[Bradley International Airport, Connecticut]

[Some people can travel cross country and not miss a beat. Me, however, have to come to a few days early to get my bearings straight from crossing so many time zones. So here I am, in Terminal A looking at some soggy submarine and wondering if this place is the top of the line, why am I in Connecticut? Boston, New York, Chicago, and LA are the big markets. DC, Philly, Baltimore, Miami, Houston, Phoenix, St. Louis are all acceptable places. Hartford? This place is so bad they couldn't even keep a hockey team. I'm already here so I better set up my tripod and do this damn camera.]

[I proceed to finish off what's left of the soggy sub. A quick curse. The dressing proceeds to drip from the sandwich on to my long sleeved white shirt. I damn the Italians once more for their dressing. I pick up a napkin and dab at the inevitable stain. Realizing the futility of my actions. I get up and pick up a red duffel bag. Inside is a portable camera and a tripod to hold it up. I set it up to get my left side of my face. Its my good side. Let's face it. I don't have a bad side. I search the bag for the remote. And lights, camera, me.]

I am not going to tell you I'm way more talented then you. I'm not going to say I'm here to dominate and bring this place to a new level. That would be cliche and damn boring. I'm here because I got a call from a friend. That's it. No vengeful mission, no ulterior motive. Some of you have wrestled me. Some of you heard of me. The others who haven't a clue who I am probably never was at the same level as me. That's all fine and dandy. If you don't know to prepare against me, I've already won. I am what I am and most often then not that is better then you. Then again I am generally superior to people. Outkasts, Canadian Alliance whatever you call yourself its mainly directed toward your direction. I mean your group is filled with girls that do a double take when I walk by. Even that Gia chick double clutches her heart when I walk by. Don't worry its not a heart attack its animal instinct. I'm not saying I'm the greatest thing since Pop Tarts but, I'm pretty damn close.

[I'm overtly confident. Its not ego when its true. So what, I'm great. I'm from California. And I'm not a stuck up Charm.]

[I put my hand on my chin and rotate my face. Each side needs equal time. I look down. Rub my eyes. Smile and look at the camera again.]

They say I'm a rookie. I've beaten the World Champion. Though, I have no ill will towards her. They have nothing to say about me. They insinuate gay jokes. I'm shocked. They're not worried about me. They don't even know me. Somehow that computes in their tiny little minds into he can't be any good. They have seen me help out my friends. That must mean I'm a cheap shot artist. Their common sense must be hidden deep inside. I'm not a guy who likes to get worked up about things. My life is pretty simple. I train, wrestle and win. Repeat, if necessary. I can even simplify that even more. I break arms. If you enjoy being a switch hitter, like I'm sure these two boys do with their lack of charisma, charm, or wit. Maybe, rethinking you're whole strategy of showing up would help. I'm not Silverback and need an existential reason why I do what I do. My home life is similar. I see a cute girl, I seduce, and never call them after wards. Simplicity keeps me content. If you over complicate, you over think. That's why Canada's Finest will have a decision. Broken arm or tap out? Its a tough one so strap on your thinking caps, put them on full power and I'm sure everyone who shows up in Hartford will find out which one it is.

[The Outkasts don't know me. They don't know what I've done. They just know when my friends ask for help I'm there. Or interpret my actions in the worst way. They overreact. Like they bankroll Days of Our Lives writers for scripts.]

[My smile fades away. Growing weary of this place. A quick look at my watch. And one final thing to say.]

Attict, when you let your orangish brown spray on tan fade or actually record a victory over me, I'll give a shit to what you have to say.

[Attict is like most people. He's too caught up in what his perception of his life is rather then taking a cold hard look at the truth. The truth is he's fat, has a bad tan and rides his past accomplishments to the death.]

[I get up. Smash the stop on the remote. And go. The hotel sent a van ride to pick me up.]

[Shade to Grey]