Post by Deleted on Aug 15, 2011 1:23:43 GMT -5
{{Your vision jumps to life as you find yourself walking down the hallway of what appears to be a very busy hospital. Sounds of frenzied activity fill the air as doctors, nurses and patients go about their business all around you. You hear the chattering of voices and the electronic beeping and blooping of machines, the kind of machines that save lives. People are walking/rushing past you in every direction. One patient is being wheeled on a gurney. That motherfucker don't look too hot.
As you stroll down the hall of the hospital ward and walk past some of the rooms, you hear occasional pained screams and groans. You glance into one of the rooms and see/hear a woman with menstrual pains calling out to her creator above in between screams, both to curse Him and plead for His mercy. A couple of rooms down you see/hear a man with gunshot wounds in his chest bellowing in pain as he's tended to by medics, he being the victim of rat-a-tat-tat... the street game. This is Hartford and that's how the story goes. You know this to be true.
You look down at the clipboard in your hand and see the name Phillip Baines written in elegant script atop a medical form. Behind the clipboard is a thick manila envelope. The envelope has a good weight to it. It must be carrying something important, something thick. You look up and scan the numbers upon the hospital room doors with your eyes. After walking a little bit further you stop in front of room 135 and push the already cracked door open with your hand. You walk into the room and turn your head to the left. You see Phillip Baines reclined on the exam table. Baines is wearing a paper hospital gown and he's reclined in such a position that his balls are visible through the opening at the bottom of the gown. You turn your head away. You don't need to see that, medical professional or not.
Suddenly your view shifts to a fly-on-the-wall perspective. You see Baines on the exam table on one side of the room and standing across the room from him is a silver-haired doctor with a kind, apple pie shaped face. Baines is talking on a cell phone. He holds his hand up toward the doctor, indicating that he's almost finished talking and he'll be just a moment more.}}
Phillip Baines [talking on his phone]: "It was great talking with you as always, Dr. Paul. Once again congratulations on your wonderful showing in the Iowa Straw Poll!"
{{Baines pauses as if he's listening to someone talking on the other end of the line.}}
Phil: "Yes, sir. I'll be there front row and center when you come to Connecticut. Bobby will be there too. He'll be my ride, haha!"
{{Baines pauses again while listening.}}
Phil: "Same to you, Dr. Paul. I'll talk to you soon. Take care now!"
{{Phil puts the phone down on the stand next to the exam table.}}
Doctor: "Was that--"
Phil: "Ron Paul? You bet. He's a close, personal friend of mine."
Doctor: "Well I have the results of your X-rays here."
{{Doctor Andersarn, as the nametag on his white lab coat reads, holds up the manila envelope that he was carrying moments earlier.}}
Phil: "Lay it on me, Doc. What's wrong?"
Dr. Andersarn: "Nothing too serious. You have a strained oblique muscle."
{{Baines nods his head.}}
Phil: "Must have happened during my tag match against Obi and Doc last week. Those two sums of bitches hit hard and they don't let up. They're relentless, like piranhas."
Dr. Andersarn: "You said it's been acting up in training this week?"
Phil: "Yeah, like when Bobby powerbombed me on Thursday I definitely felt a burning sensation throughout my torso, like the rubberbands inside my muscles had snapped or something."
Dr. Andersarn: "You should be fine. Just get some rest and don't overexert yourself. I'll prescribe you some meds and you should be ready to go for Monday night."
Phil: "So in your professional opinion I would be a pussy to allow a strained oblique muscle to prevent me from competing?"
{{The good doctor furrows his brow.}}
Dr. Andersarn: "No, I'm not saying that. I just don't think it's the kind of injury that should prevent you from competing. In my opinion you're perfectly capable of wrestling on Monday night if you follow my instructions."
{{A coy smile spreads across Phillip's face.}}
Phil: "I know that, Doc. I feel fine."
{{The doc looks puzzled.}}
Dr. Andersarn: "I'm sorry?"
Phil: "This pain don't bother me. I came here to prove a point: True next gen superstars fight through the pain. They don't step out of the game for months and months and then weasel their way back into big money matches by attacking other people from behind. I earned the right to jump D-Day on Slam a few weeks back by being in the middle of this fray that we call WCF. What did Reb and Williams do to earn the privilege of attacking The Alliance on Slam? When you step out of the game, you have to work your way back up the ladder when you come back. You don't just get shit handed to you. That's the point of this whole Ragnarök Revolution that Odin, Blake and myself have unleashed upon WCF."
Dr. Andersarn: "I'm not sure what you want me to say, but I have many more patients that I have to see so I'm going to leave now. I'm putting the prescription for your meds right here on the counter. I'll have the receptionist at the front desk forward the billing information for the exam and the X-rays to your insurer."
Phil: "That would be Corey Black's monkey ass, care of Wrestling Championship Federation."
Dr. Andersarn: "Goodbye, Mr. Baines."
{{Doc Andersarn walks out of the room in a huff.}}
Phil: "So I'm free to go now or...?"
{{Baines shrugs his shoulders.}}
Phil: "HMO's, man."
{{Baines scoffs in disgust. He rises from his reclined position on the exam table and walks over to the counter to check out the prescription sheet.}}
Phil: "Let's see, what did that motherfucker give me... Vicodin? Nice. I would have preferred Oxy, but I can always buy some of that from my boy Roscoe."
{{Baines folds the prescription and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, which are slung over a chair in one corner of the room. He walks back to the exam table and sits down on it once again.}}
Phil: "Gangland warfare has arrived in Wrestling Championship Federation and the rivals of the Alliance are scrambling to find partners and pair up, like the vermin that they are. They're desperate to cling to something, anything, desperate to hold on for dear life and avoid being swept away by changing tides and, indeed, changing times. You know that there's fear in the locker room, fear in the soul of Donald Deruty, when he decides to invite two former rivals to follow him into battle against the Alliance. Donald knows that he can't get the job done on his own. I mean HE KNOWS that he can't get the job done ON HIS OWN. He was defeated by Odin cleanly and without controversy at Slam. What can Donald say about that? He had an off-night? Yeah, you had an off-night because Odin knocked your head off at your shoulders, motherfucker. Donald Deruty..."
{{Baines shakes his head in disgust.}}
Phil: "D-Day cannot do this grown man's work. It's sad that he's decided that instead of doing the honorable thing and bowing out gracefully, or as gracefully as one can bow with a broken back, he's going to drag two more lost souls down with him. And so WCF's latest faction has been born. Three former World Champions, emphasis on FORMER, have come together to challenge the only legitimate supergroup in WCF, the Alliance. Reb and Williams both spit their shit this week. Jay Williams in particular got on his clown shit and ran his mouth like the petulant child that he is. Jay tried to cut down Odin's World Title reign and make him seem dumb for trusting me as his partner, when I do after all hold a World Title shot that I can cash in at anytime.
"Let me explain a couple of things to you, Jay-Jay. Odin has already accomplished more as World Champion than you ever did, after all he did something that you couldn't do: He beat D-Day. In fact he beat D-Day twice and left absolutely no doubt about who the better man was when it was all said and done. You want to know something else? Odin is far from dumb for trusting me. In fact he's a fucking genius. There are no trust issues in the Alliance. We have no reason to distrust each other because we've never been rivals, unlike you and your rag-tag bunch of washed-up ex-champions. There's no animosity between Balfore and Baines, only mutual respect. I trust Odin to lead this company because I know that his leadership is the only way that we can secure WCF's future. I'm talking about OUR future, MY future and my future children's futures. I have no ambitions of taking that World Title from Odin because this revolutionary charge that we're leading is bigger than any championship belt. We're cleansing the soul of WCF and changing the culture in that locker room.
"Odin is the unquestioned leader of the Alliance because he's paid his dues in this sport. He's proven himself to be a shining example of what can be achieved by having an unyielding work ethic and the courage to challenge a culture of corruption and dysfunction. He's earned his stripes. He's earned a leadership position. He's EARNED it. The man is a trailblazer and a pioneer. So many people in this sport like to refer to themselves as gods, the God, or a god. Odin really is a god. He's a Norse god. He's THE Norse god! More than that he's my friend. He inspires me to be great and to do great things. Can you imagine how fortunate I am to have been a student of Bolts Quackenbush, a protégé of Bobby Cairo and a colleague of Odin Balfore? I am truly charmed."
{{Baines nods his head and smiles.}}
Phil: "I've become a greater competitor since joining the Alliance. I feel more motivated now than I ever have before. I'm not just wrestling for myself anymore, I'm wrestling for Balfore and Blake and everyone who believes that WCF can be something more than just a country club for retreads and also-rans who refuse to let their time in the spotlight pass them by. Life isn't always about individual glory. We as people can come together and achieve something greater than we ever have before. We don't have to rest on our laurels, tout past records and accomplishments, and expect that to be enough to get us by in the here and now. You wouldn't understand that, Jay Williams. You wouldn't understand because you're part of the problem. You helped to create the culture of entitlement and ineptitude in this company. You and your little buddies did that. You can say whatever you want, Jay. You can put down Odin. You can put down Baines. You can puff up your chest with all that bravado and put down the Alliance. You can talk about our supposed negative influence on WCF and talk about how you and Reb are here to play the hero role and save the day, the D-Day as it were."
{{Baines chuckles a bit before the expression on his face grows deathly serious. He stares straight into your soul with his cold, blue eyes.}}
Phil: "I know the real reason why you're back, Jay. Your massive ego needed to be stroked. You couldn't handle just sitting around your house with your flat-chested wife, not while men like Jay Price and Donald Deruty were on the TV being touted as future Hall of Famers by those who aren't in the know. You needed to get yourself some of that greed, some of that complacency that you had grown accustomed to during your overhyped comeback. Well here you are, boy. Here you are to collect what you believe is your birthright. There's just one problem: WCF isn't handing out World Championships anymore. WCF isn't handing out "main event spots" for overrated chumps who don't want to earn their keep. You dare to diminish my accomplishments, maggot Williams? What exactly did you accomplish during your time in this company, other than holding the weakened World Title for a cup of coffee before slinking back into the obscurity from whence you came?
"I'm not like you, Jay. I didn't high-tail it out of here the moment that I got a boo-boo during a match. As Hardcore Champion, working through injuries has become a way of life for me and I think I do a pretty damn good job. I am the most dominant Hardcore Champion that Wrestling Championship Federation has ever seen. I destroyed every opponent that was placed in front of me for four months straight. I'm talking about former World Champions and Hall of Famers, not just scrubs who were lined up and sent to the slaughter line. During my reign I've sent men to the retirement home. Hell, I sent one man to the funeral home. And yes, YES, I won the WCF Classic against a field of fifteen other superstars to earn my automatic World Title shot."
{{Baines licks his lips, his eyes unflinching and still staring straight into your soul.}}
Phil: "Admit it, Williams. You were scared shitless when you saw me win the Classic at Explosion. You knew that even if you won the World Title later that night against Reb and achieved your most lofty career goal, you would have to contend with me if I chose to cash in my title shot. Hell, you spent weeks begging me not to cash it in during your promos. You didn't want any part of Baines. Not in a one-on-one scenario. Not when the World Championship that you scraped and clawed to finally win was on the line. You didn't want any part of the Young Lion for fear that you would end up like every other man that I've faced in my career: Defeated and destroyed. I didn't cash in my title shot, but not because I gave a shit about your cowardly pleas for mercy. I didn't cash it in because I had bigger fish to fry at that time in the form of the Shadow Conspiracy, Greenfever and Oblivion.
"Those distractions have been eliminated and now it's going to be you and I, Williams. There will be no more hiding from Baines, no more pleas for protection, no more skirting your responsibilities. If you wish to be recognized as an icon or a legend in this company then bring your best shit on Monday night and prove yourself against real competition, not the best of the worst. Of course our match isn't a one-on-one contest. No, no. That's not what this is about. Not yet. You're bringing your new friend with you to Minneapolis."
{{Baines finally breaks his stare and looks down at the floor. He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and makes a clicking sound with his lips. Suddenly he looks up at you and flashes a smile.}}
Phil: "Yes siree, the Inveterate Confederate is back in WCF! Johnny Reb's entire shtick is almost too good to be true. The guy looks and sounds like he just walked out of a fucking William Faulkner novel. Let me tell you something, J. Reb: You're going to witness the sound and the fury of Phillip Baines on Monday night, and this ain't no tale told by an idiot. You came parading out at Ultimate Showdown a few weeks back in your Confederate garb with your Southern speech impediment and announced your triumphant return to WCF. You called out Doc Henry, the man who knocked you out of action months and months back. Then you just... disappeared again."
{{Baines holds his hand up to the ceiling and looks up as if scanning the thin air in which Reb apparently disappeared into.}}
Phil: "Then, out of the blue, you return for the second time in a month on Monday Night Slam and align yourself with Deruty and Williams. During your chat with Hank Brown you, of course, took shots at the Alliance and Odin Balfore. You spoke of concepts such as principle and justice. Riddle me this, Reb: Precisely what is unprincipled or unjust about the Alliance's current course of action? We're cleaning house in WCF. We're putting lackeys, chumps, deadbeats and hanger-on's on notice. We're eliminating the dead-weight in the WCF locker room and creating a brighter future for WCF. If guys like you, Williams and Deruty had your way then things would never change. You're only happy when you're the man on top of the card. All three of you are like that. There's no selflessness with you three the way that there is with the Alliance. You're not willing to sacrifice personal ambition for the greater good.
"The only reason why you guys would even consider working together is to eliminate the threat that the Alliance presents to your perfect little world of egotism and indulgence. You want to get rid of us so that you can go back to stabbing each other in the back and scheming to achieve your personal agendas."
{{Baines fidgets with his hands, symbolizing the scheming tactics of Deruty, Williams and Reb.}}
Phil: "You can fight it, gentlemen. You can fight it until the last breaths part from your collapsed lungs, but WCF IS moving forward. WCF will never be allowed to wallow in mediocrity again. I will not allow it, Blake will not allow it and, most terrifying of all, Odin will not allow it. I've listened to the nonsense from Reb this week. I've listened to the nonsense that Williams was spewing about how he was so happy that his buddy D-Day was the one who defeated him for the World Championship."
{{Baines rolls his eyes.}}
Phil: "But then Odin came along and ruined everything. That's right, Williams. All of that fairytale shit is going out the window."
{{Baines pushes it out the window with his hands.}}
Phil: "WCF isn't going to be about protecting the images of false icons anymore. The Alliance is building a solid state for like-minded individuals, warriors of the past, present and future. Reb and Williams, much like D-Day, are the antithesis of warriors. These are men who take months off for injures that take no more than a few days and a bottle of pills to heal. These are men who fake injures, or exaggerate them, to get time away from a sport that's just too damn hard for them to compete in week after week, month after month, year after year. They can't handle the grind. Odin has been grinding for the last decade while you clowns were dreaming of someday having your names on the marquee. Ten years later and not much has changed. Odin is still putting motherfuckers in body bags and Reb and Williams are still scheming to get their names in the bright lights.
"You're going to learn a lesson on Monday night, gentlemen. You're going to learn that it's better to be humble and uninjured than it is to come back to WCF with hype and braggadocio and interfere in the business of we Three Kings who be taking all the gold. Fortunately for you Ryan Blake has Television Championship business that he will be attending to on Monday night and as such you will be spared his wrath. Unfortunately for you the World Champion and the Hardcore Champion have nothing better to do than send your sorry asses to a hospital room just like this one."
{{Baines takes a look around at his surroundings. At this precise moment a large-breasted nurse pokes her head and boobs into the room, drawing Baines's attention.}}
Nurse: "Are you feeling alright, Mr. Baines? Dr. Andersarn discharged you a half-hour ago."
Phil: "Oh sure, Natasha. I feel fine."
{{Nurse Natasha walks into the room, walking closer to Baines and his paper thin gown, the only thing preventing him from being completely nude in the presence of this beautiful woman.}}
Nurse Natasha: "Can I get you another morphine drip?"
Phil: "That sounds delicious, Natasha. Thank you, but for the record I don't do the intravenous shit. Just stick a straw in that mofo and I'll suck it down like Capri Sun."
{{Natasha smiles.}}
Nurse Natasha: "I'll be back in a few minutes, Mr. Baines."
{{She winks at him, spins on her heel and walks away. Baines scopes out her ass the entire time until she leaves the room, at which point he turns his attention back to you.}}
Phil: "Now that was a sight for sore eyes. Of course some sights are just sorry. Take these three former World Champions for example, the men who are now calling themselves the Iconic Order. I don't see icons when I look at Deruty, Williams or Reb. I don't see legends. All I see is three transitional champions who couldn't handle the pressure of being The Man and leading WCF to prominence and prosperity. These are the kind of cats that talk shit to hype themselves up, and oh sure they look like world-beaters when they're facing the type of sub par competition that used to pass for greatness in WCF. But it's a different story when they're standing toe-to-toe with true greatness. That's when their words fall silent and they feel the tightness in their throats. Their chests begin to constrict. It becomes harder for them to breathe. The sense of panic overwhelms them. Hmm? Does that sound familiar, boys? Think about it, Jonathan Rebel and Jason Williams."
{{A female voice suddenly comes over the hospital's PA system.}}
Female Voice on PA: "Stroke alert! Code Blue! Stroke alert in room 212!"
{{Baines cocks his head to the side, squints his eyes and then looks you dead in yours.}}
Phil: "Reb? Williams? You boys checking in early?"
{{Baines smiles and begins cackling maniacally. Your eyelids begin to flutter beyond your control. The scene in front of you fades just as Nurse Natasha is returning to the room with Phil's morphine cocktail.}}
As you stroll down the hall of the hospital ward and walk past some of the rooms, you hear occasional pained screams and groans. You glance into one of the rooms and see/hear a woman with menstrual pains calling out to her creator above in between screams, both to curse Him and plead for His mercy. A couple of rooms down you see/hear a man with gunshot wounds in his chest bellowing in pain as he's tended to by medics, he being the victim of rat-a-tat-tat... the street game. This is Hartford and that's how the story goes. You know this to be true.
You look down at the clipboard in your hand and see the name Phillip Baines written in elegant script atop a medical form. Behind the clipboard is a thick manila envelope. The envelope has a good weight to it. It must be carrying something important, something thick. You look up and scan the numbers upon the hospital room doors with your eyes. After walking a little bit further you stop in front of room 135 and push the already cracked door open with your hand. You walk into the room and turn your head to the left. You see Phillip Baines reclined on the exam table. Baines is wearing a paper hospital gown and he's reclined in such a position that his balls are visible through the opening at the bottom of the gown. You turn your head away. You don't need to see that, medical professional or not.
Suddenly your view shifts to a fly-on-the-wall perspective. You see Baines on the exam table on one side of the room and standing across the room from him is a silver-haired doctor with a kind, apple pie shaped face. Baines is talking on a cell phone. He holds his hand up toward the doctor, indicating that he's almost finished talking and he'll be just a moment more.}}
Phillip Baines [talking on his phone]: "It was great talking with you as always, Dr. Paul. Once again congratulations on your wonderful showing in the Iowa Straw Poll!"
{{Baines pauses as if he's listening to someone talking on the other end of the line.}}
Phil: "Yes, sir. I'll be there front row and center when you come to Connecticut. Bobby will be there too. He'll be my ride, haha!"
{{Baines pauses again while listening.}}
Phil: "Same to you, Dr. Paul. I'll talk to you soon. Take care now!"
{{Phil puts the phone down on the stand next to the exam table.}}
Doctor: "Was that--"
Phil: "Ron Paul? You bet. He's a close, personal friend of mine."
Doctor: "Well I have the results of your X-rays here."
{{Doctor Andersarn, as the nametag on his white lab coat reads, holds up the manila envelope that he was carrying moments earlier.}}
Phil: "Lay it on me, Doc. What's wrong?"
Dr. Andersarn: "Nothing too serious. You have a strained oblique muscle."
{{Baines nods his head.}}
Phil: "Must have happened during my tag match against Obi and Doc last week. Those two sums of bitches hit hard and they don't let up. They're relentless, like piranhas."
Dr. Andersarn: "You said it's been acting up in training this week?"
Phil: "Yeah, like when Bobby powerbombed me on Thursday I definitely felt a burning sensation throughout my torso, like the rubberbands inside my muscles had snapped or something."
Dr. Andersarn: "You should be fine. Just get some rest and don't overexert yourself. I'll prescribe you some meds and you should be ready to go for Monday night."
Phil: "So in your professional opinion I would be a pussy to allow a strained oblique muscle to prevent me from competing?"
{{The good doctor furrows his brow.}}
Dr. Andersarn: "No, I'm not saying that. I just don't think it's the kind of injury that should prevent you from competing. In my opinion you're perfectly capable of wrestling on Monday night if you follow my instructions."
{{A coy smile spreads across Phillip's face.}}
Phil: "I know that, Doc. I feel fine."
{{The doc looks puzzled.}}
Dr. Andersarn: "I'm sorry?"
Phil: "This pain don't bother me. I came here to prove a point: True next gen superstars fight through the pain. They don't step out of the game for months and months and then weasel their way back into big money matches by attacking other people from behind. I earned the right to jump D-Day on Slam a few weeks back by being in the middle of this fray that we call WCF. What did Reb and Williams do to earn the privilege of attacking The Alliance on Slam? When you step out of the game, you have to work your way back up the ladder when you come back. You don't just get shit handed to you. That's the point of this whole Ragnarök Revolution that Odin, Blake and myself have unleashed upon WCF."
Dr. Andersarn: "I'm not sure what you want me to say, but I have many more patients that I have to see so I'm going to leave now. I'm putting the prescription for your meds right here on the counter. I'll have the receptionist at the front desk forward the billing information for the exam and the X-rays to your insurer."
Phil: "That would be Corey Black's monkey ass, care of Wrestling Championship Federation."
Dr. Andersarn: "Goodbye, Mr. Baines."
{{Doc Andersarn walks out of the room in a huff.}}
Phil: "So I'm free to go now or...?"
{{Baines shrugs his shoulders.}}
Phil: "HMO's, man."
{{Baines scoffs in disgust. He rises from his reclined position on the exam table and walks over to the counter to check out the prescription sheet.}}
Phil: "Let's see, what did that motherfucker give me... Vicodin? Nice. I would have preferred Oxy, but I can always buy some of that from my boy Roscoe."
{{Baines folds the prescription and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, which are slung over a chair in one corner of the room. He walks back to the exam table and sits down on it once again.}}
Phil: "Gangland warfare has arrived in Wrestling Championship Federation and the rivals of the Alliance are scrambling to find partners and pair up, like the vermin that they are. They're desperate to cling to something, anything, desperate to hold on for dear life and avoid being swept away by changing tides and, indeed, changing times. You know that there's fear in the locker room, fear in the soul of Donald Deruty, when he decides to invite two former rivals to follow him into battle against the Alliance. Donald knows that he can't get the job done on his own. I mean HE KNOWS that he can't get the job done ON HIS OWN. He was defeated by Odin cleanly and without controversy at Slam. What can Donald say about that? He had an off-night? Yeah, you had an off-night because Odin knocked your head off at your shoulders, motherfucker. Donald Deruty..."
{{Baines shakes his head in disgust.}}
Phil: "D-Day cannot do this grown man's work. It's sad that he's decided that instead of doing the honorable thing and bowing out gracefully, or as gracefully as one can bow with a broken back, he's going to drag two more lost souls down with him. And so WCF's latest faction has been born. Three former World Champions, emphasis on FORMER, have come together to challenge the only legitimate supergroup in WCF, the Alliance. Reb and Williams both spit their shit this week. Jay Williams in particular got on his clown shit and ran his mouth like the petulant child that he is. Jay tried to cut down Odin's World Title reign and make him seem dumb for trusting me as his partner, when I do after all hold a World Title shot that I can cash in at anytime.
"Let me explain a couple of things to you, Jay-Jay. Odin has already accomplished more as World Champion than you ever did, after all he did something that you couldn't do: He beat D-Day. In fact he beat D-Day twice and left absolutely no doubt about who the better man was when it was all said and done. You want to know something else? Odin is far from dumb for trusting me. In fact he's a fucking genius. There are no trust issues in the Alliance. We have no reason to distrust each other because we've never been rivals, unlike you and your rag-tag bunch of washed-up ex-champions. There's no animosity between Balfore and Baines, only mutual respect. I trust Odin to lead this company because I know that his leadership is the only way that we can secure WCF's future. I'm talking about OUR future, MY future and my future children's futures. I have no ambitions of taking that World Title from Odin because this revolutionary charge that we're leading is bigger than any championship belt. We're cleansing the soul of WCF and changing the culture in that locker room.
"Odin is the unquestioned leader of the Alliance because he's paid his dues in this sport. He's proven himself to be a shining example of what can be achieved by having an unyielding work ethic and the courage to challenge a culture of corruption and dysfunction. He's earned his stripes. He's earned a leadership position. He's EARNED it. The man is a trailblazer and a pioneer. So many people in this sport like to refer to themselves as gods, the God, or a god. Odin really is a god. He's a Norse god. He's THE Norse god! More than that he's my friend. He inspires me to be great and to do great things. Can you imagine how fortunate I am to have been a student of Bolts Quackenbush, a protégé of Bobby Cairo and a colleague of Odin Balfore? I am truly charmed."
{{Baines nods his head and smiles.}}
Phil: "I've become a greater competitor since joining the Alliance. I feel more motivated now than I ever have before. I'm not just wrestling for myself anymore, I'm wrestling for Balfore and Blake and everyone who believes that WCF can be something more than just a country club for retreads and also-rans who refuse to let their time in the spotlight pass them by. Life isn't always about individual glory. We as people can come together and achieve something greater than we ever have before. We don't have to rest on our laurels, tout past records and accomplishments, and expect that to be enough to get us by in the here and now. You wouldn't understand that, Jay Williams. You wouldn't understand because you're part of the problem. You helped to create the culture of entitlement and ineptitude in this company. You and your little buddies did that. You can say whatever you want, Jay. You can put down Odin. You can put down Baines. You can puff up your chest with all that bravado and put down the Alliance. You can talk about our supposed negative influence on WCF and talk about how you and Reb are here to play the hero role and save the day, the D-Day as it were."
{{Baines chuckles a bit before the expression on his face grows deathly serious. He stares straight into your soul with his cold, blue eyes.}}
Phil: "I know the real reason why you're back, Jay. Your massive ego needed to be stroked. You couldn't handle just sitting around your house with your flat-chested wife, not while men like Jay Price and Donald Deruty were on the TV being touted as future Hall of Famers by those who aren't in the know. You needed to get yourself some of that greed, some of that complacency that you had grown accustomed to during your overhyped comeback. Well here you are, boy. Here you are to collect what you believe is your birthright. There's just one problem: WCF isn't handing out World Championships anymore. WCF isn't handing out "main event spots" for overrated chumps who don't want to earn their keep. You dare to diminish my accomplishments, maggot Williams? What exactly did you accomplish during your time in this company, other than holding the weakened World Title for a cup of coffee before slinking back into the obscurity from whence you came?
"I'm not like you, Jay. I didn't high-tail it out of here the moment that I got a boo-boo during a match. As Hardcore Champion, working through injuries has become a way of life for me and I think I do a pretty damn good job. I am the most dominant Hardcore Champion that Wrestling Championship Federation has ever seen. I destroyed every opponent that was placed in front of me for four months straight. I'm talking about former World Champions and Hall of Famers, not just scrubs who were lined up and sent to the slaughter line. During my reign I've sent men to the retirement home. Hell, I sent one man to the funeral home. And yes, YES, I won the WCF Classic against a field of fifteen other superstars to earn my automatic World Title shot."
{{Baines licks his lips, his eyes unflinching and still staring straight into your soul.}}
Phil: "Admit it, Williams. You were scared shitless when you saw me win the Classic at Explosion. You knew that even if you won the World Title later that night against Reb and achieved your most lofty career goal, you would have to contend with me if I chose to cash in my title shot. Hell, you spent weeks begging me not to cash it in during your promos. You didn't want any part of Baines. Not in a one-on-one scenario. Not when the World Championship that you scraped and clawed to finally win was on the line. You didn't want any part of the Young Lion for fear that you would end up like every other man that I've faced in my career: Defeated and destroyed. I didn't cash in my title shot, but not because I gave a shit about your cowardly pleas for mercy. I didn't cash it in because I had bigger fish to fry at that time in the form of the Shadow Conspiracy, Greenfever and Oblivion.
"Those distractions have been eliminated and now it's going to be you and I, Williams. There will be no more hiding from Baines, no more pleas for protection, no more skirting your responsibilities. If you wish to be recognized as an icon or a legend in this company then bring your best shit on Monday night and prove yourself against real competition, not the best of the worst. Of course our match isn't a one-on-one contest. No, no. That's not what this is about. Not yet. You're bringing your new friend with you to Minneapolis."
{{Baines finally breaks his stare and looks down at the floor. He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and makes a clicking sound with his lips. Suddenly he looks up at you and flashes a smile.}}
Phil: "Yes siree, the Inveterate Confederate is back in WCF! Johnny Reb's entire shtick is almost too good to be true. The guy looks and sounds like he just walked out of a fucking William Faulkner novel. Let me tell you something, J. Reb: You're going to witness the sound and the fury of Phillip Baines on Monday night, and this ain't no tale told by an idiot. You came parading out at Ultimate Showdown a few weeks back in your Confederate garb with your Southern speech impediment and announced your triumphant return to WCF. You called out Doc Henry, the man who knocked you out of action months and months back. Then you just... disappeared again."
{{Baines holds his hand up to the ceiling and looks up as if scanning the thin air in which Reb apparently disappeared into.}}
Phil: "Then, out of the blue, you return for the second time in a month on Monday Night Slam and align yourself with Deruty and Williams. During your chat with Hank Brown you, of course, took shots at the Alliance and Odin Balfore. You spoke of concepts such as principle and justice. Riddle me this, Reb: Precisely what is unprincipled or unjust about the Alliance's current course of action? We're cleaning house in WCF. We're putting lackeys, chumps, deadbeats and hanger-on's on notice. We're eliminating the dead-weight in the WCF locker room and creating a brighter future for WCF. If guys like you, Williams and Deruty had your way then things would never change. You're only happy when you're the man on top of the card. All three of you are like that. There's no selflessness with you three the way that there is with the Alliance. You're not willing to sacrifice personal ambition for the greater good.
"The only reason why you guys would even consider working together is to eliminate the threat that the Alliance presents to your perfect little world of egotism and indulgence. You want to get rid of us so that you can go back to stabbing each other in the back and scheming to achieve your personal agendas."
{{Baines fidgets with his hands, symbolizing the scheming tactics of Deruty, Williams and Reb.}}
Phil: "You can fight it, gentlemen. You can fight it until the last breaths part from your collapsed lungs, but WCF IS moving forward. WCF will never be allowed to wallow in mediocrity again. I will not allow it, Blake will not allow it and, most terrifying of all, Odin will not allow it. I've listened to the nonsense from Reb this week. I've listened to the nonsense that Williams was spewing about how he was so happy that his buddy D-Day was the one who defeated him for the World Championship."
{{Baines rolls his eyes.}}
Phil: "But then Odin came along and ruined everything. That's right, Williams. All of that fairytale shit is going out the window."
{{Baines pushes it out the window with his hands.}}
Phil: "WCF isn't going to be about protecting the images of false icons anymore. The Alliance is building a solid state for like-minded individuals, warriors of the past, present and future. Reb and Williams, much like D-Day, are the antithesis of warriors. These are men who take months off for injures that take no more than a few days and a bottle of pills to heal. These are men who fake injures, or exaggerate them, to get time away from a sport that's just too damn hard for them to compete in week after week, month after month, year after year. They can't handle the grind. Odin has been grinding for the last decade while you clowns were dreaming of someday having your names on the marquee. Ten years later and not much has changed. Odin is still putting motherfuckers in body bags and Reb and Williams are still scheming to get their names in the bright lights.
"You're going to learn a lesson on Monday night, gentlemen. You're going to learn that it's better to be humble and uninjured than it is to come back to WCF with hype and braggadocio and interfere in the business of we Three Kings who be taking all the gold. Fortunately for you Ryan Blake has Television Championship business that he will be attending to on Monday night and as such you will be spared his wrath. Unfortunately for you the World Champion and the Hardcore Champion have nothing better to do than send your sorry asses to a hospital room just like this one."
{{Baines takes a look around at his surroundings. At this precise moment a large-breasted nurse pokes her head and boobs into the room, drawing Baines's attention.}}
Nurse: "Are you feeling alright, Mr. Baines? Dr. Andersarn discharged you a half-hour ago."
Phil: "Oh sure, Natasha. I feel fine."
{{Nurse Natasha walks into the room, walking closer to Baines and his paper thin gown, the only thing preventing him from being completely nude in the presence of this beautiful woman.}}
Nurse Natasha: "Can I get you another morphine drip?"
Phil: "That sounds delicious, Natasha. Thank you, but for the record I don't do the intravenous shit. Just stick a straw in that mofo and I'll suck it down like Capri Sun."
{{Natasha smiles.}}
Nurse Natasha: "I'll be back in a few minutes, Mr. Baines."
{{She winks at him, spins on her heel and walks away. Baines scopes out her ass the entire time until she leaves the room, at which point he turns his attention back to you.}}
Phil: "Now that was a sight for sore eyes. Of course some sights are just sorry. Take these three former World Champions for example, the men who are now calling themselves the Iconic Order. I don't see icons when I look at Deruty, Williams or Reb. I don't see legends. All I see is three transitional champions who couldn't handle the pressure of being The Man and leading WCF to prominence and prosperity. These are the kind of cats that talk shit to hype themselves up, and oh sure they look like world-beaters when they're facing the type of sub par competition that used to pass for greatness in WCF. But it's a different story when they're standing toe-to-toe with true greatness. That's when their words fall silent and they feel the tightness in their throats. Their chests begin to constrict. It becomes harder for them to breathe. The sense of panic overwhelms them. Hmm? Does that sound familiar, boys? Think about it, Jonathan Rebel and Jason Williams."
{{A female voice suddenly comes over the hospital's PA system.}}
Female Voice on PA: "Stroke alert! Code Blue! Stroke alert in room 212!"
{{Baines cocks his head to the side, squints his eyes and then looks you dead in yours.}}
Phil: "Reb? Williams? You boys checking in early?"
{{Baines smiles and begins cackling maniacally. Your eyelids begin to flutter beyond your control. The scene in front of you fades just as Nurse Natasha is returning to the room with Phil's morphine cocktail.}}
