Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2012 17:32:00 GMT -5
A Change of Scenery
Stuart Slane shoved the last bite of his farmer’s breakfast into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It had been decent diner fare, though a far cry from his mother’s own authentic Bauernfruhstuck he and his four brothers had enjoyed growing up. Even his wife, with her fair to middling culinary skills, had been capable of better meals when she had put her mind to it. Still, the food and service were good enough to warrant a tip of 12 percent. He put his bills on the table.
“I’ll need…. thirty eight cents in change, please,” he told the waitress after some quick mental math.
The woman’s smile faltered, “Yes, sir,” she said before retreating with her meager wages.
After the transaction was completed, Slane exited the restaurant and walked to his car. He checked the time on his watch. It was close enough for him to call in, so he withdrew his cellular phone from his pocket and punched in the number he needed.
“Good morning, Mister Brown. Are you ready?”
From the other end of the line Hank Brown, Voice of the Wrestling Championship Federation gave his response, “Almost, Scoutmaster, let me just turn on the recorder here. All right. We’re good.”
“Splendid. I appreciate your willingness to conduct our interview by phone. I only get to have my children for a short allotment of time this summer, and want to spend as much of it as possible with them at my camp.”
“I understand. How often do you get to see them?”
Slane narrowed his eyes, “That’s none of your business,” he grunted before adopting a less irate tone, “Not often enough.”
“I apologize if you felt I was overstepping my bounds, Mister Slane,” Hank said before quickly moving onto the true subject of the interview, “This Sunday night at Slam you are booked to be in a non-title match against former Hardcore Champion Tommy Kain and former Tag Champion Jonathan Jakobs. What are your thoughts on this upcoming contest?”
“I’ve been told the triple threat is what those in the business call a “filler match”, and the only things on the line are bragging rights and a winner’s share of the purse, but I have my doubts. To me, this appears to be an attempt by Mister Lerch to see if my opponents, who only recently lost their respective titles, deserve of another chance at one, perhaps even mine. Which would be very shrewd on his part.”
Brown asked a follow up, “Does that bother you?”
Slane was inspecting the windshield to his pick-up. Spotting a blotch of bird droppings, he produced his Leatherman and retracted a setting to sloooooooooowly shave away the obtrusive effluence, “To a point. Being used to test the mettle of two wrestlers simultaneously is burdensome, and almost more than someone with my responsibilities should be asked to handle. But that is the cost of being the WCF’s longest current reigning champion with the exception of the People’s Title.”
“You know, it is always possible that this match isn’t to test Kain and Jakobs. It could be testing you.”
“Explain that.”
“Well, Seth might have booked you to face two men higher on the card to see if you can handle that level of competition.”
Scoutmaster snapped the Leatherman shut and all but glared into the phone, “Are you insinuating that Mister Jakobs and Mister Kain both out-rank me in the WCF hierarchy?”
“Both of their matches occurred later on the card than yours at Ultimate Showdown. Tommy Kain was in the main event. When you add the detail you lost a singles match against “The Daredevil” Jonathan Jakobs, it isn’t much of a stretch to think it might be you who’s being tested, not them.”
“Nonsense,” Slane spat at the spot on his windshield he had cleaned and rubbed it with his handkerchief, “It doesn’t matter what order our matches were in at Ultimate Showdown. The only pertinent issue are the outcomes. They lost. I did not.”
“Fair enough, but they were defending more important belts against tougher opponents-“
“Let me stop you right there, you feckless provocateur,” Stuart angrily stuffed the hankie back into his pocket, “There is no title more important than the Internet Title. Its significance is based on the fact that I hold it. The Champion makes the Championship matter, not the other way around. You only have to look to my next opponents for proof of this. Tommy Kain’s reign as Hardcore Champion is notable for nothing, while Jonathan Jakobs will forever live with the ignominy of being part of a highly touted tag team that, when time came to prove they deserved such accolades, failed miserably. They, and Eric Price as well, for all their collective talent, made those belts worthless when they held them.”
“Those are strong words, Scoutmaster.”
“It isn’t my nature to sugarcoat the truth,” Stuart replied matter-of-factly, “Just as it isn’t my nature to reward the unfit with opportunity. For Misters Kain and Mister Jakobs, this triple threat match is an occasion to redeem themselves. It won’t happen. I’m not here to bust anyone’s slump. After the lesson I’ll be giving them at Slam Sunday, they’ll be wise to look elsewhere for a chance to earn gold. Perhaps the People’s Championship. Or, better yet: the US Title. Maybe one of them can be the one to restore dignity to the belt that bears the name our great nation.”
“Heh. Not happy with Steve Orbit as US Champion, are you?” Hank Brown chuckled.
“No proud American should be. And if I was not already embroiled in the myriad of duties that come with representing my Internet Title, I’d demonstrate my chagrin more fully.”
“Let’s talk about those duties some. You are still pushing to establish new guidelines for the Wrestling Championship Federation’s website. How is that progressing?”
Slane smirked, “There have been setbacks, no doubt. Chief among them is the edict from the Office of the Vice President of Digital Media Content that my Seven Point Plan cannot be implemented because WCF.com would lose advertisers. However, I am currently in negotiations with a party interested in exclusively sponsoring the site. A deep pocketed corporation with strong values; one not known to balk at making controversial stands.”
Hank Brown’s ‘Scoop Sense’ kicked in, “Sounds intriguing. What’s the company?”
“I can’t say just yet. The talks are still in the developmental stage.”
“Not even a hint, Scoutmaster?”
“But I did give you a hint, Mister Brown,” Stuart Slane unlocked his truck and eased himself in.
“I missed it.”
“Balk.”
“Balk?”
“Bawk, bawk,” Scoutmaster put on his seat belt just before inserting the truck’s key in the ignition.
There was a long pause as Hank Brown worked out the identity of the mystery corporation. Then he gasped.
“Wait. You can’t mean-“
Scoutmaster turned off his cell right before putting the truck in reverse and pulling out of his parking space. Using a phone while driving might not be illegal in Pennsylvania, but that didn’t make it acceptable behavior. Especially given the precious cargo he was carrying.
“How was your breakfast, Dad?” Reagan, his daughter, and the eldest of the three children crammed in the cab, asked meekly.
“Filling,” Slane told her, “Maybe next time if you all aren’t late for revelry you’ll get to have breakfast too.”
And with that bit of fatherly wisdom imparted, the Scoutmaster turned them in the direction of Lackawanna State Park, and the camp that bore his name.
Stuart Slane shoved the last bite of his farmer’s breakfast into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It had been decent diner fare, though a far cry from his mother’s own authentic Bauernfruhstuck he and his four brothers had enjoyed growing up. Even his wife, with her fair to middling culinary skills, had been capable of better meals when she had put her mind to it. Still, the food and service were good enough to warrant a tip of 12 percent. He put his bills on the table.
“I’ll need…. thirty eight cents in change, please,” he told the waitress after some quick mental math.
The woman’s smile faltered, “Yes, sir,” she said before retreating with her meager wages.
After the transaction was completed, Slane exited the restaurant and walked to his car. He checked the time on his watch. It was close enough for him to call in, so he withdrew his cellular phone from his pocket and punched in the number he needed.
“Good morning, Mister Brown. Are you ready?”
From the other end of the line Hank Brown, Voice of the Wrestling Championship Federation gave his response, “Almost, Scoutmaster, let me just turn on the recorder here. All right. We’re good.”
“Splendid. I appreciate your willingness to conduct our interview by phone. I only get to have my children for a short allotment of time this summer, and want to spend as much of it as possible with them at my camp.”
“I understand. How often do you get to see them?”
Slane narrowed his eyes, “That’s none of your business,” he grunted before adopting a less irate tone, “Not often enough.”
“I apologize if you felt I was overstepping my bounds, Mister Slane,” Hank said before quickly moving onto the true subject of the interview, “This Sunday night at Slam you are booked to be in a non-title match against former Hardcore Champion Tommy Kain and former Tag Champion Jonathan Jakobs. What are your thoughts on this upcoming contest?”
“I’ve been told the triple threat is what those in the business call a “filler match”, and the only things on the line are bragging rights and a winner’s share of the purse, but I have my doubts. To me, this appears to be an attempt by Mister Lerch to see if my opponents, who only recently lost their respective titles, deserve of another chance at one, perhaps even mine. Which would be very shrewd on his part.”
Brown asked a follow up, “Does that bother you?”
Slane was inspecting the windshield to his pick-up. Spotting a blotch of bird droppings, he produced his Leatherman and retracted a setting to sloooooooooowly shave away the obtrusive effluence, “To a point. Being used to test the mettle of two wrestlers simultaneously is burdensome, and almost more than someone with my responsibilities should be asked to handle. But that is the cost of being the WCF’s longest current reigning champion with the exception of the People’s Title.”
“You know, it is always possible that this match isn’t to test Kain and Jakobs. It could be testing you.”
“Explain that.”
“Well, Seth might have booked you to face two men higher on the card to see if you can handle that level of competition.”
Scoutmaster snapped the Leatherman shut and all but glared into the phone, “Are you insinuating that Mister Jakobs and Mister Kain both out-rank me in the WCF hierarchy?”
“Both of their matches occurred later on the card than yours at Ultimate Showdown. Tommy Kain was in the main event. When you add the detail you lost a singles match against “The Daredevil” Jonathan Jakobs, it isn’t much of a stretch to think it might be you who’s being tested, not them.”
“Nonsense,” Slane spat at the spot on his windshield he had cleaned and rubbed it with his handkerchief, “It doesn’t matter what order our matches were in at Ultimate Showdown. The only pertinent issue are the outcomes. They lost. I did not.”
“Fair enough, but they were defending more important belts against tougher opponents-“
“Let me stop you right there, you feckless provocateur,” Stuart angrily stuffed the hankie back into his pocket, “There is no title more important than the Internet Title. Its significance is based on the fact that I hold it. The Champion makes the Championship matter, not the other way around. You only have to look to my next opponents for proof of this. Tommy Kain’s reign as Hardcore Champion is notable for nothing, while Jonathan Jakobs will forever live with the ignominy of being part of a highly touted tag team that, when time came to prove they deserved such accolades, failed miserably. They, and Eric Price as well, for all their collective talent, made those belts worthless when they held them.”
“Those are strong words, Scoutmaster.”
“It isn’t my nature to sugarcoat the truth,” Stuart replied matter-of-factly, “Just as it isn’t my nature to reward the unfit with opportunity. For Misters Kain and Mister Jakobs, this triple threat match is an occasion to redeem themselves. It won’t happen. I’m not here to bust anyone’s slump. After the lesson I’ll be giving them at Slam Sunday, they’ll be wise to look elsewhere for a chance to earn gold. Perhaps the People’s Championship. Or, better yet: the US Title. Maybe one of them can be the one to restore dignity to the belt that bears the name our great nation.”
“Heh. Not happy with Steve Orbit as US Champion, are you?” Hank Brown chuckled.
“No proud American should be. And if I was not already embroiled in the myriad of duties that come with representing my Internet Title, I’d demonstrate my chagrin more fully.”
“Let’s talk about those duties some. You are still pushing to establish new guidelines for the Wrestling Championship Federation’s website. How is that progressing?”
Slane smirked, “There have been setbacks, no doubt. Chief among them is the edict from the Office of the Vice President of Digital Media Content that my Seven Point Plan cannot be implemented because WCF.com would lose advertisers. However, I am currently in negotiations with a party interested in exclusively sponsoring the site. A deep pocketed corporation with strong values; one not known to balk at making controversial stands.”
Hank Brown’s ‘Scoop Sense’ kicked in, “Sounds intriguing. What’s the company?”
“I can’t say just yet. The talks are still in the developmental stage.”
“Not even a hint, Scoutmaster?”
“But I did give you a hint, Mister Brown,” Stuart Slane unlocked his truck and eased himself in.
“I missed it.”
“Balk.”
“Balk?”
“Bawk, bawk,” Scoutmaster put on his seat belt just before inserting the truck’s key in the ignition.
There was a long pause as Hank Brown worked out the identity of the mystery corporation. Then he gasped.
“Wait. You can’t mean-“
Scoutmaster turned off his cell right before putting the truck in reverse and pulling out of his parking space. Using a phone while driving might not be illegal in Pennsylvania, but that didn’t make it acceptable behavior. Especially given the precious cargo he was carrying.
“How was your breakfast, Dad?” Reagan, his daughter, and the eldest of the three children crammed in the cab, asked meekly.
“Filling,” Slane told her, “Maybe next time if you all aren’t late for revelry you’ll get to have breakfast too.”
And with that bit of fatherly wisdom imparted, the Scoutmaster turned them in the direction of Lackawanna State Park, and the camp that bore his name.