PROMO: Brian Bowers - Failure Rate Approaching One

[Guest Ten Ton Lid]

(The scene opens with a shot of the dumpster behind a 7-11. There is an early-80s vintage blue-and-bondo Chevy cube van parked next to it, with Brian Bowers and Kate Elliot leaning against the side.

Brian Bowers is already in his ring attire (suggesting that it’s not entirely likely he owns a change of clothes), consisting of torn, frayed army pants, a black Rush t-shirt, and maroon boots that appear to be made with construction in mind rather than wrestling. Kate Elliot is dressed similarly, in torn black jeans, black ankle-high Doc Martens, a blue-and-black flannel shirt, and a white t-shirt with a mock-up of a medical label reading “Use Once and Destroy”.

Brian Bowers has a hot dog in one hand and a two-foot piece of rebar in the other. One end of the rebar is wrapped in duct tape in an improvised grip. For whatever reason, there is a steel folding chair leaned up against the van beside him. Kate Elliot is intently focused on the oversized cup of black coffee she’s drinking from. Neither one of them looks to have slept in a couple of days.)

 

Brian Bowers: It was all right there in front of me. Everything I could ever hope to have gotten from this business, within arm’s reach. I had, in the metaphorical sense, “a girl, a cigarette and a place to sleep”, and it all got taken away from me at the last fucking second. I was ready to walk down to that ring one last time, and for the first time in eighteen years in this godforsaken sport, I was going to walk out with my head held high. And then I fucking lost it all.

 

Kate Elliot: This is going to get melodromatic, isn’t it?

 

Brian Bowers: I’m simply stating facts, Kate. I find that people tend to get confused if you don’t make your motivation and intentions completely clear from the beginning.

 

Kate Elliot: You’ve already managed to work in “godforsaken”, Brian. We’ve moved well beyond “stating the facts”.

 

Brian Bowers: Can’t this at least wait until, I don’t know, our second promo or something? You had five years to do this in the SFWL...I’d like to at least have five minutes without interruption to address the SJL.

 

Kate Elliot: Because it’s so important that everyone know every fucking thing that happens to fire across your neurons. Because your bio isn’t readily available for all to see.

 

Brian Bowers: I didn’t get where I am by assuming that wrestling fans were literate. Or wrestlers, for that matter.

 

Kate Elliot: Oh, I get it...we’re going for cheap heat.

 

Brian Bowers: You know, it’s not all that productive to start undermining me before I even have a match. If things don’t come together here, I’m not going to be able to keep you in the lifestyle to which you have become accustomed.

 

Kate Elliot: And what lifestyle is that, Brian? Sleeping in your van even when you had the goddamn SFWL World Heavyweight title? Taking a pity-job doing pissant secretary work for my aunt Louise because you haven’t taken on so much as an independent booking in the past three months?

 

Brian Bowers: All the more reason to not bury your own goddamn client in his first promo, Kate.

 

Kate Elliot: Fine. Whatever. I’ll let you finish burying yourself, if it’s so fucking important to you.

 

Brian Bowers: (clears his throat) As I was trying to say...

 

Kate Elliot: (interrupting) Cute, Brian. I mean that.

 

Brian Bowers: As I was trying to say, had the SFWL managed to keep it together for one more month, I wouldn’t be standing here today. But there is no way in hell, after everything I went through, after everything I fucking gave, that I’m just going to fade away. It was all right there for the taking – I had a shot against a weakened champion, I had him scouted so well that I couldn’t lose, I had my whole plan together...and then one day I show up for work and find everyone sitting in the locker room looking like the goddamn dog just died. In one final act of fucking me over, in a cheap shot on me from beyond the fucking grave, the SFWL managed to take away the one thing that would have made all the time I wasted with them worthwhile. I could have retired as champion. I could have finally been recognized as the best, however briefly. Not only that, but I could have been the last SFWL World Heavyweight champion ever. There was no saving that federation, but I had every chance to go out on top. And that all got taken from me. It turned out, as I found out, that there wasn't going to be another pay-per-view, that there wasn't going to be a title shot. The SFWL was out of business, Chris Steele, of all fucking people, was the last champion ever, and that was the end.

If I had only gotten that one last match, the rest of the SFWL...hell, the world, would have had no choice but to pay me the respect that I’m fucking owed. Despite being one of the greatest technical wrestlers of all time, I willingly slaved for the SFWL for twenty-four thousand dollars a year, while I watched Steve Fella and Mike Torment rake in over a million apiece. I sat back and watched while everyone else got World Heavyweight title shots while I was left to wrestle every useless punk cruiserweight they dredged up from the indies. But through it all, I remained. I kept showing up, I kept beating everyone they threw at me, because I knew it was all leading up to my one big moment. My chance to hold that World Heavyweight championship belt over my head one last time, then drop it on the mat and walk away. That was all I wanted. The chance to give the SFWL one final “fuck off and die” in exchange for everything I took from them while I was there. The chance to prove, beyond all doubt, that I was the best wrestler that federation had ever seen. To retire as champion, and more importantly, to retire. But that moment never came. Sure, I could still just retire, but there’s no fucking way I’m doing it with nothing.

 

(Brian Bowers cracks his knuckles.)

 

Brian Bowers: And so here I am. The Smarks Junior Leagues. Right back at the fucking bottom, the absolute lowest of the low. And you know what? It doesn’t matter. No matter how long it takes, no matter how many people have to get hurt, no matter how much longer I have to wrestle, I WILL hold another World Heavyweight championship. I will be recognized. If I have to go through every wrestler in this federation, I’ll do it. To be honest, from what I’ve seen, that doesn’t look like it’s going to be exceptionally difficult.

I’m not planning on settling for the SJL World Championship, either. If I win that along the way, fine...but I want the real prize. My goal is to be the SWF World Heavyweight champion. I’m going to show the world that I’m not only the best wrestler to ever come out of the SFWL, I am flat-out one of the best wrestlers ever, period. Whether I’ll retire at that point is debatable...it depends on how long it takes, how much I get for it, and, most importantly, it depends on what the bullshit level is here in this organization. You see, unlike some of my colleagues, I don’t specifically hate wrestling. I am a damn good wrestler, and I recognize that. It’s what I do for a living – I’d go so far as to call it my calling. What I hate are poorly run federations, which unfortunately, in my experience, has been all of them. What I hate is being shit on for no apparent reason while trampoline artists and thinly-disguised Austin clones get every opportunity, every title shot, everything in the fucking world handed to them, while I’m lucky to get the chance to make a couple of hundred dollars signing autographs at a Wal-Mart grand opening. No, I legitimately want to wrestle, but every federation I’ve worked for seemed intent on discouraging that. And I have to say, the SJL is not off to a great start. If I may quote the official Wrath preview...

 

“Brian Bowers makes his SJL debut here on Wrath. Unfortunately, to really test the new guy out, Commissioner Raynor has ruled that Bowers must face not one, but two other competitors! Will Bowers be able to withstand such overwhelming odds?”

 

...at least this time they’re not sugarcoating it. Right from the beginning, they’ve admitted in writing that they plan to fuck me over. Fine – I can take a couple of shitty moonsaults for the cause. If this is what it takes for a former SFWL World Heavyweight champion to prove himself around here, so be it. It’s just unfortunate that they’ve decided to lose two of their “up-and-coming” young cruiserweights in the same match. Because you see, that’s the thing about these little guys – for all their flash, for all the allegedly deadly kicks and the aerial maneuvers, there’s just less of them there to take the punishment. Overall, it takes less effort to take them out by sheer attrition. I don’t doubt that I’ll leave this match with a few new bruises, but there’s only so many times anyone can be dropped on their neck before they just, well, don’t get up. The fact that neither one of these two breaks the six-foot mark just makes my life easier. I’m dealing with a couple of literal lightweights here, and that opens up a whole world of possibilities for me. There’s nothing preventing me from using every move in my arsenal save for my fundamental respect for human life and well-being, and let’s just say that that’s never been a real priority, especially once I step into the ring. Hell, even if I do find myself, however improbably, at a disadvantage in this match – like, say, if I trip on the way to the ring and break my leg – I’ve brought all my toys from the SFWL with me, too.

 

(Brian Bowers lightly taps the steel chair with the piece of rebar.)

 

Brian Bowers: Hell, I might do some damage with these just for old times’ sake. I mean, I doubt I’m going to need them, but there are very few things in life that are more satisfying than the crack of steel across an idealistic young competitor’s shins.

 

Kate Elliot: Christ, Brian...all that needed to make it complete was a vampire laugh. “Blah, I vant to break your bones and feast on your precious blood, mwa ha ha ha!”

 

Brian Bowers: Thanks, that really helped. I mean it.

 

(The camera cuts out as Brian Bowers turns his attention back to his hot dog.)

Edited September 5, 2003 by Ten Ton Lid

[Above Average 0]

Well thats one fairly long rant. The one thing that was suggested to me, when I started getting into the preachy promos during my time in the JL, was to change from a script style to prose. Fugue = genius, for telling me that. That way, I could add more than just spoken words, to give the promo atmosphere. This does a solid job of saying who you are and most importantly, what you want and the motivation for it. It just really drags during the second huge block of writing. A prose style would allow for more breaks inbetween sentences to keep the reader hooked. Just a suggestion.

[Guest Goodear]

I LOOOOOOOOOVE THIS PROMO!

 

A manager that pick on her own client has to be the funniest damn thing I have ever read.

 

Kate Elliot: Oh, I get it...we’re going for cheap heat.

 

Kate Elliot: Christ, Brian...all that needed to make it complete was a vampire laugh. “Blah, I vant to break your bones and feast on your precious blood, mwa ha ha ha!”

 

This makes my mother f'n day and I am being totally serious. Happiest I've been all day... reading this promo. Plus the 'meat' of the thing once you get past the commedic timing is just a wonderful display of 'I'm a bitter bastard'. I used to do this sort of thing with Ejiro, but you sir you take it up a notch.

 

I salute you.