It might’ve taken a few weeks, but Metro has let his ribs heal. He’s also shaken away any lingering effects from the brutal championship loss he suffered at CLASSICMANIA. As he stands currently, Vito Valentino is ready to work his way back into the World Title picture. Unlike the only other man before him who laid claim to the World’s Realest Title, Vito will not go gently into that good night.
Conspicuous by its absence, there’s nothing fancy going on here. No whizz-dings, blastoids, or eeeerrrrrrbsssssh’s coming from the beloved MECCA. Vito’s normally pleasant demeanor seems to be filled with anger currently. Unraveling some tape from his fist after a nice sparring session at one of Cleveland’s many training facilities, Vito looks up at the latest line-up taped onto the brick wall adjacent to the bench he sits on. The owners of this establishment follow Classic Wrestling more closely than the world does Hill Street Blues on a Thursday Night.
There, in big bold font, he sees it.
MAIN EVENT
Vito Valentino Vs. Undercover Lover
Vito sighs.
For the briefest of moments, he looks at the area on his shoulder where he used to hold the Real World’s Championship. As our point of focus becomes lost in thought, there’s a thunderclap in the not-so-far distance. The loud pitter-patter of a heavy rainfall hitting the roof echoes loudly throughout the locker room.
You ain’t ready for this, paisano. No way in hell. Not with the frame of mind I’m in.
Mr. Physician of Rhyme-O-Nomics. Droppin’ bars like some lyrical genius might be a unique way to draw people into your world and make you stand out a little more OUTSIDE the ring, but it’s the furthest thing you could do to help you INSIDE one.
You should try being good at this thing called WRESTLING.
Yeah.
You KNOW it’s serious when I don’t drop my Gs.
Vito tosses the tape into a receptacle across from where he’s seated. Shaking his head, he continues.
If you put half as much focus on winning as you do with the structure of your rhythm, you’d have won that four-way all those weeks ago. Hell, you might’ve even beaten me instead of watching me win while fidgeting with those rabbit ears on that monitor back there.
Metro stands up from the bench and shrugs. Chuckling, he reaches into the locker behind him and pulls out his street clothes.
Hindsight’s funny, ain’t it? Don’t get yourself lost in it though, ‘cause there’s a reason I was World Champ, the REAL World Champ, and the LONGEST Real World’s Champ, for nearly nine months…and you were nothing but an afterthought on every single show. Why else did I dress up as a stugotz like Undercover Lover back on Halloween?
SPOILER: it wasn’t just to make my cute little niece giggle.
There’s also a reason you’re walkin’ down the middle of a road and ‘bout to be made roadkill.
He raises his index finger.
- Focus.
He raises his thumb.
- Strength.
He raises his middle finger.
- Vigor.
He raises his ring finger.
- Perseverance.
He raises his pinky.
- Honor.
Vito closes each finger to make a fist.
I got ‘em all.
You? You know about as much of those things as me playin’ Dr. Seuss under some get-up I got on clearance at Fashion Bug.
Vito takes his balled up fist and smashes it into the locker, leaving behind a deep imprint.
The harsh truth is I’m better than ANYONE you’ve EVER beaten. Harsher yet, I’m better than anyone you’ve ever LOST to. Think about that, Romeo. Please.
Once again, he takes his fist and rams it into the locker. This time, his knuckles drip blood. Whoops.
I want the best version of you in that ring. Not this Amaretto Brother inspired illusion of a wrestler who can barely beat the Nick Noodles or Hardbody Henrys out there. I want you to bring your best, paisano. I want you to get that crowd believin’ you MIGHT win.
Then I can send ’em home happy as you choke at another great opportunity. Real artist at that, you are.
He wipes off the blood of his knuckles.
It might always be Valentine’s Day in that damaged brain of yours, but after I dust the canvas with the remains of your crushed-up teeth? Everyone will call it Massacre at the METROpolis.
Welcome… to the main event.
Enjoy your short-lived stay. Now get off my doorstep you heart-shaped little novelty act.
Fade, baby!