[We cut backstage for a moment.

Hangman Hawkins and "Big" Steve Scanlon arrive backstage, following their no-contest. When the mob-scene came up, and it looked like everyone and their dog was assaulting Kain, the Aristocrats decided to do what needed to be done.

What needed to be done, they decided, was to go somewhere else. This wasn't their fight, and they weren't getting paid for it.

The two of them look back a bit at the ring, as they walk back through the curtain.

Scanlon notices the camera.]

Scanlon: You know what? YOU KNOW WHAT?

We're the Aristocrats, we're still undefeated in any match that matters and we play it like we say it!
We roll 'em like we tol' 'em!
Laying down that guar-an-tee of vic-to-ree!

And we came into this match saying we would NOT lose... and we HAVEN'T!
Bone SWAR, Paree!

[Steve waves dismissively at the camera, and moves on.  Hangman looks mildly amused at the spin doctoring, but says nothing. And they're gone.]

 [It's weird how we sometimes set out, in life, to do one thing, and then end up doing another. Some of the greatest inventions ever were made while their inventors were trying to do somethine else entirely.

And serendipity caught Steve Scanlon, too- landing on his head like a pomade. (Serendipity-Do, if you will). He and Hangman Hawkins may not have grabbed the gold ring at their last opportunity, but here we are... and Steve's minor acting career seems to be taking off.

A little.

He parlayed a small commercial role into what we see right now- he's doing a bit part as a gun-toting, sombrero-and-serape-wearing bandido in an indie film. It's not a BAD casting decision- you can easily picture him in the crowd of "Ah-ha-ha, gringo!" guys in a Spaghetti Western.

He's on break, obviously- success or no, this is Steve Scanlon we're talking about... and he speaks to us. Lucky us!]

Scanlon: Oh. Hey. Steve Scanlon here, and you know what? Me and Hangman... we're taking a vacation.

See, it's been stressful around here, with one thing and another. It's hard keeping up with all that's going on- someone else has our belts, I have to keep track of my acting, Hangman's got hearings to go to... there's a lot to think about.

So, we're taking a break from our title hunt. It's one of those Secrets of Highly Successful People, y'know? Take a break from your grind, do something you love to do.

[He looks around the set. Still nothing going on.]

Scanlon: Which is what we're gonna do next week in SCW. See, they have us scheduled against the Surfs. Again. It's become like a habit for us.

Some schmuck thinks it's a cute pun, I guess- Aristocrats versus Serfs, S-E-R-F-s, so they keep cramming it down our throats.

[He pauses a second and shakes his head, taking the hat off.]

Scanlon: It's got to be something like that- it CAN'T be because of anything the Surf Boys have ever DONE to deserve this.

[He spikes the hat. He's in the mood now.]

Scanlon: Seriously- either way!

Either they don't deserve another crack at wasting the time of a world-class tag team like the Aristocrats, after we beat  ten kinds of crap out of 'em the first time, and made human pinatas out of 'em last time...

[he paces to the opposite side of the frame.]

...or they don't deserve what's coming to 'em when we beat the tar out of 'em a THIRD time.

[He pauses, and glares a hole in the ground for a second,  before looking at us again.]

Scanlon: For the record, I never think of them as the e-r "Serf" Boys. I think of 'em as the Smurf Boys. Brainless Smurf And Dudette- too small to be trouble, and- I'm thinkin'- spending WAY too much time with mushrooms to be healthy.

And they're not blue, sure, but they're GONNA be "Blue" when the Hangman and the Streetfightin', Headlinin' Specimen of Manhood take them out in the middle of the ring and beat them like a Salvation Army tambourine for the THIRD TIME.

[He's really fuming now.]

Scanlon: And in all this, I don't blame the Surf Boys. From the heart of the Steamroller, I swear- I don't blame them.

They don't know any better.

It's like someone gave them a gold star and patted them on the heads and told them "you can be a wrestler!". And they believed it. I've seen no evidence they CAN wrestle, but they keep getting put out there, because someone took them and said "you CAN!".

Whoever did that- I blame you. You dropped the standards of our business, and left the likes of Yours Truly to clean up your mess. Don't have the nerve to be shocked at what happens now.

Whoever booked this- I blame them, too. I mean- people might have paid to see us do this the first time. They even paid to see this a second time, because there was another team in there, with the Surf Boys out there on the side as a garnish- like parsley. Limp, talentless parsley...

[He squints here. it IS almost Eastwood-y....]

Scanlon: But who is going to put up with this match, over. And over. AND OVER? Who wants it? Who benefits? Most importantly- who'd PAY for it?

I mean, at this point, it's like putting a kitten in a Veg-o-Matic- shock-value the first time, amazement that you'd do it twice- but three times? That's just the work of a sick mind, know what I mean?

[pause]

Scanlon (explaining): The Veg-o-Matic is a blender.
[pause]
Scanlon (ruining the joke): In this scenario, The Aristocrats are the blender.
[pause]
Scanlon (who must REALLY think we're idiots): And the Surf Boy's'd be the kitten.
[pause]

Scanlon: Just wanted to be clear there. The blender... that's what it DOES. It's what it's FOR.
[pause]

Scanlon: I don't have any message for the Surf Boys themselves. I don't want to upset them. I mean, after we're through with them, they'll be plenty upset, but I don't want to ruin what little Happy-Time they've got left before The Doom That Came To Vegas and the one-and-only "Hangman" ruin their day.

And possibly more days after that. Many... many more days.

Besides. Promos like that are work.
And we're on vacation.

Just a day at the beach. Watching the Surf crash.

Over. And over. And over.

[With that, he turns back to his acting, and we fade out.]

 [We usually get to see elegant set-ups for promos- all sorts of buildup about where the man is speaking from, or what everything looks like. Who the interviewer is, all that.

This one, not so much. The light is too overexposed, there's some sort of whitewashed concrete-block wall... we might be in an alley. It's nowhere fancy, for sure. It's more like a paparazzi video than anything else.

What we are seeing is "Big" Steve Scanlon. Or, more accurately, we're seeing his hand, and through the gaps of his fingers, we see everything else.

The cameraman yanks back... and we can see Steve more fully. He looks off-camera... the mic doesn't pick up whoever's asking these questions.]

"What happened? What happened? Phase one's completed, now it's on to Phase Two. That's what."

"NO, I'm not gonna tell you 'what Phase Two' is. Just be glad I told you there IS a Phase Two for The Aristocrats, so you and whoever you're showing this to know to tune in!"

(Pause)

"It's none of your business where Hangman is. I can tell you what he's NOT doing. He's not out messing with Peterson an' Williams' brake lines. Nooo, sirr. That'd be illegal."

(Pause)
"They had Champion's Advantage. Takes a real moron to lose when you've got Champion's Advantage on your side. Everything tilted their way, okay? W-? No!I'm not talking about it, any more!"
(Pause)
"I don't 'owe' Hawkins anything. I didn't lose that match for us. It just sort of... happened."
(Pause)
"No comment."
(Pause)
"NO COMMENT."
(Pause. We can sort of hear someone asking if the "interview" is over.)

"YE- actually, no, wait."

"You know what... I'm gonna tell you a little story.

We used to have an NWA champion- back around '96, '97- his name was Randy Savage. They called him 'the Macho Man'...."

(pause)

"...shut up, it does NOT sound like a porn-star name! Philistine. Only guy that measures up to him, these days? Yours truly. The guy was the MAN.  And one of the things that made him The Man was that he had this woman with him. Her name was Elizabeth. Miss Elizabeth."

[Steve gets a faraway look in his eyes, for a sec.]

"You shoulda seen her, you know? She was like the prom date that most of you shmos watching this on TwoYube or whatever, never had."

"She was, you know, his valet. Did everything for him- trailed around all over the place, doing the little bits of business outside the ring, coming out to cheer the Champ on, and then, stepping back when it was time to get to workin' or talkin'. Good stuff. GOOD stuff."

(Pause)

"Well, I bring this up, 'cause I always thought of them as the Perfect Wrestling Couple. 'Til recently of course, at the C-Cup in London."
(pause)
"C-Cup, J-Cup, whatever. Cruiserweight tournament, right? Bunch of light guys flippin' around? Honest mistake."

"Anyway, my point- and I'll get to it if you stop interrupting- was that one was the soft sensitive side, one was the Business side... it worked. To me, and a lot of people- they were the Perfect Wrestling Couple."

"Now? I dunno. We've got Misty coming out of this Cup, with the Cruiserweight title."

"And you know- well, my first thought is 'crap, now I can't challenge for it', since I'm- you know, a MAN, and we can't go wrestling women around here..."

[The camera quick-passes over Scanlon. Seeing what we're seeing- let's be honest here- Steve probably hasn't seen Cruiserweight in years. Possibly sometime in High School.]

"Second thought is either "She's the only one of her crew to bring home the gold" or "Ann Mau's gonna make coldcuts out of her". But that wasn't the big thing!"

"The big thing? I'm thinking 'we have our own modern-day Macho and Liz'. It's true. Really! A new Perfect Wrestling Couple. Right here, in SCW! A modern-day Macho and Liz.'... Misty and Staggs.

[he pauses a beat. Then, rubbing his chin, he continues thoughtfully...]

"...of course, I'm thinking Staggs is "Liz" in this case."

"You know, trailing the Champ around, cheering her on, backing off when it's time for the "Man" to talk- that sort of thing."

"And, I wouldn't blame him if he did! Misty's more of a champ than he'd ever be. Nah, if he wants to just valet the Champ around, more power to him. Down with Gender Roles and all that!"

[He raises a fist for a moment, in a mock 'fight the power!' gesture.]

"Even if he wants to be a househusband- Good for him, I say!"

"Aside from that? I've got nothing. Phase Two, though! Watch out for "Phase Two!""

"Now, scram."
[Camera cuts off, as he walks off.]

 [We come up on Ms Rocky Mountains, dressed sharply in a slightly-too-small French coture outfit, sitting in a mood-lit lounge somewhere in Vegas, chatting with Gaetan LaValle. Somewhere in the background, a jazz band plays expertly. LaValle is, for his part, dressed in a sharp bespoke suit, and drinking a Kir cocktail from a stout highball glass. Ms. Mountains looks over her shoulder, at the camera…]

Rocky: Miss Rocky Mountains, here with NWA World Television Champion Gaetan LaValle.

[…before turning back to speak to him.]

Rocky: Well, Gaetan, we’ve just shown you Casey Williams’ video reply to your statement to SCW’s audience. He went down it point by point, adding that he’s unimpressed with your promo work, that he doesn’t care about anything to do with you, and that he’s going to destroy you, and take the TV Title home with him.

He also says you not directly trash-talking him shows a lack of manhood on your part.

[Gaetan smiles, then tilts his head in a way that says “And?”. He’s clearly not taking the bait, here.]
Rocky: … “Thoughts”?

[He shakes his head a little, clears his throat, then gently pushes his drink aside. He’s not grinning anymore.]

LaValle: “Casey Williams is a steroidal jackass who mistook a genteel ‘get to know me’ piece for the fans with something for him- and, along the way, got every single useful detail wrong.

The talk is for the fans, the match is for the title, the beating is for your opponent. It's a simple order, yet he seems to beat down the fans, talk to me, and... I don't know what he thinks the match is for.

He has drawn himself a detailed roadmap to his defeat. In crayon. And he really didn’t need to make us watch him shower.”

[He contentedly returns to what he was doing.]
Rocky: Is that all?

LaValle: No. I’m also enjoying a nice drink with a lovely woman…
[He pauses a moment, and sees Rocky's got another question loaded.]
LaValle:...you’re still going to ask me to go on, aren’t you?

I always hate this part, you know- this is where I show some confidence, and people call me 'arrogant'. It's the same thing that lets mooks like Williams think he can call me 'French coward', and get away with it. It's a moronic bigotry, pure and simple.

It's... never-mind. Please, go on...

Rocky: He says he’s going to make you hate him.
LaValle:Make me? What, exactly, can a Casey Williams make me do? He hasn’t made me scared, he wouldn’t make me worry, he isn’t making me impressed, he can’t make me lose, and he won’t make me an ex-champion.

[He tries to end the promo here, again. Rocky makes a ‘go on?’ hand gesture. He goes on.]

LaValle:Alright… assume he COULD make me hate him. Only two men in this sport have ever earned my hatred. I retired both. If he wants me to hate him, it’s his management, gang, and loved ones that should worry. Not me.

But even that’s unimportant- I don’t have to hate a man to beat a man. It’s called “Sangfroid”. Cold blood. That whole “Rar! RARR!” thing is for amateurs. And, as the marquee says, this is Professional wrestling.

Rocky: Backing up a moment. What exactly is he getting wrong about you?

[he starts to shake his head, then stops himself.]

LaValle:I was going to say “I wouldn’t help him”, but… who would it help?

Let’s be honest. The man is twice my weight and a foot-and-a-half taller, but never stopped to ask why I’m not worried. Maybe he thinks I’m overconfident. Or stupid. Or crazy. But humor me… How many times have I fought for this title?

Rocky: Four?

LaValle:Seven. Won twice, defended five times. Two former World Champions have come after this title, while I held it, and gone home empty handed.  

You could call it ‘luck’ or a ‘fluke’ once, but if it was luck seven times, then he should give up now because that would mean God’s made a personal project of keeping me Champ. We know that’s not the case.

And since Casey thinks the Fury feud’s all I’ve done, let me clear that up too- I wasn’t satisfied with just that, so I challenged the entire NWA for more action. I joined a hardcore promotion, just for the extra difficulty. This is all public record. Tell me, where do I fight out of?

Rocky: Sorry?

LaValle: My home promotion?
Rocky: BACW.

LaValle: Right. I like Sin City, and I would never knock SCW, but facts are facts- I fight out of the “Stomphouse”, where if they held a child’s birthday party, they’d give it Hardcore stipulations. I volunteered to go there. Why? Because I like the challenge.

Since New Year’s, I’ve fought two former and one current NWA World Champs there- just to see what would happen... on TOP of my duties as World Television Champion.

The fact is, where I work, three kids pretending to be “Xtreme” would simply be laughed at right before their faces got pushed in.

Speaking of his ‘team’- who’s MY backup?
Rocky: I didn’t think you had any.

LaValle: Brains and beauty! I’ve already stared down Sudden Impact- two World Champs- and made them blink. In Canada, I took on a five-man stable by myself- I’m here, they’re not, draw your own conclusions- and I’ve put my one-man “LaValleution” against the entire Uprising.

I’m coming to that ring by myself. Casey... twice my size... keeps reaching for his security-blanket gang for support. It’s his choice, I suppose…

[he shrugs]

LaValle: Who’s the biggest man I ever fought?

[Rocky shakes her head, and Gaetan, gentlemanly, finishes by answering.]

LaValle:Krush Karemesov. 425 pound Sombo machine, banned from Russia’s Rugby team for being too violent. He’s out of the sport, now. Compare Casey-on-the-Mat: a half-trained bar-fighting bushel of bear-turds- barely 370 soaking wet, strutting around like riding a motorcycle and a couple of friends makes him tough.

Me? I work, solo, in a country that resents mine, versus men twice my size, with a name that has “Gae” in it. THAT’s tough. What do I do for a living?
Rocky: You wrestle.

LaValle: Yes, I do. I pin. I can also put a man unconscious with Savate kicks, or use a submission to make him tap out “M’aidez!” in Morse Code. What don’t I do? “Fly”.

You’ll never see me jumping from tall things just for the hell of it. Casey’s already got a long night ahead of him, but if his plan is to hang around to take advantage of a 983 splash or something… he’s waiting forever. That’s not me, that’s not what I do.  

But even if I did… Williams- 370 pound, big-strong-tough Williams- has yet to set me aquiver with terror.

Not because I’m the longest-reigning Television Champion since the title was commissioned in 1998
Not because I’ve fended off every jackal coming for my throat, and this title.
Why then?

Because that’s not what this is about. This isn’t about fear, or who’s the best bully in the schoolyard, or who can recite the most lyrics.

This is about the moment where we stop being a bunch of promotions, and start being an Alliance. This is that time, this is that place. It's about skill, and passion, and pure endurance.  

And playing schoolyard games cheapens that. And Williams.
Me? It just sort of gives me that little frisson of joy, when I tell a man what I'm going to do, and they're still suprised that I can do it. Eight times.

This is about who’s better at the sport. … or, at least, it had better be.
If it isn’t? If it’s about who can bring the most pain? That’s me.
Who can take the most pain? Me again.

I got off medical leave to earn this title back. I took broken metal shards to the back, on the way- and that’s not even what put me out. If he thinks he's going to scare me, he's got the wrong Frenchman.

And if he's got some kind of trick up his sleeve? Right here and now, I'm giving him time to think of something else to try. Something that will work.

If his plan's anything but the straight-up match the fans demand and are owed, then-even if it works- I will get up and hunt him down. Men have left the sport rather than face that.

[He pauses, and cools down.]

LaValle: I have the skill, I have the style, and I have the cold-blooded will to hold onto this title. And I've come to like this town, enough to be DAMNED sure they will see the fight of a lifetime.

Casey?
"Prepare to be Eurotrashed."

Au bientot, mon ami.

[With that, he returns to his cocktail, and this time Rocky takes the hint. We fade out as they enjoy themselves.]

 Casey was nice enough to post an introduction for his character here: http://www.ewrestling.org/newa2/index.php?...g13172#msg13172 , so NeWA as a whole can get into his character- I thought I'd return the favor for SCW. Go-go Gadget Alliance Unity! .

[We often say "there's something you don't see, every day", in the NWA... but here's something you genuinely don't see every day. The NWA World TV champion, Gaetan LaValle, in his home.

     We never get to see the inside of where he lives when he's not visiting family, or on the road. It's a small apartment in a Brooklyn neighborhood called Carroll Gardens. He's shown us the block, but never taken us inside. Even now, we basically see a dining area- with an old, newspaper-protected wooden kitchen table, a (recently-painted) wall, and a window showing us the fire escape and city outside. It's not new, its not top-of-the-line, but looks comfortable and well cared for.

     And we see LaValle. He's wearing a white Oxford-style shirt, and he's taking care of his title.  Using a soft eyeglass-cleaning towel and what looks like car wax, he's shining the metal plates of the belt to a dazzling gleam.  This simple act tells a lot about LaValle- he clearly puts a lot of pride into his reign. After a moment, he looks up at us.]

LaValle: Allo, Vegas! My name is Gaetan LaValle....
[he grins.]
...but we've already met, right? I had a month's training camp there, I had my title match there... you saw the tremendous fight I had to put on to keep this...

[He gestures to the belt, before continuing his work.]

LaValle: And, if you saw, I praised your city’s SCW to the skies. Now, it seems, I have to...
[he pauses, and delivers the proverb as best he can]
..."Put my money where my mouth is"- against your Casey Williams.

[He nods, having nailed it, shakes his head at what he’s gotten himself into, and continues, working on the right-side panels. By now, the gleam is bright enough to make the camera adjust to it. He keeps going, occasionally looking up as he continues.]

LaValle: Now, I am not the man to charge in blind. There's this saying- "The train of failure runs on rails of ignorance". So, you can believe that I was aware of Mr. Williams, as soon as I heard his name announced.

[He puts a final buff on the left plates of the belt, before moving on to the right.]

LaValle: Still, I thank him for his last video. I did not know so much about him then, as I do now. So, I return the favor- to him, and to Vegas itself.

[He keeps working, but waves a little as he starts fresh.]

LaValle: Hi, ”Casey-at-the-Mat”! You know who this is... and you know what this is about.

Like you, I'm from a small town. Lots of French people, too- from what I understand? Only mine was much... much smaller. The people of my St Pierre- the whole island!- could fit in your Nashua fourteen times over.

[He continues working on the belt. At this point, you could use it to signal planes, and he’s not even on the main faceplate yet.]

LaValle: It is a small corner of France- just sixteen miles from Canada, but nearly three-thousand from Paris- but it nurtured huge aspirations. My mind made dreams, and demanded my body follow- first with parkour….then with wrestling. The amateur style.

[He stops working to deliver this next point.]
LaValle: And, like you, there were those who mocked my size. You ‘too big’, me ‘too small’. We taught them the same lesson, I’m sure, just in different languages, hm?

[He holds his work up for inspection, then returns to making the center-piece shine.]

LaValle: But I wanted more. St Pierre... had no way to grant those wishes. Some thought I was somewhat... touched. In the head, you know? They wished me well, but what I wanted was somewhere bigger.  First, I went to Halifax, Canada. There, in Acadia, I trained with the best- including your fellow New Hampshir...-an? -ite? -ese?

[he waves a hand here, dismissing the unfindable word for a moment.]
LaValle: Another man from New Hampshire, our former NWA World Heavyweight Champion, Cameron Eustis- from Manchester, practically your neighbor, n’est pas? They trained me right, and they pushed me hard. By the time they were done, I could fight on the ground, on my feet, and in the air.  

[He spends an extra moment on the nameplate- which now, finally, reads “Gaetan LaValle”, again- before moving on…]

LaValle: But while it was "Home of the Champions"... I had to leave that home to be a Champion. My calling first took me to Switzerland, then to the Caribbean... and then to America.
It took nearly three years to catch the eyes of the Alliance. But I did. I became the NWA World Television Champion in Atlanta, defended it in Texas and New York... The NWA had discovered me. And while they discovered me, I discovered something about them.

[He stops, and looks dead-on at the camera, for this bit.]

There was a French Champion. NWA. Heavyweight. World.
Much like me, he was a patriot and a flyer. His name was Edouard Carpentier- and his name is struck from the books. He died in 2010. He never got his due respect. Ever.
Why? "Too French", goes one theory. “Wasn’t Lou Thesz" goes another... even though he beat Saint Lou for the title. Who can say? All I know is, he was robbed.

I had time to think about that, once this title was taken off my waist.
This is why I laugh at idiots who say I’m “in” with New York’s Batee. I only trust him enough to stab me in the front.

[He looks surprisingly calm about this part. He seems to accept it as ‘what normally happens’.]

LaValle: It was a sudden "Surprise! No DQ!" sort of bout, you know? Still, it took special rules and weapons to take this off me.

[He shrugs, hugely, in a “what are you gonna do? What’s done is done” way, then switches to polishing the leather bindings for the belt itself.]

LaValle: But it happened. And it gave me time to think. And prepare. When I returned, I swore that I would win justice- not just for me, but for him..  I swore it to the world.

And I did it.

It took almost a year just to get my rematch for the title. It took a half-hour battle to reclaim it. Then I fought Chris Fury- not once more, but three more times, to settle his claims once and for all.

[He holds the belt up for a moment, to show us…]

Now, I am here- Undisputed World Television Champion of the NWA. All it took was blood, sweat, thousands of miles, a million moments, and dozens of towns.
[…then, lays it out flat, to dry, as he continues.]

LaValle:Denver, Dallas, Houston...There were so many cities, so many to thank. Halifax taught me discipline. Nassau taught me panache. Brooklyn taught me to box. Paris taught me Savate.
[he points at the camera, and the viewer]

....but Las Vegas? Las Vegas, you taught me how to be a legend.  
And so, it's to you I return, as Champion- the only two-time World Television Champion in the last decade-plus.
[He offhandedly gestures at the belt, on the table.]

People call this a ‘secondary’ title. Some people call this belt 'the Kiss of Death'- too much work, not enough glory. I tell them to cram it.

Others say 'the Champion makes the Championship'- that, I agree with.
This isn’t “my” title. I can’t hide in a cave with it, announce myself ‘undefeated’. No- it’s only worth anything when I can lose it. When I fight.

I have fought, and I have bled, to lend as much honor as I can to this title. I dared the entire NWA to fight me, before the belt, and now take on all challengers TO the belt.

That is what brings me back to Las Vegas, again....

[Smiling, he makes a small ‘what the heck?’ gesture, and asides-]
Maybe even the same hotel-room, who knows?
[-before going on.]

...and that is what brings me to Casey Williams

He’s big, true, but I’ve fought “big” before. I have no fear for him, but he's earned no hatred from me, either. I simply say this:

[He folds his hands, serious as a lawyer reading a will, now.]
Now you know what I had to do get here.
What I had to do to get this title back.
What I am capable of doing, to keep it.
You know what it means, what I gladly sacrifice for it.
What it would mean, to take it from me.

If Casey Williams still thinks he’s the man to take it from me? The door’s open, and has been open. But he should know what he’s in for.

Some say I’m “Formula One in a NASCAR Sport.” Some call me “the Rabid French Bulldog”. Still others call me “The Little Citroen that Could”. But for now…

Casey Williams is the “Freight-Train of Pain”? Then, meet "the TGV Who’s Champ of TV"!
Smaller, faster.
Advanced. Precision.
Efficient and effective.
On target for my destination, and fast as lighting.

In my way is the first man not named “Chris Fury” to fight me for this title in over a year. If he has some things to prove, I have a mountain more.

Champion isn't my job. It's who I am. I have no illusions- no real champion holds his title forever, but I know this too- I've seen the hospital in Vegas before. The only way you're prying this title from me, is to send me back.

If anyone thinks he can do it, let him come prove it. If they think it will be anything like easy, it's them running on rails of ignorance- straight for a trainwreck.

[He pauses a moment, then nods. He’s said what he had to say, and goes back to work. Lifting the now better-than-new looking belt, he reaches under the table, pulling out a velvet sack that comes with this sort of thing.]

LaValle: Vegas? I’ll see you soon. It will be a pleasure.
Williams? Expect to see this…
[He holds the belt up single handed.]
…for a little while.
It’s coming home with me.

[…and it’s now, literally, in the bag.]

[Fade out.]

 [The camera comes up from the dark, hard.

It's night, as the scene opens on the day-bright, video-screened, vault-arched roof of the Fremont Experience in Vegas, then pans down between Binions’ shining blue lights and a blast of light from the Golden Nugget.

It’s not the high-end part of the Strip- in fact it’s at least as cheesy as it is glitzy (there’s a gigantic RV center not a mile from here), but the place is almost wall-to-wall lit-up signs, video displays, bright-open casinos and tourists packing the whole area.

Right now, we’re panning across a scene that looks, dollars-for-donuts, like where that Balrog guy fights in that one video game… and into the frame wanders “Big” Steve Scanlon, looking very pleased with everything he’s seeing- and himself. He's holding a coffee, as usual.

People who’ve seen Steve before won’t be too surprised, but people unfamiliar with him are introduced to new, undiscovered depths to the word “unkempt”.  He looks like a cross between Wolfman Jack, Lou Albano, Silent Bob, and a miniature Bluto, wearing 'get-a-new-pair-already' jeans, a plaid flannel shirt and a too-tight t-shirt with (for some reason), a ‘crossing sign’ style picture of a bull walking downhill on it. And wherever ‘big’ came from, it’s not height… he’s pretty short for a wrestler…

Steve  ‘notices’ the camera, turns to it and lets fly a high-energy intro- like a cross between a carnival barker and a wacky morning radio DJ.]

Scanlon: Hey! S’up, Sin City! Clean out your ears and listen up- you might learn something, ‘cause you’re rollin’ with Steamroller, hangin’ with the Hangman…

[Scanlon jerks a thumb at Chett “Hangman” Hawkins, a man-mountain looming alongside Scanlon in his street clothes, and honestly the reason the crowd is parting to let them through- he’s easily head and shoulders over even the tall ones.]

[Hawkins silently favors the viewers with the slightest of nods. Both men keep walking and the camera along to handle it. Scanlon keeps going…]

Scanlon: …and LAST week, Lost Wages had the honor, pleasure and privilege of witnessing the World Debut of the undefeated tag team of me- the Providence Steamroller! The Streetfightin’, Headlinin’, Specimen of MANHOOD! “Big” Steeeeve Scanlon... and my partner, the Incarnation of Decimation, Master of the South Texas Deathride- “Hangman” Hawkins-

Separately, we rule. Together, we’re… the Aristocrats!

[Snap-hands “Cha-cha” gesture from Steve. Not from Hangman- he looks at Scanlon with a ‘yeah, I’m not doing that outside the ring’ expression. Steve barely noticed.]

Scanlon: Now we’ve got people talkin’- saying we’re gonna rock the house in the Tag Team Division. Oh no. Not true! We aren’t rocking the house in the Tag Team division… as of now, we ARE The House in the tag team division!

Hangman (deadpan): And in Vegas, in the end, the House always wins.

Scanlon (grinning): Damn straight, big guy! If we came here solo, these SCW boys might have had a chance in Hell. But we’re not. We’re a team, and so…
…I just don’t like their odds.

[Hangman nods in agreement. Scanlon turns to the camera and explains. They’re still walking.]

Scanlon: See, we’re not some scrubs teaming up ‘cause they can’t hack it solo. Oh, no- we’re an awesome twosome, badasses in stereo- we’ve been around the world, takin’ em all on and smacking ‘em ‘til the candy comes out, winning titles and stealing shows… and that was before we teamed up!

 With us together, you’re looking at a combined… what, twenty? Thirty? No, near-on forty years of experience!

[Steve stops, in front of Mermaids Casino- an ungodly-loud “tiki bar on steroids”- and works out the math.]

Scanlon: Let’s see…I’ve been up and down the road since I was eighteen, making men cry, the women sigh, and driving lame-ass schmos clean out of the business, and Hangman here’s not just tougher than a boiled owl… HIS career started when he was… what was it?

[The camera sweeps across to Hawkins. The neon ceiling’s given way to bare steel. In the background a smiling light-up cowboy outside the Pioneer Club  points a thumb at himself in a ‘check me out!’ way… a weird counterpoint to the real, cold, lethal Texan we see in front of us.]

Hangman (matter-of-factly): I was ten years old, when father put me in my first pay-fight. He said “fight”. I fought. I won. Haven’t stopped doing either, since.

Scanlon (back at the camera, as they keep walking): That’s a LOT of fights! And now, here we- teamed-up, hammer-down, rolling into in the Entertainment Capital of the World with a song in our hearts, a plan in mind, and the world in our hands.
 
Now, people have been coming up to us and asking-
[Steve cringes and adopts a timid, starstruck tone:]  “H-hey, Big Steve? Hangman? What are you doing here?”

Scanlon (normally): And there’s really only one answer-
Hawkins: ‘Whatever we damn-well please. ‘

[Scanlon swings an arm wide like a game show host announcing a prize.]
Scanlon: “Ten points for the murder machine to my left!”

…but seriously, if you’re SCW talent, you’re wondering the same thing…. ‘What’s our plan’? ‘What are we here to do’?

Bit of advice… don’t worry about how the chessmaster's playin’, when you’re about to get rolled. Facts are facts, and the fact is we’ve just landed in your back yard, lookin’ for some REAL competition.

Hangman (to camera): Got any?

Scanlon (to Hawkins): I honestly don’t know that they do, Hawkman. And that brings us to this week’s marks, Sinful Depression-
Hangman (correcting): It’s “Sinful Obsession”, Steve.

Scanlon: You sure? They got that “Despair” guy, and when you put on their tapes to study, it sure made me want jump off something tall…

Hangman: No. It’s ‘Obsession’, I’m sure. Despayre and Gabriel. Two boys playing at being sinners, thinking that makes Sin City their city… two dudes in for a rude awakening.

Scanlon (aside to camera): And when the Hangman calls you ‘dude’… it ain’t good.

[to Hawkins]: Come to think of it, I think I know this Gabriel guy…
[He holds his hand about 5’10” off the ground…]  …maybe six-foot-even in his heels…
[…then makes ‘oooh, magic!’ hands.]…has a Criss-Angel ‘man of mystery’ thing going on?

Hangman: That’s the one. Despayre’s his wacky sidekick. They used to be Deadly Sins.

Scanlon: Thanks, Hangtime, I remember now... I HATE those guys! Know why?

Hangman: The suspense kills me.
Scanlon: They’re working our side of the street!  

[The Aristocrats frame the shot now- they’re almost at the head of the street with the whole garish thing behind them. A flashing sign says “CASINO” behind Hawkins, as if we forgot we where we were and thought it was a monastery. Scanlon stops and taps the camera lens, as if to get SO’s attention.]

Scanlon: HEY! You guys out there!

Thinking you’ve got this covered? Got this town wired? Creeping everyone out with your headgames and goth crap and spooky nickames? Getting people thinking you’re this big smoky something, when you’re just nothing, painted blue?  That’s a really great racket you've got- good scam!

We’re shutting it down.

What have we got? Over here we got Despayre, trying to work his issues out in the ring like it’s Doctor Phil time, and over there we've got Gabriel doing his Sigfried and Roy shtick and making me wish he’d do a one-way Vanishing Act. And he thinks he does mindf**ks.

[To SO]: You think you know headgames, buddy? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet! I'm tellin' ya right now- and it won't help ya- I’ll flip your mind like a damn cheese omelet- then Hangman’ll scramble your brains!

[To Hawkins.]: And it’s not just the crap clothes or even the emo act that bugs me- you know WHY they’re going down like steers in a slaughterhouse?

Hangman (dryly): Because they’re outsized, out-experienced, outgunned and outclassed?
Scanlon: No.
Hangman: Because I like high-flyers, for the way they bounce high when I slam them off the canvas?
Scanlon: No.
Hangman: Because magic tricks are for painted-up birthday clowns?
Scanlon: No.
Hangman (done playing): …Go on, tell me.
Scanlon: MARKET INEFFICIENCY!

Hangman (‘wtf’?): Market inefficiency.

Scanlon: Damn straight- see, I’ve shut down promotions clean across this Alliance, and they all had one thing in common. They had surplus guys- just hanging around! And what do I see here? Two guys who used to run with FIVE guys being the Deadly Sins!

[To the camera, pointing between himself and Hawkins]: Look here- we do it in TWO!
Hangman: I call dibs on “Wrath”.
Scanlon: I got Ambition.
Hangman: I have my Pride.
Scanlon:  I’ve got The Gimmes, I admit…
Hangman (done playing): Hell, you cover all seven, all on your lonesome…

Scanlon (not arguing): See, that’s what I’m talking about! Five guys doing the job of two! Two guys doing the job of one! Waste of space, waste of flesh, waste of TIME! Sinful Confession-

Hangman: -Obsession-
Scanlon (On a roll): -get set for aggression, and spinal compression! You’re on my hitlist, schmendricks!

Hangman: Mine too. You’re not on notice because I hate you. You’re on notice because we’re better. You think you’re bad men? You haven’t MET any bad men. But you’re gonna. Briefly.

You know, Steve? It’s been far too long since my last necktie sociable. Let’s send these boys up the ladder to bed.

Scanlon (to camera): He don’t say much, but I LIKE the way his mind works!

People! Come see the damn-blasted worst beatdown you ever saw in your life, ‘cause we’re making roadkill out of those two posers!

Sinful Obsession! Get set to regret, ‘cause you’re staring down the double-barrel shotgun of pain that IS the Aristocrats!

[Looks, Points up]: Shooting for the moon
[throws a haymaker with the same hand]: And hitting like Apollo,
[Two-handed ‘Bring it!’ gesture]: Easy to come after…
[“Check US out!” gesture]: But a HARD act to FOLLOW!

[Grinning, Scanlon walks off across the street, past the Golden Gate, the iconic Plaza Hotel. It’s like he’s come home… the camera follows him a bit, then pans back (past a sign reading “THE RAT PACK IS BACK!”… and we see Hangman, calm as a coma. He raises his hand in a chokeslam gesture, then whips it forward.]

Hangman: Short drop….
[…and mimes a horrific impact.]
Hangman: …sudden stop.

[And then he just walks off, as we fade out.]

 [We come in on a scene of a simple, roundtopped stool in front of a navy blue curtain.]

...

[Quite some time goes by. ]

....

[This just leaves us with our thoughts- perhaps you're thinking about your day, and how it went.]

...

[Mine was fine, thanks. Not a lot to complain about when you're a narrator. Oh wait, here he comes:]

["Big" Steve Scanlon enters, from stage left, carrying a cup of Starbucks, and what looks like a standup MP3 player-speaker dealie. He glares at the camera, silently, disgustedly, for a second before setting the player on the stool, pressing "Play", and walking off.]

The following plays:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrZdvW6BBkc

[-and, after that... that's the whole video.

The dude's weird, I'm just sayin'.]

[end]