04-08-2015, 06:12 PM
Monday, April 6, 2015 – St. Petersburg, Florida
“Welcome to Tropicana Field and OPENING DAY, Rays fans!â€
The announcer’s deep voice echoed through the slowly filling stadium, causing the stir of a half-hearted cheer from the hundreds of people still pouring into the stands.
“We are here today to watch YOUR Tampa Bay Rays begin their season-long quest for a pennant and a trip to the post-season! Today’s visiting team… the Baltimore Orioles!â€
The crowd starts to boo, the sound growing as more and more people file in. The late afternoon Florida sun is fully blocked out by the dome, yet the heat of the spring day still seeps through, causing the throng of people to fan themselves with programs and baseball caps.
“Here to sing our national anthem is lead singer of Tampa’s own metal sensation Morbid Angel, DAVID VINCENT!!!â€
Most of the beer-gutted old folks in the stands pretty much ignore the announcement as the thrashed-out vocalist makes his way onto the field dressed all in black. A smattering of applause from the few goth/metal kids who were dragged to the agony of professional baseball by their parents.
“TAMPA FUCKING FLORIDA!!! STAND THE FUCK UP FOR AMERICAAAAAAAAAA!!!!â€
The snarling voice of Vincent booms over the microphone, stunning the crowd quiet. Somewhere near the third base line, an old lady has a heart attack.
“OH SAY CAN YOU FUCKING SEE! BY THE MOTHERFUCKING DAWN’S EARLY LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!!!!â€
The mic sends squeals of feedback throughout the stadium as Vincent’s guttural growling thunders through the air. Most of the old folks are shocked and offended, but one long haired guy selling peanuts and cracker jacks in the stands is whipping his head around like a pro.
After a few minutes, Vincent gets through the song and finishes strong, with two hands holding devil horns high over his head.
“AND THE HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOME OF THE FUCKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE!!!!!! FUCK YOU ALL!!!!â€
Although the elderly crowd doesn’t appreciate the music, they definitely all react well to the completion of the anthem. Since most of them were there during the Normandy invasion, it strikes a chord deep within them.
All except for a rowdy group of foreign hooligans in the front row.
“Roight! Thet’s a dam pile o’ shit that is. Me All Blacks would fockin’ kill this fockin’ faggit rip-off cricet team, they would! Oi!â€
One of the toothless, bald, fat bastards screams over his gigantic cup of beer, raising his arms up and down like a weirdo.
“Oiiiiiiiii, yer roight, mate! These dam americans don’t know a fockin’ man’s game when they fockin’ see one, they don’t! I’ve taken a shit biggah than these fockin’ athletes, mate!
The second lunatic starts swinging his arms up and down as well, then leans over and licks the first one’s head before tossing his entire huge beer onto the ball boy on the grass in front of him.
“Git me a new cup o’ this nasty piss, ye wanker!â€
“Oiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!â€
Now both of the flabby men are flailing their arms around and wagging their tongues, screaming incoherently about rugby and sheep.
Some of the other crowd members toss their trash at the obnoxious duo, but most of them simply jeer and hiss. Eventually, the PA announcer returns to the airwaves.
“Wasn’t that a… uh… inspiring performance by the legendary David Vincent!â€
More boos rise from the crowd, along with some unintelligible gibberish from the unbathed New Zealanders.
“And now, throwing out the first pitch for today’s game… XWF superstar and double champion, “Loverboy†Vinnie Laaaaaaaaane!â€
“I Wanna Rock†by Twisted Sister fires out of the speakers and the crowd starts to go nuts for the rock n’ roll megastar. Loverboy prances out to the pitcher’s mound dressed in his typical glam style, but with a dark blue Rays jersey unbuttoned and wafting in the light breeze caused by his movement.
He motions for someone nearby, and a crewman runs up to the mound and hands Loverboy a microphone. Loverboy smiles with his arms out to the sides, turning slowly to let everyone soak him in, then decides to cut an impromptu promo right in the middle of the Trop.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Are you all lucky as hell today or what? Here you are, in a place I have often called home, sunny Florida, and not only do you basically live in permanent Spring Break… you get to see ME live and in person!â€
The crowd reacts positively, cheering and whistling, except for the grumbling kiwis. Loverboy notices them briefly, but goes on with his speech without acknowledging them.
“Now… you all may know that coming up this week on Madness, I will be defending my gorgeous HART Championship for the second time against a guy I would normally consider a friend. Mastermind.â€
The crowd boos somewhat, with a few different chants trying to catch on throughout the crowd. In the front row, though, the kiwis cheer wildly at the mention of Mastermind.
“I’m not completely sure, dudes and dudettes, but I think I might have watched ol’ Mastermind make himself an audition video for early entry into the Alzheimer’s home while I was surfing around on the XWF network earlier today… which, by the way, you can all subscribe to and get your first month FREE, and be able to get as much Loverboy as your poor hearts can handle!
But as I was saying… a day or two ago, I was watching these promos and I saw something that really got to me. No, no, it’s not what you think… I mean, sure, Mastermind is trying to be creepy by falling into a magic mirror or something… but I’m no stranger to seeing something incredible in the mirror, you know what I mean?â€
Then, from out of his rear waistband under the jersey, Loverboy produces a large, pink vanity mirror and holds it in front of his face. He winks and smiles at his reflection, fluffing his hair and pursing his lips into a puffed out kissy face as the crowd laughs.
“Oh mirror mirror in my hand, who’s the coolest in all the land? Let me stop right there and answer my own question so I don’t end up looking like a freak – you know, like Mastermind does when he goes in and out of his Oculus mirror.
I’m the coolest. Not only am I the coolest, but I’m the best looking. The most talented. The fastest. The most agile. The most unpredictable. You get the idea yet, folks? Does anyone here think some tired old kiwi has a chance against prime specimen of masculinity such as myself?â€
Loverboy holds the mic out at arm’s length as if for a concert singalong. The crowd answers with a thundering ‘no,’ with, of course, the exception of the two aggressive New Zealanders, who are howling and shouting derisive swears at Loverboy from their seats in the front row on the first base line.
“Oiiiiiii! Why ain’t ye com an’ throw the dam ball already, mate? Stop wastin’ me time, BOI!â€
“Thet’s roit, mate! Yer jes’ a pretty boi wiv no bawls, ain’t ye? OIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!â€
Loverboy stares down the pair of obviously inebriated halfwits, then walks over toward them from the pitcher’s mound, still holding his mirror.
“Let me guess, dude… I know there are only about three separate strands of human DNA in all of New Zealand, so you pair of chucklefucks must be related to my opponent, right? What are you, his two long-lost triplet brothers? He looks an awful lot like you… here, look at yourself!â€
Loverboy holds the mirror up to the duo, who grin like toothless idiots into their own reflections. Almost instantly, the glass cracks and shatters into a thousand shards all over the grass.
“I’m guessing there’s a definite mirror shortage in New Zealand for this exact reason. That’s gotta be why Mastermind… or is he even Mastermind these days? Should I call his ‘evil’ self Mindmaster? Anyway, that’s why Mindmaster is so proud of his little funhouse mirror, huh? Not only does it probably make him look taller, but it doesn’t immediately break when he looks into it with that busted face of his. Must be reinforced glass, dude.
So tell me, you two… who the hell are you and why do you think it’s okay to interrupt a megastar when he’s entertaining all these great people who came here to see him today?â€
Loverboy takes a sudden step back as one of the two men swings down toward him in a predictable, lazy punch. The second one laughs until he starts to cough, then beckons for Loverboy to hold the mic closer to him… which he does.
“Oiiii… me an’ ol’ Luke here come down to this shithole stadium to whip your arse for our cousin, Mastermind! Why ain’t you try an’ do somethin’ about it, ye queer?â€
And again the bald buffoon takes a swing, causing Loverboy to again take a step back. This time he turns and walks back to the mound, where he is handed a ball by an official to perform the ceremonial first pitch.
“You want me to do something? What do you two drunks want to me to do in order to prove that I’m walking out of Madness the same way I walked in – as the HART Champion? You want me to drag your worthless asses out of the stands and beat you down in front of all of these fans, just like I’ll to Mindmaster on Monday night?
How about you two unwashed, ugly fucks come on down to the mound here and see how it goes for you?â€
The crowd starts to chant as everyone watches the pair of kiwis intently, but as expected, they opt to remain in their seats. They quiet down some, but they still fling middle fingers at Loverboy and all of the fans around them.
“Yeah… just like I thought… are there any actual MEN in New Zealand? Or there just overgrown boys with vaginas between their legs? You guys are just little clones of your hero, the new, ‘evil’ Mindmaster. And this Monday, in front of thousands of screaming Loverboy fans, I’m going to put an end to this new phase of that dude’s career. He thinks he can just try and put on a tough guy act and that will get him past a superior athlete like me? Guess what, dudes… playing the bad guy doesn’t make you any taller, stronger or BETTER. It just makes you look stupid when you’re talking to yourself in the mirror, man.
So do me a favor, you two… and everyone else here today… tune in to XWF Monday Night Madness next week, live from Cincinnati, and watch me beat the big, bad, wolf himself not once… not twice… but THREE times in the same night!
Trust me, dudes… when I get through with him this time, the Mind is going to understand for the first time why it is they name disastrous storms after people. Oh, and one more thing…â€
Loverboy drops the mic onto the dirt, then winds up like Cal Ripken with the baseball, to a huge pop from the crowd… but he doesn’t throw the ball over the plate.
Instead, he turns to the two asshole kiwis in the stands and sends a 95 mile per hour split-fingered fastball right to the dome of one of them.
The man collapses like a sack of potatoes and flops over the wall onto the field. His life partner (probably) leans over and stares down at him, watching the baseball roll to a stop near the first base track.
On the mound, Loverboy picks the microphone back up out of the dirt with a grin on his face.
“Oops! Looks like I missed, dude! PLAY BALL!â€
Loverboy throws his hands in the air as if he actually does not care, and the crowd goes wild for him as he walks back to the entranceway. Eventually, a paramedic shows up to check on the unconscious kiwi, but nobody really cares about him.
The Orioles go on to win, 6-2.