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Long Live THE KING
Mar 16, 2004
"I've listened to you, Adler... I've heard you go on for weeks about what you've done, dropping names from Hornet to Evan Aho... brag about all six hundred of your World Championship wins - or however many - and, b#tch about what you deserve. Who you are. And, what you've done in this business..."

"...and, I'm tired of it..."

fade- in:

[small]The scene opened up, focused in on a bible & cross on what appears to be the slightly tanned left arm of a caucasion male. In fact, it was. As he snapped his neck towards the direction of the camera, several drops of perspiration mixed with spring water flung onto the lense, which in essense made it that much more unbearable to view. But, you - the viewer - were just like nearly three billion of the six billion people that resided on the planet earth. You were an 'XXXstasy' fan. And, no matter how unbearable it was to watch... no matter how bad a reception your television got... you weren't going anywhere. Because unlike the majority in the CSWA... when Sean got in front of the camera... he usually had SOMETHING to say.[/small]

"So do us all a favor, Adler... shut up for two seconds - if it's possible. Before you go clucking for a cameraman, like a chicken with it's head cut, putting together another one of your five minute, poorly put together promos, filled with even more self-promotion... Listen. Learn. And, more importantly... read my lips."

"I don't give a f#ck."

[small]He was dressed in a pair of blue, denim 'fisherman' pants, with one medium sized hook on the right side of his leg, and several little zippers around the knee, thigh, crotch, and posterier... a black wife beater... and, matching black tenns shoes. His hairstyle consisted of his usual, top gun-ish, military- boy buzz cut, complete with perfectly shaped up sideburns, that came nearly inches from connecting to his small beard underneath his chin. Over his left shoulder... was the CSWA: Presidential Championship. He glanced at it, before focusing back in on the camera.[/small]

"Because like you said... none of it has anything to do with me. Not your regrets. Not your blatant waste of an excuse. Not your reasoning for taking this match. You see, Adler... the only thing that matters to me is seeing to it that next week, when my next opponent is lined up, and I'm staring at this same camera, talking to these same fans, and whoever the poor unfortunate soul may be... I can look over on my left- or- right shoulder, or glance down at my waste... and, see what I see right now."

"And, I don't care what needs to be done, Adler... I'll do it. I'm not some transitional champion, and I mean what I've said in the past and stick to it, one hundred and ten percent... *I* am the best this business has to offer. Better than Hornet. Better than Windham - Troy or Mark - you take your pick. You say in your career... you've done pretty much what you wanted to do? Well... that stops today. Because I'm not the average Tom Adler opponent. I'm not impressed by your accomplishment listings, your tough talk, or who you've beaten in the past. You are not taking my title home. And, you most certainly aren't reclaiming your spot at my expense."

"I'm too good for that, Adler. And, I've got too much pride to allow myself to become somebody's statistic in the grand scheme of things."

[small]He paused for a moment. ...smirking, as if he knew something the rest of the world didn't. He gathered his words, and returned his attention to the public.[/small]

"So I hope you come prepared, Adler. And, I hope you know that if you come thinking your reputation, senseless drivel, or who you used to be will effect my performance... you'll leave the arena a battered, bruised, and angry old man. Because you'll realize, Tom... that I'm not just some member of a 'new era'... I just hope you're able to accept it..."

"...and, live with it..."

fade- to- black


Anniversary 2k1. Backstage. Directly after the number one contender battle royal.

"What was that all about?"

Sean Stevens and Ivy McGinnis had a history... one that most of the CSWA knew nothing about. As he and Ivy walked up the aisle and through the curtain, together... still confused... he figured that there was no time like the present. And, didn't feel like beating around the bush.

"Ivy... what was THAT all about?"

"Sean... we need to talk. In private..."


League Member
Apr 16, 2004
Heard It Before

Fade in to Adler sitting on a work-out bench, looking at his watch...

Adler: (mumbling under his breath) One thousand one... one thousand two... one thousand... (looking up) Ok, that's enough.

You know, Sean, after about thirty seconds of that little disertation, it occured to me that you really don't know jack sh<bleep> about me. Because listening to you is a lot like listening to Terry McCauliff at a Democratic Fund-Raiser. Yeah, it's elloquent. Yeah, it's inspired. But, when ya take two seconds to disect it, you realize it's the same clap trap BS that every speaker before him has rambled on about.

You wanna come out here, like everybody else... talk about me trying to get over on somebody through something I've done before. Well, take a look around, Sean. Because hacks like you are the only ones talking about it, not me.

No, Sean, I didn't want this match because I thought you were some little priss that would get all weak in the knees every time I mutter the phrase Eleven Time World Champion. That may be a bill of goods Ivy or the rest of the rat pack have sold you. But, you haven't heard it once from me.

But, since you brought the topic up, let me tell you what you CAN take from my past. You can take damn near every so called smart in this industry telling me that my last win was gonna be just that... my last. That I couldn't beat this guy... or that guy was gonna beat me for one title or another.

So, if you think you're gonna come out here and make some points by telling me that my past doesn't intimidate you, save your time. Because last I checked, the only people who get intimidated by legacies around here are the promotors who won't let somebody in the door because of it.

No, Sean, I don't expect you to roll over. If I thought you were gonna lie down and buckle simply because you were wrestling Tom Adler, I woulda knocked on Shane Southern's door instead. Because while I don't think he has any better shot of beating me than you do, at least I know he'd do his damnedest to do it.

I'm not out here to make you look good. And I'm not out here to waste my time. So, do us both a favor and bag the "I'm Not Impressed" speech for your next match with Hornet, Troy or Mark. Because it's not getting you anywhere with me because I've heard it too many times from too many people already... including you. Because, by my count, this is about the thirt time you've used it with me. And, it hasn't quite worked for ya yet, has it?

Third time's a charm? Maybe. But, if all you've got is what you're showing me now... I doubt it.

Fade Out

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