You're going to win Ultratitle

[The Great Eye]

(FADEIN: Doc Silver standing in front of a banner reading ULTRATITLE 12. Doc has on a black T-Shirt that reads "I Hate Love" and his trademark sweatpants. "Blood For Poppies" plays in the background.)

DOC: We're egocentric aren't we? Everyone jumping up and down, Look at me, look at me. It's our world now, Facebook, Twitter, it's all about interjecting yourself into the conversation, it's all about making sure that people know you're out there and you matter.

More then that, we're all sure the story is really all about us. We're the hero of this novel, when the Mega Millions was over half a billion dollars, your ticket was the winner. When you throw your hat in the ring, victory is but a formality.

And you, yes you, are going to win Ultratitle.

You hear the other guys talking a big game about what they are going to do, how they are going to dominate, how everyone else can't hang with them, and it's just annoying background noise, it's just something that annoys you because that idiot has no idea what he's talking about.

Cause you are the one that is going to win Ultratitle.

The fact that 127 wrestlers are going to fall short of the final goal, that 64 of them are going to have their hearts broken in round one doesn't mean a damn thing to you because you're different than all the rest, you're stronger and smarter and tougher then all these pretenders who are in this tournament.

You good sir, you are going to win Ultratitle.

Who cares if you're going to have to fight men who've won Ultratitle before, or that just about everyone who's anyone in this field has held World Titles in many respectable big time companies, and that these legends of the industry have done some really important things, have beaten just about anyone that's been put in front of them, but you know the truth, that they haven't faced anyone like you...Your special blend of skills is a match-up nightmare for anyone and everyone, you're that dynamic wrestler who can't be labeled, can't be pigeonholed and assuredly can't be beaten.

You are going to win Ultratitle.

Now I doubt you'll do it...But I do want you to think long and hard about what this tournament is, it's 7 brutal rounds of pain and suffering, it's a nightmare where the opponents just get better and better each and every round, when you finally crawl out of that ring with a hard fought win to put yourself into the round of 32, guess what the next guy is going to be even tougher, even meaner, even more determined to end your dream than the opponent who just put you through hell...

But that doesn't matter to you, cause you're winning Ultratitle...

The fact that I'm in this thing, and you really have no idea what I'm willing to do to win this thing doesn't scare you in the least, me, I'm some old man, a has-been, I talk a big game, but serious man, when have I done anything recently? Why should I matter? That old band I waste my time quoting hasn't been relevant in over a decade.

True enough on all counts, and I'm sure just one more guy like me won't be that big a problem for you, you big strong wrestling machine you...You got my number I'm sure, if we ever met up in this tournament I'd be lucky to last 10 minutes against such a titan of the squared circle.

Cause you, you are the winner of the 2012 Ultratitle...

But you already knew that didn't you.

You're so vain, you probably think this promo's about you?

Don't you?

(FADEOUT)

 

[TH]

GOP: Thank you, I think I'm going to win the ULTRATITLE too.

 

[Eastwood]

We cut to a familiar scenario; Jack Eastwood, standing atop his balcony that overlooks the Nova Scotian wastelands. He sparks up a joint casually, the wind whipping the flame of his lighter around in his hand. If it burns him, he doesn't notice. He snaps his head back sharply, inhaling the smoke and the crisp evening air. He pauses for a moment, flicking away the faintest traces of ash. His chapped lips spread into a grin, green mist issuing forth from between his teeth.

Eastwood: Clap. Clap. Clap.

Wait...

He puts the joint in between his lips and stares into the heart of the camera, dark eyes unwavering as he raises his hands.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Eastwood: Well, seeing as how you were so kind as to actually provide some sort of standard in this tournament, I thought it only appropriate to go the extra mile myself. You see, whilst we do have the legion of imbeciles beating their chests and having d*beep*-measuring contests about how "they're the greetest" - five points for the reference - you have to bear in mind... Doc, was it?... that there's also the type of people who don't really need to say much.

Granted, now I'm opening my big fat mouth, but what the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. You raised some points that really struck a chord with me, Doc, and I'm sure that there are others in our upper eschelon who are also now thinking about who we might face in the later rounds. Is that arrogant of me to say? Perhaps. But I can't doubt my own ability. Your own mind is half the battle.

He takes another drag of his joint, smiling.

Eastwood: And as you can see, it's an uphill one. Fact is, I can understand where these inbreds are coming from. I was like them once, with the posturing and the boasting. But who are they, at the end of the day? They're s*beep*. Let's take it a step further, Doc; who are you? Who am I? They can't say who'll they face in this tournament and neither can we. This is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most volatile, unpredictable and brutal sport across the world. On their day a rank nobody can beat a legend. A person who comes from England and emigrated on their own to Canada when they were just twenty-one could come out of left-field and kick the absolute c*beep* out of a Michael Manson.

A Joey Melton.

A Doc Silver.

Do I think I'll win this tournament? Yes. Not because I'm the best or such an awesome guy or super totally f*beep*ing hardcore, gods no. I think I'll win because I'll win. I'll defeat whoever is in put in front of me and that is all there is to it. End of.

 

[LQJT86C]

(FADEIN: CASTOR STRIFE sits leaning forward on the edge of his hotel bed wearing black rectangular glasses and a white t-shirt with the movie poster Lolita on it. His wet blonde hair is combed back, and an unlit cigar hangs from the side of his mouth)

CASTOR: "So is that the theme of Ultratitle this year? You're only the 12th person to come out and rail against those who boast about being 'the best'...(takes cigar out of mouth) while simultaneously declaring that you will beat every man put in front of you and win the tournament. What's your point? What is it you're trying to say, Jack Eastwood? Do you speak any real words, or is it all processed junk? Seems there's no weight beneath you - nothing but empty calories."

(Puts the cigar back in, pulls a match-book from his pocket)

"I'm going to do you a favor, Jack...(lights cigar, blows a waft of smoke into the camera) and explain why a man like you could never win a tournament like this. Doc's logic is correct - the odds of winning Ultratitle are daunting, to say the least. But this is not a game of chance - it's a game of wills, endurance, and flawless ability. The winner is the man who can remain at his best, his very, very best, until he ends the game - until HE ends the game."

"You can't end this game, Jack. You can't defy the odds. To do that requires VISION, megalithic risk-taking, and the fearless ability to pay those risks off. For men like you, those qualities are the high watermark of a once-in-a-lifetime pursuit. But for me? It's a way of life. I have MADE possible out of impossible. I have PULLED rabbits out of hats. I WALKED into hell and back."

"This path is a year-round pursuit - you don't just roll out of bed one day and decide you want to walk it. You'll be eaten alive by the fear that plagues lesser men, when they're stripped of the false comfort and hope of 'remote odds' and confront the hard reality of the great man's path."

"Ultratitle isn't some scratch-off game where all men have equal odds of winning. If dumb luck is more your speed, buy a Powerball ticket. Play the lotto. Or a slot machine. But if you're staring across the gameboard at me expecting to pulls lucky 7s, let me be the first to say: this game is not for you."

"And likely never will be."

(FADOUT)

 

[Eastwood]

Eastwood: You seem to be missing the point I was trying to make, Castor, but I can understand that you may be a little backward. After all, your parents must have been huffing paint to name you after a type of sugar. But if you'll go back and watch - I assume you can actually comprehend the English language - I clearly state it.

I am not the best.

I'm not. Not by a long shot. I've been beaten by and beat men who are my superior in any aspect you could care to mention. I'm not some posturing vain c*beep*; I know when I'm beaten and I know when I've lost, but before any three seconds where my shoulders are down, I have won.

Consider Schrodinger's Cat. Before the lid of the box is opened you cannot be sure if the cat is alive or dead. To me the cat is alive, to my opponent the cat is dead. We are both right in our assessments until the box is finally opened. Do you understand now or have you, like your namesake, dissolved into intangibility from the sheer heat of my being right?

Oh, and quite frankly, any moron with the notion that this will be anything other than the stiffest of competition should f*beep* off right now. When I said earlier that there are those of us with a view to looking at the later rounds... did you not consider that we, myself included, will have suffered similar experiences?

I have been thrown twenty feet, head first, onto concrete. I have been stabbed in the leg with a pair of scissors fifteen feet above the ground. I have accolades, victories, memories. I've left my red blood and skin and probably a few brain cells in places like Rome and New York and Cancun and Kyoto. If anybody has the feeble-mindedness to think that this is a game, Castor, then they've already lost, dead cat or no dead cat.

One hundred and twenty eight to one. The same chance as everybody else. Chance isn't a factor. It's skill that counts. And if by random selection - not by luck - you or anybody else is put in front of me, they had better pray for a miracle because there is no more chance for them to rely on.

F*beep* your fade-outs.

 

[Justin]

[Eric Dane.]

"Far be it for me to call someone a touch out of touch with reality, but...

Man, are you ever going to lose this tournament."

[f2b]

 

[LQJT86C]

(FADEIN: CASTOR)

CASTOR: If I could appeal to lady luck herself on your behalf, I would do it by virtue of you not comparing my name to motor oil. Sugar is a new one, and you deserve points for creativity, though I'm afraid your knowledge of classical history is sorely, sorely lacking. If you were a smarter man, I would be explaining that I don't have a brother named Pollux.

As for the rest, well, I'll give you the courtesy of a response when you learn to follow your own logic. Your 128-to-1 odds are about as valid as the Charlotte Bobcats having a 30-to-1 shot at the NBA championship. 'I am not the best' tells me all I need to know about you. Fear cloaked in relativism - the surest way to an early exit. Why don't you just give up? Why don't you leave. The boy inside your man's facade is begging for a way out. Let him go; show him the mercy I won't. Because I'm only in this to face the best, and if I draw you I won't be happy.

Or, in an analogy Doc would appreciate: your stack isn't large enough to win at this table.

(FADEOUT)

Eastwood: You seem to be missing the point I was trying to make, Castor, but I can understand that you may be a little backward. After all, your parents must have been huffing paint to name you after a type of sugar. But if you'll go back and watch - I assume you can actually comprehend the English language - I clearly state it.

I am not the best.

I'm not. Not by a long shot. I've been beaten by and beat men who are my superior in any aspect you could care to mention. I'm not some posturing vain c*beep*; I know when I'm beaten and I know when I've lost, but before any three seconds where my shoulders are down, I have won.

Consider Schrodinger's Cat. Before the lid of the box is opened you cannot be sure if the cat is alive or dead. To me the cat is alive, to my opponent the cat is dead. We are both right in our assessments until the box is finally opened. Do you understand now or have you, like your namesake, dissolved into intangibility from the sheer heat of my being right?

Oh, and quite frankly, any moron with the notion that this will be anything other than the stiffest of competition should f*beep* off right now. When I said earlier that there are those of us with a view to looking at the later rounds... did you not consider that we, myself included, will have suffered similar experiences?

I have been thrown twenty feet, head first, onto concrete. I have been stabbed in the leg with a pair of scissors fifteen feet above the ground. I have accolades, victories, memories. I've left my red blood and skin and probably a few brain cells in places like Rome and New York and Cancun and Kyoto. If anybody has the feeble-mindedness to think that this is a game, Castor, then they've already lost, dead cat or no dead cat.

One hundred and twenty eight to one. The same chance as everybody else. Chance isn't a factor. It's skill that counts. And if by random selection - not by luck - you or anybody else is put in front of me, they had better pray for a miracle because there is no more chance for them to rely on.

F*beep* your fade-outs.

 

[Eastwood]

[Eric Dane.]

"Far be it for me to call someone a touch out of touch with reality, but...

Man, are you ever going to lose this tournament."

[f2b]

Eastwood: Out of touch with reality? Moi?

He looks down at the joint in his hand and shrugs.

Eastwood: Eh.

(FADEIN: CASTOR)

CASTOR: If I could appeal to lady luck herself on your behalf, I would do it by virtue of you not comparing my name to motor oil. Sugar is a new one, and you deserve points for creativity, though I'm afraid your knowledge of classical history is sorely, sorely lacking. If you were a smarter man, I would be explaining that I don't have a brother named Pollux.

As for the rest, well, I'll give you the courtesy of a response when you learn to follow your own logic. Your 128-to-1 odds are about as valid as the Charlotte Bobcats having a 30-to-1 shot at the NBA championship. 'I am not the best' tells me all I need to know about you. Fear cloaked in relativism - the surest way to an early exit. Why don't you just give up? Why don't you leave. The boy inside your man's facade is begging for a way out. Let him go; show him the mercy I won't. Because I'm only in this to face the best, and if I draw you I won't be happy.

Or, in an analogy Doc would appreciate: your stack isn't large enough to win at this table.

(FADEOUT)

Eastwood: Well, props at least for making me do a quick Google search. Now I know why my knowledge of classical history is lacking; the notion of Zeus taking the form of a swan and raping a woman, who then gives birth to eggs, is some messed up 4chan s*beep*.

My classical history may be off but at least my maths is solid. Everyone has an equal chance of making it to the finals of this tournament. You want to talk Vegas odds, that's a whole other story. Suffice to say I've got a tenner on me for a cheeky outsider bet. You know, my odds are pretty high, but who can blame them? After all, I'm a relative unknown around these parts, and hell, seeing as how you aren't getting it, I'll say it again.

I am not the best.

Because you'd like it if I left, wouldn't you Castor? The thought of me facing you, the possibility of me, somebody who isn't the best, beating you... let's be fair, the fact that somebody actually has the balls to stand up and be so brutally honest about their own talent terrifies you a little bit. Modesty is an admirable trait.

You should try it sometime.

 

[DBrunkGXW]

DAN RYAN: "Leave it to you people to have trash talk battles before it matters. #omgnoobs"

 

[LQJT86C]

CASTOR: Call out Nova, settle for JTP, wind up with Eastwood. The universe has not been kind to me.

 

[DBrunkGXW]

DAN RYAN: "Hey Eastwood, were you named after that kid that went into the ravine back in 1885?"

"1885!!!!"

 

[Eastwood]

OOC: Hah. Took me a moment.

Eastwood: This coming from the simpleton who doesn't understand the concept of trash talk?

 

[DBrunkGXW]

DAN RYAN: "IM NO SIMPULTON!! ALSO YOUR MOM!"

 

[The Great Eye]

(FADEIN: Doc Silver sitting at a table)

DOC: To be fair to you Castor, Troy Windham did start waving his dick around bragging about how super amazing he was and he got cut down by the legend that is Go-Go Spectacular, so yeah this tournament has been nothing short of devastating to the egos of all involved.

As for Mr. Eastwood here...You really are a stupid bastard aren't you? If your IQ was one point lower we'd have to water you. I'm sure there might be somebody I've never heard of that entered this thing and can spit fire into a mic and then back it up in the ring, somebody who'll bring everyone to their feet and have The Empire, The Frontier, and even the bingo hall in Seattle begging for their services.

You're not that person.

I think you hurt that person's bargaining position by even being one of the 127 people that person has to fight to win this thing.

You make the world an objectively worse place when you talk, so please for all involved, stop doing it.

(FADEOUT)

 

[Akita (I Just Told You That Telepathically)]

(Akita the Ventriloquist Telepath stands simply inside his igloo on the outskirts of Fairbanks. He stares hard at his ventriloquist dummy, which stares holes..... IN YOU.)

(Akita intensely stares at the dummy, and as he does, your mind drifts away to thoughts of butterflies and meadows covered in dew. In the middle is Eastwood, sucking.

The vision dissipates, and Akita relaxes, spent.)

 

[Eastwood]

(Akita the Ventriloquist Telepath stands simply inside his igloo on the outskirts of Fairbanks. He stares hard at his ventriloquist dummy, which stares holes..... IN YOU.)

(Akita intensely stares at the dummy, and as he does, your mind drifts away to thoughts of butterflies and meadows covered in dew. In the middle is Eastwood, sucking.

The vision dissipates, and Akita relaxes, spent.)

Eastwood: ...what the actual f*beep*.

(FADEIN: Doc Silver sitting at a table)

DOC: To be fair to you Castor, Troy Windham did start waving his dick around bragging about how super amazing he was and he got cut down by the legend that is Go-Go Spectacular, so yeah this tournament has been nothing short of devastating to the egos of all involved.

As for Mr. Eastwood here...You really are a stupid bastard aren't you? If your IQ was one point lower we'd have to water you. I'm sure there might be somebody I've never heard of that entered this thing and can spit fire into a mic and then back it up in the ring, somebody who'll bring everyone to their feet and have The Empire, The Frontier, and even the bingo hall in Seattle begging for their services.

You're not that person.

I think you hurt that person's bargaining position by even being one of the 127 people that person has to fight to win this thing.

You make the world an objectively worse place when you talk, so please for all involved, stop doing it.

(FADEOUT)

Eastwood: And here I thought you were actually a cut above the rest...

Basically Doc, what you just gave me was a very long-winded call to shut up, culminating in how I'm making 'the world an objectively worse place'.

That's the thing though, isn't it Doc? Objective. I'm sure there's a lot of people for whom I objectively make the world worse. That's the nature of the business. I've already made a lot of enemies in my three years as a wrestler - hell, just by having the stones to open my mouth here I've made a lot of enemies.

But I'm intelligent enough to know at least that I won't be fighting 127 of them. Idiot.

 

[DBrunkGXW]

But I'm intelligent enough to know at least that I won't be fighting 127 of them. Idiot.

DAN RYAN: "BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNN"

 

[TH]

UMPIRO: translated from Spanish Holy beans! Eastwood is safe!

 

[DWoods]

CASTOR: Call out Nova, settle for JTP, wind up with Eastwood. The universe has not been kind to me.

JTP: "Ol' Joe beat Nova. Twice.

"Wasn't really all that hard, neither..."

 

[Justin]

DANE: What, is Nova you dick's name now too?