BLOOMFIELD: "Terry Schneider caught up with Bartholomew 'Brawler' Beckett after the main event on last night's Assault."
*Terry Schneider, followed by the camera, makes his way down the backstage hall toward the locker room door. A few of the wrestlers are outside. Kevin Starr, one of the wrestlers present, glances casually at Schneider as the journalist reaches for the door handle.*
Starr: "I'd bring a baseball bat, bud."
*Terry pauses, not sure whether Starr is just having him on, when a loud crash shakes the steel door. Schneider opens the door, and the camera follows him in ... with some trepidation.
*In the locker room, they see Beckett amid a mess of overturned benches, broken locker doors, and a porcelain sink that was formerly mounted to the wall.*
SCHNEIDER: "Uh, Mr. Beckett, I was wondering if you might give us a few words about your match just now against Pan-"
BECKETT: "EURRRAAAARRGH!!" *Beckett pries a section of lockers from the wall and lets it drop to the floor.* "Who let him in? Who chose that flying train wreck as a legitimate competitor? What right do they have, springing such a match on the likes of me like this? To have started this illustrious championship competition with this- this- injustice?! Oh .... VENGENCE!!"
SCHNEIDER: "Well, Mr. Beckett, it was an authorized match with, for Pantaro's part, clean wrestling, and- "
BECKETT: "WRESTLING! 'WRESTLING?' That flying burrito did no such thing! Leaping about and - and - that was NOT wrestling! He just jumped about, like he always does, no mat work, no technique, just flinging himself about like a bloody semi-human cannonball! All his so-called style comes from boarder-jumping, obviously. 'Wrestling,' indeed!"
SCHNEIDER: "Now, Mr. Beckett, that's not really true, is it? I mean, Pantaro executed plenty of ground-work techniques, including a bow-and-arrow backbreaker, and didn't you try a fist-drop from the top rope? I seem to-"
BECKETT: *his back turned to Schneider, suddenly speaking very softly* "Terrance, if you say one more word, I will make you eat your microphone. Is that UTTERLY clear, mush?"
SCHNEIDER: "Mr. Beckett, I don't think tha-"
