An agless tale of the Veteran vs. the Rookie champion
<Note: Zell Hunter appears courtsey of his handler.>
(We fade into the gym portion of the home of the Reaver in Cameron North Carolina. The former GXW Television champion is working hard on the heavy bag while one of his former students of his wrestling school holds the bag steady for him)
Reaver: You know something, Zell? I'm must have finally said something to get through the heads of Zieba and Dupree in order for them to give me my rematch for the GXW Television title finally...
Zell: Yeah, but that doesn't change something in the form of the fact that it might be a set up by Brown and his boyos. I mean they did again and again keep you from winning the SCW TV Title didn't they?
Reaver: Feh, screw the past-this is Global Xtreme Wrestling and I intend to retake what's mine and that being the GXW TV title, but not before I give the kid a proper introduction into the fed.
Zell: Marc, Waltz has won against some of the top talent here lately. I mean he beat that "Truth" character and Boogie Smallz, the least you can say is that he's got some talent.
(The Reaver merely grunts as he quickly takes a half jump back and then savagly hits a superkick at the heavy bag, sending it hard into the chest of Zell)
Zell: Yerg! Marcus, I have issues with these things too but I also like my chest as does Trynyty.
Reaver: I know, I'm just thinking about the match. I want to show the kid that I honestly respect him and his talent even though his choice in management is kind of screwy. I mean for the love of pete, Reno had a thing for Gail and look who she slept with. If Anderson decides that he wants to show his face on the ring apron or grab my feet or do anything, I'll show him what I think of him doing it with Gail Martin means to me and that really doesn't impress me one bit.
Zell: Yeah, but you gotta wonder what was going through Martin's head when she said yes to sleeping with the self proclaimed "Idol"...
(Both men stop and shudder at the same thought)
Reaver: Zell, don't you ever make me think that again.
Zell: No problems there, chief...
Reaver: Anyways, I think that at Onslaught I need to show not only Stephen Waltz but also the fans of GXW what a real submission match is. I mean the kid is a trained football player while I spent most of my time learning how to wrestle on the college level. He's the rookie while I'm the veteran...but in the end none of that ##### really matters because in my eyes-he's no Rocko Daymon and he is certainly no Chris Lehew...he's something new and better, a kid who's got the blood pumping in his veins and the heart of a tiger...a heart that I'm going to personally rip out once I get my hands on him...
(The Reaver turns to regard the camera for the first time in the interview)
Reaver: Stephen Waltz, you may be a quick learner but I learn even faster and not only that I may not be flashy like "Superstar" Vince Jacobs or have the ability to tremendous strength when drunk like "Good God" Kevin Powers but what I do have is a very strong belief in my submission wrestling skills and my knowledge that no matter how hard you try when we step into the ring for the GXW Television title, I'm still going to be one step ahead of you in the game. So, do your little prayer and have Terry "The Idol" Anderson show you all of my old wrestling matches but that is not going to help you when we step into the ring against each other because the only thing that will...is going to be an act of god or someone wanting to do a screw job on me or you. I'm going to see just how good you are and see if I can't show you how to improve your talents because while you may have the god given talents to wrestle...it's a whole other thing to beat me cleanly. If you can do that, then I've got your back kid...screw me over and I swear your blood will paint the canvas of the ring. Quote the Reaver...Never more...
They say you should walk into this world with your head up high.
No, we're not here to pointlessly recite lyrics from some overrated radio band's music, as though it had anything to do with the topic. This is about proving a point. It is said by many, in fact it could be considered a creed, that in order to succeed, you gotta walk with your head up.
This is a lesson on initial reactions. You can tell a lot from a person by what they say. You can immediately see how they judge you. For me, it's the same thing every week. I'm the rook... I'm the new meat. In spite of my hard fought battles, the blood and sweat I've shed off to get where I am today, I'm a gumshoe in this industry.
I suppose it's necessary. Some say it's all about the time you put in, and how badly you want it...
And, there's talent. Let's not forget that.
You can learn a lot from initial reactions. You can see that when a person comes in and says exactly what he thinks of you, you know you can beat him. You know you will beat him. You know there isn't any good reason to respond in any way, but wait until the fated moment, and do your thing. But you know something?
I think I will, just because I can.
It's an experiment... something, even in my short time, I've decided to conduct. I want to see if people will believe me, even biased by my inexperience. I'm going to tell them exactly how it is, and how the fate of a single match cannot be changed. And once they've heard what I said, I'm going to wait how they respond. I think I know how. It's how everybody responds...
They don't believe you. They think you have your head stuck up your ass.
Then you meet them in the ring, and you beat them. You've proven yourself to the entire world that you were right all along.
Then another guy steps up to the plate... rinse and repeat.
Let's get back to the point...
The initial reactions of many are that I am the rookie they believe me to be. Fair enough. There are many wrestlers in the industry who have been around a while. You know the type. They're the leaches. They've been in wrestling longer than rocks have been on the ground, yet there isn't one thing in their five page catalogue of self-proclaimed "accomplishments" that would impress any true veteran.
You know the type well... anybody whose made it in this biz knows. You can't miss them. You've fought them before... you've suffered and slaved through the matches. You beat them every time. But they just don't get it... they keep coming back for more.
Now I'm in your shoes. Wherever you are, legends... I'm not too far behind. I'm in that phase of long-time veterans of the industry who have done virtually nothing their entire careers. I'm there, and hopefully, you'll notice me as a shadow of your former selves. I'm on my way to the top... but I've got to put in the time. Forget these hacks... these phony "veterans". They couldn't wrestle their way out of a paper bag.
I'm the real deal...
I'm the potential, the bright and shining star. I'm that shine in your black coffee at the bigwig executive office, the glimmer in the spit in your fallen opponent's eye. I'm that spark of a new generation of professional wrestler, that will one day be either standing among you, or above you. Don't believe me? Then reevaluate this matter...
I'm where you were... and I will be where you are.
It's as simple as that.
You gotta walk into this world with your head up high. You've gotta have a heart on your sleeve. You gotta be proud of yourself, rookie or not. You gotta know that no matter how long these other guys have been here, you have the talent to take you far. It's not about experience... it's not about time. That's not what makes a rook into a better wrestler... that's what makes the better wrestler into the legend. It's the talent that takes you to that next level.
Some have it, and some don't.
I have it... and many of whom that I fight don't have enough.
It's as simple as that.
What you are about to see is not an initial reaction on my behalf. It's the spoken truth. It's the way I see it, and the real way it is. Forget disillusionment and misinterpretation... this is the real deal, like me. I'm going to tell you how it is, how it will be, and why I will be among you one day.
I've done nothing but prove myself since I've got here... and I will never stop.
I'm never going to stop.
(Scene begins in a place where you can do the best form of anticipating your next task, and doing the least amount of effort possible. It's the kind of place where you'd find a bright and upcoming star like Stephen Waltz. Some go to the gym, under the false impression that it takes sweat from iron to bring you gold. But it's what sits on your shoulders that counts. When your body is fit, when you've got nothing more to pump except brain cells, you don't go out and train. Training is a waste of time.)
(All Stephen Waltz can do is KILL time... until the match. Until... the inevitable.)
(We find the young star by himself on a park bench in Lousville, Kentucky, tossin' a few bits of popcorn chicken into his mouth from the classy KFC tube. The warm summer air has blessed the city with a fine day of weather. Stephen sports a pair of khaki shorts and a red Hawaiian shirt. His black hair dangles loose over his head, a few strands falling in front of his face. What's he doing? Feeding birds? Nope... killing time.)
(Waiting and watching until the match... until the inevitable. You can eat, you can sleep, you can play... but there's always too much time leading up to the next rung on the ladder going up. It's the wait that kills many... they get too lazy, and they're caught off guard when the night rolls around. But Stephen Waltz holds patience as a virtue. He will do everything to keep his cool, maintain his mind... and then everything will click to place the night of Onslaught, main event, Freedom Hall.)
(He looks to the camera with a smile.)
"I have to give props to my respectable opponent, Adam Benjamin. You fought a good match, sir! Forget our war of words... you've proven to me that you have enough talent to take you far. But that night, I knew what I wanted. I wanted more than titles... I wanted to move on to the next phase, beyond defender of a mid-level belt, and on to bigger and better things. Needless to say, I AM moving on to the bigger and better. I hope wherever you are, you readjust your goals..."
"Good match, either way. You had me in a run for my money. But in the end... I did just as I said I would, what I've done to the rest before you, and what I will continue to do until God strikes me dead. Welcome to the world where even potshots and low blows can be beaten by determination and perserverence."
"You have a nice life, career, whatever... I've got bigger fish to fry."
(He frowns down into his nearly empty cup, shaking around the few crispy pieces of bread inside. Then it's bottoms up as he slides the rest into his mouth. He catches view of a nearby waste recipticle, and tosses the empty cup. Swish... and the Pacers go into overtime.)
"As it stands, I've won the Television Title, and successfully defended it. I'm not sure how that makes me a TRUE champion... I'm not sure of what more there is to do to maintain my lineage. But I'll make it, eventually. Maybe it takes more challenges to overcome. Maybe its a way of proving to the talent and fans that I have all that it takes to be one of the greatest champions ever. Maybe, I don't know... it's the fact that I've never been beaten in singles competition?"
"Terry and I came in January... now it's July. Look at how far we've come. One belt on my shoulder, many beaten opponents left behind... some never heard from again. Six long, challenging months... paving the way for what is sure to be six or more YEARS of going nowhere but up. I wonder if I'd look back after that time, much like I am looking back now. I wonder if I'd be proud of my accomplishments, my nearly flawless record... and maybe satisfied that so many who thought they could take me in the ring were proven wrong."
(A moment of silence follows this speech. Then he shrugs, looks back to the camera.)
"I might as well not dwell on how deep it is. At this point, all there is to do is focus on the next step to take me through those six years. Sure enough, Mr. Dupree and Mr. Zieba have been shuffling names around left and right, maybe a little help from our esteemed commissioner, Mr. Brown, and it seems they found the next match for this bright and upcoming star..."
"A guy named 'The Reaver' Marcus Slayton."
(He comes to his feet and motions for the camera to follow. We cut to a moving shot trained on Stephen Waltz as he walks down the stone walkway stretching through a scenic area of the park. In the background, kids play frisbee, families enjoy picnics, young blonds sunbathe in bikinis, and there's always the old folks feeding ducks at the pond.)
"Let's just get the formalities out of the way... and save ourselves a long week of beating around the bush. There's no denying it... yes, Reaver is more experienced than me. He's been in this sport longer than many people in GXW... he's had a lot of belts around his waist in the past. I'm not going to argue that Reaver hasn't put more time in and shed more sweat, blood, and tears in the very ring we'll fight in."
"So if this was a competition of experience... hand the sucker the belt, cause I can't win."
(Both dark eyebrows perk up when he looks into the camera with a grin.)
"But we're not competing in old age, are we?"
"This is a match where experience is irrelevant. Those guys you beat? Forget about 'em. That big library of belts? Ancient history. The scars? The memories? The feuds, grudges, and cases of bad blood? Heh... it doesn't mean anything anymore. When a wrestler steps in the ring against me, he might as well forget about his glory days and wake up to real life. I'm the new generation... I'm the guy who will one day be on the top. You can forget the opponents of the good ol' days, cause I don't compare to them."
"Forget your experience when you come face to face with me. All that will save you is your talent..."
(A light laugh escapes his lips.)
"Even in my short time, I've seen what happens to some old guys when too many thoughts are crammed into their heads at once. For some, they start jumbling facts around... matches that never existed are suddenly distinct and clear memories. Others confuse professional wrestling as a war of words, tending to prove themselves by clueing into the past at every given moment, saying always that if it happened then, it will happen again. Then there are total nutcases... the type that can't seperate reality from fantasy, and live in their own little worlds."
"The Reaver is all of those in one fragile body."
"I could tell you why... I could go on for hours explain the hows and whats, and the very direct reason why I'd make such a statement. I could write a ten page essay on the metal condition of the Reaver if I wanted to. But all our time is more precious than that, so I'll give it to you in the condensed version..."
"He's still here, ain't he?"
(Simple shrug, simple grin.)
"Think about it. For a man of his caliber... for a guy who has been in the industry for years, gaining nothing more than midcard belts in unknown feds, accumulating worthless prizes over and over again... for a guy who has been beaten countlessly time and time again, yet comes back under the impression that he's a legend... for a guy who, well... he just doesn't get it. Sound like determination?"
"Heh... if you thought so, then watch his promo again. That's not determination. It's clear and utter proof that there isn't much left of Reaver's brain other than mush. I mean, let's face it... the guy's taken one too many blows to the head. He's either insane, or idiotic. Either way, he's in no mental condition to go far enough in Global Xtreme Wrestling... or anywhere else."
"His purpose? Just to be another obstacle in my path. Just so I can prove myself yet again to the promoters and owners, that I am Stephen Waltz... and I am inevitably the next big thing. His purpose in GXW is just so I have an opponent for Onslaught... one that I may easily beat, and move on."
(Another simple shrug.)
"I don't care what he thinks of what I have to say. He opens up a taped segment by saying he shows me respect for my talent, then has the audacity to negatively judge my manager and imply that the only way I may win this match is via screwjob."
(He shakes his head, turning his gaze back into the camera.)
"Reaver, are you that much of an idiot?"
"That's your method, huh? That's the way you convince yourself, day after day, that somehow you are golden, uncorrupted, some perfect little angel, the living Apollo in the ring. You make it sound like you've never lost a match in your life that you weren't cheated from. Is everything in your dictionary a screwjob? Is that all you can obsess yourself with? Do you have to make excuses every time you let yourself down cause you just couldn't HACK IT in the ring when it mattered most?"
"Is that the game you speak of, the one where you'll stay one step ahead of me at all times?"
"I find it amazing that you call yourself a veteran. It really shows you that you can flunk through school for twenty years, and never learn anything new. Such is the same for the Reaver, who has apparently been blaming everything on being screwed by the other guys. I can't believe anyone could be in the industry for so long, and never clue in."
"Reaver... here's a tip. You get screwed in nothing. Everybody gets a fair chance in life, and if it doesn't play out the way you want it to, then there's something YOU are doing wrong. So how about instead of talking with your friend about how this match may be some sort of 'set-up', or how my respectable manager might get involved, try to figure out what your little problem is, and put yourself back on the track of success..."
"This is an industry based on competition... and in that competition, you need talent, motivation, and confidence. The fact that I have all three of these is the very reason why I hold the belt now, and you mutter to your buddies about how just now, after ALL this time, you've finally been 'given' a shot. Maybe you lack talent, or motivation, or confidence... maybe it's just that you sit around and complain to yourself until someone GIVES you an opportunity to take..."
"I don't know WHAT the problem with you is, Reaver, but it's not my job to figure it out; it's yours. And until you do, you can forget about becoming GXW Television Champion.
(Another disappointed shake of the head.)
"As for 'ripping out my heart'? Please... do you have to be such a child? Can we drop the Geoffry Domner--slash--Hannibal Lecter--slash--Leatherface routine and keep in the bounds of reality? What next... you smash open my head and eat my brains from my skull? You line the ropes with my boiled innards? By the way you talk, our match is sounding like a Cannibal Corpse song..."
"Okay, Tom Savini... say whatever you want if you think it sounds tough. I can't be scared by you, because I know exactly what to expect. One interview can tell me just that much, about how you dwell on everybody BUT your opponent, complain about your screwed opportunities, and cry about having to wait so long to get an opportunity like this. You're lazy, Reaver... you don't expect to earn anything, you just want it given to you."
"Like this belt. You'd probably expect me to throw the match so you can have it with the least amount of effort possible. And if I didn't... if, somehow, I defeat you there in the ring, without the use of a cheap shot or the aid of my manager, what then? Will you complain about how you got screwed? Will you wait around another year of so-called 'experience' until someone GIVES you another shot?"
"I'm not going to ramble on much longer, Reaver. If you expect to win my title, then get off your butt and TAKE IT!"
"Just know I'm going to fight for it, the way a champion SHOULD defend his title..."
(He takes a moment to look around at other pedestrians. Female joggers run by in sports bras and spandex, their breasts and ponytails bouncing in unison as they keep rhythm to whatever plays in their ear phones. A guy rides by on his bike, helmet and work uniform, sack of Jimmy Johns in his basket... probably on a delivery. Nothing special.)
(Then a voice calls out. Stephen stops and looks back down the path. Running after him and waving to get his attention is Terry "The Idol" Anderson. Stephen waits for him to catch up. When Terry reaches him, he grabs his student by the shoulder and bends over to catch his breath. Then he straightens up.)
TA - "Damn... I leave you back there to get a hot dog, and you run off on me like that?"
(Then he notices the camera.)
TA - "Oh, I see! Well hey, while this is here, do you mind if I speak a little of MY mind?"
SW - "Hm, I don't know, Terry... I think I ripped on him enough for today. Probably be kept up all night, wondering how I could be so cold..."
TA - "What are ya talkin' about, that's GREAT news? Come on, kid... I nearly crapped my self waiting to let loose on Benji! Ya gotta give me some air time!"
(Stephen thinks it over for a moment.)
SW - "Okay, Terry... just a little bit, though."
TA - "Awright!!"
(Waltz retreats to a park bench not far away. Terry chuckles a bit as he turns himself to the camera and begins.)
"So... Marcus Slayton? My boy goes head to head with the Reaver?"
"Heh, you shoulda seen him when I told you. Let me play it out here... I get the call, I come up to him and go, 'Yo kid, ya got a match in Louisville, you're defending against "The Reaver" Marcus Slayton', and he looks up at me, and asks..."
"...heh heh, you ready for this?"
"He goes, 'Marcus Who?'"
(Unable to hold in his feelings, Terry explodes into a fit of laughter.)
"HA HA HA... can you BELIEVE that?! That must tell you something, Reaver..."
"A veteran is someone people recognize. A veteran is yours truly, Terry "THE IDOL" Anderson. A veteran is DreamMaker, or Vince Jacobs... 'The Stalker' Jason Reeves, Cyris Hanson Marsh, Razmataz, Rico Laser, Malice, 'Loco' Lance Vertigo, Tripp Collins, Eli Flair. Those names sound familiar? Well, anyone who watched IWF and remembers it, like a young Stephen Waltz, sure recognizes every one of them..."
"Hell, I even forgot YOU were with us for a while at Insanity. That tells you something, Reaver... you were a stain in our federation. Nobody noticed you... nobody cared about you. The names I just gave? Those were the REAL veterans. Two of which are still around... and hell, it's great that I can work close by 'em. You may hate their guts, Reaver, but if you weren't such a DUMBASS, you could look and learn something from them..."
"Fast learner, eh? Faster than my boy Stephen? Heh... yeah right. That's exactly why the StarMakers are suddenly one of the most recognized teams in the federation, and even some people in GXW who have been around longer than YOU still have trouble remembering who you are. Fast learner, my ass. If you learned anything, you'd learn you were untalented... nothing compared to the rest of these guys. You'd learn, maybe, that in all of your years of becoming a 'veteran', you haven't accomplished jack sh*t in terms of credibility or charisma."
"You're not a veteran... you're a hack. I would call you washed up, but to say that, the subject would have had to be good at ONE TIME. You're a never has-been... a leach on the neck of professional wrestling, that just keeps sucking and sucking. Every time you get pulled off, you and your little swarm of rat buddies flock to another federation to get your ass handed to you. You're a disgrace... you're nothing."
"You want a veteran? Look at me. It's not that I call myself a veteran... it's not that I have my friends say it... but it's because every fan, every wrestler, every BODY that recognizes my face KNOW for CERTAIN that I am a veteran..."
"And believe me... after a quarter of a century of busting my ass in this business, you better believe that I earned every goddamn bit of that title, right down to the last letter."
(Terry shakes his head in some sort of amazed disbelief. He is about to walk away, when he remembers something.)
"And now that you bring it up... what's this beef with Gail? So now I'm dishonorable, I'm trashy, all because of what? Because I got back there and tapped that ass? Give me a break, Reaver! You make it sound like a pocket-full of roofies was my means of getting in between her legs! The fact is, she wanted it, and I gave it to her. We've had some great-ass times, from our early days in the 80's, up to our little reunion in IWF. Hell, I still give her a call every time I'm in Seattle! Matter of fact, now that you've reminded me of her, I might as well go pay her a visit!"
"So your boy Reno, or whatever, had a thing for her? Oh, boo hoo... EVERYBODY wanted Gail Martin! She had young meat comin' at her from every direction, and in the end, who was the guy to win? Yours truly... the VETERAN piece, and perhaps, the biggest tool in the toolshed. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't because I screwed the other guys over--believe me, I know you have some obsession with thinking that. Truth of the matter is, in the end... she CHOSE me."
"If you have a problem with a man and woman who have a unanimous attraction for each other, then you can come to my face and tell me. I'd kick your ass from floor to ceiling, Reaver. They'd have to scrape your lips off the f*ckin' moon when I'm done with ya!"
(Shakes his head as he walks away from the camera.)
"Freakin' video game junkies..."
(Terry waves to Waltz to tell him he's finished. Stephen stands up, approaches the camera and continues walking with his manager in tow, continuing to mutter to himself.)
"Well, that's Terry's two cents. Understand that my views aren't the same as his in a few ways. I wouldn't necessarily say you are without talent, Reaver... but there's definitely something you're lacking in your ring performance. There's something holding you back, and it isn't Ed Brown or Vince Jacobs or anyone else... it's something within you, and you must search it out, remedy the problem, cut the crap, and get back to real professional wrestling."
"Until then... well, sorry, but I don't think you have a good shot at my title. I think you'll put up a decent match, but I'm willing to believe at some point you'll burn out and I'll end it there. It isn't just because of you, though... don't get me wrong. Even washed up guys like yourself could squeak by a win or two every so often, maybe get lucky enough to take a title..."
"But I'm standing against your luck. I'm more determined than you... I'm more prepared than you... and even more important, Reaver, I'm stronger than you. I know I can win, and I will win. I don't think you're ready to take back the Television Title the way you are. But me? I need it to get myself that much further, until the next goal reaches my sights. Until then, I'll fight you... beat you... and beat the rest."
"I'm walking into this match with my head up, fists clenched, and body aching to slam headlong into yours..."
(With the usual confident nod, the camera stops moving. Stephen and Terry walk out of the frame, and we fade to black. Scene ends.)
(We fade into the Reaver's locker room in Freedom Hall. The former member of the Mechanical Animals is sitting on a bench in the arena, his short brown hair has been shortened to keep it from being used as a weapon against him during a match. He is dressed in black jeans with his signature black workshirt with no sleeves and a white shirt underneath that. He is apparently getting ready for his match by tapping up his fingers with black tape, he does it slowly while his ice blue eyes watch the clock on the wall, waiting for the moment to come.)
Reaver: You know something Waltz? I was thinking about what you said and you made some good points and some points that made no sense, your manager on the other hand needs to keep his big fat trap shut or I'll break his jaw into several pieces for him just to ensure he does keep his ##### mouth closed. You see Waltz, I am a man who has twelve years in this profession and yes you heard right, I said twelve and that's a number that you're never going to see kid because even though I congradulate you on your points and the good arguement that you put them up with...I'm still going to kick your pathetic ass all over this very arena.
(The Reaver stops tapping one finger and then moves over to the next one. Doing the taping very slowly)
Reaver: Anderson, did you know that Eli Flair considers me a veteran because he knows how ##### long I've been in this sport? I came to EWI and later GXW not to win titles, those are fine and good, but I came here to continue a history of kicking ass and while you may have a very closed view on what you consider to be a "Veteran", I on the other hand do not consider shits like Razzmatazz, Rico Laser, and all of the rest with the expection of my friend in Eli Flair are nothing more than flies on the wall...but as for your comments about me being a "Leech on the throat of professional wrestling", I take that personally, Anderson for the pure and simple fact that while young Stephen there is a young rookie looking to make a name for himself, but you on the other hand are nothing more than a leech yourself-hoping to claim a new found glory by doing so. So, I propose a challenge to you, Mister Anderson. I will put one of my students in the ring against your student at Global Warfare or sooner and then we shall see who truly is the leech and who is in truth a honest to ##### god teacher.
(The Reaver stops taping up his fingers and puts the tape aside, before going to look into the camera again)
Reaver: Now Stephen, I want you to listen to me and listen good. I don't like you and you don't like me, but I do hold some measure of respect for you because you remind me of a friend of mine in one Rocko Daymon. He won the Superior Championship Wrestling Television championship in his first six months of wrestling and now, you've done the same thing, bravo and congradulations on that success. And if you think that you're just as good or better than Rocko, then think again kid because there is only one Rocko Daymon and you're not him. You have your little time in the sun and now an eclipse is coming to block your little time there as one of the title holders in GXW. Then again, you might beat me and I use that word loosely because you are nothing more than some pathetic excuse of a collegiate wrestler as well as a professional one. You call me lazy, kid a lot of people have called me that including a certain little ##### called Super Shoick over in the NeWA before I took his precious HCWF Tag titles away from him in a singles match but that was then...and this is now.
(The Reaver's gaze narrows considerably until his eyes are nothing more than pinpricks almost, the icyness of his eyes can barely be seen but are glinting in the light of the room with the intent of the person known full and well)
Reaver: Waltz, in a very, *very* short time I will kick your damn ass not only around this arena but also out of this federation. We have no place for a poser such as yourself. Maybe Edward Brown's little "Boy Toy Squad" could use you or maybe Vince Jacobs' in a moment of crystal clarity will see you like I do and just show up to kick your pathetic teenage ass out of here with me so that some real wrestlers can do there jobs without some poor kid and his has been fucked up manager in the way. Waltz, tonight your hide belongs to a man who made submission wrestling a speciality and then next week, it's going to be Anderson's turn and trust me, that "little ##### rat buddies" of mine do take expection to what you said.
(The Reaver stands up and shakes out his arms and then pops his neck before walking over to the door. When he gets there, he turns around to once again face the camera, the look of pure malice and anger is still in his eyes)
Reaver: Waltz, I want you to listen and listen good kid because I'm only going to say this once. Tonight, you'd best prove yourself to not only me but to everyone watching or else you're going to find yourself in the emergency room, broken in two. This is not a game and if you think it is, then you're the one not living in reality. So, get ready Waltz, because very soon we will find out who is better-the rookie sensation or the world weary veteran and Anderson, next time anyone says a damn thing towards you, you might do well to keep your damn mouth shut.
(The Reaver opens the door to his locker room and walks out as the screen fades to black)
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."
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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.