Post by Deleted on Aug 17, 2012 20:31:09 GMT -5
Deserve’s Got Nothing to do With It
“For all intents and purposes I am facing two opponents Sunday. I wish to take this time to speak to both directly.”
The Scoutmaster, clad in his full uniform, raised up the Internet Championship Belt for the studio camera.
“First, to the man I am wrestling, Michael Santiago. This is what you want, isn’t it?” Slane gave the belt a shake, “Perhaps not this title in particular, but one of the others you could claim as your own?”
Stuart lays the strap over his broad shoulder, letting it cover the sash that displays the hundreds of merit badges he has earned, “That’s why you dissolved your tag team partnership with Ryan Blake, correct? To try your hand at singles competition, and individual glory? Yes. You even made an announcement back in July about accepting open challenges. Others may not have noticed, but I did. Monitoring the online activity of the WCF roster is one of my, the Internet Champion’s, key responsibilities,” Scoutmaster absently traced two callused fingers across the buckle of his title.
“But back to you, Mister Santiago. Your statement came a month ago, and what’s happened since? You’ve had four matches, all of them tag team, and your record is a paltry 1-3. So, on the surface, it would seem a change to on- on-one matchups would be in your career’s best interest.”
He smirked, “I’m sure you’re aware of the old saw about liars and figures, Mister Santiago. And the truth is; you are lying to yourself by thinking the WCF single’s division will be any easier for you. Allow me to be blunt, sir: since you managed to capture the tag team belts back at Blast, you have been a failure. You lost your belts in your first defense and have been losing consistently ever since. Blame poor chemistry with your Alliance stablemate if you want, but for nearly two months you have not once displayed the aptitude that warrants your decision to go solo as a competitor. You’ve coasted, Mister Santiago.
“And if you stay on that track, in singles competition, AGAINST ME, your failures will continue to pile up. I may not be the well-traveled veteran you are in this sport, but even I can spot when a wrestler is going through the motions. That wrestler is you. Meanwhile, I remain a serious man with serious aspirations. Come at me with less than your best effort and I will squash you like a bug.”
“Now, let us move on to a pest of a more significant nature,” it is here the Scoutmaster’s right eyelid begins to flutter, “The referee of my match with Michael Santiago, and not coincidentally the Number One Contender for the Internet Title, Johnny Stylez. Yes, it appears my munificent suggestion for determining a challenger has been ignored, and I must once again face ‘The Don of Disrespect’, this time at the Revenge Pay Per View.
“Mister Stylez, you are making a grave mistake. Do you honestly believe your recent success teaming with Ryan Pugh entitles you to a rematch? For the sake of your career, you should have turned down the opportunity handed to you and continued working your way up the ranks of the tag division. There, you might have had a chance. Instead, your senses, no doubt afflicted by copious amounts of cannabis consumption, have taken their leave of you. How else can you explain forgetting the decisive beating I gave you the last time we faced, becoming Internet Champion as a consequence?
“I assume this time you think the outcome will be different because you are being given a chance to hobble me beforehand. As the special guest referee for my match Sunday, you can use that position to strike a deal with my opponent. A win in exchange for an injury.”
The Scoutmaster’s trembling eyelid turns into a full-blown twitch, “No doubt you and Michael Santiago are already in cahoots, working with the others in this organization who seek to end my title reign. Well, I have news for ALL of you,” taking the title belt from his shoulder, Slane held it high over his head, “I will not lose. Not this Sunday, and not at Revenge. My enemies can plot and scheme however they want, but it will take a BULLET to separate me from my title. Now and forever, I will be your Internet Champion!”
Slane waited until the camera lights were off before lowering the belt. He then turned and barked at one of the workers offstage.
“Get this makeup off me.”
The young woman followed the Scoutmaster as he stomped to the nearest chair. Before sitting he handed his hat and the Internet Title to another part of the filming crew.
“My water,” Stuart said simply.
“Yes, sir. Also, Evan wants to go over the footage with you.”
“No,” the Virtual Ambassador of the WCF grunted as he unscrewed the cap to his canteen and took a long swig, making the cosmetician’s efforts to clean his face more of a struggle.
“But Mister Slane, don’t you want to want to check on how everything looks and sounds in your promo?”
“That’s the director’s job, not mine. I make the speeches. He tweaks the speeches. Assuming there is anything that needs tweaking,” Scoutmaster rose from his seat. Towering over the pair, he took back his accessories, “Call Ms. Anne’s office and inform her I am on my way.”
“Er, she knows you’re coming?”
“She will when you tell her,” Slane answered before marching off.
Lisl Anne looked both fetching and professional in her coral pink blazer and matching skirt. It did nothing to improve the Scoutmaster’s mood.
“Why am I facing Johnny Stylez at Revenge?” he asked upon entering the office of WCF’s Vice President of Digital Media Content.
“Good morning, Stuart,” Lisl smiled from her chair.
“Good morning. Answer my question, please.”
“Well, it’s my guess that, as a former champion, Johnny Stylez is entitled to a rematch because his contract included a rematch clause,” she shrugged her well-padded shoulders good-naturedly, “Just a hunch.”
“A rematch clause? That… is unfair,” Slane moved to sit on the other side of her desk, “I beat Mister Stylez for the Internet Title already. I shouldn’t have to do so again.”
“Them’s the breaks, big guy.”
“Why was my idea for choosing a number one contender rejected?” he demanded to know.
Lisl chuckled, “The Battle Royale? Come on. There was no way WCF was going to let you pick who you wanted to face, have them beat the hell out of each other for a title shot, and then allow you to wrestle the winner for the right to keep that chance.”
“Why not? My proposal is far more egalitarian and merit-based than some ‘rematch clause’.”
“It was chicken shit,” the former adult film star countered, “You’d select sixteen jobbers to compete. No one wants to watch an Over the Top Rope Elimination Match filled with ham and eggers. And no one wants to watch you swoop in afterwards and destroy whichever silly SOB is left standing at the end of it, just so you can keep your championship.”
Stuart Slane’s face reddened. His fingers clenched at the arm rests of his chair, causing the wood to creak ominously. He sputtered briefly, his mind racing to mount a counter-argument, but none was forthcoming. His shoulders slumped in defeat, “Please don’t curse,” he muttered.
“I apologize. Now, is there anything else?”
“Yes,” the Scoutmaster looked up, his righteous indignation returned, “Yes, I am filing a formal protest in response to Johnny Stylez being chosen to referee my match Sunday. It is my contention that he will not be a fair and impartial umpire.”
“I don’t think Johnny’s meant to be, Stuart,” Lisl observed, “I’m pretty sure your match has been booked to produce shenanigans. Seth loves shenanigans.”
“Well, I don’t. Such tomfoolery could jeopardize my career.”
“I know,” she told him not unkindly, “But that’s the nature of the business. Pro wrestling is about spectacle as much as legit competition. It got its start in the carnival circuit, after all.”
The Scoutmaster tugged at his lower lip and said nothing.
Lisl took his silence as resignation, “Stuart, sometimes you just have to accept things for what they are, grab onto to something for dear life, and just take it, no matter how badly you’re getting screwed.”
The woman’s tone and choice of words made the Scoutmaster aware she was speaking from experience. It also made him very, very angry.
“No,” he hissed, his eyes closing to slits, “I will not. What you just said, your ‘advice’, was quitter talk. I’m not some… some… some… passive little plaything for the powers that be,” he sneered at his superior, “I’m not like YOU.”
“Of course not. Now, is there anything else?” Lisl asked again, widely smiling at Slane despite his insult.
“You bet there is,” the big man hunched forward in his seat, “Tell whomever you need to tell that I will not be taking this latest attempt to sabotage my reign lying down. If the WCF wants shenanigans this Sunday, they will get them. In spades,” he began to nod his head manically.
“I’ll get that message out there for you,” the executive said as her eyes drifted back to her pile of paperwork. Picking up her Monte Blanc pen, she jotted a note to herself on top of it [“Shenanigans in Spades”= great band name].
“Thank you,” Scoutmaster stood and put his hat back on to leave.
“You’re welcome,” Lisl Anne went back to her spreadsheets. Just as Slane had turned to leave, she let fly with the next salvo in the pair’s private little war. As always, the attack was more subversive than vicious, “Good luck with your meeting.”
Slane stopped in his tracks, “Meeting?” he asked, his back still to her.
“With the Chick-Fil-A people. I heard you reserved a table at “Dan’s.” Very swank.”
“So I was told.”
Lisl looked up at the Scoutmaster, “The fact you were able to get them to fly up here to see you is impressive. You must be quite the charmer when you want to be.”
Slane turned around, “We share common interests,” he said in explanation.
“Who in the company are you meeting with?”
“The Associate Director of Online Marketing, and his wife.”
“Ah,” she nodded, “So it’s more of a casual meeting then. A ‘get to know you’ affair. Well, I’m sure you and whoever you bring will make a wonderful first impression.”
The Scoutmaster grew perplexed, “I… wasn’t planning on bringing anyone.”
Lisl arched one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows, “Really? You’re going STAG to a dinner party with a Chick-Fil-A executive and his WIFE?”
“Yes, why should it….” then it dawned on the Stuart exactly what the woman was trying to imply, “… matter?”
“It shouldn’t. You’re absolutely right,” she gave him one last, Cheshire grin, “Again, good luck with your meeting. Make sure to try the scallops. Pfft. What am I saying? It’s got to be a chicken dinner for you, right?”
The Scoutmaster did not answer. He merely turned on his heel and stormed out.
“For all intents and purposes I am facing two opponents Sunday. I wish to take this time to speak to both directly.”
The Scoutmaster, clad in his full uniform, raised up the Internet Championship Belt for the studio camera.
“First, to the man I am wrestling, Michael Santiago. This is what you want, isn’t it?” Slane gave the belt a shake, “Perhaps not this title in particular, but one of the others you could claim as your own?”
Stuart lays the strap over his broad shoulder, letting it cover the sash that displays the hundreds of merit badges he has earned, “That’s why you dissolved your tag team partnership with Ryan Blake, correct? To try your hand at singles competition, and individual glory? Yes. You even made an announcement back in July about accepting open challenges. Others may not have noticed, but I did. Monitoring the online activity of the WCF roster is one of my, the Internet Champion’s, key responsibilities,” Scoutmaster absently traced two callused fingers across the buckle of his title.
“But back to you, Mister Santiago. Your statement came a month ago, and what’s happened since? You’ve had four matches, all of them tag team, and your record is a paltry 1-3. So, on the surface, it would seem a change to on- on-one matchups would be in your career’s best interest.”
He smirked, “I’m sure you’re aware of the old saw about liars and figures, Mister Santiago. And the truth is; you are lying to yourself by thinking the WCF single’s division will be any easier for you. Allow me to be blunt, sir: since you managed to capture the tag team belts back at Blast, you have been a failure. You lost your belts in your first defense and have been losing consistently ever since. Blame poor chemistry with your Alliance stablemate if you want, but for nearly two months you have not once displayed the aptitude that warrants your decision to go solo as a competitor. You’ve coasted, Mister Santiago.
“And if you stay on that track, in singles competition, AGAINST ME, your failures will continue to pile up. I may not be the well-traveled veteran you are in this sport, but even I can spot when a wrestler is going through the motions. That wrestler is you. Meanwhile, I remain a serious man with serious aspirations. Come at me with less than your best effort and I will squash you like a bug.”
“Now, let us move on to a pest of a more significant nature,” it is here the Scoutmaster’s right eyelid begins to flutter, “The referee of my match with Michael Santiago, and not coincidentally the Number One Contender for the Internet Title, Johnny Stylez. Yes, it appears my munificent suggestion for determining a challenger has been ignored, and I must once again face ‘The Don of Disrespect’, this time at the Revenge Pay Per View.
“Mister Stylez, you are making a grave mistake. Do you honestly believe your recent success teaming with Ryan Pugh entitles you to a rematch? For the sake of your career, you should have turned down the opportunity handed to you and continued working your way up the ranks of the tag division. There, you might have had a chance. Instead, your senses, no doubt afflicted by copious amounts of cannabis consumption, have taken their leave of you. How else can you explain forgetting the decisive beating I gave you the last time we faced, becoming Internet Champion as a consequence?
“I assume this time you think the outcome will be different because you are being given a chance to hobble me beforehand. As the special guest referee for my match Sunday, you can use that position to strike a deal with my opponent. A win in exchange for an injury.”
The Scoutmaster’s trembling eyelid turns into a full-blown twitch, “No doubt you and Michael Santiago are already in cahoots, working with the others in this organization who seek to end my title reign. Well, I have news for ALL of you,” taking the title belt from his shoulder, Slane held it high over his head, “I will not lose. Not this Sunday, and not at Revenge. My enemies can plot and scheme however they want, but it will take a BULLET to separate me from my title. Now and forever, I will be your Internet Champion!”
Slane waited until the camera lights were off before lowering the belt. He then turned and barked at one of the workers offstage.
“Get this makeup off me.”
The young woman followed the Scoutmaster as he stomped to the nearest chair. Before sitting he handed his hat and the Internet Title to another part of the filming crew.
“My water,” Stuart said simply.
“Yes, sir. Also, Evan wants to go over the footage with you.”
“No,” the Virtual Ambassador of the WCF grunted as he unscrewed the cap to his canteen and took a long swig, making the cosmetician’s efforts to clean his face more of a struggle.
“But Mister Slane, don’t you want to want to check on how everything looks and sounds in your promo?”
“That’s the director’s job, not mine. I make the speeches. He tweaks the speeches. Assuming there is anything that needs tweaking,” Scoutmaster rose from his seat. Towering over the pair, he took back his accessories, “Call Ms. Anne’s office and inform her I am on my way.”
“Er, she knows you’re coming?”
“She will when you tell her,” Slane answered before marching off.
Lisl Anne looked both fetching and professional in her coral pink blazer and matching skirt. It did nothing to improve the Scoutmaster’s mood.
“Why am I facing Johnny Stylez at Revenge?” he asked upon entering the office of WCF’s Vice President of Digital Media Content.
“Good morning, Stuart,” Lisl smiled from her chair.
“Good morning. Answer my question, please.”
“Well, it’s my guess that, as a former champion, Johnny Stylez is entitled to a rematch because his contract included a rematch clause,” she shrugged her well-padded shoulders good-naturedly, “Just a hunch.”
“A rematch clause? That… is unfair,” Slane moved to sit on the other side of her desk, “I beat Mister Stylez for the Internet Title already. I shouldn’t have to do so again.”
“Them’s the breaks, big guy.”
“Why was my idea for choosing a number one contender rejected?” he demanded to know.
Lisl chuckled, “The Battle Royale? Come on. There was no way WCF was going to let you pick who you wanted to face, have them beat the hell out of each other for a title shot, and then allow you to wrestle the winner for the right to keep that chance.”
“Why not? My proposal is far more egalitarian and merit-based than some ‘rematch clause’.”
“It was chicken shit,” the former adult film star countered, “You’d select sixteen jobbers to compete. No one wants to watch an Over the Top Rope Elimination Match filled with ham and eggers. And no one wants to watch you swoop in afterwards and destroy whichever silly SOB is left standing at the end of it, just so you can keep your championship.”
Stuart Slane’s face reddened. His fingers clenched at the arm rests of his chair, causing the wood to creak ominously. He sputtered briefly, his mind racing to mount a counter-argument, but none was forthcoming. His shoulders slumped in defeat, “Please don’t curse,” he muttered.
“I apologize. Now, is there anything else?”
“Yes,” the Scoutmaster looked up, his righteous indignation returned, “Yes, I am filing a formal protest in response to Johnny Stylez being chosen to referee my match Sunday. It is my contention that he will not be a fair and impartial umpire.”
“I don’t think Johnny’s meant to be, Stuart,” Lisl observed, “I’m pretty sure your match has been booked to produce shenanigans. Seth loves shenanigans.”
“Well, I don’t. Such tomfoolery could jeopardize my career.”
“I know,” she told him not unkindly, “But that’s the nature of the business. Pro wrestling is about spectacle as much as legit competition. It got its start in the carnival circuit, after all.”
The Scoutmaster tugged at his lower lip and said nothing.
Lisl took his silence as resignation, “Stuart, sometimes you just have to accept things for what they are, grab onto to something for dear life, and just take it, no matter how badly you’re getting screwed.”
The woman’s tone and choice of words made the Scoutmaster aware she was speaking from experience. It also made him very, very angry.
“No,” he hissed, his eyes closing to slits, “I will not. What you just said, your ‘advice’, was quitter talk. I’m not some… some… some… passive little plaything for the powers that be,” he sneered at his superior, “I’m not like YOU.”
“Of course not. Now, is there anything else?” Lisl asked again, widely smiling at Slane despite his insult.
“You bet there is,” the big man hunched forward in his seat, “Tell whomever you need to tell that I will not be taking this latest attempt to sabotage my reign lying down. If the WCF wants shenanigans this Sunday, they will get them. In spades,” he began to nod his head manically.
“I’ll get that message out there for you,” the executive said as her eyes drifted back to her pile of paperwork. Picking up her Monte Blanc pen, she jotted a note to herself on top of it [“Shenanigans in Spades”= great band name].
“Thank you,” Scoutmaster stood and put his hat back on to leave.
“You’re welcome,” Lisl Anne went back to her spreadsheets. Just as Slane had turned to leave, she let fly with the next salvo in the pair’s private little war. As always, the attack was more subversive than vicious, “Good luck with your meeting.”
Slane stopped in his tracks, “Meeting?” he asked, his back still to her.
“With the Chick-Fil-A people. I heard you reserved a table at “Dan’s.” Very swank.”
“So I was told.”
Lisl looked up at the Scoutmaster, “The fact you were able to get them to fly up here to see you is impressive. You must be quite the charmer when you want to be.”
Slane turned around, “We share common interests,” he said in explanation.
“Who in the company are you meeting with?”
“The Associate Director of Online Marketing, and his wife.”
“Ah,” she nodded, “So it’s more of a casual meeting then. A ‘get to know you’ affair. Well, I’m sure you and whoever you bring will make a wonderful first impression.”
The Scoutmaster grew perplexed, “I… wasn’t planning on bringing anyone.”
Lisl arched one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows, “Really? You’re going STAG to a dinner party with a Chick-Fil-A executive and his WIFE?”
“Yes, why should it….” then it dawned on the Stuart exactly what the woman was trying to imply, “… matter?”
“It shouldn’t. You’re absolutely right,” she gave him one last, Cheshire grin, “Again, good luck with your meeting. Make sure to try the scallops. Pfft. What am I saying? It’s got to be a chicken dinner for you, right?”
The Scoutmaster did not answer. He merely turned on his heel and stormed out.