(The Sergeant, in front of an EPW background, gears up to cut his final promo before Unleashed... He's wearing his traditional wrestling gear and seems to be rather amused when compared to his last promo...)
The Sergeant: It seems that the premise for any promo that involves me as a target has to point out that I am a rookie. When challenged for reasons, people generally give the standard answer that I am so new to this environment that I don't know what I'm doing. The rookie is just being a rookie doing rookie things and he rookie-ly couldn't rookie with understanding rookie rookie.
Or something like that.
But for once, somebody made a little bit of sense. Frankie Scott explained to me and the rest of the world that he sucker punched me... with brass knucks... simply because he was trying to conduct a sort of preemptive strike before the big bossman could figure out a different way to get us to feud.
It made sense, but at the same time did nothing to endear me with the true character of my one time friend, "Phenomenal" Frankie Scott. Whether it makes sense or not, the guy proved he is nothing but a dirt bag... and I like to fancy myself as a five foot ten, two hundred and one pound Roomba. What I mean to say is that desposing of crap like him is almost automatic for me.
(Sarge waits for his well thought out metaphor to sink in... Who say's that military men aren't well articulated? You got the joke, right?)
I mean, it's great that the man who is supposed to be the future of this company has such a mind for the industry that he can predict what is going to happen and beat everyone to the "punch'... so to speak.
Bad pun, I know.
It's great that this man who in his own mind will be the greatest EPW World Champion ever can forecast the ingenius moves of everyone around him. Frankie Scott is none other than the chess master of all things that need strategic skills to accomplish. He is great and I am less than nothing. I am weak and he is strong. He is right and I am wrong. I can come to terms with all of this...
... except I beat him so consistently that it shoots holes all in this alternate reality of his.
My record in this company has been padded by victories over Frankie. It's gotten pretty ridiculous, actually. The match he remembers as a great match only because everyone came to see him, even though they were all my brothers and sisters in arms, is the same match where I remember being able to finish him off no less than fifteen times, but Iknew that wouldn't be a good show for our troops. I remember just thinking to myself "not yet, we've only been going at it for four minutes". Then basically that number kept increasing to six, seven, ten, fifteen and twenty minutes and I knew that finally it was time to put Frankie out of his misery.
You see how selective memory works, Mister Scott?
(Sarge pauses to let it sink in...)
Now I know you like to think of me as Dan Ryan's little puppet. The guy that does what he's told. Let me just dispell of that myth for you.
While I have the utmost respect for what our boss has done in the ring and one day hope to be considered his equal, I am not a mindless zombie. He gave me my break in professional wrestling, true... but everything since then has been me doing what I want to do of my own accord. To think otherwise makes you look like even more of a jack ass in these two eyes of mine.
You just keep deluding yourself. Leave the heavy thinking to those of us with a little skill at the task.
(Scene fades...)