For those of you who don't know, Pittsburgh is a big time sports town. Much pride from the fans get poured into the cities various sports franchises. This time of year the fans of this proud city are full of hope and wonderment of whether the Pirates will finally dig themselves out of the cellar of the National League.

I have my doubts.

I'm not saying I don't also love my local teams, because I do. But, I'm a realist. I see reality for what it is. The harsh reality of what was once a rich and storied franchise is that the team has loads of talent on both sides of the ball, but they lack direction at the top. That's where winners are built.

The top.

If they had Sean Falcon running the franchise, they'd be the New York Yankees of the National League. Winning championship after championship. Why? Because I'm a mother fucking winner. That's what I do. Everything I touch turns to gold. It's just a benefit to being Sean fucking Falcon the third. It's a natural ability I was born and bred with.

Here she comes.

The sexiest woman I've ever laid my eyes on. Sara Falcon. My wife. She walks into the lounge of my mansion carrying a sheet of paper. As is the norm, she climbs onto my chase lounge and lays beside me.


"What you got?"

"The scheduled card for that special edition of Shove It that you got yourself into."


She doesn't sound happy. If Sara isn't happy, Sean isn't happy.


"Nice. Who do I got?"

"You're in a six man tag team match."

"Six man tags really aren't my thing. So it's Shawn and I with who?"

"Shawn's not even on the card."

"Oh, you better be kidding! Why would they team me up with anyone not named Shawn Hero!?"

"It gets better."


Somehow, I'm not sure that's actually a good thing.


"You're partners are Matt Lennox and Mr. Radio."


I'm up and out of that lounge chair pretty fast. Now, I'm getting pissed and pacing.


"Does this Archie Lawson guy have any fucking clue what the hell he's doing? Who the hell he's messing with? I'm fucking Sean Falcon! He's going to team me up, first of all with someone not named Shawn Hero!? On top of it, he's going to team me up with a delusional little piss ant like Radio!? And a worthless Canuck like Lennox? What the fuck!? Where the hell did he get his business management degree!? Fucking community college!?"

"Your opponents are Hunter Payne, Rick Jones, and John Black."


I stop pacing.


"Oh. What the hell am I pissed about then? I can beat the three of them single handedly."

"Whoever gets the pinfall, gets a title shot of their choosing."


I'm no longer pissed. I got this in the bag. Between the three of my opponents, I could lay flat on my back in the middle of the ring for ten minutes and none of them would have the wherewithal to actually make a cover.

I should thank Archie Lawson for giving me a vacation and this guaranteed title shot. I guess the only question is now, who's title will I take?

Mr. Radios UFO whatever, whatever title? Been there. Done that. Had it. Twice. It's basically a piece of tin not worth its weight in scrap. I'd likely just throw it in the trash.

Maybe Dean McGoverns Xtreme title. I’m not really into that. Although, if I take that title, I’m not likely to lose it. Ever. Then I can get a 24/7 briefcase and cash it in on a real title.

How about CM Drunks European title? He’s already made it about as worthless as he is. It wouldn’t be difficult to restore its prestige. Hell, as soon as I touch the title, it’d be more prestigious than John Madison’s crown. Remember what I said, everything I touch, turns to gold.

Maybe I’ll let Shawn Hero reap the benefits of my work. Maybe I’ll choose to take the gold from the Crimson Knights. They’re busy battling ninjas or some shit so it shouldn’t be hard to just sneak up on them and steal those shiny gold belts away.

Shit.

I’m sitting here daydreaming, while the cameras are rolling.


”Who is first on the hit list, babe?”

”Well, since I love to listen to you talk, how about you cover them all? Partners included. Start with Mr. Unimportant.”

”I love the way you think!”

”I learned from the best, baby.”

”Ha! Indeed, you have!

“Mr. Radio. The single most unimportant, uninteresting delusional crack head on the fucking block! Do you know why you’re destined to be a failure? Because no one cares about you. No one gives two shits about your space cowboy days! No one cares that you fought aliens or zombies or whatever the fuck Flokyoks are, in the past, the present, or the future!

“In this match, you’ll get exactly what you fucking deserve. To stand on the edge of the ring and watch my fucking greatness unfold before your very eyes! To stand there and watch as I single handedly dismantle, destruct and disenfranchise the entirety of that three man band of misfit fucking toys!

“You’ll get a win on Saturday night, Mr. Nothing! Just know, you’re only coming along for the ride! After I leave Shove It with a guaranteed title shot, you’ll want nothing more than to go back to space and film the space man version of Brokeback Mountain!”


I stop talking and start thinking. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t spit it out. I turn to the always lovely Sara Falcon for some help.


”What the hell is the other guys name?”

”Matt Lennox.”

”Matt, you’re so fucking forgettable I’m surprised Paul Heymans fat ass remembers to book you on his show every week. He probably has to have assistants to remind assistants to remind more assistants to remind him to put you in a fucking match!

“Each and every time Madness hits the air and Matt Lennox comes on the screen, instantly, all over the fucking world, millions upon millions of people change the channel to Monday Night Raw to watch the Great Khali! That‘s how fucking interesting you are!”


I pull out a wad of cash and toss it at the camera.


”There’s five hundred in cold, hard, American dollars! Do us all a favor and buy yourself a fucking personality!

“Today is Monday, Matt. I’m sure you have a match tonight. I’m also sure you’ll lose.

“Again.

“Saturday night, your losing ways will cease! For one fucking night only! Like Radio, you’ll stand in the corner of greatness and watch as I do what I do better than anyone else.

“Kick!

"Ass!

“Who’s next?”

”A man by the name of Hunter Payne.”

”Should I know him?”

”No.”

”Isn’t he the guy that has an obsessed fan?”

”I....... fuck, I don’t know.”

”Well, if not, then he is now.

“Hunter Payne, you might just need the personality slightly more then Matt Lennox. I caught your interview with Steve Sayors, who by the way, also has the personality of a pet fucking rock!

“I saw his head bobbing up and down and I’m convinced, you put him to sleep. That might actually be your path to achieving victories here in the Xtreme Wrestling Federation!

“Think about it, Hunter.”


I tilt my head up at an angle and act like I’m mapping something out on an invisible white board.


”The bell rings..... Hunter Payne grabs a microphone..... starts talking..... 30 seconds later..... Hunter Paynes opponent collapses down to the mat and into a coma out of boredom. Hunter Payne picks up the victory.”


I stop the act and return to looking into the camera.


”The thing is, you’re ACTUALLY the toughest opponent I have in this match. That’s not saying much, so don’t get excited because Sean fucking Falcon just gave you a compliment. I mean consider your partners...........

“Um............

“FUCK!

“Who are they?”

”Rick Jones and John Black.”


I instantly begin laughing uncontrollably. After a minute or so I‘m able to regain my compsure.


”Slick Rick Jones and John Black!? Are you kidding me!? Between the two of them, they probably have a combined 4 victories! These two guys will be jerking the curtain for decades to come!

“I mean, it’s like the Brooklyn Brawler and Barry Horowitz! Hell, even they won occasionally. So, I guess that’s inaccurate. Between the two of them they probably have the IQ of a fucking brick. I mean, one of them is so damn uninteresting, that I’d rather sit and watch paint dry.

“The other guy, butchers the English language worse than Scott fucking Steiner on speed!

“I don’t think I have to tell you which is which.

“To all five of you untalented losers, just wait until Saturday. You’ll all get to witness exactly what greatness truly is! You’ll have front row seats to the event of the year as Sean fucking Falcon walks into that match, destroys each and every last one of you, and walks out with a guaranteed title match!

“Why? I’ll tell you why.”


I motion for the camera to back up some so it can capture a full body shot. I stretch my arms out to the sides before continuing.


“I’m the Jesus fucking Christ of professional wrestling! THERE AIN’T NO ONE BETTER THAN ME!”


I turn to Sara.


”How was that?”

”Simply, gold.”

”HA! I love it!”

”Like I always say, I love hearing you talk!”

”So do I, babe. So do I.”

”I want to go upstairs now, don’t I?”

”You’re God damned right you do!”


Fade to Black and Gold.