Post by patricksparkman on Jun 30, 2013 0:34:49 GMT -5
*Sparkman sits on Mount Nittany overlooking Happy Valley, focusing in particular on Beaver Stadium after a hike up the mountain. The cameraman is somewhat audible in catching his breath, whereas Sparkman has barely broken a sweat.*
Sparkman: You know, it was only a few months ago on another football field up north of here that I beat three other men inside a steel cage to win the Southern Television Championship. I’ve shown y’all and I’ve told y’all that, especially on a football field. But you know that already know that, right Trent? You see boys, I’m going to tell you what I’ve already said a bunch of times before, so this should be short and sweet.
Trent, we’ve already established our relationship, which is less of adversarial and more of an owner over the piece of property that is your mind. You KNOW you can’t beat me. You have tried and tried and tried and you know that when it comes down to me and you, you CANNOT beat me. It doesn’t matter what sort of change of mindset you’ve made when it comes to these fans. It doesn’t matter what sorta hussy you marry. It doesn’t matter anything outside those ropes that you say or do, because inside those ropes, I am *pointing at his temple* right here for you.
Joe, *Sparkman takes a deep breath* I’m tired of dealing with you. Period. You are filthy, you are grotesque, you are not worthy to be in the ring with me. You, in fact, do nothing more than rely on overt violence. You could not beat me in the ring by your own merit, so you resorted to hitting me with a steel chair and got yourself disqualified. Then, you decide to take it upon yourself to insert yourself into another match of mine involving Trent Brown and Adam Stryker that you had NO business sticking your nose in. Then, you steal MY title. This isn’t some cheap hunk of metal that Alex Morgan throws together as a representative title. This is the SOUTHERN TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP. This is MY title. And you treat it with the same disrespect you show me and show why you have nothing that anyone with a lick of financial intelligence would call an investment. You toss things around and live on whatever you can scrounge up before a match. You are a thief and a poor example to the people who watch this show, though I would bet many of them will turn up like you if I were a betting man.
*As the sunset silhouettes Beaver Stadium to Sparkman and the camera, Sparkman finishes* At the end of the day, I still hold the bargaining chip, the title. If I want to get out with my title, I can take it and go home. I can grab it and never look back. Hell, if I was a disrespectful with my things as someone in this match was, I could take it and bash both of you over the heads with it and still walk out with the belt over my shoulder. But since I have more honor and respect, not for you two, but for this business, I will beat you in the ring. Whether it be Joe or Trent, I will beat one of you in the center of that ring. Hell, if I have to beat both of you on my own, I will gladly do it to hold on to what is mine. You see, I’ll go ahead and tell you folks, I want to make sure that y’all have someone who is a proper champion. Do you really want to be represented by some surly Irishman getting dragged around by his genitals by his latest squeeze? Or maybe be represented by some short, overweight, long-haired, pungent hobo? Or you could be represented by the personification of class, dignity, honor, and pride in the Southern Television Champion. But I know that all of you imbeciles will cheer for those other guys come next Sunday and not think twice about it. You all know in the back of your minds that I will be walking out of Beaver Stadium with a belt around my waist, my hand raised in victory, and my eyes set to bigger and better things here in NAW because I am simply the best in this company at everything I do. The only difference between me and everyone else is, unlike everyone else, I could care less whether or not you mongoloids realize it, much less like it. I am worried about one thing and that is *pointing at himself* using my talents and abilities to show the pride and honor held in the highest regard by the southern people that you Yankee bastards never have appreciated, though it ain't for lack of trying. You people just refuse to learn. So anymore, I'm just looking out for how much I can take back south of the Mason-Dixon. I've already got one piece of gold in the collection, but I know that more will be coming, and that will be much sooner than you people want. *Rising from his perch on a boulder on the side of the mountain* And that’s all you need to know.
Sparkman: You know, it was only a few months ago on another football field up north of here that I beat three other men inside a steel cage to win the Southern Television Championship. I’ve shown y’all and I’ve told y’all that, especially on a football field. But you know that already know that, right Trent? You see boys, I’m going to tell you what I’ve already said a bunch of times before, so this should be short and sweet.
Trent, we’ve already established our relationship, which is less of adversarial and more of an owner over the piece of property that is your mind. You KNOW you can’t beat me. You have tried and tried and tried and you know that when it comes down to me and you, you CANNOT beat me. It doesn’t matter what sort of change of mindset you’ve made when it comes to these fans. It doesn’t matter what sorta hussy you marry. It doesn’t matter anything outside those ropes that you say or do, because inside those ropes, I am *pointing at his temple* right here for you.
Joe, *Sparkman takes a deep breath* I’m tired of dealing with you. Period. You are filthy, you are grotesque, you are not worthy to be in the ring with me. You, in fact, do nothing more than rely on overt violence. You could not beat me in the ring by your own merit, so you resorted to hitting me with a steel chair and got yourself disqualified. Then, you decide to take it upon yourself to insert yourself into another match of mine involving Trent Brown and Adam Stryker that you had NO business sticking your nose in. Then, you steal MY title. This isn’t some cheap hunk of metal that Alex Morgan throws together as a representative title. This is the SOUTHERN TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP. This is MY title. And you treat it with the same disrespect you show me and show why you have nothing that anyone with a lick of financial intelligence would call an investment. You toss things around and live on whatever you can scrounge up before a match. You are a thief and a poor example to the people who watch this show, though I would bet many of them will turn up like you if I were a betting man.
*As the sunset silhouettes Beaver Stadium to Sparkman and the camera, Sparkman finishes* At the end of the day, I still hold the bargaining chip, the title. If I want to get out with my title, I can take it and go home. I can grab it and never look back. Hell, if I was a disrespectful with my things as someone in this match was, I could take it and bash both of you over the heads with it and still walk out with the belt over my shoulder. But since I have more honor and respect, not for you two, but for this business, I will beat you in the ring. Whether it be Joe or Trent, I will beat one of you in the center of that ring. Hell, if I have to beat both of you on my own, I will gladly do it to hold on to what is mine. You see, I’ll go ahead and tell you folks, I want to make sure that y’all have someone who is a proper champion. Do you really want to be represented by some surly Irishman getting dragged around by his genitals by his latest squeeze? Or maybe be represented by some short, overweight, long-haired, pungent hobo? Or you could be represented by the personification of class, dignity, honor, and pride in the Southern Television Champion. But I know that all of you imbeciles will cheer for those other guys come next Sunday and not think twice about it. You all know in the back of your minds that I will be walking out of Beaver Stadium with a belt around my waist, my hand raised in victory, and my eyes set to bigger and better things here in NAW because I am simply the best in this company at everything I do. The only difference between me and everyone else is, unlike everyone else, I could care less whether or not you mongoloids realize it, much less like it. I am worried about one thing and that is *pointing at himself* using my talents and abilities to show the pride and honor held in the highest regard by the southern people that you Yankee bastards never have appreciated, though it ain't for lack of trying. You people just refuse to learn. So anymore, I'm just looking out for how much I can take back south of the Mason-Dixon. I've already got one piece of gold in the collection, but I know that more will be coming, and that will be much sooner than you people want. *Rising from his perch on a boulder on the side of the mountain* And that’s all you need to know.