Cold open with a slow moving, vertically ascending shot of a big, Italian-American man with muscles and veins for days. Standing in front of a brand new Classic Wrestling banner, beads of water run down his chiseled physique, disappearing into the yellow trim of his long black wrestling tights. His head is shaved down to the skin on every side, including his scalp.
Oh yeah. This has to be… Vito Valentino. Veetz to some. METRO to all else who are about to find out what an inhuman drive for success actually looks like.
So for the first time in front of the lens of a fully functioning Classic Wrestling camera, and with that thick Brooklyn accent from the greatest city in the world… he speaks!
WELL. Isn’t this… somethin’?! After months an’ months of anticipation, here we are. Classic Wrestling, baby!!
Sixteen of the most impressive technicians, dangerous powerhouses, lightnin’ fast high flyers, an’ mythic-sized monsters thrown together under the loomin’ presence of a single elimination tournament, beatin’ the absolute HECK out of one another for the ultimate prize in wrestlin’: The REAL Heavyweight Championship of the WORLD.
King Kong… Frank?
Alright, then. LET’S DO THIS, BIG BOY!
Forgive me if I seem like a ball of energy right now. Maybe it’s that gallon-sized protein shake I washed down with that fifteen-thousand calorie breakfast I scarfed down. Or was that the other way around? Hoooooo BABY! I don’t know an’ it don’t matter none ‘cause I’m ‘bout to burn it all off over the course of the next ten ta’ fifteen hours. Between strength trainin’, physical conditionin’, tryin’ to decipher a Neanderthal’s inevitable response, ALL in preparation for that ONE slam… that ONE knockout clothesline… or that ONE Brooklyn Backbreaker that ends Cranky Franky’s night in thunderous fashion!
What started off as a distant dream has turned into a livin’, breathin’ reality as we march closer an’ closer to the first LIVE episode of what will undoubtedly be the greatest display of pro-wrestlin’ that this world has ever seen. So… to be included in this tournament?! To have a chance at HISTORY in becomin’ the inaugural REAL World’s Champ?! Ahhh MARONE! Feels like only yesterday I was drivin’ down to the corner of Grandview an’ Park, droppin’ my last fare off before I could scarf down some peanut buttah sammiches an’ chase it wit’ a disgustin’ chicken ‘n’ fish shake for a quick lunch on a fourteen-hour shift.
But let’s get down to it, baby! I’m not here for ANY. OTHER. REASON. than to have my name etched into the annals of history. An’ what better way to embark on that journey than by beatin’ four other men en route to winnin’ a tournament? Survey says? THERE AIN’T NONE, BABY!
You see, my family has worked too hard for too many generations for me, the last bastion of the Valentino legacy, to become anythin’ BUT The REAL World Heavyweight Champion. An’ if anybody in the back thinks a Wooly Mammoth lookin’, freaky deaky, sweaty spaghetti, donut poppin’, blood-type gravy lookin’ ogre like King Kong Stank is gonna be the roadblock in MY way to prevent ME from accomplishin’ THAT? Then you’re about as sober as some of the stunods that puke in the back of my cab!
Thing is, Franklin, since I don’t know you? I don’t respect you. An’ it’d be fair for you to say the same thing about me, wouldn’t it? Yeah. That’s if only you could string together two-tree full sentences wit’out soundin’ like my boy Sloth from the greatest movie of all time. Metro ain’t got NOOOOOO illusions ‘bout that, baby!
Vito makes the motion of slamming his opponent… with the added effect of an explosion.
When we step into that ring? The fight of your life awaits you. ‘Cause when I look out into that sea of METROpolitans an’ call for the Metro Avenue Deathlock? You’re gonna give up faster than your fourth grade English teacher- assumin’ you were lucky enough to make it that far!
He heaves a hearty laugh.
They were foolish to put ya in this, Francis. We both know ya got tossed into this thing simply ‘cause some idiota saw your ugly mug an’ figured every tournament climb needed a Glass Joe to get outta the way of the REAL star of the show.
Vito simply shrugs.
Now get outta MINE.
WELCOME… to the METROPOLIS!
Fade to black (and gold, baby).