Gary Bloomfield: And now, folks, we bring you a special look at one of our new young talents, coming to PWA!
A young man in a black and orange hoodie spins around with a smile on his face, “PWA! Prestige Wrestling Association! I hear yall got a lot of young lions prowling the Juniors division! Well aint none of them ready for what The Blueprint has in store! Ya see, I’m more than just a Marquee talent! I took this lifestyle by the horns and I plan to ride it all the way to the gold! Ya see, I don’t just wrestle… I show up with the ring crew and work with them… I set up the sound equipment.. I hit the lights!”
He raises a finger to the sky, “And when it’s showtime, I go in there and put on a match that leaves everybody wanting more! But when the last chair is empty I aint done… No man… NOT BY A LONG SHOT! I tear down that ring, I pack up that sound equipment, I shut the venue down with the guys that don’t get credit!”
Spencer begins to pace back and forth, “My daddy always taught me, if you wanna feast with Kings you gotta learn to work side by side with the people..”
Spencer looks up a tear welling in his eye. “And god as my witness, he may not be here with me now, but My daddy’s gonna watch his son…” He looks back at the camera still smiling, “My daddy’s gonna watch The Blueprint…. Feast with kings!”
Spencer Watts exits to the left. Camera fades to black.
“Fairies Wear Boots” by Black Sabbath blares over the speakers as Brawler Beckett makes his way from the back and down the aisle to the ring dressed in his wrestling gear and a towel about his neck. The jeering of the fans causes him to pause and look at the audience with a look of self-righteous disgust. He shakes his head and makes his way into the ring, microphone in hand.
Beckett: “I’d like to begin by saying how welcome and at home I’ve been made to feel since coming to the Americas. I won’t, though, because very few of you here have offered me the hospitality and the respect that I deserve. Typical, really. I’ve noticed that you lot- (waits for audience to quit jeering) The longer you take, the longer until you get to see your welfare heroes play in my ring! Now pipe down!
“Now, as I was saying, the vast majority of you troglodytes refuse to show me even the slightest bit of respect, even though I soundly beat … one might say ‘trounced …’ your masked super immigrant, who calls himself ‘Snow.’ People, if I may call you that, your loyalties are horribly misguided. I can only assume that the internet and social media is somehow responsible. In fact, it has been brought to my attention that you lot want me to give him another sound thrashing, spurred on by the vain hope that, somehow, that washed-up, broken down, almost-could-have-been-a-has-been sack of masked rubbish might pin me to my mat here. (roar from audience) Would you like to see that? You must, because it is scheduled for tonight! (cheers) Well, forget it.
“See, when my contract was composed, I made damned sure that I can be more selective about the matches in which I take part. Now, I’ve already made that bastard tap out, the soundest form of defeat! He SURRENDERED! Can you understand that? And for all his moaning about his eyes and his pathetic, useless groin, it was his bloody ankle over which tapped-out, so his complaints about one or two alleged underhanded moves are as much a load of poppycock as his failed attempt at another career here! How often do I have to destroy someone before you sadists let it go? Well, I refuse to be bullied you, so there it is. Oh, he’ll wrestle again, more’s the pity. He may even wrestle again tonight. But understand: Snowflake will never, NEVER face me in the ring again!”
With that, Beckett drops the mic and leaves the ring, heading toward the back and his waiting car.
Gary Bloomfield: “Well, this quite a turn of events. Beckett has opted not to face Snow again and is leaving the arena! Snow is still scheduled for a bout, we’re going to get this sorted out, folks! Stay with us!”
Gary Bloomfield: Folks, here’s a look at another international star making his way to PWA!
Video opens with brief training montage, much of which takes place in a basement gym with out-dated equipment, heavy bag, jump rope, sparring and rolling, but outside exercises include rapidly climbing trees and buildings, dispatching multiple opponents, and repeatedly lifting and throwing a stone the size of a turkey.
Pan accross the rolling green hills and rocky cliffs of the Scottish west coast, coming to Robert MacElroy, dressed in jeans, work boots, and a “They Live!” t-shirt; he is seated on a great barren rock.
“PWA … a premiere wrestling prromotion i’ tha ‘States. An up-and-comer, looking te make good among tha arready estahblished “beeg boays” of prromotions. Talent, attitude, an toughness foor dees at a tyme. Moost of all, a rrespaect foor tha business. Seems te mee that we have quite alot i’common.
“New, you’ve likely doon yerr researrch, so ye knoo I’ been all aboot the Aisles wi’ me rringwurrk. I starrted i’ Glasgow, which is tantamount te starrtin’ i’ tha strreets. I learrned by teakin’ lumps untell I woond up in a match wi’ Lance Polanski, whu was in toon furr an All-Comers type toor. He go’ tha best o’ me, aye, but aforre he leaft toon he put me onto a friend of his, Mike “Tugboat” Carson. Carson give me rreal trreannin’, an’ tha’s when my carreerr trruely starrted.
“Since than, Ay’ve compeated e’rrywheere in Scotland, Ireland, Wales, England, an’ Cornwall. Ay’ve doone it all, from Catch, te Corrnish grapplin’, Grreakaroman, an’ joost plean brrawllin’. Ay’ve just come off a toor in Gerrmany an’ France; thoose mahtches ha’ been posted heere an’ theere as well. But tha’s nae what thas rrecoordin’s foor.
“Why do I belong at PWA? Ay’ve earrned it, plean an’ sample. I’ve bumped heads wi’ somotha toughest bastarrds i’ tha business, an’ they all know who Aye am, new. One of me grreatest matches was wi’ Finch Ubermann, aboot two yearr agoo. I wound up going untill I was choked oot, an’ lost tha match, true, but he neverr had a compedatoor go wi’ him longerr than 15 min; I kept him i’ tha rrring foor an hour, an’ nearrly had ‘im moore than once. Tha fahns knew when theey sawr it, an’ theey cheered foor tha mahn wi’ guts, the Harrd Man. Ay’ve o’l gotten better since.
“Ay’m tha harrdest wearrking man i’ tha business. Ay’m the toughest man i’ tha business. Ay’m a-comin’ te come to tha PWA te prroove it foor one an’ all.” Fade to black.
The hot guitar licks of Specter General’s ‘Nothin’s Gonna Stand in Our Way’ erupt from the arena speakers as the familiar lights and pyros of Akira Wyld explode around the PWA Assault entrance ramp. After a few moments, An unhappy looking Akira Wyld appears center stage and begins making his way to the ring. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is turned up into a vaguely contemptuous sneer. As he approaches he ring he calls for a microphone. Once in the ring, Wyld takes turns ascending each of the four turnbuckles, pausing at the top of each to survey the Prestige Wrestling crowd with a look of disdain. He leaps down from the final buckle and begins pacing in the ring. Finally, he takes a deep breath and brushes his silver hair out of his eyes.
WYLD: “What you people just witnessed… was nothing less than pro wrestling history in the making. For the first time in more than ten years, Akira Wyld has returned to a North American wrestling ring.”
WYLD: “But of course… I didn’t expect most of you ignorant sheep to recognize that. No… if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 16 year career… it’s that wrestling fans are fickle and their memories are short. Its 2017 and if you aren’t trending on social media shilling yourself on talk shows everybody forgets who you are. Never mind the fact that the Wyld Wrestling Family redefined professional wrestling in the 90s. Never mind the fact that a decade ago I was a decorated E-Fed world champion selling our arenas that would put this organization greatest aspirations to shame. No… in the dirty business of sports entertainment’ it’s always ‘What have you done for me lately?’. So no… I don’t expect to you people to recognize the talent standing before you. That’s ok… you’ll learn in time.“
WYLD: “I should be main eventing this show. Hell… there should be a tournament with the winner being given the honor of stepping into the ring with the Surgical Specialist. But no… instead of me just being given the respect that I rightfully deserve… I have to come out here in front of all you people and do this.”
Wyld turns his gaze to the entrance ramp and points a finger to the stage door leading to the backstage area.
WYLD: “Listen up! My name is Akira Wyld. I am the best wrestler in the world, and I guarantee that there is NOBODY in the entire PWA locker room that can beat me. I am officially challenging any wrestler in the building to a match… right here, right now. If anyone has the guts… lace up your boots… and step between these ropes.”