The scene opens outside of Yankee Stadium in the Bronx, NY. Media members, already having started to pour in to the stadium for tonight's baseball/Wednesday Night Warfare doubleheader, suddenly hear a screeching voice on a megaphone across the street from the gate, just yearning for their attention.

Santos: Attention, attention! Ladies and gents of the fine New York media! Make your way over here and talk to a really important person!

Yes, that's Tony Santos, occupying a portion of private, New York Yankees-owned property across the street from the main entrance of the ballpark. The media, initially showing no interest whatsoever in talking to Tony, check their watches and realize that batting practice was only just to begin at the end of the hour, begrudgingly make their way over to Tony to hear what he has to say.

A day of slight rain and cloudy skies, the ground is damp but the sun is now shining, with just enough humidity in the air to make everyone wish they could just sit inside a nice, moderately air conditioned room and do as little actual meaningful work as possible. Clearly, this was the media's type of day. Tony's exuberance and excitement was the last thing they wanted to put up with, but considering the night ahead and the amount of news space these sports writers would have to cover in the morning, they figured they best just deal with whatever necessary to gather as much material as possible for the morning.

Santos: Come on, come on, quicker now! I've got beers to drink before the baseball game tonight, after all! How ever am I supposed to get adequately prepared if I have to wait for you fine folks to make it on over here?

Jeremy, standing on Tony's right in New York Yankees gear and a less than enthusiastic posture, frowns at Tony and curls his brow in annoyance.

Jeremy: Sir, you can't drink at all today. You have a match tonight. You know, a wrestling match? The thing you do for a living?

Santos: Ah, damn it, right. Well, after then! Maybe my two Million Dollar wannabe opponents can buy a few rounds for me as a congratulatory gesture. It's just the right thing to do. Unless, of course, Falcon is too busy getting laid by all of the honies who love a wrestler who can't win anything of importance. Hopefully Rex will be able to join me, either way! But, well, he does seem to really like conflict, like, [/i]a lot[/i]. Since he's so unstoppable, I really don't want him hurting everyone in the bar. Not good for good times.

The handful of media folk, having made their way over to Tony's area, didn't even bother to pull out their video cameras or attempt to record anything. Hell, a notepad and pen should work just fine for what would most likely be a fairly insignificant diatribe.

Tony, standing on a stray cinder block, begins to speak, sans megaphone.

Santos: Okay, thank you all for making your way over here. I just wanted to take a few minutes and let you all ask questions about my match tonight, or, well, anything about the man, Tony Santos, himself. Feel free to fire away.

A few awkward minutes of silence pass before a media member speaks up.

Media Woman: Tony, what are your plans for winning tonight's triple threat match against Sean Falcon and Eric Rex? These two have been mighty vocal in speaking out against you, and they seem to be planning an all-out assault on you tonight in lieu of victory.

Santos: Ah, yes, it has been an interesting week, hasn't it? We've been fortunate enough to see these fine specimens have night tremors, lounge around a pool and watch movies, and just generally tell how awesome they are. My plan is quite simple. I've happened to save a nice chunk of cash over the past few weeks from this lucrative career of mine, so I plan on throwing a few hundred dollar bills into the center of the ring and watching them squabble. I'm going to follow that up by placing some mirrors on the outside of the ring, and then, after luring them to the outside with my dashing looks and long, womanly long hair, I'll watch them count themselves out simply from not being able to deny their own narcissistic tendencies. A win-win, I say!

Media Man: Tony, there's been a lot of talk around the country this week about a passing of a family member of yours, your father. Would you mind delving a bit into how you're feeling following that.

Tony's expression immediately changes. A man who was just on top of the world is now silent. An awkward few minutes pass by, forcing Jeremy to nudge Tony. Nothing. Tony, trying to crack a smile, begins...

Santos: Not sure what you're talking about. Next question?

Media Man: Tony, it's been all around the news. Anonymous sources from your neighborhood reported this to us. Anything?

Santos: Not answering any questions about people I've associated with personally. I have to go. Come watch me make a mockery out of the 1%.

Tony, suddenly being bombarded with questions (since the media has tasted blood) forces his way through the crowd, leaving Jeremy behind. Nearly getting hit by oncoming cars, Tony makes his way blindly to the stadium.

The scene fades to black.