A Message For The "Champion"

[Chandler Scott]

They go to irish whip The Harvard Connection into each other. Blaine whips Preston towards the center of the ring. But Chandler reverses, sending Jared towards the center of he ring where Preston knocks him down with a running European Uppercut. The crowd boos. Blaine then runs over and clotheslines Preston, sending both men over the top rope and to the floor. Back in the ring, Chandler crouches down, waiting impatiently for Jared to get up. Once a dazed Jared gets up and turns around, Chandler runs over and nails him in the face with the Harvard Hammer to boos from the crowd. Chandler makes the cover. 1.............................. Blaine tries to slide back into the ring, but Preston reaches up and grabs him by the ankle...............2....................... Blaine gets free and dives over..............3.

Cruz: Here are your winners, THE HARVARD CONNECTION!

Chandler: “Ah yes, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Do I say I told you so? Do I tell you that you should have listened to me? After all, you would assume listening and taking the advice of a Harvard graduate would be the smart thing to do. But judging by the makeup of the Frontier roster, as well as its imbecilic fanbase, it should come as no surprise that they would all make the idiotic mistake of doubting us. But it doesn't really matter anymore, now does it? That victory was vindication. It served as a “screw you” to everyone who not only doubted the Harvard Connection, but the people who were also so gullible to believe in Jared James and Blaine Harrison. For weeks, we've exclaimed that Jared James was an overrated hack. And his little sidekick, Blaine, wasn't much better. And on that night, The Harvard Connection were once again victorious. The thrill of victory. It was so sweat. And the agony of defeat........

Back in the ring, a disappointed Blaine goes over to Jared. He extends his hand as Jared struggles to get up on his knees. Jared brushes Blaine's hand away. So Blaine extends his hand again. But again, Jared brushes the hand away. Blaine then extends his hand again. Annoyed, Jared gets up to his feet and shoves Blaine.

Clement: What?

Grayson: See!? See!? See!? I told you so!

The crowd is shocked. Some boos are sprinkled here and there. Blaine then goes back over and immediately gets in Jared's face to cheers from the crowd. Jenny then gets in and tries to diffuse the situation between the two. But before any peace can be made, Jared walks out of the ring. Blaine just sighs as he looks on. A disappointed Jared storms to the back with his hands on his hips.....

“..... so bitter. I don't know, nor do I care about this little lover's quarrel between Jared and Blaine. They can kiss and make up. Or, they can rip each others heads off. Regardless of what they choose, it doesn't matter to me. All that matters is that we were finally proven right on Jared and now, now it is time to move on to bigger things. Like the so-called “champion”, Michael Tomkins. He actually had to nerve to claim that he was the reason why Preston and I defeated Jared and Blaine. Well last time I checked, Timmy Brown was nowhere to be found and didn't interfere, so Tomkins can't take credit for that victory. The dunce also claims that regardless of distractions or interference, the Raise-The-Bar-Superstar will always prove himself. Hmm. Sort of like when he “proved himself” by defeating me thanks to Timmy handing him another victory? I cannot wait for Wednesday Night Combat. The Frontier Heavyweight Championship isn't on the line. But I will show everyone in that building who the true champion is.......”

[Chandler Scott can be seen exiting a ring at a local gym somewhere in Massachusetts. Beads of sweat run down his face. The neck area of his gray Harvard t-shirt is darkened with sweat. He breaths loudly as he makes his way over to a pitcher and pulls out a bottle of water. After unscrewing the cap and taking a swing, he makes his way over to a seat and sits down. After wiping the sweat from off his face with a white towel, he drapes the towel across his neck. He then leans forward towards the camera.]

Chandler:
“Are you waking up in the middle of the night? Are you waking up at all hours of the night drenched in cold sweat? Does every creak in the floor board give you pause? Those noises in the bushes... those ruffles in the bushes that you used to brush off as nothing more than the wind, they now concern you, don't they? You don't have conversations with strangers anymore, do you? You used to be able to innocently make small talk with any fan or admirer that came your way. Now, everyone has to have an ulterior motive. Now, everyone has to be up to no good. I bet you can't even go out and enjoy a nice meal with that slattern you call a girlfriend, can you? Eating out anymore is no longer an option out of fear that your meal may be poisoned or tampered with some other way. Ah yes, the perils of being a champion. It just sucks, doesn't it, Michael? Some people are clearly made of championship material. Some people can take the adversities they face as a champion and triumph over them. Those people, they win matches, they take on and defeat all comers, they always rise to the occasion and come out on top. And then there are others who clearly crack and are ultimately crushed by that very same pressure. Those are the types who are weighed down by the burden of being a champion. They aren't able to uphold a champion's responsibilities. They aren't able to keep up with the routine that a champion should have. And they definitely can't defeat all comers.

Now naturally, you'd say that you clearly fall into the category of the former, especially taking into account your win loss record. You think that you're a champion. You think you have what it takes to remain a champion. But myself, and anyone who is truly honest with themselves will agree that you cannot handle the championship that rests around your waist. Just take a look at you. We can all see it every time you come strolling into the newest venue. You look around all spasmodic with wide eyes, resembling a heroin junkie who is literally dying for their next fix. You absolutely reek of paranoia. Those bags under your eyes are becoming more and more noticeable. Every little background noise, be it a crash or a fall, startles you and puts you in a defensive stance. Let's face the facts. The very title you've coveted has turned into the title that is literally killing you from the inside out. And it's rather tragic, really; because for all of your hype and for all that you've achieved, everything is about to literally come crashing down on you,” says Chandler with a cheeky grin. He loves seeing Michael Tomkins in such despair. It only makes Tomkins THAT much more of an easy target.

“Some people can't deal with being a champion. They can't deal with the day to day duties of being a champion. They can't deal with the fact that being a champion is a 24/7 job. They can't deal with the fact that they will always, always be a target. But some people can. Some people are actually up for those tasks. Some people are actually up for the job. People such as..... myself, for instance.” Chandler grins. “I know what it's like to be a target 24/7. You people envy me because of my good looks, my wardrobe, my education, and for the company that I keep. You people are jealous of me because of my beautiful girlfriend and my humble abode. And you hate me because I am successful not only in this ring, but successful at life. I've lived out my dreams. I've achieved everything I wanted to while you people, well, you're losers. You never went to your dream school, so you had to settle for some run of the mill community college. You never got the girl of your dreams. So you're stuck crying the blues to your fat best friend, waxing poetically about a woman who will never give you the time of day. And you never accomplished all those goals you had back in school. So now you spend your days being miserable at a dead end job, envious over the fact that your much smarter friend actually amounted to something in life. The fact that I am who I am and you're not drives you people up a wall. It makes you spit in my direction. It makes you take swipes at me as I make my way down the aisle. It entices you people to leap over that guard rail and get your dirty, grubby little hands all over me. But I remain standing. I remain tall. And I continue to prevail, proving that I truly am the embodiment of all your unrealized potential.” Chandler smiles as he rubs in his successes in life in the faces of the failures that make up the FGA fanbase.

“Clearly I can handle being in the spotlight. Clearly I can handle drawing the ire of everyone in the building. Clearly you can't, Tomkins. How about grabbing some more tissues and whining about your problems while you're at it? You shouldn't even be in this situation. If I had my way, I would have clocked you with my Harvard Hammer and went on to the finals, where I surely would've beaten Jared James. But alas, I couldn't get my way. Instead, you got your way, courtesy of having your manager gift wrap you yet another win. Tomkins, you carry that Heavyweight Championship as if it's something to be proud of. But the fact is, for all of your wins and for all of your “great” accomplishments, your pathetic alcoholic mentor is responsible for half of those wins. That's not me downplaying your accomplishments. That's simply stating indisputable facts. Now surely you can say that you defeated Scott Reave, Jacques Mercier and Jared James without your manager's help. But let's be serious for a moment. Scott Reave was nothing but a flash in the pain, Jacques Mercier is a nobody, and Jared James is beyond overrated. So at the end of the day, all you have are shallow achievements and empty victories. Not only are you a target, but you've got nothing to be proud of. You have no shining performance. You have no key victory. And you've been dropped on your head repeatedly by the resident drunk, Micky O'Reilly. You've repeatedly allowed yourself to get laid out by a guy who can't pass a breathalyzer test, can't walk in a straight line and can't say the alphabet backwards. No wonder you're so down in the dumps. You're life absolutely sucks! And I'm loving every second of it...” Chandler cackles at the misfortunes of Tomkins.

“You know you can't beat me. You even said it yourself that I am the one that has come the closest to beating you. Correction, I had you beat. I was going to pin you. But your manager Timmy made sure that didn't happen, now didn't he? And it's not just the fact that you were handed a victory that digs at you. It's the fact that it happened in a tournament to crown the very championship that you hold right now. That is what really eats away at you. Because when you look in the mirror and into your own eyes, you know that if it weren't for Timmy's timely interference on that night, the belt you currently hold across your shoulder would be mine. But it's okay, because on Wednesday Night Combat, I have the opportunity to course correct this entire situation. This week on Combat, I have the opportunity to right the wrongs of A New Odyssey and show everyone what really would have happened back on that Friday night in January. And that would have been me clinching these two fists of mine, nailing you in the face with them, and knocking you out cold.” Chandler delivers a Harvard Hammer through the air, demonstrating how quickly he would have knocked Tomkins out.

“Throughout your entire diatribe, you were right on one thing, though. This isn't a title match. Your belt isn't up for grabs. So theoretically, you have nothing to lose. But then again, when you've lost your pride, your manhood, your respect, your freedom and slowly your own sanity, what truly is there left to lose? Chandler snickers at his dig to Tomkins.“But for all the imbeciles out there who bring their “We Heart Tomkins” signs to the shows, I will erase all doubt. And they will know, just like you will know, that I am your superior. Not just in life, but in this ring. Especially in this ring......

But getting back to the topic, your belt not being on the line doesn't matter much at all. See, once I defeat you.... and I will.... I will have my third victory, automatically putting yours truly in top contendership for that belt. And even if I didn't have three victories, a win over the champion in a non-title match would have vaulted me into contendership, anyway. Speakers of contenders, all I seem to hear nowadays is Jared James and Blaine Harrison. Who deserves the first shot at Tomkins? Who deserves to get Tomkins' first championship defense – Jared or Blaine? Even you, Tomkins, seem to be more preoccupied with Frontier's two boy scouts than you are me. And that, Tomkins, is a very dangerous thing for you to do. So this goes for you, as well as everyone else caught up in the “drama” between Jared and Blaine. Forget Jared. Forget Blaine. Once I defeat you on Wednesday Night Combat, the #1 contender for the Frontier Heavyweight Championship will be a forgone conclusion. It won't be some dork from California. And it won't be some whiny little dweeb from New Hampshire. It'll be perhaps one of the smartest and, without a shadow of a doubt, the strongest man here in Frontier. And that man, Tomkins, will be the same man you'll be standing across the ring from on Wednesday. Think of our upcoming match as a preview of sorts. A sign of things to come, if you will. Be thankful that your belt isn't on the line at Combat. Because if it were, you'd be walking away with absolutely nothing.” Chandler flashes an arrogant smirk.

“I am your physical better. I am your mental superior. I am the embodiment on your unrealized potential. I am Chandler Scott, the Straight-A Stud, one half of The Harvard Connection and soon to be your neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew Frontier Heavyweight Champion. Because anything less would be.... uncivilized......

[The scene fades to crimson, followed by the Harvard “H”.]