Post by mstryker29 on Jan 19, 2006 0:35:07 GMT -5
Fade in.
We’re looking at Mike Stryker, fresh off his victory over Bryan Stinberg at Sunday Night Slam. As he sits down on a chair, still in his wrestling gear, a knock on the door interrupts him, although he barely acknowledges it.
(Stryker) Come in.
The door cracks open and in walks the VWA’s voice of voices, Gene Anderson.
(Stryker) Gene-o! What’s good?
(Anderson) Well, first off…congratulations Mike! You wrestled one heck of a match tonight. Doesn’t look like there was a whole lot of rust in there.
(Stryker) Well, thanks. But it wasn’t enough.
(Anderson) What do you mean?
(Stryker) Come on Gene, let’s be honest. I wasn’t all that great. I mean, I had my moments where I struggled, moments I never used to have. You may think I looked sharp, but I know what I can do, and this was far from my best. I was plainly mediocre.
(Anderson) You won, couldn’t have been all that bad.
(Stryker) Yeah, I won. But it wasn’t enough.
Stryker’s mood is beginning to darken a little as Anderson persists.
(Anderson) Come on Mike, you’re being hard on yourself.
(Stryker) AM I!?!?
With the shout, Stryker bolts up out of his chair and throws the towel that was around his neck to the floor. He gets about 2 inches away from Anderson’s face, which is twisted into frozen terror. In all the years they knew each other, Mike Stryker has never even suggested threatening the legendary announcer.
(Stryker) YOU THINK THIS IS GOOD ENOUGH?!? YOU THINK THAT THE TRASH I THREW OUT THERE TONIGHT IS GOING TO BE ENOUGH TO WIN THE ULTIMATE BALLE ROYAL!?! YOU THINK THAT I’M READY TO TAKE BACK MY HEAVYWEIGHT THRONE!?!
Gene, it’s very simple. I was awful. A punk like Bryan f***ing Stinberg shouldn’t make it more than 90 seconds in the ring with me when I’m on point. He’s garbage as far as I’m concerned, he’s simply not in my league. He’s good, but I’m better, I’m supposed to be GREAT in there. And I wasn’t. You can try and sugarcoat it all you want Gene, but tonight’s performance was unacceptable. At least to me.
Stryker continues as Anderson has not moved a muscle, still in shock over what he thought was an attack on the horizon.
(Stryker) VWA, you’re getting your fair warning right now. I’m officially in no mood for anyone’s crap anymore. Like I said earlier, this isn’t some old timer on a joyride, hoping to catch some lightning in a bottle. I’m not here for kicks and thrills and hopefully, by the grace of God, a world title. I came back because I EXPECT to win back my heavyweight title. I came back because I fully expect, with all my heart and soul, to once again be the best this business has to offer. I KNOW I’m good enough. I KNOW, that when I’m at the top of my game, there isn’t a soul in this company who can touch me. So here’s how it’s going down. I don’t care if I walk to that ring First, Second, Third, all the way up to Number Forty, it makes no difference. I’m walking into Mohegan Sun on January 22nd, I’m walking right to that ring, I’m destroying every single piece of trash that happens to get in my path, and I’m walking back out of Mohegan Sun with a title shot in the bank. All of you have signed up to see who can be the last man thrown out of the ring, because the last man STANDING there is looking at you right now.
The Former Champ is rolling, and Anderson is still a statue of fear.
(Stryker) From there, I’m heading to Super Slam and I’m cashing that God Damn shot in against whoever happens to be the unfortunate soul with the golden bullseye on his back. Be it Morbid Angel, Eric Hardcastle, or some other poor schmuck on the roster who holds the title at Super Slam, I’m gonna march to that ring, and with God Himself as my Holy witness, I am going to take BACK MY F***ING WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE. You can bitch all you want boys, but the bottom line remains that it’s already decided. Because Mike Stryker decided it. See you all on the 22nd.
With that, Stryker grabs his bags and pushes past Anderson, who finally shows a sign of life by swallowing hard and trying in vain to regain his composure.
Fade out.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Fade in.
Interesting words from a VWA Legend.
The statement comes from off camera as we fade into a view of Battery Park in Manhattan. The park overlooks one very American symbol of freedom, Lady Liberty herself. She stands tall, welcoming those who used to come in via the seas to Ellis Island. The Statue sits over the right shoulder of the man who we’re seeing one more time, Mike Stryker. He sits on a park bench, wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt to fight the winter chill in New York. He smirks at the camera, a far cry from the rage that was spewing from his locker room a short while ago. However, he’s still not happy. The smirk exudes a smug confidence, almost a disdain for what’s coming up. Somewhere inside himself he knows the moment of truth is upon him, and the old gears in his mind have begun to turn.
ZMaster. As good as it gets here in Valor. Man, a couple of months ago, I was honored to stand by your side on your team in the Chamber of Horrors. I stood there, looking for revenge, and grateful to you for handing me an opportunity to achieve it. I was proud to call you a teammate. At the end of the night, our team won, and I knew I was as big a piece of victory as anyone else. I sat in my room that night, broken in two, barely able to walk, and proud.
You obviously were touched by our allegiance.
It must have meant a great deal to you, after all. My coming back to the ring to help you out after 4 years of not being active, it had to mean something. Of course you were touched.
Touched enough to know, after only one match, that I’m the force you should keep your eyes on. After seeing me wrestle once, in what I would call a halfassed effort, you know enough to know that you’re in trouble. I’m honored that you think so highly of me.
I just have one question.
Stryker’s gaze turns dark once again. Someone flipped the switch.
Who the F*** is MATT???
Uhoh…someone slipped up.
Z, you’re so touched by my effort to help you that you couldn’t remember my first name? Granted, I guess there’s some confusion between someone who’s been at the forefront of the business for about a decade and some jamoke in Stamford, CT. Let me clear it up for you. MIKE Stryker is the guy you have to worry about. MIKE Stryker is the baddest son of a bitch you will ever meet in your life. MIKE Stryker is about 5 days away from beating your oversized ass from pillar to post and back. MIKE Stryker is about to run roughshos over 39 men and win a chance to reclaim the belt he made famous.
Matt Stryker blew Pat Patterson for his job impersonating a schoolteacher when they squeeze him into the script.
See the difference?
Do you get it ZMan?
Stryker goes back to his smirk. Nothing is amusing to him today.
Maybe now you’re oversized head can appreciate what I’m saying. Do NOT test me. If you’re smart, you hope that the grace of the Good Lord allows you to somehow avoid me at all costs. If you’re lucky, you’ll somehow get eliminated before you see Mike Stryker. If you’re not so lucky, if Our Father chooses to not grace you with his presence and guide you on January 22nd, then you’ll be forced to face the Devil himself. You may think you’ve seen it all, but I assure you, ZMan, that you haven’t. Not until you see the best. Not just the best today, the best wrestler to ever grace a ring, period. You see him, and you see him on a quest to regain the title that he wants back more than anything on this planet.
ZMan, I already warned the company, but you’re now a special case. If I get my chance, you’re going to regret calling me out. The Time of Mike Stryker is upon us once more. If you fight it, you’ll lose anyway.
So, Why fight it?
Stryker smirks one last smirk before getting up and walking off as the caera zooms in on the Statue of Liberty.
Fade out.
We’re looking at Mike Stryker, fresh off his victory over Bryan Stinberg at Sunday Night Slam. As he sits down on a chair, still in his wrestling gear, a knock on the door interrupts him, although he barely acknowledges it.
(Stryker) Come in.
The door cracks open and in walks the VWA’s voice of voices, Gene Anderson.
(Stryker) Gene-o! What’s good?
(Anderson) Well, first off…congratulations Mike! You wrestled one heck of a match tonight. Doesn’t look like there was a whole lot of rust in there.
(Stryker) Well, thanks. But it wasn’t enough.
(Anderson) What do you mean?
(Stryker) Come on Gene, let’s be honest. I wasn’t all that great. I mean, I had my moments where I struggled, moments I never used to have. You may think I looked sharp, but I know what I can do, and this was far from my best. I was plainly mediocre.
(Anderson) You won, couldn’t have been all that bad.
(Stryker) Yeah, I won. But it wasn’t enough.
Stryker’s mood is beginning to darken a little as Anderson persists.
(Anderson) Come on Mike, you’re being hard on yourself.
(Stryker) AM I!?!?
With the shout, Stryker bolts up out of his chair and throws the towel that was around his neck to the floor. He gets about 2 inches away from Anderson’s face, which is twisted into frozen terror. In all the years they knew each other, Mike Stryker has never even suggested threatening the legendary announcer.
(Stryker) YOU THINK THIS IS GOOD ENOUGH?!? YOU THINK THAT THE TRASH I THREW OUT THERE TONIGHT IS GOING TO BE ENOUGH TO WIN THE ULTIMATE BALLE ROYAL!?! YOU THINK THAT I’M READY TO TAKE BACK MY HEAVYWEIGHT THRONE!?!
Gene, it’s very simple. I was awful. A punk like Bryan f***ing Stinberg shouldn’t make it more than 90 seconds in the ring with me when I’m on point. He’s garbage as far as I’m concerned, he’s simply not in my league. He’s good, but I’m better, I’m supposed to be GREAT in there. And I wasn’t. You can try and sugarcoat it all you want Gene, but tonight’s performance was unacceptable. At least to me.
Stryker continues as Anderson has not moved a muscle, still in shock over what he thought was an attack on the horizon.
(Stryker) VWA, you’re getting your fair warning right now. I’m officially in no mood for anyone’s crap anymore. Like I said earlier, this isn’t some old timer on a joyride, hoping to catch some lightning in a bottle. I’m not here for kicks and thrills and hopefully, by the grace of God, a world title. I came back because I EXPECT to win back my heavyweight title. I came back because I fully expect, with all my heart and soul, to once again be the best this business has to offer. I KNOW I’m good enough. I KNOW, that when I’m at the top of my game, there isn’t a soul in this company who can touch me. So here’s how it’s going down. I don’t care if I walk to that ring First, Second, Third, all the way up to Number Forty, it makes no difference. I’m walking into Mohegan Sun on January 22nd, I’m walking right to that ring, I’m destroying every single piece of trash that happens to get in my path, and I’m walking back out of Mohegan Sun with a title shot in the bank. All of you have signed up to see who can be the last man thrown out of the ring, because the last man STANDING there is looking at you right now.
The Former Champ is rolling, and Anderson is still a statue of fear.
(Stryker) From there, I’m heading to Super Slam and I’m cashing that God Damn shot in against whoever happens to be the unfortunate soul with the golden bullseye on his back. Be it Morbid Angel, Eric Hardcastle, or some other poor schmuck on the roster who holds the title at Super Slam, I’m gonna march to that ring, and with God Himself as my Holy witness, I am going to take BACK MY F***ING WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE. You can bitch all you want boys, but the bottom line remains that it’s already decided. Because Mike Stryker decided it. See you all on the 22nd.
With that, Stryker grabs his bags and pushes past Anderson, who finally shows a sign of life by swallowing hard and trying in vain to regain his composure.
Fade out.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Fade in.
Interesting words from a VWA Legend.
The statement comes from off camera as we fade into a view of Battery Park in Manhattan. The park overlooks one very American symbol of freedom, Lady Liberty herself. She stands tall, welcoming those who used to come in via the seas to Ellis Island. The Statue sits over the right shoulder of the man who we’re seeing one more time, Mike Stryker. He sits on a park bench, wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt to fight the winter chill in New York. He smirks at the camera, a far cry from the rage that was spewing from his locker room a short while ago. However, he’s still not happy. The smirk exudes a smug confidence, almost a disdain for what’s coming up. Somewhere inside himself he knows the moment of truth is upon him, and the old gears in his mind have begun to turn.
ZMaster. As good as it gets here in Valor. Man, a couple of months ago, I was honored to stand by your side on your team in the Chamber of Horrors. I stood there, looking for revenge, and grateful to you for handing me an opportunity to achieve it. I was proud to call you a teammate. At the end of the night, our team won, and I knew I was as big a piece of victory as anyone else. I sat in my room that night, broken in two, barely able to walk, and proud.
You obviously were touched by our allegiance.
It must have meant a great deal to you, after all. My coming back to the ring to help you out after 4 years of not being active, it had to mean something. Of course you were touched.
Touched enough to know, after only one match, that I’m the force you should keep your eyes on. After seeing me wrestle once, in what I would call a halfassed effort, you know enough to know that you’re in trouble. I’m honored that you think so highly of me.
I just have one question.
Stryker’s gaze turns dark once again. Someone flipped the switch.
Who the F*** is MATT???
Uhoh…someone slipped up.
Z, you’re so touched by my effort to help you that you couldn’t remember my first name? Granted, I guess there’s some confusion between someone who’s been at the forefront of the business for about a decade and some jamoke in Stamford, CT. Let me clear it up for you. MIKE Stryker is the guy you have to worry about. MIKE Stryker is the baddest son of a bitch you will ever meet in your life. MIKE Stryker is about 5 days away from beating your oversized ass from pillar to post and back. MIKE Stryker is about to run roughshos over 39 men and win a chance to reclaim the belt he made famous.
Matt Stryker blew Pat Patterson for his job impersonating a schoolteacher when they squeeze him into the script.
See the difference?
Do you get it ZMan?
Stryker goes back to his smirk. Nothing is amusing to him today.
Maybe now you’re oversized head can appreciate what I’m saying. Do NOT test me. If you’re smart, you hope that the grace of the Good Lord allows you to somehow avoid me at all costs. If you’re lucky, you’ll somehow get eliminated before you see Mike Stryker. If you’re not so lucky, if Our Father chooses to not grace you with his presence and guide you on January 22nd, then you’ll be forced to face the Devil himself. You may think you’ve seen it all, but I assure you, ZMan, that you haven’t. Not until you see the best. Not just the best today, the best wrestler to ever grace a ring, period. You see him, and you see him on a quest to regain the title that he wants back more than anything on this planet.
ZMan, I already warned the company, but you’re now a special case. If I get my chance, you’re going to regret calling me out. The Time of Mike Stryker is upon us once more. If you fight it, you’ll lose anyway.
So, Why fight it?
Stryker smirks one last smirk before getting up and walking off as the caera zooms in on the Statue of Liberty.
Fade out.
