“What was once before you, an exciting future, is now behind you. Lived, understood, disappointing. You realize you are not special. You have struggled into existence and are now slipping silently outward. This is everyone’s experience. The specifics hardly matter. As the people who adore you stop adoring you, as they die, as they move on, as you shed them, as you shed your youth and beauty, let the world forget you. As you learn there is no one watching, and there never was.” -Synecdoche, New York
Its early Thursday morning in the backyard of Thomas Murray’s suburban home. His twenty-four year-old son Jason is once again testing the ropes of a crudely constructed wrestling ring. Just ten yards to the left rests an above ground pool, the water discolored and host to local inhabitants that have taken up residence over the winter. It was only sixteen months ago Thomas came home to find his son toppling over the top of a turnbuckle and somersaulting into the poor man’s summer relief.
He never understood the backyard wrestling quest although Thomas privately regretting not taking more risks as a youth. He settled for the first good job that came his way and raised a family. He’d live his life and die without a footprint beyond his son and an accidental fire which burned down his local church. The latter has been forgiven, sure, but what’s worse, forgotten. So, when his son, directionless for the better part of his youth chose a passion, Thomas Murray stood in the shadows.
He babied Jason too much. He was a pushover and he knew it. But it was just the two of them. He let the Internet and TV raise his son when he couldn’t. That Jason didn’t understand the value or rewards of hard work wasn’t a secret, but it was his quest for fame, his sense of entitlement that he be given great things that alarmed Thomas.
It’s simple really.
Jason wanted any life but the one his father was able to provide. Thomas made his peace with his assumption. In fairness, he wanted out too.
He was raised by reality-tv. Every moment is captured. Thomas used to send in family videos to American’s Funniest Home Videos. All they got back was a cover letter thanking them for being fans and for their submission. Mr. Murray wanted the world to know he loved his son; he wanted the world to understand they were okay. They had each other. They’d appreciate the humor and irony in their lives if the rest of humanity at large, didn’t.
But Jason was always a star.
It’s just the work he refused to put in.
But the backyard wrestling was different. He’d never seen his son react with such passion and joy. Even while his applications to Amazing Race, Big Brother, and Survivor went unnoticed his work in their backyard never did.
He nearly broke his friend Chuck’s head with a piledriver, but it was a lesson learned. The Harrises threatened to sue Thomas, and Chuck and his family were the stars of a local TV fluff piece about the evils of backyard rasslin’. Even Chuck had his moment, via Jason. Sure he was happy the piss ant was walking again, but Jason would’ve killed to have the local exposure.
A year ago she moved into the neighborhood. Nineteen years old and cut out of a dream Jason had once. She was just over five feet tall. Light as a feather. She wore black leather boots rain or shine, and mini-skirts that raked Jason’s imagination like burning coals. Bronte Lakes was named after the Gothic spinster and author of Wuthering Heights. She looked more like Isabeth Slander than a legendary English novelist, but Bronte’s true hero was someone closer to Jason’s heart.
Bronte had seen the wrestling ring from her bedroom window. She stood on the roof of her house and watched as Jason and his friends beat the hell out of each other, miraculously no one dying. After weeks, she finally found the courage to approach them. Her ascent wasn’t unwanted. Jason noticed her watching. He laid at wake at nights thinking of new ways to impress his fan.
Over the turnbuckle, 360, into the pool….
She stood silently and watched for a half hour.
He took a spot over the top rope and fell at her feet. He had a line ready, but before Jason could utter a sound Bronte took his hand and they walked without a word into his house.
They bonded over music, and their shared love of professional wrestling. Bronte weaned him off reality tv and put books in his hands.
The worst of her story has yet to be told. But, she grew up idolizing the Psycho ***** and the woman behind her. She loved how Ivy stood her ground, was educated, passionate, and entirely different from the other women in the business at the time, women who resembled the girls that teased her mercilessly growing up.
The perfect tens.
The high school cheerleaders.
The ones she could never measure up to in any circumstance. But Ivy made it seem ok. She was better than the sluts and prom queens. She was real.
Bronte wrote to Ivy years ago as a kid. She’d just been to an fWo show. She’d seen Ivy up close and personal. She couldn’t sleep for two nights so she wrote a frantic fan letter than turned into a therapy session. She detailed her life, her upbringing, the constant bullying. Bronte read it over and cried. Ivy didn’t want to hear that, did she? The letter was sent anyway. It’d probably just get lost in the mail with the other pathetic voices calling for help.
Two weeks later, Ivy responded.
She has the framed response.
“Poison Ivy” McGinnis told her everything would be gold in the end. The horrors of her youth would give-way to greater things.
Miss Lakes set her goals on becoming just like her idol. She and Jason enrolled in wrestling school. Murray was against it at first, he wanted to maintain the creative control his backyard youtube videos gave him, but if Chuck’s parents hadn’t dropped the lawsuit, Thomas would have lost everything. His dad was too good to him. He owed the old man a professional career path.
A year later, and some local shows under their belt, they stand together in the ring, the irony of facing Ivy’s husband “Triple X” Sean Stevens not lost between them. The ULTRATITLE committee accepted their submission into the tournament. Someone finally said “yes.” That Jason was given a pre-tournament favorite in the first round wasn’t a surprise. But, miracles happen. It’s his time now. He has the big stage. And even in defeat, chances are, Bronte would meet her heroine face to face.
Murray bounces off the ropes, jumps, and rolls across the mat. He leaps about five feet in the air and dropkicks a Ghost.
“Cleaner,” Lakes yells.
“I’ve been out here for an hour!”
“and?” Bronte texts someone on her smart phone furiously, “you’re facing Sean Stevens. One of the greats in the business. He’s done everything!”
“I know who he is, Bron.”
“If you look like an amateur in the ring, he’ll embarrass you in front of millions!” Bronte walked to him and brushed his sweaty hair back from his face. “I want my baby to look the best he can for this. We may not get another shot!”
“Can you imagine if I win?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence babe.”
“I don’t want Ivy to think I’m managing…”
“..some idiot who taught himself in his dad’s backyard?”
“I didn’t say idiot.”
“The reality is we probably aren’t winning this, Jason. But, we have to leave our soul in that ring. Leaving with a contract from some company is a realistic end game.”
“I’m still sold on winning.”
“Jason, its Triple X! Former EPW World Champion!”
“What am I? Chopped liver?!”
Bronte suppresses a laugh. “YES!”
“He hasn’t seen me. I—we’ve—studied hours of video tape on Stevens. Bron, I can win this. I will win this.”
She signs and flashes a crooked smile. He was a dreamer. Dreamers make great lovers. But he hasn’t worked hard enough, not as hard as she’d like, but he’s trying. He’s a diamond in the rough, and so is she.
“Then let’s get back to work!”
Bronte holds out her smart phone. “They’re ready. Recording. In 3, 2, 1…”
(FADEIN: Jason Murray stands in the middle of an outdoor wrestling ring, wearing black sweat pants, and a sleeveless ‘Muppets Take Manhattan’ T-shirt.)
JASON MURRAY: “What are we Triple X, but the sum of our fears?
You want another page for your biography, I want fame.
I’m the child your generation raised.
I’ve watched your story playout.
You’ve had a hall of fame career, Sean.
But what does that mean to me?
When we die, the world goes on without us.
This business will too.
Sean, your new reality awaits. You’re not the man you once were.
The story unfolding between us will be dominated by my POV.
I was meant to entertain.
If we bleed Sean is it real? I’ve seen my life in a dream played out in a second universe. I go on to accomplish great things. I set the new high score, Stevens. This is where you story softens where the shades of grey you live in, wash dissolve and turn into youtube highlights and nostalgia to be rediscovered years later.
Isn’t that nice, Sean? You’ll be played out on new media longer than ‘I Dream of Jeannie’ reruns and the ‘Ben Stiller show.’ I know I’ll be a star. I knew when I first read books and found them to be such a bore. Life doesn’t amaze me enough. Some of us are chosen to lessen the blade of time for the great mistakes.
What does any of this mean?
One day we’ll have an ULTRATITLE winner and the next we’ll be losing our hair and afraid.
I’m not supposed to win, but your story is played.
When stars burnout, new ones are made.
This is life Sean.
I’m the leader of Generation Bored.
Here we are now, entertain us…I’d love to be the clothes that wear Frances Bean. I wanna be her mistake.
Norma Desmond is calling, Stevens. I’m sending you to the junkyard with the other classic clichés.”
“Not bad, Jason.”
“I thought it might have been a little over the top…”
“Non-sense,” Bronte put her arms around him. “‘They are afraid of nothing,’ she quoted, ‘Together they would brave Satan and all his legions.’”
FADE: The scene opened up in an empty theater. No wait, let’s set the mood better, and make it a bit more … dramatic for you dramatics out there. The scene opened up in a dark and empty theater. Professional wrestling superstar, Sean “Triple X” Stevens sat in the middle row, feet propped up, occasionally dipping his hand in his bag and feasting on popcorn. But, not just any popcorn, The People’s pop— no wait, that was corny, unimaginative, and unoriginal. It was regular people popcorn... No bullshit.
“Believeit or not, I was once like you, Jason.”
The camera zoomed in on the gigantic 95x72 3-D IMAX cinema screen, where a still image of a much younger Sean “Triple X” Stevens, sitting in a crowd, staring at a ring with an XWL banner was displayed. The younger Trip didn’t have the facial hair, the assortment of injuries, or the chip on his shoulder from being overlooked. There was something pure about him, a youthful exuberance, and excitement that one can never get back once his cherry gets popped.
TRIPLE X: I believed that the world was mine; I believed that the generation before me had it all wrong, and that I brought something new to the table that the next man didn’t, and would not, not to mention could not be stopped. You know what happened next?”
The Blue-Eyed Badass raised a remote, and pressed play.
…as the younger Triple X, sitting in the audience, hopped the guardrail, and entered the ring, only to get jumped, and held down by the wrestlers in the ring, while security handcuffed him, escorted him out of the building, and arrested him.
Pause. Fast Forward.
A slightly older, still young, still wet behind the ears XXXstasy, in the ring for the first time with the man that would go on to be his mentor, one of his best friends, and family, Eli Flair. Sean lost that match … badly. As well as the next seven against Flair, as the video edit on the screen would show.
Finally, the in-ring action stopped, and what was left was another still image, this time of Stevens sitting at a table, at some random diner, attached to some random hotel, dejected, humbled and defeated. Everything that he thought he knew was wrong.
TRIPLE X: Wait, stop the footage….”
A loud scratch, signifying the abrupt stoppage of the playback echoed throughout the theater.
When the camera came back on, you – the viewer were no longer forced to stare at a screen inside of your screen, designed to evoke certain emotions out of you. The camera focused in on Sean Stevens, no more lights, no more frills, no more smoke, no more mirrors. Still in his same seat, except now, he sat up, glaring a hole into the camera, which usually meant he meant business.
TRIPLE X: I’m not playing this game with you, Jason. I write the rules, your job is to just sit there and enjoy the experience. This tournament is not a game for me; this isn’t about just being here.
“You believe that this is just another notch on my belt, because in your mind, I’ve already arrived. You couldn’t be more wrong. I’ve arrived to you because you’re average, and average people have average goals, and average definitions of what success is. But, to the standard of excellence that I compare myself to, I haven’t come close to being The Man, and I won’t until I win something of this magnitude.
“Winning the ULTRATITLE validates my entire existence. I need this like I’ve never needed anything else in my life, and if you think for one single, solitary second that I’m going to allow you to ruin this for me, just because you can, just because you want to, or just because you feel like starting up another revolution, then you, sir, need to be tested for drugs, because you are HIGH.
“I need to be mentioned in the same breath as the Hornets, the Dan Ryan’s, the Joey Melton’s, Eli Flair’s, and the Troy Windham’s, as much as you need my name to take that next step in your journey. And, I’m not stupid; I know that on any given day, anything can happen, but the difference between you and me? On this day, in this tournament, you’re here for the fancy catered food and free luxury hotel accommodations … but, me? I’m desperate. You’re just here because it’d be trippy to win a few matches, take a few pictures, meet your idols, and for once in your life, be able to say, you’ve stomped with the big dogs.
“And, to that I say FUCK you.
“Fuck your youth. Fuck your ambition. Fuck your backstory. Fuck who inspires you. And, fuck your daddy for not double bagging the condom that ripped, the night he fucked your eventual mom.
“You think all of the compliments that I received on those radio shows faze me? Not in the least. That was designed to get me comfortable, and throw me off my game, because each of those individuals know that I’m a real live THREAT. You’re like that March Madness 16[SUP]th[/SUP] seed, and I’m mighty Duke. I’m hated because I’m brash, because I’ve been coached well, and because my name is synonymous with success. Only difference? Duke…? They’re satisfied with their place in history, I’m not.
“I need this like I need air.
“And, I’m going to beat your ass, Jason. And, I don’t need a bunch of fancy lighting, editing tricks, or voice overs to do it. You want fame at my expense? You want my name? My legacy? Well, you’ve got your opportunity, on the grandest stage of them ALL. But, believe me when I tell you, it ain’t easy. You think I’m washed up? A fraction of who I was? You’re a fool. But, you put it out there to the universe, and now you've gotta deliver, as the world gets to watch you attempt to turn your foolishness into fact.
She stood a foot from the bathroom mirror, legs crossed and pinned her wet, raven colored hair up. Bronte refused to look at her reflection. She tried to never get such an honest appraisal. Everybody sees what they want anyway. They all look at her and come up with something different. Looking at her body beyond what’s necessary, well, it just doesn’t invite good will. She looked for a fleeting second as she left the bathroom and headed to the rest of room 227 at the Hilton. The tattoos on her left arm and over her stomach where supposed to mean something when she had the ink done as a 16 year-old, but do they reflect who she is now?
That’s the trouble with permanent snapshots of your life. The baggage stays whether you celebrate the freedom of the moment or not.
Bronte’s reflection left the room with her. She approached Jason bare but for a pair of black panties. Lakes never thought of herself as sexy. She wanted to be smart. Capable. Dependable. It didn’t matter if anyone thought she was pretty, or went home with strangers in their dreams. But she liked the way Jason looked at her. He was taken with Bronte’s appearance. They shared a mind and were both from broken homes and family histories of a deep, cold reaching nothingness. When he touched her, and how Jason looked at her said more than body art ever could.
“Have you told him we’re living in sin yet?”
Bronte threw on a white t-shirt and gave a half-smile in reaction to Jason’s disapproval.
“I’m twenty-four, not really worried what my dad thinks about my…”
Bronte raised an eyebrow, “Your what? Living situation? Sex life?”
“I’m sure he had countless meaningless causal encounters as a kid, too,” said Jason, as he winked at his girlfriend.
“You suck!” Bronte threatened to attack.
“Kidding. Bron,” countered Murray, as he sat up on the bed. “I’ve proposed countless times. I want to be with—“
She cut him off with a wave. “We’re too young to get married Jason,” she paused, “Too smart for it to boot.”
“Then what you mad about?”
“I’m not mad about anything. I just feel like things are changing too fast. I liked, really liked my life with you before. Now look at us. We’re in a Hilton hotel, going into debt and…”
“Out of your comfort zone…I know.”
“What if we lose each other?” she asked. Truth be told she had nothing before Jason. “We haven’t even given much thought to how the business will change us. What if you do get a contract Jason? You’re goin’ be on the road almost three hundred days a year…”
“Then we’ll be on the road together,” he stated. Jason stood and towered over her. “We’re a package deal.”
“I don’t think we’re in a spot to dictate our terms of employment. I’m serious, hon. I just can’t shake the feeling we’re celebrating our last days together here,” Bronte said. She turned her back to him then slowly whirled around. “And, I don’t know, ****ing the second we walked into the room…I probably should have said no.”
“Bronte our lives are gonna change whether we stay in Kentucky or move to Paris.”
“We could never move to France, hon.”
“I meant Paris, Tennessee.” The scary part is such a place exists. “I get what you’re saying. But what do you think we’ve been working towards the last year?”
“Where I go, you go. If we can’t have that in this business,” said Jason as he held his breath. “I’ll find something else.”
“No you won’t.”
“This is what you were meant to do. I just…” she buried her head in her hands for a second. “i’m ****ing hormonal give me a break.”
“I’ve noticed. Come here,” He reached out to her, pulling her small frame into his. She disappeared in his arms. It’s why she felt safe. “I want to spend my life with you. This will be the start of something big. But it’d mean nothing if you weren’t here.”
“I’m here.” Bronte kissed him. “Always.”
He stared in her eyes then slyly moved his hands across her ass. She quickly took a step back.
“In your dreams,” said Lakes, pushing him in the chest. “You’ve got another promo to do.”
“Sex,” said Jason as he weighed options on two hands, “or hype my eventual destruction at the hands of Sean Stevens. Tough choice.”
“I’m serious! You work for a company now. They need this in by tonight.”
“So do I” he cried.
“Sorry. I’m not really in a state of mind to get into character right now, you understand that right?”
She understood. And didn’t regret for a second how their day at the Hilton played out. Bronte thought for a second before adding, “Hold tight.”
(FADEIN: Hotel balcony. Close-up on Bronte Lakes. Red mini-skirt, black leather boots, and a white t-shirt with Ronnie Van Zant’s silhouette on the front. )
BRONTE LAKES: Sean Stevens spare us your words of wisdom. That you’ve seen it all before. I’m not interested in the ‘what life was like for you as a kid’ spiel. Yeah, yeah you wanted a revolution, you were a smart mouthed punk who had to be taught a less because you wanted to be king out the gate. Congratulations I care even less about your backstory now than I did two weeks ago.
We’re nothing alike.
If you think we give a rat’s ass about the lessons you’ve learned, think again. We’ve seen the generation(s) before us **** up our lives, and their own from the day we were born. Every kid learns at his or her own pace, and Jason and I have had to be pretty quick studies to get out of the hellhole God put us in. We’re only given what we can handle, right Trip?
Well, if you’re a believer and I’m not sayin’ whether we is or ain’t, then you’d be inclined to think you’re nothing we can’t overcome to boot.
You were great once Sean. But you were also a kid once, and a virgin, and a man who’d never been a father. Life tends to break you down and offer something new around every corner. Here we are, and we’re gonna offer this lesson on a silver platter. One day you wake up, and while your tights may say “Triple X” you’re just gonna be a shadow of the wrestler you once were. The ULTRATITLE is that day.
Maybe you’ll be the blue-eyed bad ass again, but it only takes three seconds for me to become a prophet. The world was once at your fingertips, but Father Time always has the upper hand.
Three seconds, old man. You’ve been away from the game. Rusty? One mistake Stevens and we’ve added another zero to our bank account.
The difference between the two of us is, be as hungry as you like for your legacy Sean, but Jason and I ****ing need this money.
(CUTTO: Jason Murray standing over the railing of the balcony.)
JASON MURRAY: Winning is your dream Sean? You’ve spent your life building a resume to get in this tournament, to get a favorable seeding .What does it say about your dream that they let me in via a video submission and a 2,000 word essay?
It says you missed your chance to make a mark. You’re on the backend of opportunity to mark items off your bucket list in this business, Trip. 2,000 words and a youtube following caught me up on your playing field.
I don’t idolize you. Your problem is you’ve put other men on a pedestal. You want to be Troy Windham, Dan Ryan, or Nova. You want what they’ve got. I’d wager they never wanted to be anyone but themselves.
You’re the one with major experience.
You’re the superstar between us.
But you bleed just like me.
And you’re prone to sloppy mistakes in the ring. Make one against me, though I’m wet behind the ears, I’ll drop your ass for three seconds…at the least.
I shouldn’t win this match.
Maybe expecting miracles would be too much to ask.
But I promise you at some point in this match, as you’re sucking wind bad, you’ll wonder why the hell you came back, and you’ll think about how much easier your life was when you were going to ****ing Chuck E. Cheese every Wednesday night and not getting a leg dropped on your head from twenty feet above.
I might be young, but every revolution started with a movement. And movements happen fast and come out of nowhere.
“I was only supposed to say F your generation. Not only did I completely forget that part, I went on an entire F bomb tirade.” Sean Stevens playfully slapped his forehead, as he positioned the cushion on his less than comfy couch.
Poison Ivy smiled, gently, in that way that she always smiled, when her husband began to overreact. It was the only way she could calm him. “It’s done now, Sean. Plus, it was a good, effective promo. You laid all your cards on the table. If you wanted everyone to know why you returned, and why you signed on to wrestle in the ULTRATITLE tournament, you got your message across,” she said, as she continued reading jotting down things in her journal, as she thought of them.
Ivy’s lifted an eyebrow, positioning her glasses on her face. “Hmmmm?”
“Laying it all on the line – I mean. I kind of put myself out there to be crucified. I’m sort of dangling from the cross now.”
Ivy giggled, “Dramatic are we?”
“I mean, why exactly am I back? At first, I had a clear reason. I didn’t want my kid looking at the last four years of my career, and seeing me like that. As that person. So, the plan was to come back and do a role reversal. Be a nice guy. A dad he could be proud of. A role model for the fans. But, that’s not me.”
“Not even close,” his wife interrupted, still looking down at her notes.
“Exactly… I’m an asshole. A jerk. A charming jerk, but a jerk nonetheless-- wait, what!?”
“I’m agreeing with you, Sean,” Ivy began. “You can't drench crap with syrup, and expect it to taste like pancakes. And, I'm not calling you crap. What I mean is, you can filter your language, actually acknowledge Shannon, and I… doesn’t make you any less of the blue-eyed badass. Remember when we first started exploring our feelings for each other, and decided to really take it to the next level?”
“—every detail, like it was yesterday,” Trip cut her off.
“—there was one day, where I even remember telling you that I liked you better when you were Sean and not Triple X. I was talking about as my boyfriend… not as a wrestler. Wrestling doesn’t need Sean Stevens, I did… Shannon does… when you’re in that ring, you have to be every bit of who you've been… despite what you think Shannon and I want to see. We’d rather you be the loud mouth, arrogant, misogynist, adulterer for them and come home to us at night, than be the great husband that you are at home, the great dad that taught his son how to ride a bike with no training wheels at the age of four, and go out there and get yourself severely hurt.”
“Interesting,” was all Trip responded with, as he ran his fingers through his hair.
“But, don’t worry about that right now… the great thing about not cutting the promo that we wanted to cut our first go 'round, there’s always time to cut another.”
Poison Ivy glanced over at Stevens’ video camera in the corner of their home, positioned on its tripod, there specifically for moments like these. Triple X laughed, as usual, Poison Ivy was not only right, but she had a solution.
“You're on in five, kiddo.”
“FUCK your generation, Jason.”
You could see every inch of detail on the new tattoo on his right wrist, as Professional Wrestling superstar, “Triple X” Sean Stevens leaned over the balcony of his condo – it was a cross, attached to rosary beads, and a scroll. But, that had nothing to do with nothing. In fact, forget that it was even mentioned.
TRIPLE X: You’re here because you need money? …MONEY? That’s it. Not for the love, not to learn, not to be a better wrestler, and to perfect your craft, through experience, but money? And, you have the audacity to say that to ME of all people!? Listen to me, and listen to me carefully, Jason. You’ve had your fun; you made it to the big dance, a dance that you didn’t even have to work hard to enter, and you’ve even somehow rationalized that to mean that you’re going to beat people that live, breathe, and will DIE for this sport. Wonderful. Sounds nice, hopefully you can get a t-shirt deal out of the gig, but it ends now.
“I’m the veteran, I’m the guy with the experience, I’m the man that’s been here before, yet you barely paid attention to any of that, instead opting to skim my promo for material, grasping at straws for fodder, ultimately confusing yourself, the few people that believed you had a shot at winning this match, and succeeding in making yourself look stupid. You took a shortcut, it backfired, and now you’re on an island alone, where at any given moment, you’re going to come face to face with the big, bad, hungry wolf. But, this isn’t a fairy-tail, Jason. There are no happy endings for you.
“And, your belief system and mentality could easily get you killed. Experience doesn’t mean that I’m old; it means that I’m smart enough to capitalize on your ignorance to my advantage and eat you alive.
“Don’t give me that crap about anybody being able to get pinned at any time. Look around you. Look where you are… There’s a reason why I’m favored to win this thing, and it’s not because I’m handsome. It’s because I'm KING. It’s because I run shit around here. It’s because this is my HOME. You ? You don’t even live here. You’re just a part time competitor in need of a get rich quick scheme.”
Sean spoke with the aggression, charisma, and believability of Mr. "King Kong ain't got **** on me" himself, Denzel Washington in Training Day.
TRIPLE X: I’m the 2009, 2010 Wrestler of the Year, and I left on top, not because I got old, or because I couldn’t do it anymore, but because I wanted to. You know why I came back? Not because I missed the limelight, or needed a payday, but because I honestly, genuinely love this sport, and because I wanted to.
“Get where I’m going with this, Jason?
“You keep trying to convince me that you’re going to do great things, and while I’m doing my very best to try and believe you, and take you seriously, I just can’t, because everything that you’re hoping is going to happen, I’ve never experienced. And, because, well ... everything about you screams bad joke. See, I don’t lose big matches. I don’t choke. I don’t make excuses, and I don’t get outperformed. I don’t fail, I don’t show compassion, and I don’t let rookies pull the wool over my eyes.
“Want me to tell you what I do, Jason? I win. And, I win a lot. It makes people mad, sad, want to commit suicide, and label me a politician who sandbags his competition, but it never changes the outcome. We're here to win, win big, prove that we're the best at what we do, and, I never disappoint because I’m the absolute best. And, while it’s been cool entertaining the idea of a March Madness-esque upset, you’re not beating me, Jason. You’re not even competing with me. I'm going to dispose of you quickly, and there's really nothing you can do about it, but show up, stand there, and take it.
“I’m sure that you’re a good kid, and that there’s somebody out there that loves you. Great. You’re going to need them… for moral support… for mental support… to lift you up emotionally… and, well… to give you a roof to sleep under, because you’re leaving ULTRATITLE as broke as you were when you came.
“What you're going to learn is, I am NOT here to be your friend. I am not here to understand your circumstances, or applaud your determination to change your social class. You are an obstacle, preventing me from finally reaching my dreams, and I wouldn’t be half the wrestler I always believed in my heart that I was if I didn’t move you. And, I will. It will be swift, it will be clear, and there will be no room for debate.
“I hope that hitchhike home is pleasant. Because after our match, your services will no longer be needed in our community of real wrestlers, who respect this sport. Because until you change the way that you are, you'll never be anything in this industry, and disappointing ride homes will become the norm.”
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