to make his name at my expense, just trying to get a little of that Troy Windham Heat, hoping someone down the line will offer him a contract just because I mentioned him on national television.
You have Eron and Xion, Xena and Jobu... and all the rest... also doing their best to warrant a second of my time, knowing it makes them more famous than they've ever been in their life, something to go home and brag about in the dirt-floored locker rooms of their Indie Hell.
You've got this promotions two godsends... Hornet and my brother, Mark Windham... both mysteriously nowhere to be found, but no doubt watching at home, knowing that they'd never be able to compete.
And you've got an entire industry... of people like Craig Miles and Adam Benjamin... Beast and Boogie Smalls... Doc Silver and Eddie Mayfield... Mike Manson and Felix Red... all people who've sworn that one day they would GET that Troy Windham, that one day they would show that ruiner who is boss... and then when the time comes and the open contract arrives... they simply pretend like they don't know it's their, because they know that they'd never get the chance to back up their hollow words.
So far, I've verbally humiliated and disgraced each and every single one of you. I've politically manipulated and marginalized each and every single one of you. Not one person has stepped up and has even SHOWN they're a threat to me.
So I'm going to go out on a limb and tell you all another little story right now.
It was 1968, and the New York Jets were looking for a little respect. Their quarterback, one cocky sunnava***** named Joe Namath, he went out and told the world that his team was going to win. He GUARANTEED victory. And his team did just that, and the world of professional sports was changed forever.
The same thing is going to happen in a few short weeks. Move over, Tiger. Move over, Michael. Move over, Lance. Because you're going to have a new name joining you, the pantheon of the greatest athletes who have ever lived.
TROY.
I want each and every single one of the fans sitting at home, all the millions worldwide to take notice. I want all the wrestlers all around the world who heard the challenge but passed, smartly understanding the true order of this sport. And I want all of my opponents in the Gold Rush, each and every one of them who hinge upon my every single word... to listen to what I am about to say.
All it takes is one mistake, one slip up, and you're thrown over the top rope and eliminated. Many of my opponents are already attempting damage control, trying to save face when they once again fail to back up their great boasts.
I have the whole entire world up in arms, the whole entire world coming for me.
And despite that knowledge... I am going to tell you all one thing right now. My whole career, I have preached nothing but THE GOSPEL. Everything I said I would do, I have done.
And my next great proclomation is simple...
Troy Windham is going to win The Gold Rush.
That's A Guarantee.
Mark it down, and let the history books show it.
Troy Windham has GUARANTEED his victory.
Let me say it again, one more time.
Troy Windham has GUARANTEED his victory.
(Troy deeply breathes in the ocean air.)
Like I said to start this... I come on out to the ocean whenever I have something on my mind.
Now? It's time for a swim.
(Troy holds up his title for the camera, and then folds and leaves it on a table. He then takes off his shirt and calmly walks down to the ocean. FTB.)
TROY: (Troy breathes in deeply, gulping the ocean air.) MMM, I do love the smell of the ocean. It's so refreshing, it's so invigorating. It's why, whenever I got something on my mind -- a new plot to unhatch, a new foe to dismiss, a new movie deal to consider -- I always go to one of my many houses on a coastline... from here in Hawaii, to Miami's South Beach... from the sands of Rio to my palatial island castle in Ibiza... I go to where the ocean's blue.
As I stated earlier, I'm here in Hawaii to dedicate myself to one thing and one thing only... to walk into Gold Rush with the whole wrestling world against me carrying the CSWA Unified Title... and to walk out of it, holding the title, and this time as the greatest wrestler this planet has ever seen.
You've got my arch-rival, Eli Flair, and his ratty best friend, Ivy... telling the world of my greatness, coming out of retirement to try and stop the inevitable, but admitting already he's going to fall a little bit short.
You've got Dan Ryan, the man whom I own in the squared circle, the man I am undefeated against, going on for hours and hours about his plans for me, and then doing his best Troy Windham impersonation, heading out to the beach himself, staying in a comp room and trying to drop my name to get the buffet discount downstairs.
You have Lawrence Stanley, the man who so graciously undressed me of my Size 16 wrestling boots after the time he held open the ropes for me in his one CSWA main event, obsessed with me, the guy with a drink in one hand and a girl in the other, threatening to give me forced oral.
You have Kin Hiroshi taking the time out of his busy day to read up on HTML coding, just to make a web page so I'd give him a little bit of my time.
You have Lindsay Troy, Mrs. Troy Windham, coming out here talking tough and then clamming up when she realizes she's going to have to actually back up her empty threats in a REAL wrestling promotion.
You have the lowest 1/15th of the EPW roster has thrown their names in the hat, each of them spending hours upon hours trying to run down my name, and then retreating to humility after I dismiss them with no less than three sentences.
You've got JJ DeVille running around, telling everyone how he belongs with the big boys because he got lucky, one time, and did a feat only a few can boast of... and that's pinned my shoulders to the mat.
You've got Joey Melton retreating back to this sport's minor leagues, since he knows he's never been able to compete with the man who has trumped him in every way possible.
You've got someone like Jay Smash grabbing his head as his dinosaur-sized brain and moaning in pain as he tries to come up with a complete sentence in a futile attempt to save grace.
You've got the Measuring Stick, coming out here to make his name at my expense, just trying to get a little of that Troy Windham Heat, hoping someone down the line will offer him a contract just because I mentioned him on national television.
You have Eron and Xion, Xena and Jobu... and all the rest... also doing their best to warrant a second of my time, knowing it makes them more famous than they've ever been in their life, something to go home and brag about in the dirt-floored locker rooms of their Indie Hell.
You've got this promotions two godsends... Hornet and my brother, Mark Windham... both mysteriously nowhere to be found, but no doubt watching at home, knowing that they'd never be able to compete.
And you've got an entire industry... of people like Craig Miles and Adam Benjamin... Beast and Boogie Smalls... Doc Silver and Eddie Mayfield... Mike Manson and Felix Red... all people who've sworn that one day they would GET that Troy Windham, that one day they would show that ruiner who is boss... and then when the time comes and the open contract arrives... they simply pretend like they don't know it's their, because they know that they'd never get the chance to back up their hollow words.
So far, I've verbally humiliated and disgraced each and every single one of you. I've politically manipulated and marginalized each and every single one of you. Not one person has stepped up and has even SHOWN they're a threat to me.
So I'm going to go out on a limb and tell you all another little story right now.
It was 1968, and the New York Jets were looking for a little respect. Their quarterback, one cocky sunnava***** named Joe Namath, he went out and told the world that his team was going to win. He GUARANTEED victory. And his team did just that, and the world of professional sports was changed forever.
The same thing is going to happen in a few short weeks. Move over, Tiger. Move over, Michael. Move over, Lance. Because you're going to have a new name joining you, the pantheon of the greatest athletes who have ever lived.
TROY.
I want each and every single one of the fans sitting at home, all the millions worldwide to take notice. I want all the wrestlers all around the world who heard the challenge but passed, smartly understanding the true order of this sport. And I want all of my opponents in the Gold Rush, each and every one of them who hinge upon my every single word... to listen to what I am about to say.
All it takes is one mistake, one slip up, and you're thrown over the top rope and eliminated. Many of my opponents are already attempting damage control, trying to save face when they once again fail to back up their great boasts.
I have the whole entire world up in arms, the whole entire world coming for me.
And despite that knowledge... I am going to tell you all one thing right now. My whole career, I have preached nothing but THE GOSPEL. Everything I said I would do, I have done.
And my next great proclomation is simple...
Troy Windham is going to win The Gold Rush.
That's A Guarantee.
Mark it down, and let the history books show it.
Troy Windham has GUARANTEED his victory.
Let me say it again, one more time.
Troy Windham has GUARANTEED his victory.
(Troy deeply breathes in the ocean air.)
Like I said to start this... I come on out to the ocean whenever I have something on my mind.
Now? It's time for a swim.
(Troy holds up his title for the camera, and then folds and leaves it on a table. He then takes off his shirt and calmly walks down to the ocean. FTB.)
