Post by kingofthemountain on May 20, 2009 23:24:35 GMT -5
The camera fades in to a very large, well-equipped gym at the home of Matt Spencer. The walls are lined with various replica titles that he has won, trophies and medals from various amateur-wrestling tournaments, and most importantly pictures of himself winning every title he has ever won in his career. The pictures sit right above the title that they belong to, an incredibly vain tribute to himself. Matt Spencer is finally seen finishing up his last rep at the punching bag. His trainer, an older man with a hard look to him and eyes that will cut you in two, is barking at him the whole time.
Trainer: Come on, you got this! He aint nothing! Knock his teeth down his throat! Hit him hit him HIT HIM DAMMIT!
Sweat is flying off of Spencer as he is unloading into the bag, every bit of his energy flowing through his fists and into what he is imagining is ICU. He finally finishes and hits his knees, his body almost shaking from exhaustion. He leans back against a wall completely out of breath and grabs a nearby bottle of water, then looks up to the camera.
Spencer: ICU...I respect what you've went through....to get where you are....You started at the bottom and clawed and scratched and....fought your way to get to this company...but the fact still remains...
He gets up to his feet and throws the bottle against the wall opposite him, water flying everywhere
Spencer: The fact still remains you're nothing but a freakin' indy-fed reject! You are no better or different than those punk kids on tv trying to be 'backyard wrestlers'. I mean, just look at you. It's obvious you don't have anything close to the wrestling talent I have, but you could atleast try and LOOK like you are a serious contender. Blue jeans and wife-beaters? Hell, let's just go on down to the trailer-park and 'rassle in the mud'! I on the other hand, am a pure-bred wrestling machine. This business is in my blood. My great grandfather was the champion in his company for 4 years straight. My grandfather singlehandedly dominated every wrestling promotion in the northeast United States for over a decade. My father learned everything he could from them and has passed it down to me, plus a few things that even my grandfathers didn't know. I am the best pure athlete in this company and there is no way in hell I am losing my debut match to some street-rat, punk-ass, indy-fed reject. You still have time to back out of this match and save yourself the embarassment, but I doubt that you will...indy-fed rats aren't known for their intelligence...
Matt Spencer walks back over to his trainer and puts his arm around his shoulders. The old man's face lightens up and a smile comes across. He hands Spencer a towel, which he wipes his face with before looking back into the camera
Spencer: ICU, you're going to be my first example for this place. You're going to prove that what I say is true....This is MY world now, the rest of you just live in it!
Spencer tosses the towel onto the front of the camera and the last thing you hear before it shuts off is, "Alright dad, let's hit the ring..."
Trainer: Come on, you got this! He aint nothing! Knock his teeth down his throat! Hit him hit him HIT HIM DAMMIT!
Sweat is flying off of Spencer as he is unloading into the bag, every bit of his energy flowing through his fists and into what he is imagining is ICU. He finally finishes and hits his knees, his body almost shaking from exhaustion. He leans back against a wall completely out of breath and grabs a nearby bottle of water, then looks up to the camera.
Spencer: ICU...I respect what you've went through....to get where you are....You started at the bottom and clawed and scratched and....fought your way to get to this company...but the fact still remains...
He gets up to his feet and throws the bottle against the wall opposite him, water flying everywhere
Spencer: The fact still remains you're nothing but a freakin' indy-fed reject! You are no better or different than those punk kids on tv trying to be 'backyard wrestlers'. I mean, just look at you. It's obvious you don't have anything close to the wrestling talent I have, but you could atleast try and LOOK like you are a serious contender. Blue jeans and wife-beaters? Hell, let's just go on down to the trailer-park and 'rassle in the mud'! I on the other hand, am a pure-bred wrestling machine. This business is in my blood. My great grandfather was the champion in his company for 4 years straight. My grandfather singlehandedly dominated every wrestling promotion in the northeast United States for over a decade. My father learned everything he could from them and has passed it down to me, plus a few things that even my grandfathers didn't know. I am the best pure athlete in this company and there is no way in hell I am losing my debut match to some street-rat, punk-ass, indy-fed reject. You still have time to back out of this match and save yourself the embarassment, but I doubt that you will...indy-fed rats aren't known for their intelligence...
Matt Spencer walks back over to his trainer and puts his arm around his shoulders. The old man's face lightens up and a smile comes across. He hands Spencer a towel, which he wipes his face with before looking back into the camera
Spencer: ICU, you're going to be my first example for this place. You're going to prove that what I say is true....This is MY world now, the rest of you just live in it!
Spencer tosses the towel onto the front of the camera and the last thing you hear before it shuts off is, "Alright dad, let's hit the ring..."