Post by Johnny Reb on Oct 18, 2009 12:21:52 GMT -5
A generic stage is set: two canvas chairs on a raised dais, with a black backdrop bearing the WCF logo in poison green. Resident interviewer Hank Brown takes one seat, while Johnny Reb lounges in the other, wearing jeans and a “Southern Discomfort” T-shirt with a lapel mic clipped to it.
Hank: Thanks for joining me today, Johnny.
Johnny: Think nothin’ of it, Hank. I’m obligated. Contractually bound.
Hank: ….right. Well, let’s just cut to the chase, then. You’ve been a little quiet these last few weeks, since losing the World Title to Torture…
Reb leans back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.
Johnny: Ain’t had a lot to say, Hank. Situations like this, all you can do is just watch, an’ wait.
Hank: Situations like what?
Johnny: This whole “Team of Torture” thing. I’ve seen it before. Some wrestler gathers himself a superstable, maybe gets the boss in on it. They’ll be successful, for a while. But inevitably, egos will clash. Differences of opinion will become huge points of contention. And eventually, they will self-destruct from within. I know whereof I speak.
The Inveterate Confederate looks straight at the camera and gives it a wistful smile.
Hank: You’re referring to GWC’s “Machine”, of course. But the Team of Torture is radically different.
Reb shakes his head in negation.
Johnny: No, it ain’t, Hank. It ain’t no different at all. But I don’t think that’s what we’re here to talk about. Granted, mention of these cowards is practically unavoidable…
Hank: Well, Johnny, two weeks ago, you and Doc Henry lost a Tag Title match to the current champions –
Johnny: Champions who clearly don’t give a damn about their titles, this company, or the fans. I don’t care to discuss that.
Hank: – and before that, War, where you were eliminated fairly quickly by your opponent at Helloween, Craig Jacobs.
Johnny: Which was a fluke. He got lucky, an’ luck is what counts in a big match like that. Maybe I wasn’t payin’ enough attention, I dunno. At Helloween, it’ll be different; just me an’ Mr. Jacobs, one on one. No distractions. No numbers game. Just the two of us, in honorable combat.
Hank cocks his head to one side, gazing at Johnny in uncertainty.
Hank: Honorable…what? Are you saying there won’t be any cheating?
Reb gives Hank an enigmatic smile.
Johnny: There’s more’n enough cheatin’ goin’ on these days. Maybe if I had the boss in my back pocket. But I’ve had a lotta time for some introspection, an’ it occurs to me there are better ways to get what I want.
Hank: And what is it you want, exactly, Johnny?
Johnny: Don’t be stupid, Hank. The same thing I’ve always wanted: gold. The World Title, to be specific. Although I wouldn’t refuse another chance at them tag titles, either.
Hank still appears confused.
Hank: Did I hear you right, though? Did you just basically say you wouldn’t be cheating anymore? Are you feeling ok?
Reb’s smile lingers on his lips, unaltered.
Johnny: Well, I didn’t say I wouldn’t ever alter the odds in my own favor again. But maybe it’s time to cut back a little bit. Keep a wild card up my sleeve for when I really need it, y’know?
Hank: And what about your opponent this week?
Johnny frowns, as if trying to remember who he’s facing.
Hank: …Tyler Derden…
Johnny: Isn’t he the guy from that movie? Fight Club? And then he ended up being a figment of Edward Norton’s imagination, or somethin’? Nah, won’t need to cheat against him, either.
Hank: But Johnny, he’s a real person, not a fictional character…
Both men look at each other for a moment, then directly at the camera, grinning broadly.
Johnny: Right, right. Fact remains, though, that this match is gonna be an excuse for the fans in attendance to go get more beer an’ nachos. See, Lerch’s booking is a little…odd of late. An’ I know why he’s put me in such a … distasteful position; so low on the card, when only weeks ago, I was the main event.
Brown raises an eyebrow.
Hank: And the reason for that would be…?
Reb smirks.
Johnny: Because he knows that I am one of a very short list of superstars actually capable of showing the TOT for just what they are. He’s got Doc and Logan at each other’s throats over the US Title, forcin’ them to compete instead of unite, leadin’ up to the Hellimination match.
See, there’s only a few of us with the resolve and the skill to do somethin’ about all this before it gets outta hand. Me an’ Doc. Logan. Slickie T. Hector Rodriguez. We’re the ones who can stand in the face of this threat, while everyone else falls to bickerin’ amongst themselves, or bein’ browbeaten into submission.
Lerch put me in this match to make me humble. It ain’t gonna work. I’m gonna put this Derden guy down for the count, an’ I’ll be shocked if I break a sweat doin’ it. I’m a former World Champion. I have defeated bona fide legends, men like Dake Ken, Gravedigger, even Mr. Guiliano himself.
These other men I mentioned, there’s only one with whom I have an actual understandin’ an agreement. Among the rest of ‘em, all I can say is, they have my deepest respect, an’ I would welcome any opportunity to present a united front against this travesty masquerading as a competitive entity, otherwise known as the Team of Torture.
Johnny pulls the lapel mic off his shirt and walks off the stage, leaving a very stunned Hank Brown staring after him as the scene fades away.
Hank: Thanks for joining me today, Johnny.
Johnny: Think nothin’ of it, Hank. I’m obligated. Contractually bound.
Hank: ….right. Well, let’s just cut to the chase, then. You’ve been a little quiet these last few weeks, since losing the World Title to Torture…
Reb leans back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.
Johnny: Ain’t had a lot to say, Hank. Situations like this, all you can do is just watch, an’ wait.
Hank: Situations like what?
Johnny: This whole “Team of Torture” thing. I’ve seen it before. Some wrestler gathers himself a superstable, maybe gets the boss in on it. They’ll be successful, for a while. But inevitably, egos will clash. Differences of opinion will become huge points of contention. And eventually, they will self-destruct from within. I know whereof I speak.
The Inveterate Confederate looks straight at the camera and gives it a wistful smile.
Hank: You’re referring to GWC’s “Machine”, of course. But the Team of Torture is radically different.
Reb shakes his head in negation.
Johnny: No, it ain’t, Hank. It ain’t no different at all. But I don’t think that’s what we’re here to talk about. Granted, mention of these cowards is practically unavoidable…
Hank: Well, Johnny, two weeks ago, you and Doc Henry lost a Tag Title match to the current champions –
Johnny: Champions who clearly don’t give a damn about their titles, this company, or the fans. I don’t care to discuss that.
Hank: – and before that, War, where you were eliminated fairly quickly by your opponent at Helloween, Craig Jacobs.
Johnny: Which was a fluke. He got lucky, an’ luck is what counts in a big match like that. Maybe I wasn’t payin’ enough attention, I dunno. At Helloween, it’ll be different; just me an’ Mr. Jacobs, one on one. No distractions. No numbers game. Just the two of us, in honorable combat.
Hank cocks his head to one side, gazing at Johnny in uncertainty.
Hank: Honorable…what? Are you saying there won’t be any cheating?
Reb gives Hank an enigmatic smile.
Johnny: There’s more’n enough cheatin’ goin’ on these days. Maybe if I had the boss in my back pocket. But I’ve had a lotta time for some introspection, an’ it occurs to me there are better ways to get what I want.
Hank: And what is it you want, exactly, Johnny?
Johnny: Don’t be stupid, Hank. The same thing I’ve always wanted: gold. The World Title, to be specific. Although I wouldn’t refuse another chance at them tag titles, either.
Hank still appears confused.
Hank: Did I hear you right, though? Did you just basically say you wouldn’t be cheating anymore? Are you feeling ok?
Reb’s smile lingers on his lips, unaltered.
Johnny: Well, I didn’t say I wouldn’t ever alter the odds in my own favor again. But maybe it’s time to cut back a little bit. Keep a wild card up my sleeve for when I really need it, y’know?
Hank: And what about your opponent this week?
Johnny frowns, as if trying to remember who he’s facing.
Hank: …Tyler Derden…
Johnny: Isn’t he the guy from that movie? Fight Club? And then he ended up being a figment of Edward Norton’s imagination, or somethin’? Nah, won’t need to cheat against him, either.
Hank: But Johnny, he’s a real person, not a fictional character…
Both men look at each other for a moment, then directly at the camera, grinning broadly.
Johnny: Right, right. Fact remains, though, that this match is gonna be an excuse for the fans in attendance to go get more beer an’ nachos. See, Lerch’s booking is a little…odd of late. An’ I know why he’s put me in such a … distasteful position; so low on the card, when only weeks ago, I was the main event.
Brown raises an eyebrow.
Hank: And the reason for that would be…?
Reb smirks.
Johnny: Because he knows that I am one of a very short list of superstars actually capable of showing the TOT for just what they are. He’s got Doc and Logan at each other’s throats over the US Title, forcin’ them to compete instead of unite, leadin’ up to the Hellimination match.
See, there’s only a few of us with the resolve and the skill to do somethin’ about all this before it gets outta hand. Me an’ Doc. Logan. Slickie T. Hector Rodriguez. We’re the ones who can stand in the face of this threat, while everyone else falls to bickerin’ amongst themselves, or bein’ browbeaten into submission.
Lerch put me in this match to make me humble. It ain’t gonna work. I’m gonna put this Derden guy down for the count, an’ I’ll be shocked if I break a sweat doin’ it. I’m a former World Champion. I have defeated bona fide legends, men like Dake Ken, Gravedigger, even Mr. Guiliano himself.
These other men I mentioned, there’s only one with whom I have an actual understandin’ an agreement. Among the rest of ‘em, all I can say is, they have my deepest respect, an’ I would welcome any opportunity to present a united front against this travesty masquerading as a competitive entity, otherwise known as the Team of Torture.
Johnny pulls the lapel mic off his shirt and walks off the stage, leaving a very stunned Hank Brown staring after him as the scene fades away.