There hangs a banner, and on this banner is a logo. It's a logo you know very well. It's a logo that as old as anyone can remember, and anyone watching now certainly has seen it time and again. This logo represents not only the oldest, but also the absolute best in the sport of professional wrestling. This is a banner with the logo of the National Wrestling Alliance.
“So it's come to this.”
In walks Blade Alexander, looking at the logo, looking at the black banner with the globe and two wrestlers locked in eternal struggle. The man, now bleached blonde since High Stakes, is dressed in a white button up shirt and black jeans.
“The NWA? It's really come to this? Here's SCW, the wild and fierce independent wrestling organization based out of Las Vegas, Nevada, so defiant in the face of a wilting wrestling business, bending to the yolk of the oldest, most out of touch wrestling organization still in existence today. It's a tragic sad state of affairs really.”
“In fact, why don't I just fly back to Nova Scotia, pop around to my dad's place, grab his old cowboy style boots and short ring robe and we'll just go straight up old school here in SCW?... Oh wait, that's right. We can't.”
He smirks.
“We can't simply because there's not one fucking guy in SCW today that can compete with me in that ring. There's not one person that can actually handle a match against me. Body builders, ex-football players, failed mixed-martial artists... We've got all sorts of those, but we don't have a single fucking guy capable of keeping people on the edge of their seats for an hour straight and go hold for hold like I can. You don't have anyone with the in depth knowledge or the endurance to get into that ring with me and survive, and every god-damned show SCW keeps stretching this premise they've got going on thinner and thinner.”
He stares those cold blue eyes into the camera.
“Time and time again in SCW I've been kept from doing what I do best. From doing what fans pay to see. Time and time again I've been kept from competing in an actual wrestling match here in SCW and it's beginning to wear on my fucking patience.”
“It's this unwillingness that SCW has that's wearing down the whole situation. Twice I've been stuck in the ring in some lame tag team match with a fucking quitter for a partner. Twice. Finally he got what was coming to him, and I can promise each and every one of you morons right now that if SCW ever decides to stick me into another tag team match and it's anyone but my old Cardinal Synners partner Tyler Morton standing in my corner then I will end the career of whoever they put there. That's not a threat, it's a promise.”
“Now, the one time I have gotten involved in a one on one match in SCW, it ended in victory for me, even though it was the stupidest gimmick match in the history of wrestling... A haunted house match. The one redeeming quality about the match other than my involvement? In order to win you had to walk out with a briefcase. Any other idiot in that dressing room would have just walked out and tossed the briefcase when the match was over. I, on the other hand, was smart enough to look inside. What I found there was a secret that was big enough to rock this very company to it's core, but trust me, none of you have earned the privilege of finding out what it is just yet.”
“That takes to the most recent events of High Stakes. What should have happened was quite simply my walking to the SCW title, yet for some reason someone else walked out with my belt. Where's the justice? Where's my chance at redemption SCW? It's not like I was pinned. It's not like I submitted. No, instead I was thrown over the top rope to the floor. Now that we're part of the NWA isn't that a disqualification?”
“But it's not even the indignity of losing a belt by being thrown over the top rope that really pisses me off. The real problem that I have is that I was attacked and laid out by a big retarded giant. I easily had the night in hand, yet the very fucking people that own SCW, the very people who wanted me to come to their company, the very people who make loads of money off my name brought this fucking Muggle into SCW so he could attack me, keep me from winning the SCW Title and try to put me out of wrestling forever. That I have a fucking problem with. Competition is one thing. I was expecting someone with some class, some integrity, some talent to join SCW to give me a real challenge. Instead what I got was a dime a dozen seven foot lackey with a death wish blindsiding me. Things wont be so easy when I'm facing the other way asshole. Doubt it? Just try me. I'll show you what rage really is.”
“And that brings me to Maoi. The guy that was the other half of the tag team I faced at High Stakes. You must have really pissed off karma some bad you Hawaiian blockhead. I'm in no mood to chat. I'm in no mood to be messed with. Quite honestly I'm getting pissed off with SCW lately and you're the wrong guy at the wrong place at the wrong time. You're not an opponent, you're a victim. I'm not just going to beat you, I'm going to knock you right the fuck out, and if history is any indication then SCW is going to come up with some stupid gimmick at the last minute so instead of having a proper wrestling match you and I end up in some sort of sideshow situation and you get hurt. Badly. It's a tough spot Hawaiian, but it's your job. No family is going to be able to help you. Not yours. Not mine. Not even SCW. Someone's going to pay. You're first.
Fade.
