Welcome to FWrestling.com!

You've come to the longest running fantasy wrestling website. Since 1994, we've been hosting top quality fantasy wrestling and e-wrestling content.

TSDS, Chapter One: No Place Like Home


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
The Scott Douglas Story

Chapter One: No Place Like Home

Summary: Nathaniel Scott Douglas, son of Nate "The Great" Douglas travels home after a stint in Texas, and Mexico. He intentions are to put the wrestling business behind him and start a new. These plans are put into question when a local store clerk and his own father advise him to give the business one more shot; specifically with his hometown's new upstart IWF.

His return to the business after a break that didn't span much more then a bus ride proved to be fruitful after his first televised appearance in the IWF. Alas, as it always will, the past decided it would not go silently into the night. Scott's childhood sweetheart, and all around hell raiser (Courtney Allen) reappeared and the two inadvertently reconcile after Scott's abandonment years prior.

The pair fall back into old habits quickly. The effects of living a lifestyle long gone; result in a devastating loss to Kerry Kuroyama and Scott is forced to reevaluate his relationship with Courtney. During a cowardly, at best, attempt at breaking up Scott conveys how important his career is to his love interest.

Courtney eventually gets on board and becomes Scott's valet, and the two go on to vie for the Emerald City Championship, and later a number one contender-ship.

Original Air Date: November 11, 2011 - January 19, 2012 (Chain Reaction #1 - The Experience!)

Featuring: "Sup Pop" Scott Douglas, Courtney Sarah Allen, Nate "The Great" Douglas, Martha "Mother" Douglas, (IWF Correspondent) Gail Martin, and the reoccurring Camera/Sound man duo.


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part I

After a month in Texas and two years in Mexico; it was good to be home. Never mind that the dusty road worn greyhound arrived to an absent fan base, or that the friend and/or family attendance was at a, proverbial, all time low. These things mattered not to a home sick, soon to be, 21 year old failed professional wrestler. It was just good to be home, even if it was raining.

The trip from the bus station on Stewart Street to South Park wasn’t far but after the insufferable bus ride from Texas; Scott’s stiff joints made walking the least desirable option. A short cab ride would drop him, only slight moments from the domicile of his formative years, in front of the areas most frequented corner grocery.

Scott stops in for a cold drink and most likely a pack of cigarettes.

The bell fastened to the top of the door jingles as Scott walks into what feels like a time warp. His time away, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t the longest journey in the history of wayward sons but nostalgia has a tendency to place tricks on the minds of men. Over crowded shelves, out of date products, scuffed tiled floors, a hint of some disinfectant merged with the incense display up by the counter, a thirteen inch television blaring some intolerable basic cable day time television show, and of course the old man behind the counter who appeared to be more of a card board cut out of himself than a real person.

“Afternoon …” Scott muttered as he entered the dilapidated store. He did not receive any reciprocal pleasantries.

Scott snatched a soda from the coolers at the rear of the store and reported to the counter to retrieve the rest of his required transaction.

“… dollar twenty five” the shop keep barked with out ever turning away from his zombie like gaze affixed to the small television set.

Scott reached for his money.

“I need a pack of Newport’s; in a box.” He stated while rifling threw the singles and coins in the depths of his tattered denim.

“Shorts?” the old man questioned while reaching just above his head for the cigarette rack. Scott responded positively and the small box was deposited on the counter slightly askew from the existing soda bottle. “Those will kill you son… eight fifty.”

Scott chuckles slightly as he lays the bills down on the counter and returns to his pocket for the change. A poster hanging from the counter just behind the old push button register catches his attention. Counting out the fifty cent, in dimes and nickels, he asks “IWF?”

The shop keep finally breaks away from his television program to collect and divvy up the legal tender in the cash drawer by its respective bill and coin type, “… pro’ wrestling fan?”

“… Life long,” Scott replies; clearly sparking the old mans interests. Slightly, but at least enough to be granted some eye contact … albeit post transaction.

“Wait, you’re...” the shop keep stumbles over his thought as he slams the cash drawer shut inciting a slight ring of the registers bell. “Nate … uh, Nate Daniels?” he asks.

Being recognized stuns Scott a bit and his response, although prompt, lacks its normal vocal presence and firmness. “Nate Douglas, well Scott …” he responds before being interrupted.

“Nate Douglas … that’s right. Douglas. You were smaller then. I saw you a few times down at the South Park community center. You weren't half bad.” the old man remembered. “What the hell happened?”

Scott, not sure whether to feel insulted or proud, responds politely, “well, there wasn’t much money around here, and I had an opportunity to go to Texas, which eventually landed me in …”

“Texas? Never mind that, so your back now I take it?” the old man interrupts.

“Yes sir, going to put the business behind me and try to start over” Scott pauses “… before it’s too late.”

Clearly displeased; the old man replies indignantly, “No, no, no … This IWF deal is supposed to be the next big thing in Seattle. You got to get on board son! You had something.” Shaking his head he punctuates his recently thrusted opinion, “… no way you lost it already.”

Scott attempts to offer a rebuttal, “well I don’t …”

“You don’t what? Know? You’re young son … you don’t know anything. Except how to put on a show. I saw that for myself. Don’t cheat yourself boy, take that flyer with you. Chasing dreams is a young man’s game, do it while you still can.” The shop keep lectured.

Scott retrieved his soda and cigarettes from the counter and turned to leave. “I’ll keep that in mind ...”

“Well, you better!” the man behind the counter calls out to Scott as he exits the door with a jingle of the bell and a click of the old warped door frame.

It was still good to be home.


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part II (Fatherly Advice)

The South Park neighborhood of Seattle had been going threw a bit of a transition over the past few years. Some might call it gentrification … others beatification. Either way; less fortunate people were slowly being displaced to make way for condominiums and over priced juice bars in Seattle’s, traditionally, poorest neighborhood.

Strangely enough, Scott’s street hadn’t changed much.

The walk from the corner store to Scott’s parent’s home was of short distance and before he could smoke a whole cigarette he was at the front door of there two story walk up. Scott flicked the remainder of his vice into the street and opened the door.

At the top of the stairs, Scott knocked and anticipated the jubilation spurred by his unannounced prodigal son like return.

“Who is it?!” a muffled voice on the other side of the door inquired.

Scott leaned in a bit to make up for sound damping provided by the thick oak door, “Ma’ it’s me!”

“Who?!” The voice questioned in a suspicious tone, denoting either a break down in thru-door communication or simply an unrecognizable voice standing on the outside.

“Mom, it’s me. It’s Scotty!”

“Scotty?” the voice from the inside repeats.

A second voice from inside the door calls out, slightly more commanding and full, “Martha, who is it?!”

“It’s Scotty!” Martha replies.

“Scotty!?” the second voice questions, “Well let ‘em in!”

The door opens with a creak and a woman in late forties holding a dish rag, wiping her hands, stands at its threshold. “Get in here Scotty! It’s been so long. Give your mother a hug!” she lovingly demands.

Scott leans in to embrace his mother, “Hey Ma’.”

“Nate, it’s Scotty!” Martha calls to Scott’s father who is sunken into his dingy green recliner on the other side of the common room.

“I heard you the first time Martha.” George responds as he slowly hoists him self up from the comfort of his favorite chair. “… good to see ya’ boy! How the hell ya’ been?”

Reaching to grasp his fathers extended hand and be pulled in for the eventual half hug; Scott greets his father and completes the pleasantries with the proper responses, facial expressions, and mannerisms.

Scott’s father, Nate “The Great” Douglas, had been a mid-card man in the ‘territories’ during his rebel rousing youth. Originally from upstate South Carolina, he moved threw out the South East promotions attempting to make a name for himself and jump to the next level. When the work seemed to have dried up in the South, Nate tried his luck on the West coast where he would meet his lovely and enchanting young bride, Martha. He left the sport in his thirties with bad knees and an ailing back with few regrets. Settling in Seattle, he secured government employment as a mail carrier and put the business behind him focusing on his growing family.

“You two get comfortable. I’ll get us some drinks. Scotty, are you hungry?” Martha asks on her way into the kitchen just mere steps from the family room.

“I could eat.” Scott tells his mother as he plops down on the old family couch and his hulking father retires back to his worn recliner. The two settle in and Nate mutes the television and then lumbers his timed tested ankle up to cross over the knee of his opposite leg still firmly planted on the floor.

“You know, I wondered when I saw the IWF flyers if you’d be rolling back into town, son.”
Scott still timid to break the news to his father replies, “Actually I just saw the flyer down in the grocery. I hadn't heard ‘til this afternoon.”

“Well, that works out nicely for you then. Work is hard to find in this terrible economy and you just stepped in some. What happen to Mexico?” Nate questions the fruit of his loins.

Scott, knowing the question would arise eventually, answers reluctantly “I just didn’t feel like I was making in any head way down there. The money was decent, I suppose, but overall it just felt like a dead end street. So it was Japan, Germany or just come back home and regroup.”

“Scotty; is ham and cheese ok?” his mother calls from the kitchen.

Scott replies with a simple ‘yes’ and he and his father continue their conversation against the dusk colored window coverings that block out the slowly setting son and the ever increasing flicker of the silenced television.

“Regroup?” his father questions “You can’t take a break son, they’ll forget your name faster than they learned it. You got to stay on it, stay in front of ‘em and remind ‘em every time out… you’re the one they either came to see … or should have.”

Martha brings in a pair of sodas and gives Scott and Nate each a can. “I’ll bring your sandwich right back Scotty.” Martha pauses for a moment as if to take in the literal sight for sore eyes. “I’m just so glad your back home son. It feels like it’s been ages.” She turns back toward the kitchen and leaves the two to their verbal discourse.

Unrelenting, Nate starts back in on his young son, “You’re too young to give up this quick son. I’m not saying walk in my footsteps, or make your old man proud or any of that horse ****. Your old man was a hack at best, but you have something special … you have a real gift. And if I have to watch you waste it; I might as well kick your ass while I do it.”

The two have a bit of a laugh and wash it down with a sip or two of theirs sodas.

“That’s definitely something to think about Pop, but to be completely honest … I’m thinking its time to hang it up and refocus before its too late.” Scott laments.

“Refocus? Regroup? What are you talking about boy? Your twenty one years old. You have plenty of time. Your still healthy,” Nate stops himself, “… you are still healthy right?”

Scott chuckles, “Yes, Pop. I’m fine. Nothing major.”

“Well look, you’ve got a total of what? … Maybe four years tied up into the business? All I’m saying is give it some time. Hell, this time its right in your own back yard. Don’t cut yourself short here son.” Nate lectures.

“Alright boys, sandwiches are served. Nate I made you one as well.” Martha announces as she emerges from the fluorescent washed kitchen.

Scott reaches out to receive the plate from his mother and turns to his father as he sets it down on the coffee table in front of him. “That’s something to think about Pop… “He raises the sandwich to his face as his gears turn and thoughts race. He sets in to take a bite of the homemade snack and pauses momentarily.

“I’m going to give ‘em a call.”


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part III (Chain Reactions)

“F**k its cold out here.” Scott scoffed under his breath as he stepped out of the arena that had short minutes earlier held IWF’s first ever ‘Chain Reaction’; where he had scored an impressive victory over “The Fallen Angel” Stephen Waltz.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his flannel covered chest pocket and flipped the top of the box open. As he drew a single smoke from the pack he heard a voice cry out from near by.

“Scotty! … Scotty!”

There weren’t many people in this world that called him by that name and he was pretty sure his parents were not out and about at this hour… or in this dreary cold.

His mind races as his eyes scan trying to get a hold or visual on who would be screaming such at this hour. All of Scott’s friends and even most of his extended family referred to ‘Sub Pop Scott’ by his given name of Nathaniel or Nate at the very least. Only his parents and a few ex-girlfriends ever added the ‘Y’ to his middle and in-ring name.

“Scotty!” the voice calls out again as a female figure appears into Scott’s view.

Scott instantly realizes who is calling his name, “Sh*t …” he mumbles to himself as he lights his cigarette. Applying a nervous smile to his otherwise stunned face, he greets the approaching women. “Court’, what are you doing here?”

Courtney Sarah Allen was gorgeous by most standards; given you didn’t have an issue with the always changing hair color and style, the constantly growing number of tattoos and piercings that adorned her flesh and of course weren’t morally opposed to the glam-grunge style of dress she could most normally be found in. Scott being similarly decorated in the permanent fashion … found Courtney to be visually astonishing.

“I think I should ask you the same thing mister,” she responded, “Or at least why in the world you didn’t tell me you were back in town.”

Scott took a pull from his smoldering cigarette and stammered his response, “Well … I, uh … I … “

Scott and Courtney had a bit of a past; as much as twenty one and a nineteen year old, respectively, can have.

They met their freshman year at Chief Sealth International High School not too far from Scott’s beloved South Park along the Duwamish River. Their flirtatious encounters at school and around the area would eventually blossom into what some dubbed simply as puppy love and others viewed as a destructive ‘Sid and Nancy’ like union.

Teenage hormones, illicit substances, and grunge fueled those years and neither of the two would see their studies to completion at Chief Sealth. Scott would change focus from academic to that of professional wrestling and attended a local school and begin performing at the South Park Community Center. As for Courtney, several failed attempts at stardom via the music industry would earn her graduate equivalency diploma and some what steady work in the cities thriving food service industry.

The couples on again off again status normally rotated around ridiculous arguments, when doused with a few liters of alcohol and a handful of designer drugs became more of scuffles and screaming matches that would last well after the party, concert, or family dinner had come to a close.

Yet the two, somehow, would always reunite; swearing off the extra curricular activates and promising to put the not so distant past behind them to forge ahead in their common goal of … ‘being together forever.’

Forever had been cut short a few years prior when Scott left for Texas to pursue his dreams of ascending to the highest ranks of professional wrestling.

“Look, you left and never told me you were leaving. I’m sure you have your reasons…” Courtney told Scott. “And one day, I’m sure you’ll tell me. Right now … Let’s just get a drink. What-a-ya’ say?”

Scott was stunned and honestly expected a huge dramatic scene from his long lost love.

“Well, “… he stuttered.

Maybe she had changed.

“Come on Scotty! Its been so long, and I’ve missed you so much … baby” Courtney pleaded.

Maybe she had forgiven him and was genuinely glad to see him after all this time.

Scott took a drag from his dwindling cigarette, “Alright sounds good. We definitely have some catching up to do.”



Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part IV (Die Hard)

Scott’s eyes cracked open to a seemingly unfamiliar bedroom. He knew he had never been here before but some of the decorations seemed to be very familiar. His gears began their slow spool to full capacity as he struggled to remember what had gone on before. He rubbed his face and let out something between a grunt and a sigh when it hit him.

“Morning Scotty,“ Courtney whispered as she rolled over and rested her head on his bare chest.

“Morning, Court’” Scott replied with a hint of regret.

What was intended to be one drink clearly had turned in to several and it wasn’t long before Scott fell back into old habits. Courtney had the effect on him.

“Last night was something else, Scotty. I’ve missed this. I missed us.” Courtney confessed to him in a sultry tone. “I forgot how much fun we used to have.”

Scott gave a slight chuckle to be polite and, more or less, attempt to hide his awkward feelings on whatever had transpired last night.

Scott and Courtney had always “had a good time.” From simple as smoking pot at Gasworks Park looking out at the Seattle skyline; to the hassle of sneaking into The Crocodile to drink underage and watch whatever terrible band was chasing that elusive “Seattle Sound” that night; they always “had a good time.”

Problem was; they had a penchant for getting out of hand and causing hell in and around the city.

“Remember when we used to climb up that billboard over behind Daniel’s old house and drink what ever beer they had on special at the corner store?” Courtney reminisced.

With a laugh Scott replied, “Yeah, which ever room temperature beer was on a floor display.”

“Well of course. How else could we steal it. The things …” motioning to her breasts “…could only distract the clerk for so long.”

The two shared a laugh over their youthful misadventures ignoring the trouble and misfortune it had brought them both. They enjoyed the nostalgia momentarily until Scott broke the mood.

“Well, I really should get going though.”

“Don’t go,” Courtney whined snuggling up closer to Scott, “I feel like you just got here. Plus we have a lot of catching up to do; if you catch my drift.”

Scott caught her drift alright, but the clock was taunting him and it had already crept well passed noon while they slept off the numbing effects of last nights libations.

“Court’, I’d love to … really, but I’ve got a promo’ thing today and I got to get in there before they wrap for the day.” Scott explained. “This is pretty much my last go at this life. I’ve got to give it everything, if for nothing else, for my dad.”

Disappointed, but surprisingly understanding, Courtney picked her head up off of Scott’s chest and went in for a long passionate kiss. “Ok, ‘Sup Pop’ Scott” she replied with a slight laugh, “But I get to see you again soon right?”

Scott hesitantly replied, “Yeah of course.”

Scott sat up from his previously prone position and started to gather his clothes and apply each layer as it is found. Courtney rested against the headrest trying to look as tempting as she possibly could. Scott gave her a glance back just to make her feel like her efforts weren’t completely meritless. Scott left his seat of the bed, pulling up his jeans, and headed for the adjoining bathroom.

“I’m going to use you bathroom real quick if that’s alright.” Scott extended merely as a pleasantry.

“Come on, Scotty … of course. You don’t have to ask babe.” Courtney replied slightly offended.
Scott poked his head out of the bathroom momentarily, “Did we get thrown out of The Crocodile last night? It’s all starting to come back to me … kind of.”

Courtney laughed. “I don’t think so, but it’s entirely possible.”

They, in fact, had been thrown out of The Crocodile … and The Tractor Tavern, Shorty’s, and turned away from a Ruby Tuesday’s after trying to exercise their third amendment right. The manager on duty was not amused.

“You know Scotty, sometimes I think we are meant to be together, and others I feel like we were meant to destroy each other.” Courtney shouted over the noise of the running water.

“Sometimes I think they’re the same thing” Scott murmured just before splashing his face with the noisy water.

“Huh?” Courtney called back.

Scott exited the bath room wiping his face with a hand towel and reached for his jacket on the foot of the bed.
“Nothing gorgeous… I’ll talk to you soon.”

Courtney, smitten, ignored whatever the previous comment had been and crawled to the foot of the bed for a kiss. Scott leaned in and obliged.

“I love you, Scott.” She said as she slowly opened and batted her eyes after the goodbye kiss.

Scott, without thinking, replied; “I love you too …“

Scott exited the room shaking his head in disapproval of his own actions.

“What am I getting myself into...? “


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part V (The Final Stand)

“Sorry I’m late guys.” Scott lamented as he approached the camera crew out side of the Moss Bay Event Center.

The camera crew was made up of just an operator and a sound man who was packing up their limited equipment as Scott apologized. “You’re too late, son.”

Scott reaches for his cell phone, “I’m only …” and checks the time, “Well, I’m pretty late I know but this is my first promo for IWF. I’ve got to get this done.”

“Not our problem. You said one. It’s now four and we are off the clock. We’ll send Art the bill. Nice doing business with you.”

Scott couldn't afford to loose this opportunity and walk into Chain Reaction being the one guy who didn’t promote the show. Maybe if he had already made a name for himself in this territory, or had a in with the management but at this point he was just another faceless number in the locker room who needed to make a name for himself. He felt like the rope was getting short and he had just gotten there.

“Alright, look. I got…” Scott starts digging threw his pockets pulling out loose bills, receipts, and an unused prophylactic. “I got twelve, thirteen …” He straightens out the creased bills and stacks them as he counts. “Thirty two! I got thirty two bucks right here … how much time will that get me?”

The camera man looks to his colleague for his input on the matter yet only receives a bewildered shrug. He thinks about it for a moment and shoots Scott an offer he really can’t refuse.

“We’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

He looks toward his soundman again and this time receives a nod and hand movement one could only perceive as a ‘why not.’

The camera man adds; “Hope you’re the one take type, kid.”

“You and me both.” Scott scoffs.

The camera man turns to remove his camera from its hard travel case, “What’s that?”

“Nothing. I’m ready when you are.” Scott responds quickly in attempt to cover his temporary lack of confidence.

In Texas, Scott hadn’t cut many spots in ring or in studio. For one, there was no studio and the majority of his dates weren’t even televised. Secondly, North West Texas over the past ten or fifteen years had been quite resultant in the face of change and for the most part still continued doing things the way they had been done forever. There wasn’t much room for a young upstart with pop culture references and a penchant for vulgarity. At least that’s the reasoning Scott was given without ever having the chance to really get the feel for the skill set. Mexico was a different story with the same result. Scott’s grasp on the Spanish language was a bit sparse when he arrived in Old Mexico, and honestly it wasn’t a whole lot better by the time he took the dusty trail back to the States. So any camera or in-ring mic time he was granted ended in him standing next to masked man rubbing his hands together and shaking his head in agreement. Even when the Lucha asked the crowd if he and young Scott would loose their upcoming bout.

“You want to do it right here?” the camera man asked.

Scott took a look at the scenery behind him and told the camera man, “It’ll do. Just roll. I assume I’m on the clock.”

“You bet your ass, 5 … 4 … 3 … “

[SUB](Fade In: Scott Douglas standing along the waters edge along side of the Moss Bay Event Center as a sea plane glides down and skates across the still water spraying a fine mist all around its pontoons.

Scott’s unkempt black hair whips in the nearly hostile winds and his facial expression is that of either disdain or determination. His flannel shirt rests slightly askew just under a slightly smaller leather jacket that has seen its better days. His jeans feature several rips and frays from the thigh down to ankle; where his battered boots, that appear to have at on time been completely black, now show they’re signs of wear and abuse in dull off white patches and scuffs.

He reaches up from the waist and waves his hair back over his head and begins to speak.)

“Look, I’ve been up, and I’ve been down … Literally. From my beloved home of the Emerald City down to the **** kickin’ cowboy capitol of the world and further! Seattle’s prodigal son returns to finally make the mark he was intended to.”

(The camera moves in slightly)

“This is a new beginning. A new era. This is the resurgence of grunge. No instruments, no record labels, no magazines. Grunge at it’s most pure. Smash mouth, no frills, dirty, angst laden wide open energy!”

(The camera swings left keeping the shot fixed on Scott but changing the background slightly with his direction.
A few more sails appear along with a dock mooring several boats.)

“Chain Reaction, Kerry Kuroyama, Scott Douglas … The Battle of Seattle, if you will. I know the DOJO, and who doesn’t know ‘The Paragon of Professional Wrestling Excellence’ but we won’t be there and I dare to assume neither will he.”

(Scott steps toward the camera. Taking the cue, the camera man zooms in to a medium shot and holds as Scott continues his adlibbed monologue.)

“I don’t feel like either of us was served up much of a challenge on the first time around. And being that the rest of the field consists of a megalomaniac, a green chick, and the guy I destroyed last week… I think it could be said, regardless of what the brackets show; the title is decided between the two of us live on Chain Reaction! End of story.”

(Scott reaches for his jacket pocket. The camera backs out to a wide shot. From his pocket, Scott produces a pack of cigarettes, removes one, places it between his lips, and lights it. He takes a drag and lets it out slow for dramatic effect.)

“Chain Reaction; Either way Seattle wins … Kuroyama, all the training in the world won’t save you from a man down to his last dollar with his back pressed against the wall. This is my last chance, no exit strategy… This is The Battle of Seattle and ...”

(Scott drags from the cigarette again.)

“… My final stand.”

(Scott dramatically walks out of frame, and continues down the street. The camera man holds in the wide as Scott appears smaller and smaller. Fade)
Lowering the camera from his shoulder the camera man looks to his audio counterpart, “That wasn’t bad. He gave you the money right?”

His question is met with a confused look and a motion of the head that can be mistaken for nothing other than a negative.

“Son of a b**** …” disgruntled and frustrated he calls out to Scott, now long gone, “HEY!?” He waits only a few seconds knowing his attempt is futile. He turns back to his sound man and his ‘deer in the headlights’ facial expression.

“Just pack it up. I’ll get that little prick next time.”


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part VI (Make It A Double)

The International Wrestling Federation’s latest episode of Chain Reaction had gone off, nearly, without a hitch and seemed to picking up steam in both ticket sales and ratings alike. A very small few had left the Moss Bay Event Center that night displeased. Scott Douglas was, in fact, one of the few.

“Son of a *****!” a disgruntled Scott scoffed to himself as he barreled out the back door of the event center. “Damn it man.”

Scott’s leather jacket blew back behind him like a cape of sorts as he walked against the wind on a frigid Seattle night. His fleeing jacket lending no warmth or shelter from the harsh night air except the small amount of wind it cut from his shoulders and tattooed arms. A gray sweat shirt underneath provided as much defense as it could, while the mutilated denim covering his lower extremities had given way years ago. His bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder Scott marches toward the bus stop smoking a cigarette and beating himself up.

“Lost to a god damn gym rat.”

As Scott treks down the side walk letting his anger get the best of him his cell phone buzzes in the pocket of his aforementioned jacket. The alert sound and subsequent sequence of vibrations signifying a text message sends him searching for this small device. The message stops him in his tracks.

[SUB]Last Chance for Emerald Dreams; Over The Top Rope Battle Royal:
MLM/Scott D/Stephen W/Dusty R

“Holy **** …” Scott exclaims in amazement as he stares at the screen of the phone.

As he lets the message set in and attempts to let the anger and frustration from the nights defeat leave him the screen changes in an instant.

[SUB]Incoming Call from Courtney

Scott lets out the sigh to end all sighs as the phone rings on; playing Green River’s lost hit “Baby Takes.” He lets it go until the last possible second and hesitantly answers as he continues his walk down to the bus stop.
Scott: Hello?

Courtney: Hey babe! I just got off cut so I didn’t see the show. How’d you do!?

Scott: Not so well.

Courtney: Awww, babe! I’m sorry. Wish there was something I could do to make it better.

Scott: Since you mention it. We probably need to talk.

Courtney: Umm, ok. ‘Bout what?

Scott: You still at work?

Courtney: Yeah …

Scott: You headed home or you going to get a drink?

Courtney: Well, I was going to get a drink but depends now …

Scott: Alright, well just stay there and I’ll come up.

Courtney: Ok… I love you.

Scott: … ah, alright.

Scott clicks the red end button on his phone and drops it back in his pocket just in time to step up on the city bus. He takes a seat along the aisle about mid-way and tries to decompress from the nights poor performance. His relaxation lulls him into a light slumber which he only snaps out of as the well worn bus screeches to a less than subtle halt at his stop. Scott exits the bus and foots it the two blocks back to the small bar known simply as “The Whiskey Bay.” Courtney had only worked there a few months as she tended to jump around from job to job fairly often. Scott entered through the front door and scanned the place for his lady (bad) luck and found her sitting at the end of the bar. He headed over toward her and took a seat.

“Jack, rocks ...” Scott says; motioning to the bartender.

“Hey, babe!” Courtney springs to life, “I’m sorry tonight didn’t go like you planned. You’ll get ‘em next time.”
Courtney turns back to her drink as the bartender sets Scott’s down in front of him.

“Put it on her tab.” Scott tells the bartender.

Courtney turns to Scott abruptly, “Babe, I thought you were gonna buy.”

Scott can barely pulled his drink back from his lips before he responds, “with what Court’? Pay out ain’t **** when you lose!”

Courtney had grown complacent with Scott’s little nest egg he had stock piled during his time in Mexico. In the grand scheme of things it really wasn’t much but it kept them both quite intoxicated over the past two weeks since his return home. The reality of his true finical situation started to set it. It wasn’t good and without a successful run in IWF he’s be out of peso’s before New Years.

“Look, since I’ve been home … we have had a lot of fun.” Scott tells Courtney. “And I’m not blaming you but I’ve really neglected my training. While Kerry, whatever the hell his name is, was in the gym sucking up to his master or sensei or whatever … I was out boozing and tearing up the town with you.”

Scott pauses to take a sip of his drink. Courtney’s lip starts to quiver and her eyes well up like she is preparing to unleash the water works.

“Are you saying we shouldn’t see each other anymore?” Courtney stammers out.

Scott places his glass back on the bar and though she had just stated his actual intentions; seeing the one time love of his life in such a fragile state brought all the old feelings rushing back again. In an instant his intention h
ad changed. He had come here to break off a relationship he never meant to rekindle yet now he feels powerless to do so.

“No, no … Court’, look at me.” He pauses. “Look at me … That is not what I’m trying to say. I’m just saying that I can’t be out living it up with you constantly. I need to get back to the gym. Keep up my regimen. Stay on top of my business… or else I’m gonna be out on my ass. That loss tonight almost cost me a shot at the title! Luckily I get another shot.”

“So what’s this mean for us?” Courtney asks, flashing her best puppy dog eyes at Scott.

“It just means I’ve got to get my head in the game… and we may see a little less of each other but that’s all. I’m not putting any blame on you but come on Court’ you know how we get …” Scott reasoned.

She did know. She had the arrest record and restitution fines to prove it. She didn’t quite get it though. In they’re younger years she and Scott would get loaded on the way to the show and trash the community center locker room after; win or lose. But she knew at some point she and Scott both had to grow up. She just never thought that time would be now, or any time soon for that matter.

“If you want to do this together Court’ I’d love to have you in my …” Scott is interrupted by Courtney’s phone ringing.

“Hello?” she answers and launches into conversation with what can only be assumed is one of her bar hopping, twenty something peers.

Scott turns back to his drink and downs the remainder. The bartender approaches like a lion stalking his prey. “Another?” he asks.

Scott looks toward Courtney yakking away on the phone about some club or bar she’s already committed both of their attendance to and Scott realizes not a word he has said has affected her in the least.

This is where decisions are made. In this moment it is; stay or go.

The choice made here tonight will directly affect his life and his career in professional wrestling.

“Yeah, make it a double.”


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part VII (A Helping Hand)

Scott awoke to the savory scent of frying bacon wafting threw the small apartment and the late morning sun beaming threw the thin faded red curtains. He found himself in Courtney’s bed and as usual unsure of the trip that led to it. He rolled out of the low set bed slightly off balance and headed to the adjacent bathroom.

"Scotty, you up babe?" Courtney called from the kitchen.

Scott hadn't heard her over the roar of the shower he was preparing to step into. He stared in the mirror at his rapidly, albeit prematurely, aging face as the shower water slowly warmed to a desirable temperature. He shook his head in disapproval of his continued actions and turned back to check the water.

"I'm cooking breakfast!" She called out yet again to no avail.

The recently reunited couple had gone bar hopping, again, the night before after Scott attempted to reason with Courtney at The Whiskey Bar shortly after her shift. Scott was feeling the repercussions of a reluctant good time. Courtney, on the other hand, seemed to have waked as if she'd had a quiet night and turned in early.

"Scotty, come eat before it gets cold." Courtney called out yet again.

"Coming!” Scott finally responds stepping out of the shower after a quick wash.

With no more than a towel and a myriad of random tattoos covering his bare body; Scott joined Courtney at small kitchen table to eat her most recent of culinary offerings. The table displayed a sizeable meal of eggs, sausage, hash browns, silver dollar pancakes, and of course the bacon.

"Thanks for cooking Court'" Scott utters in a gruff hung over voice. He reaches for the plate of bacon that served as his alarm clock and breaks potentially bad news to his bedmate. "I'm going to have to eat and run though. I need to swing by my parents and get some clothes before I head to the gym."

"And that's why you should just move in with me babe. Everything would already be here" Courtney responded "... and take your time because I already took care of it."

"What do you mean?" Scott questioned.

"I got up early. Ran over to your parents, and got your work out stuff." Courtney responded with bit of a chuckle. "I don't think your mother was expecting to ever see me again, but ... I took her and your father some coffee and some fresh donuts and I think it went well. Makes me wonder though... Have you not told them we are back together?"

She knew the answer to her question. Scott stalls momentarily cramming more hashbrowns smothered in Heinz 57 and toast soaked in egg yoke in his mouth to buy time. Courtney, well aware of his tactics, waited patiently with a smile the size of Scott’s first territory.

"Well I wasn't sure if we were ... back together, so to speak. So I was just kind of feeling things out" he finally responds still chewing.

Courtney, taken back, " … oh yeah? You were feeling things out alright Mr. Douglas. You WERE going to break up with me last night, weren't you?"

Scott quickly goes on the defensive, "No, no ... I wasn't."

"Oh yeah that's right, because we weren't actually together. We were just feeling it out. Courtney snaps back with a healthy dose of sarcasm and attitude to boot. "But it's ok. You’re not going to get rid of me quite that easy mister. I heard you last night and I get it. I really do and I want to help rather then hinder."

Scott was genuinely surprised and his reaction showed it.

"Well, I appreciate that Court. And as for my parents, I just thought it was easier not to say anything to them just yet. They see me as a responsible adult now for some reason and when they see us together..." Scott pauses, almost in fear of the reaction he may illicit. "They see those two irresponsible kids that used get in trouble and raise hell constantly. Not two kids that have grown."

Courtney takes a sip of her orange juice, "I'm not worried about them. Your mother has always loved me... Just not with you" laughing, "I'm more worried about your career and I want to help."

Scott nods his head and he finishes chewing, "I appreciate that babe. You’re already helping. I'm going to get dressed real quick. Great breakfast by the way."

Scott heads back toward the bed room grabbing his gym bag on the way.

"I'm glad you’re receptive to my help Scotty; because I have some ideas on some other ways I can be of assistance." Courtney tells Scott from across the apartment as she picks up the dirty dishes from the table.

Scott, not truly paying attention, responds, " … oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Matter of fact I think it’s a really good idea." She yells back.

"I bet it is." Scott responds.

"Oh yeah, believe you me. It’s a good one." Courtney laughs to her self as she piles the dishes in the sink and cleans up the kitchen.

Scott ties his shoes to complete his preparation for what is now left of the day and moves back toward the kitchen. "Ok, babe I got to get going." Scott tells Courtney as he leans in to give her a kiss.

Courtney smiles and asks, "Don't you want to hear my idea?" realizing he hasn't been paying her any attention as expected.

"What? Oh yeah, what is it?" Scott corrects.

"I'm going to be your new valet!" Courtney announced with excitement. "Good idea, huh?"

"Well, I don't know Court'." Scott reluctantly tells her. “It can get dangerous out there. People get hurt.”

Courtney is insulted by his lack of confidence yet endeared by his concern. “I’m a big girl Scotty. I think I can handle myself.”

“Look, we’ll talk about this later. I really have to go.” Scott cuts her short.

Courtney, getting frustrated, tells Scott as he walks toward the door; “There is nothing to discuss. You asked for my help and now you’ve got it. I’ll be there for Chains Axis three.”

“Court’ its, Chain Reaction … and I said we’d talk later. I got to go.” Scott told her with force.

“Whatever!” Courtney screams at the backside of the door Scott slams shut.


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part VIII (Post Show, CR3)

“Yeah babe! That was amazing!” Courtney proclaimed as she and Scott hit the backstage area directly following his Battle Royal victory.

Courtney had ignored Scott’s direction and had involved herself in the match. Her contribution, although quite effortless and arguably the catalyst of the victory, placed her in a significant amount of danger. Scott was pleased with the outcome but furious with his brand new valet.

“What the f-ck was that Court’!?” Scott screamed. “You show up out the blue and put me on the spot like that and then you interfere with the match!?”

Courtney was stunned by Scott’s anger and tone toward her. She felt as if she took one for the team … without actually having to take one for the team. In her eyes, win… win.

“He could have jawed you! You could have fell off the apron! Anything can happen out there Court’ this is not a play ground! You have to think!” Scott continued. “What the hell were you thinking!?”

Courtney’s patience was nearing their threshold, “You WON didn’t you!?”

Her tone snapped Scott out of his little fit of rage and he realized screaming about the past never got anyone anything in the present. He calmed himself but refusing to give up his ground he replied; “that’s not the point, Court’.”

“Well, I’m safe. You won. And now we move on to round two… so all in all this was a good night and I helped just like I told you I would!” Courtney reasons with Scott. “This Kerry guy got lucky the first time around, no way he can pull it off twice.”

Courtney looks at Scott, his face solemn and stone like. She starts to grin and and follows up the serious statement with a sarcastic comment. “Not on my man…”

Scott can’t hold back any longer and burst into laughter at his ring accompaniments’ jokey delivery.
“Alright but …” Scott leans in toward Courtney and the two embrace. “You understand why I worry right?”

She pulls back enough to look Scott in the face and reply; “I do and I willing to prove myself again, but I think tonight should show you I can handle my self out there, babe.”

“You did great.” Scott responds and the two lock lips momentarily. “You really did.”

Courtney lights up like the fireworks at Gas Works Park on the fourth of July. The two share a bit of a moment before continuing into the small backstage area where they run into Gail Martin looking as if she wants a moment of their time. They oblige her and stop in the hall way as Gail and the camera man set up for the shot.

[SUB](Gail stands to the left of Scott and Courtney. Scott is still profusely sweating from his match moments ago. Courtney makes a lackluster attempt to fix her hair and applies a bit more effort in grabbing her top to hoist her breasts up. Gail assuming all parties are ready motions to camera man.)

Gail: I’m here with Scott Douglas and Courtney Allen. Scott, JUST last week you were OUT of the running’s for the Emerald City Championship after that devastating loss to Kerry Kuroyama on episode TWO of Chain Reaction… only one short week later you are officially in ROUND TWO. How’s that feel?”

(Gail extends the microphone to Scott.)

Scott: Gail it feels great honestly. I slipped momentarily but now I’ve got it back on track and I’m going all the way! Kerry Kuroyama’s entire style is pretty see through and this time around their will be no mistakes.

(Gail pulls the microphone back.)

Gail: Some might say that without the assistance and distraction of your girl friend and new valet you may not have captured this second chance tonight.

(Gail moves the microphone back toward Scott. Courtney reaches out and pulls it toward herself.)

Courtney: Don’t doubt Scotty! He has this wrapped up! He is the best Seattle has to offer!

(Courtney lets go of the microphone and Gail lets it swing back toward Scott. Courtney grabs it again before
Scott can speak.)

Courtney: …and the WORLD!

(She lets go again and Gail pulls the microphone back to herself momentarily.)

Gail: Scott?

(Scott looks toward Courtney with a smirk on his face.)

Scott: You good?

(Courtney lets out a chuckle and motions that she is done. Scott appears to be amused by her enthusiasm)

Scott: Well, Gail … you heard her.

(Scott laughs)

Scott: Two more matches to go and it’s all said and done.

(Scott turns his attention to the camera rather than Gail.)

Scott: Kerry, this time you can train and you can practice every reverse to every move you can find footage of me executing. Your sensei can powder your ass, and have you prim, proper, and ready to go for episode four…

(Scott pauses and throws his arm over Courtney’s shoulder and pulls her in tight.)

Scott: But none of that will get you the win this time! Back against the wall, eyes on the prize. Seattle … do or die!

(Gail pulls the microphone back to herself. Scott and Courtney turn to walk away. Courtney shouts as they exit.)

Courtney: POP, POP!!

(Gail turns the camera.)

Gail: That was “Sup Pop” Scott Douglas who just advanced to round two of the Emerald City Championship Tournament. Courtney Allen will most certainly be in toe for the foreseeable future. I’m Gail Martin for the IWF.


“You know we’ve got to talk about this right.” Scott told Courtney.

She answered, “I know. Wasn’t I awesome though?”

“Yeah, you were pretty awesome.”


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part IX (Stratego)

"Court' I'm back. You up?" Scott called out as he stepped in Courtney's small apartment. He dropped his gym bag and made his way to the kitchen and started his post-gym ritual. "Courtney?”
"Scotty? Is that you?" Courtney called out timidly over the screeching of the shower as she twisted the worn out knobs off.

"Yeah it’s me!" Scott shouted back as he settled into the couch in front of the television and began flipping channels. Courtney finished up her shower, wrapped herself and her hair each in a towel and walked into the living room to see Scott sprawled out on the couch feverishly mashing at the remote control.

"Comfortable?" she asks Scott; her tone implying that she didn't appreciate his sweaty gyms clothes on her couch nor his tennis shoes on her coffee table. Scott was oblivious to this fact.

Between gulps of protein shake he managed to belch out a reply; "You ever notice how sporadic the schedule for The Fuse is?"

"Actually yeah … I have.” Courtney replies as the thought hits her for the first time. “I don't have a clue when it comes on or what channel to be honest. It must be a pill to work with that Anderson." Courtney responds. Scott acknowledges her with a polite chuckle muzzled by the cup jammed against his face as he coaxes the last bit of protein laced sludge from the bottom.

Courtney sits down on the opposite end of the couch, gets comfortable and takes this opportunity to nudge Scott toward taking the next step in their relatively recently reunited relationship. "Hey, umm... Have you giving anymore thought to moving in? You've slept here the past week and most of the week before. I think it just makes sense babe."

"Well," Scott stalls, "I've thought about it some. It's been hectic lately, you know that." Scott retreats and continues to deflect the issue as goes to the kitchen. "I have this re-match coming up and you know as well as I do I have to win this one. No room for mistakes."

His tone and overall attempt to change the subject didn't escape Courtney. She saw right through it but decided to roll with the punches for the time being. "I know babe. It's an important match. I get that. So what's the plan?"

"Same as it ever was. Stay focused, train hard and just go in there and get it done like I have a hundred times before.” Scott tells her as he plops back down on the couch.

Courtney adjusts her position after being disrupted by Scott’s apparent need to go high risk just to have a seat. She gets comfortable again and asks, "Is there anything special you could be doing? I don't know like training somehow in a specific way to face Kuroyama?"

Scott bursts into laughter, "What like take a class in how to reverse his signature holds?"

Courtney doesn't get the joke. "Yeah, I don’t see why not?"

"Sure thing..." Scott tries to contain himself, "I'll just head down to the Dojo and see if ol' Frank what's his face will give me a private lesson."

“Frank? Kuroyama’s sensei?” Courtney slowly caught on. “Well, granted, that is out of the question assuming Mr. Ares is a man of at least some integrity… but I think it’s still a sound idea.” Courtney reaches for the laptop from the coffee table. “What’s his go to?”

“What are you gonna do babe? Google it?” Scott asks laughing.

Courtney opens up her laptop and powers it up.

Scott continues flipping through the channels and launches into self serving sermon, “I love your enthusiasm … but I’ll save you the time. His specialty or go to, if that’s what you want to call it, is the Kuroyama Driver. A move almost as complex as the incredibly inventive name I assume his father’s … father’s uncle’s aunt gave it.” Scott pauses for the laugh. He doesn’t receive one. “It’s nothing more than the Emerald Flowsion. Great move, right? Right. Until you add the useless pump handle to the front of it. I’m getting a drink, you want one?”

Courtney closes her computer, mostly out of spite, and asks, “No, I’m fine… So then how do you reverse, or avoid it … oh wise one?”

Scott gets a kick out of Courtney’s smugness, and mostly out of spite as well, continues. “I was getting there. Slow down Google.”

Courtney rolls her eyes.

“As I was saying, the Emerald Flowsion on its own is pretty decent move. It employees the same intent as The Sub Pop; drop the son of a ***** on his head. Although, I feel it’s worth mentioning, the Fisherman Suplex method of deployment for said head dropping … is much more effective.” Scott banters on.

“Wait, why is that Tenay?” Courtney asks snidely.

“Good reference.” Scott quickly commends her before moving on. “That’s simple. The Flowsion drives the man’s head into the mat while you’re falling with him… and at best he is coming down from hip height. Granted you’re in pretty good position for the pin but if it does what it is supposed to that shouldn’t even matter.”

Courtney interrupts, “That sounds effective though. Why is your soooooo much better?”

“Patience women. Patience.” Scott laughs, “Ok, so … The Flowsion is using the combined body weight, albeit lacking the necessary height to achieve maximum velocity, to create a damaging impact. Sound idea but why not use gravity to bolster the overall intended effect? I’m putting their head at shoulder height and the mass of their weight above my head. In this position they fall further, a foot or two … but further … and I use the added height to increase fall speed which of course in turn lends to the overall velocity achieved.” Scott pauses to silently gloat as Courtney sorts out the logistics in her head.

“Ok … but” Courtney begins, but is interrupted.

“Oh I’m not done … not by a long shot baby. You’ve also got to take into consideration how much of this impact after a long, assumingly hard fought, match you yourself are going to take. I take a bump, smack the matt under my own weight, yes but, the majority of the blow is directed all to the side of which some poor bastards head resides. With the Flowsion … you take a considerable amount that impact yourself.”

Courtney starts to get frustrated with Scott’s condescending tone. “Ok fine. Let’s assume your physics are correct. You still haven’t made it to the real point of this verbal workout you’re so enthralled with giving yourself.”

Scott reaches for Courtney’s cigarettes on the coffee table and lights up. He takes a drag and exhales and he tells her, “Well, and that takes us back to the incredibly useless addition to an otherwise sufficient move; Pump Handle mount. He might as well lean down and tell you he is about to take it home. Punch drunk, asleep on your feet, groggy … whatever if the dumbass puts your hand between your own legs, at the very least fall down. It’s a huge red flag that would wake anyone up … you can see it coming from a mile away.”

“Ha! But that is how you can avoid it. How can you reverse it in the off chance you find yourself going for a ride? That’s what they say right? Going for a ride?” Courtney excitedly retorts.

Scott, feeling as if he has already bested Courtney, soaks in his victory with a smirk. “Really Court’? Where is he going to put you?” Courtney attempts to answer but is drowned out by Scott, “On. His. Shoulder! Exactly. At worst slide off behind him, drop kick the knees, and … I don’t know, uh bulldog! Or drop kick him in the back of the head. Victors choice.”

“At best?” Courtney asks.

Scott thinks for a second, “On your way down, hook the neck; Inverted DDT. One, two, three. See I got this, you don’t need to Google anything and I certainly don’t need to sit here going over and over in my head what I might or could …” Scott pauses and realizes who really won this cold war of wits. “Ok … alright. You got me. That was good.”

Courtney takes her victory with a bit of candor and chooses not to rub it in Scott face … too much. “I never was going to Google anything. I just got the computer out to look up the Fuse. It’s an internet show by the way. Still though … odd schedule.”


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part X (Mr. Perfect, Part I)

“You just going to sit on that couch all day?” Courtney prods at Scott.

“Maybe.” Scott replies.

Scott took last week’s loss pretty hard and had retreated to the couch of his girlfriend’s apartment with a bottle of liquor and a carton of smokes.

“Well, I suggest you get up the camera crew will be here any minute to shoot the promo piece for the pay per view.” Courtney snaps snottily at Scott.

Scott twists to look over the back of the couch into the kitchen, “What the hell you mean?” he questions.

“Exactly what I said.” She answers with a bit of an attitude.

Scott twists back around and focuses back on the television. “I didn’t call them and I doubt you did so … you’re bluffing. Where the hell would we even shoot?” Scott laughs to himself. “On the roof?”

Courtney stops in route to the adjacent bedroom, “I hadn’t thought of that. That’s actually a great idea.”

The familiar sound of knuckles rapping against the old apartment’s thick oak door rings threw the apartment; causing Scott to snap his head to glare at Courtney is astonishment.

“Are you ****ting me, Court?” Scott asks.

Courtney smirks and enters the bedroom and suggests smugly; “Better get that.”

Scott pulls himself up from the couch slowly and lumbers over to the door. He pulls the stubborn door ajar, calling upon the worn and squealing hinges. Visually confirming, the somewhat unsolicited, visitor’s identity to be just as expected … he barks; “Roof, ten minutes” and slams the door back in place with a thud and a click of the tarnished brass knob. Scott turns to walk away from the door only to be drawn back by yet another series of knocks. He slings the heavy door open again. “What?” he questions with an aggravated tone.

The growingly familiar camera operator tells Scott, “Well, son … there is a matter of thirty two dollars and zero cents to be settled before we can get this show on the road.”

Scott thinks for a moment and it hits him. ‘No problem.” Scott digs into his pockets realizing he had spent the last of his funds on liquor and cigarettes. “I … don’t have it on me right just now, but meet me up on the roof in ten minutes. We’ll shoot this new thing and I’ll have your money. Scotts honor.”

The camera operator didn’t find the humor in Scott’s turn of words but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and motioned to his sound man to head to the roof.

“Ten minutes.” Scott calls out as he shuts the door.

[SUB](The late afternoon gloom hangs over the heads of Scott Douglas and his girlfriend/valet Courtney Allen as they stand atop the roof of their modest tenant building slung low amongst the downtown Seattle skyline. Scott dawning nothing more than the same tattered jeans that act as his in ring gear and a black hooded zip up sweat shirt. The lack of an undershirt baring his lean and well defined chest and abdomen littered with a barrage of random tattoos. Courtney’s tight leather pants hug her hips and eventuate he already curvy physique and fail to come to a compromise with her long knit sweater to cover the bare inch between each. She stands just to the side of Scott glaring into the camera as he begins.)

Scott: I don’t think there is any reason to pull any punches here…

(Scott lifts his hand to his face and brushes the hair from his face.)

Scott: I’ve become the underdog’s underdog here in the IWF. Short of Stephen Waltz, I likely have the worst record here. Then again…

(Scott pull a pack of cigarettes from his left sweat shirt pocket, and cups a lighter in his right hand from the other pocket.)

I haven’t had the ‘perfect…’ opportunity to battle the immortal DOL-Fan or chase the legend of Andy Kaufman and his Inter-Gender Championship in a one on one with Mary Lynn.

No, instead I ran ruck shot on Stephen Waltz, slipped up against everyone’s favorite Asian American, and barley made it through a hap hazard battle royal.

I was in, then out, then in, and now after last week I took the loss that was undoubtedly destined for the perfect narcissist James Wither-what the **** ever.

(Scott places the cigarette between his lips and cuffs the lighter with both hands in an attempt to shield the forthcoming flame from the wind whipping across the roof top. He flicks the lighter and inhales. He exhales and the smoke bellows out of his lungs and he continues.)

Scott: It doesn’t take expert analysis to figure out if I hadn’t been interjected into the main event … Mr. Perfect … would have certainly taken the fall. But … why split hairs. That didn’t happen and now, here we are.

(Scott pulls from his cigarette, exhales and continues.)

Scott: Ol’ Art and the IWF present … The Experience! Where we show the WORLD … that we can’t carry a pay per view on our own merits without shipping in the legend, the myth … the man. But again … why split hairs. My beef isn’t with the man, the myth, or the legend.

Currently my focus falls on none other than Mr. Perfection himself.

(Scott again takes a drag, and a momentary pause.)

Scott: I hear I got in the way. I interfered in your plans. I cost you … your title.

Is that how we’re going play it Curt? Honestly?

***** about preparation time all you like … the record bares that if NOTHING else; Seti and yourself both had advanced notice in comparison to Seattle’s favorite son.

I have no hard feelings to be honest. At the end of the day it seems Seti … had perfect timing.

(Scott pulls the last drag from his dwindling cigarette and drops it to the roof top and smolders it under his boot.)

Scott: Curt, on the other hand, had what I believe would be called; less than perfect timing. He dove for the save, which I’ve heard has been laughably classified as being a “late Superman with Perfect intentions.”

I say laughable because even the most casual fan of the classic Superman character could point out that; A. Superman is never late, B. Superman can; in fact, fly so fast he can turn back time, and C. James Witherbone is no Clark Kent.

Jamie, look … rattle on and on about how you couldn’t regain your perfect stamina in time. Tell everyone that I, who assumingly by your measure would be considered ‘less-than-perfect’ … SHOULD have done what Mr. Perfect, could not do.

Scream from the roof tops about how Scott Douglas screwed you…

Whatever helps you lay your ‘perfect’ little head down and take a ‘perfect’ little nap after a ‘perfect’ afternoon of ‘perfectly’ partaking in a Hennig home video marathon; Do it.

But realize… it changes nothing Curt. You still have to go through Seattle’s finest to get back to that title shot you so ‘perfectly’ deserve. And thus far, you’ve proven only three things in the IWF … You slap around fans of losing football teams, can’t decide who to mark out to the hardest: Hennig or Kaufman, and less I forget … running like a ***** with a case full money.

(Scott brushes his hair from his face again.)

Scott: I may have taken some losses here but … Not a damn one of them was to you.

Don’t’ forget that. Get ready to Experience ... a loss. Hell, instead of the Sup Pop, I may even end the match with a good old fashioned Fisherman Suplex and bridge for the pin.

(Scott turns to Courntey smirking.)

Scott: You know what that was called in the nineties, Court’?

Courntey: The Perfect-Plex?

Scott: Yes, indeed.

(Scott and Courtney share a laugh.)

Scott: I am Scott Douglas. And I ain’t perfect… But I’m the hero Seattle deserves! And just in case the reference escaped your ‘perfect’ intellect Curt, I’m Batman *****. I trained, I learned … and I have skill; as opposed to a muscle bound, over tanned, slick haired, pretty boy who likes to prance around in tights.

(Courtney giggles)

Scott: Tell Art, Jimmy is going need a new gimmick… because I’m getting ready to ruin the fan perception. Seattle, stand up.

(Scott motions for the cameras to cut as he exits the frame. Courtney critiques the performance as the step away but isn’t picked up well enough on the mic. Fade.)[/SUB]

The camera operator turns to his sound man, “He gave you the money right?”

“I thought he gave it to you.” The sound man responds.

The camera operator pulls the hat form his head and starts slapping the sound man over the back as he places the full force of the blame on him.


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
No Place Like Home, Part X (Mr. Perfect, Part II[No Country For Old Souls])

“Is this really what it has come to Court’?” Scott asks his lovely girlfriend/valet, Courtney Allen, as he shuts his laptop computer. “I mean really … cold open, talk, talk, talk … thought for thought rebuttal? Is this what professional wrestling has become?”

Courtney, perched on the far left of the couch attempting to watch television, replies; “Well, from what I’ve seen … pretty much.”

Scott leans forward and sets his laptop down on the coffee table.

“This is not what I want to be involved in. Do you know how many ‘spots’ I did in Texas?” Scott asks.

Knowing the answer; Courtney humors him, “How many?”

“Two. Two in six months Court’ … Two! Hell, in Mexico City I may have down three. Back in the states I thought I’d excel off sheer wrestling skill and my third last chance is against this oiled up jobber; who has cut at least twenty spots in the span of four … almost five shows.” Scott pauses for empathy from Courtney. Courtney’s blank stare tells the tale of no response.

“…And he hasn’t done anything! He claims he won ten grand and we ALL see this Curt Hennig mini-me run down the aisle with the brief case at the OPEN of every Chain Reaction! And don’t get me started on this …”

Scott conjures up his best Perfection imitation with a less than intelligent sounding twist and continues, “Curt? Hennig? Who is that? Who is Mr. Perfect?”

Scott reaches passed the laptop for his cigarettes and retrieves the lone ‘square’ from the pack. He holds it up to his lips to light it but his oral habits are broken by his own thought. He snatches the cigarette from his clinched lips to launch into another irritated diatribe.

“I can’t stand these oiled up, roided up, non-workers who populate this business today. They step in with ‘the look’ and a few hand fed moves; thinking they can dominate the business. No passion, no love, no heart! I mean who the hell in this business today DOESN’T know who the hell Curt mother****ing Hennig is? For **** sake: Hennig versus Hart? What self-respecting wrestler doesn’t know who Mr. god damn Perfect was?”

Scott raises the cigarette back to his lips again, only to snatch it away to continue on.

“…this business has gone to hell. It isn’t about skill, talent ... There is no love anymore. It’s these ignorant ass clowns like Jimmy Dean here ruining it. I never even attempted a shot at the big time for that SOLE REASON. I had no idea it had sunk down to what’s left of the territories as well.”

Courtney, coming to the realization she won’t be finishing her television program in peace, eggs Scott on. “Well, Scotty … I think that’s why you’re here. Bring back that old school vibe with a new school edge. You’re …”

Scott interrupts, “Your damn right … I don’t have Seti’s power. I don’t have Kerry’s expensive training, or Mateo’s … speech impediment. I certainly don’t have Mary Lynn’s tits or Jimmy Jam’s arrogance.”

Courtney interrupts, “Excuse me? What was that last one?”

“Jimmy Jam, I don’t have his pompous, unproven, astronomical illusions of grandeur. Jimmy Eat World. Jimmy Johns. James Dean … You know, are friend According to Jim.” Scott responds comically with a grin.

“No, the one before that smart ass.” Courtney snaps back.

Scott plays it up as if he now understands, “Ohh, Toe … or I mean, Erik Mateo. The retard; that talks like that comedian with the cut off sleeves and what not. Honestly I don’t know WHAT he is saying but it is CLASSIC comedy to say the least. I’m talking Pyor/Live, Eddie/Raw … I mean…”

Courtney, losing her patience, clarifies “No, between Mateo and The Adventures of Jimmy Neutron, asshole.”

“Oh damn, my mistake. Well, let me just start by saying yours are exponentially better and...” Scott responds quickly on the defensive playfully pretending to just now have caught on.

Courtney interrupts again, “Agreed… continue.”

Scott laughs, “I barely even noticed she had tits honestly. I actually believe whole heartedly that Jimmy Jazz should’ve stole that ten grand from YOU!”

“Alright, alright … if you were a Native American, you name would be ‘Dances Around Point’ … back to the issue at hand.” Courtney interjects.

Scott snaps to, “Yeah, that’s right. I have technical SKILL! And, need I say, the streets of Seattle taught a young Scott Douglas a thing or two!” He lifts the cigarette to his lips yet again.

“Don’t’ talk about yourself in third person babe. It makes you sound like Jim Beau Weather-vain. Very unattractive” Courtney interjected.

Snatching the cigarette from his lips yet again to retort, Scott agrees. “Noted. I don’t know if I really belong here anymore though, Court’. I came home to hang it up and get a regular gig… all this IWF stuff nearly fell into my lap. There is no country for old men … and I’m beginning to feel like there is no place here for old souls.”

Courtney is surprised by this talk from Scott and doesn’t respond right away. She contemplates her response tactically and attempts to come up with most appropriate, yet positive, remark possible. After considerable deliberation she responds, just as Scott finally lifts the lighter toward his face to ignite the long awaited cigarette. “Shut up!” Courtney laughs.

Scott drops the lighter and allows the cigarette to hang limp from his bottom lip and blankly stares at Courtney in amazement of her caviler response. A smirk slowly draws up across his bearded face and he remarks: “You right. **** ‘em all. Feed ‘em fish. This is my year! Twenty Twelve. The Sup Pop Era!”

Courtney’s face lights up with utter elation. She leans in toward Scott; seductively. The cigarette, dangling from his mouth, is finally ready for inhalation as Scott raises the lighter up once again. The flame flickers as it ascends towards Scott’s patient nicotine deliver system.

“Pop … pop … pop” states Courtney.

She snatches Scott’s cigarette and places it between her own lips and instantly lights it with her own lighter and smirks as she inhales the first thick drag.

Scott astounded but nearly amused barks, “That’s the last one …”

Courtney giggles and enjoys the only cigarette left between the pair.

“Can I at least get a short?” Scott asks.

Courtney leans forward and flicks her ashes in the green glass ash tray on the coffee table.

“I’ll wrestle ya’ for it.”

About FWrestling

FWrestling.com was founded in 1994 to promote a community of fantasy wrestling fans and leagues. Since then, we've hosted dozens of leagues and special events, and thousands of users. Come join and prove you're "Even Better Than The Real Thing."

Add Your League

If you want to help grow the community of fantasy wrestling creators, consider hosting your league here on FW. You gain access to message boards, Discord, your own web space and the ability to post pages here on FW. To discuss, message "Chad" here on FW Central.

What Is FW?

Take a look at some old articles that are still relevant regarding what fantasy wrestling is and where it came from.
  • Link: "What is FW?"
  • Top