We open on a cold, slightly windy morning in the general Cleveland area as superimposed text confirms that this is indeed “A RANDALL SCHWARTZ PRODUCTION,” before revealing an extravagant parade being held. We soon realize that this is no ordinary parade, however, as the floats are not famous mascots and cartoon characters…but various members of the Classic Wrestling roster. We see the likes of the REAL World’s Champion Vito Valentine first and foremost, followed by the large figure of the Premier American Champion himself Shujin Yama. These of course are followed by the Tag Team Champions the Foreign Legion, and several of the remaining competitors appear close behind…but we focus our attention on one float that is slowly but surely being deflated.
Defloated, if you will.
Bowie Abrams.
One half of Surf Express Bro can be seen slowly shrinking as the air is being let out, and as if on cue we find ourselves drawn to the one responsible…The Entertainer himself, the man with a plan, one Randall Schwartz. A pair of garden shears in one hand and a smile on his face, Randall looks upon his handiwork before finally speaking up.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it? A perfect metaphor for the momentum that has been slowly worked against the Surfer Express Bros, particularly Bowie Adams…sorry, Abrams. Names are hard.”
Randall shrugs this off before continuing.
“You and your best pal Bradlee Nelson came into Classic Wrestling on a hot streak, quickly gaining steam as a tag team to look out for. You’ve shown a lot of guts every time you step into that ring, and you give it your all…but sometimes, giving it your all isn’t good enough.”
Randall looks back to the float, which is at about sixty percent its proper size. He chuckles at the sight before continuing.
“And now look at you. Your buddy Brad has gone and won himself a shot at the REAL World’s Championship, and where does that leave you? Surely you can’t tell me you’re just okay with the fact you’ve been passed by like this.”
Randall mutters something to himself, presumably the punchline to a joke only he laughs at before moving on.
“No, Bowie, I look at that situation and I see a man who gets to play cheerleader from the sidelines. I feel like deep down, you’d love to prove that you’re not the weak link of the Express…it’s why you find yourself in a rare singles contest against ol’ Randall Schwartz.”
Randall’s attention is squarely on us now, his face less cheerful even as the float behind him shrinks even more.
“I’ve seen your work, Bowie. I know what you’re capable of. You have a unique style about you that can be hard to counter and overcome…but it’s not impossible. Someone as smart, as cunning, as wily as myself can sort out a defense when the time comes…and when that happens, all the momentum you’ve built up for yourself will come rushing out at once.”
Randall demonstrates what this looks like by taking the shears to the float, cutting an even bigger hole to allow as much air as possible to escape. Randall grins at the damage done before turning his attention back to us.
“You hate to see it, Bowie. You’ve worked so hard to gain so much relevancy in Classic Wrestling, but when I’m done with you all that’ll be left is the fans wondering why you look so shriveled. See you at the Studio, bro.”
With that, Randall drops the shears to the ground, walking off-camera as we fade to black.