[We come in on “Big” Steve Scanlon. He’s in a hotel lobby, somewhere in Vegas, sitting back in a chair, reading a magazine in front of a sky-high glass window that shows the city outside. Outside, gigantic columns of water geyser into the air, colored by concealed lighting beneath the water. Between the camera and Scanlon, people are walking by.
There’s a family- an older set of parents, somehow believing that whole “Vegas is for families now” thing that the Chamber of Commerce is selling, and all but towing their oldest, whose eyes are just about falling out of his head at the sight of a bevy of showgirls walking past. Steve reaches down and pulls up a takeout coffee, drinks a little and sets it down. Some people are starting to leave, having lost more than they could easily afford, and finding cheaper accomodations. He flips a page, and makes a ‘hm’ sound at something he read. Somewhere in what must be a huge atrium, someone went out and hired a mariachi band, who are tuning up.
Scanlon keeps reading. He hasn’t looked up.]
(Sweet Jesus, he’s still not even starting the promo yet. It’s been about a minute already. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been narrating this schlub for a few months, and saying “he’s full of himself” is like saying ‘the Mojave’s kind of dry’… Okay, finally, he’s getting his act together. Here we go…) ]
[Scanlon beckons the camera to come closer. THEN he sets his magazine down. When the microphone’s in range, he starts talking.]
Scanlon: WHAT, like you start working the second you get to your job?
[He shakes his head.]
Scanlon: Okay, here’s the deal. Hangman ‘d talk to ya with all sorts of bible stuff and whatchacallem, “laconic one-liners”, or whatever. Hawk’s got this whole spiritual side, y’see- like, he asks me if I think people’s souls leave their bodies for a while once we knock ‘em out cold, that sorta thing.
Anyways, he’s gone to go do whatever it is he does when we’re not workin’ . I don’t know, I don’t ask. Maybe he punches nuns or something, I don’t know. Not my business. But I DO know he’s been thinkin’ hard about this title shot we’ve got coming, and he’s been workin’ out like a maniac. Hell, he does just about everything like a maniac, that’s what makes him a wreckin’ machine.
So, yeah, he’d pretty it up. But he’s not here.
I’m here.
[He pauses a moment, and takes a drag off his coffee, raising an index finger to say ‘wait’.]
Scanlon: So we’ve got this title match coming up. SCW Tag straps. And people keep coming up to ask “What are you gonna do about Peterson and Williams?”
And I gotta tell ya- if you’re gonna ask us that…
[He holds up a hand]
Scanlon: …Stop. Just stop. You’re embarrassing yourself, and you’re annoying us.
Have we got plans? Damn straight, we’ve got plans! But like the man says “the trick is told, when the trick is sold.” If we went blabbin’ what we’re gonna do to every guy named Mark that comes up to us, then someone might lend Sean and Wyatt a clue, and, you know? I don’t think they’d be able to handle it.
Buuut, I’ll tell you this much- we said it, we meant it.
When we first showed up here, we said “nice town, we’ll take it”, and so far it’s been a stroll. Hangman’s been mowing down sucker MC’s like he’s mowing the lawn, and me? I bring the savvy. Truth be told, I’m starting to feel like I don’t have to. It’s been like playing peekaboo with a blind guy.
I mean, it won’t hurt to tell you this- I’ve been pulling games that people haven’t even noticed yet. For cryin’ out loud, half the guys we’ve met are still wondering what “The Aristocrats” means, and the other half are thinkin’ we’re Deep South boys. And THEN, people wonder why we’re ready to walk off with the titles.
Well, I’ll tell you this much for free… maybe it’ll do you some good.
[He sticks his thumb out]
Scanlon: They don’t call me “the Providence Steamroller” because I Provide. I’m from Rhode friggin’ Island.
[He sticks an index finger out]
Scanlon: Hangman’s from Texas, kids, not the land of milk, honey and interfamily marriage.
[He puts out his middle finger.]
Scanlon: “The Aristocrats” is somethin’ you’re probably too young to hear about, but what we MEAN to do is to walk off with those titles before any of you schmendricks can embarrass yourselves with ‘em any more than you already have.
[He waves off his ‘counting hand’, irritatedly.]
Scanlon: And people wonder why we’ve been doing these walkovers, like when we wrecked those fracacta Surfer Boys. Guys step up, thinkin’ they’ve got a handle on us, and they can’t even get those tiny things right? I’d tell 'em to step your game up, but then someone might mistake it for “mentoring”.
[He looks off to the left, as if he’s going to wrap it up. We should be so lucky.]
Scanlon: Now, about now, you’re probably saying “Big Steve’s tellin’ us a lot about what he’s not tellin’ us”.
[He shakes his head sharply.]
Scanlon: First thing, I told you nothing. All you know is what happened- Aristocrats “A” enter ring “B”, cause devastation “C”.
Why’d we do it? That's our business.
How’d we do it? Make me an offer.
All I'm saying is that if anyone thinks they’ve got a prayer of stoppin’ what’s already rollin’? Pray harder.
Second thing, get used to hearing us tellin’ you how you failed.
[He then jabs a finger toward the camera…]
Because nobody seems to be getting any sharper -
[…then at the ground in front of him.]
Scanlon: -and we’re staying RIGHT here. Reapin’ in those sweet, sweet greenbacks, and smacking around unhip goons ‘til the candy comes out.
We’re in our primes. Hangman’s been raised for this, lives for this, and you don’t have to get up early to pull one over on the Streetfightin’, Headlinin’, Specimen of Manhood- you’d have to stay up all night-every night. And now we're fixing to run the House. And this is Vegas, kids- the House ALWAYS wins.
We’ve got our game down- we’re a machine out there, and there’s nobody gonna play us off each other with head-games- ‘cause it’s not ‘Amateur Hour’, and you don't try to lay no boogie-woogie on the King of Rock n Roll.
And third thing … I’m telling this to every tag team out there… but not here to scare you. This isn’t a threat. It’s not a promise. It’s not even a forecast. Me and Hawkman? We’re giving you the greatest gift any man can bestow- freedom.
You’re free. Do whatever you want. If you want to stay, stay and lose. If you want to make a Crusade out of it? People eat that up. We'll make a mint. Bring it, 'til you can't. If you want to go… I think I’ve got some McDonalds applications around, I’ll even help you fill ‘em out, with the pencils on the bench.
It makes no difference, no difference at all. Fail, retry, quit… Doesn’t matter. What’s NOT on this menu is “beat the Aristocrats”. The factories don’t make that, and even if they did, you haven’t got what it costs.
We’ve got the brainpower and the firepower- and come Blaze of Glory… we’ve got grabbing range of those tag belts.
They’re nice belts. We’ll take ‘em.
[He nods sagely, having said his piece, and leans back in his seat. After a moment, his mind is clearly wandering. Maybe the showgirls are back, just out of camera angle, or there’s something he just remembered from long ago and far away. He leans forward, picks up his coffee, and his newspaper. And then he focuses on the camera again.]
Scanlon: You’re still shooting? What do you want- oh, the tagline. Well, forget it, pal, I’m off the clock.
[And he walks off. Just like that
.(I should have listened to my mother and not gone to Narrator School…)]
