Backstage at an XWF local event in Burlington, Kentucky, the main event megastar, “Loverboy†Vinnie Lane sits in a dressing room chair and prepares himself for the night’s headlining match.
He leans forward, staring at his reflection in a large vanity mirror, fluffing his hair and pursing his lips to ensure every bit of stage makeup is applied properly. When he spots the light of the camera as it enters the room behind him, he smiles and winks into the glass, reflecting the familiar, confident face of the reigning HART Champion into the camera lens.
He turns in his seat then, the gleaming gold belt revealed around his waist, partially obstructing the view of a second belt, the Federweight, nestled beneath it.
With a wide grin, Loverboy welcomes the interloper.
“What’s up, dude?
As you can see, I’m hard at work helping entertain the masses of the XWF’s fans as we continue the Madness tour across the country, as always. You can look up and down the hallways of this locker room all you want, dude, but there’s one guy you won’t find anywhere.
My opponent this week on Madness, the alleged ‘Master of the Minds.’ He’s apparently too busy playing make believe in his fantasy mirror to even stay stateside long enough to hit the road with the rest of us, dude.
You can ask anyone else on the roster, man, friend or foe… everyone will tell you that there is no harder working representative of the XWF than me. I’ve been on the road with this company nearly nonstop since last August, and I’ve headlined in practically every city in this great country of ours.
Mastermind? Not so much. He shows up when the cameras are rolling, sure. He makes it seem like he’s in the mix of things. The sad reality is, though, that as soon as the show goes off the air, Mastermind gets on an airplane and heads right back to New Zealand, a little jungle island so small and insignificant that we might roll over there once a year at best.
Mastermind doesn’t give a crap about the fans. He doesn’t give a crap about earning a spot. He expects to just have everything he wants handed to him, because he’s used to going to bed every night with a silver spoon jammed up his ass by thousand dollar a night hooker.â€
Loverboy stands up, looking sideways into the mirror at his backside and his profile. He adjusts his shirt, tugging the wrinkles out, and then turns back to face the camera again.
"Anyone watching this promo… you’ve already heard more than enough from Mastermind, dude. For god’s sake, the dude is singing songs about me these days. He’s serenading me with the world’s worst karaoke version of already-shitty songs, poisoning the airwaves with his terrible singing voice, and generally wasting everyone’s time.
Yeah dude, we get it. You like the sound of your own voice. You suddenly like to ramble on for thirty minutes trying desperately to make some allegorical reference to lions in a jungle. Great.
Let me take a moment and explain to you though, Mastermind… eventually, when you go after the king of the jungle long enough, the hunter always turns into the hunted. The most dangerous game of them all isn’t a lion, or a tiger, or a bear… it’s man. And when you step into my jungle, dude, between those ropes, inside a steel cage, it’s you who becomes the prey.
Keep telling stories and singing songs dude. Keep up the bullshit countdowns and make believe mirror games. No one’s buying your crap.â€
Just then, a pretty young intern of some sort raps on the open door, then pops her head into the room. She blushes when she sees she’s on camera, then smiles nervously and looks at Loverboy, who gives her his most winning smile.
Her shade of crimson deepens from the attention of such a handsome megastar, but she manages to stammer out her announcement.
“Mister Lane? Your match is looking like it will be on in about twenty minutes. We have a small intermission and then a Q&A segment in-ring, then it’s you and Jamaican Jimmy to send us home.â€
“Thanks, babydoll. I’m ready to go, as always.â€
“Okay, I’ll let Jimmy know. Sorry about the crappy competition, but you know half the roster stays off the road between big shows.â€
The intern leaves, letting the dressing room door hang open behind her. Loverboy watches her shapely ass as she walks off from the room, then returns his attention to the camera with a facetious eyebrow raise.
“Where were we?
Right… Mastermind, and his lack of giving a good god damn about anything other than trying to make himself look like something better than what he is. A scared old man trying to cling to a time when he could run with the young bucks like me.
Man, can you believe, I actually heard him on a radio interview when I got into town earlier? He has the balls to be in Cincinnati, but not bother putting on a show that won’t be on TV. This is the Mastermind that exists when the cameras aren’t rolling, dude. A selfish, greedy, fraud. He’s trying to trick the fans into thinking he gives a shit about them, when all he cares about is his own personal gain.
Look at him. Acting tough. Acting like a born-again bad guy. I mean, does he really think that just dropping a few four letter words here and there and putting some bass in his voice makes him a better wrestler? No. He isn’t THAT stupid. He thinks he’s living up to his moniker and playing some sort of mind games on me… but dude, he isn’t getting to me in the least.
I tell you what, man, I drove up here from Tampa after the Rays game on Monday. Me and Roxy riding up interstate 75 with the top down, playing cock rock as loud as we could and smiling at all the wannabes we sped past… not once did I worry about Mastermind’s new personality. Why? Because I know that no matter what he wants you to think, whether it’s that he’s turned some corner in his personality, or that he’s learned something from all of his losses over time, or whatever.
The truth is though, man… Mastermind is just Mastermind. The same Mastermind he’s always been. He’s gone his whole career being the same guy. You think he just woke up at the age of forty-something and decided it was time to be a winner? Please. It’s an act, just like everything else about him. Just like the chair and the private jet and the helicopter… it’s a show.â€
Loverboy walks to a nearby coatrack and pulls his leather riveted jacket off of the hook and slides it onto his arms. Another wink and a smirk into the mirror, and then he turns back to the camera.
“God damn, it feels good to look like me every day, dude.
I need to get something off of my chest though, man. Something that’s been bugging me for a little bit, ever since this week’s round of preparation got started on Monday.
I mean… on one hand, I should expect it. Some guys never change, you know? Look at Cain last week. Trying to come out on top and represent the Madness brand, but unable to keep himself from playing with Ouija boards or whatever and killing Chinese prostitutes. You’re either the sort of guy who depends on magical flying pens to make your promos interesting or you’re not, I guess.
But you know… and I hate to be ‘that guy’ and bring any sort of rules and regulations into the mix, man, especially considering the no holds barred nature of my title defense this Monday… but we all know that the HART Championship and Madness in general requires certain limitations in the style and type of behavior in the week leading up to a match.
Viewers should have no problem believing anything they see in a Madness promo. You see me, a handsome devil, signing autographs for throngs of horny college coeds, for instance. Baseball games, commercials. You know? Stuff people can swallow as ‘real life.’
Then Mastermind shows up and he throws that all out the window, man.
No, not the mirror. Looking into a mirror and being sent into a mental crisis is pretty god damn believable for a face like Mastermind’s, dude. I’m talking about the fact that he showed a woman in his bedroom with him.
Like… yeah, right.
The only thing less believable than Mastermind having a beautiful woman wanting anything to do with him for anything other than his paycheck is the idea of him actually climbing that ladder Monday night and being able to reach the HART Championship belt six feet over his head.
See dude, it’s like I told you yesterday… I AM the XWF’s king of the cage. I’ve beaten men like Griffin MacAlister and Morbid Angel inside of cages. I just got done defending this championship in an epic battle inside a cage.
Mastermind has a pretty good track record surrounded by steel as well, he made that clear. It’s a good point. Valid. We both have the same glaring blemish on our otherwise impeccable images, though. The same match. War Games last year, of course.
Now, Mastermind will call it a technicality, man. He might be able to deal with losses easier that way, but it doesn’t work that way for me, dude. To me… we lost. I lost. It may as well have been me staring up at the lights through that chain link that night. If I didn’t win, then I lost. That’s an inherent difference between Mastermind and myself.
You see dude… I take every second of my career seriously. I always have, man. From the time I walk out from behind those curtains until the final bell rings, that’s my LIFE. I don’t care if I win ten or twenty of FIFTY matches in a row, dude, if I lose one it’s like failing everything I’ve ever lived for.
So yeah, War Games stayed with me. More so than a fluke loss to Gilmour or an unsuccessful attempt at a title. Why? Because War Games should have ended differently, and we all know it. We had the team, the talent, the opponents that were in disarray… we put on a match of the year candidate, and we LOST.
So here’s what we’re going to do this time, Mastermind, old pal. We’re going to determine who really is the king of the cage. We’re going to prove it inside of a three tiered monstrosity that would kill a normal man. And then, once I’ve proven that I always have been and always will be superior to you, dude? I’ll move on to another match inside another cage, and I’ll be winning another title.â€
Loverboy walks to his table and grabs his aviator shades, sliding them onto his face as he takes one last look at himself in his mirror. He smooths down the pink bandanna on his head and smiles wide one more time, looking into the camera and winking one sky blue eye over the top of the sunglasses before pushing them the rest of the way up with one gloved finger.
“Showtime, dude. Time to go out there, again, and blow the roof off of this place. Time to give these fans an experience they’ll never forget. Time to be a CHAMPION in every sense of the word. It’s been said that it’s lonely at the top, man, that heavy is the head that wears the crown… but in my opinion that couldn’t be further from the truth. I have millions of wannabes that keep my life fulfilled every time my music hits and I walk down that aisle, and give them something to look forward to.
Can Mastermind say any of that?
Didn’t think so.â€
In the background, Loverboy’s theme can be heard playing over the house speakers. The rock n’ roll megastar shrugs and heads out the door of his dressing room, and seconds later the thunderous sound of a cheering crowd echoes through the room as the scene fades out.
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