PROMO: Business Dealings

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"You know," says James Matheson, uncharacteristically slowly, "I just don't get it. I went out of my way, I went ahead and helped him get the Cruiser and Tag titles, and then he goes behind my back and swipes the Commissioner gig right out from under me. It's just disloyal, is what it is, is disloyal."

 

Matheson takes a sip of his bourbon on the rocks. Joe Peters looks at him with an unusual mix of the disdain he always seems to have toward the talent, and sympathy that he doesn't often show.

 

"James, I'm sorry. You have to understand, I didn't plan on it working out this way. I knew that Chris was going to be cutting back on the time he spent working things out, but I hadn't realized that tom's back was as bad as it is. I was counting on him to help keep the midcard interesting until From the Fire. I mean, he can make anyone look good, and with the two of you there to offset each other... you're so fiery, and he's so calm and collected, you guys really gave a great interview. I was pretty disappointed that you were going to let him go it alone when I put you in charge, truth be told."

 

"C'mon, Joe," says Matheson, slurring slightly as he loosens his tie. "You know as well as I do that there are guys who need help on the stick and there are guys who can talk just fine and there are guys who are somewhere in the middle but do the job in the ring. I can't tell ya that Tom's the best guy ever to hold a microphone, you know I know you know better than that, but damn if he doesn't get people angry just by looking at them funny. Me, I'm an old man. It's getting hard to stay on the road s'much as I do, and taking big bumps from guys like Amy Stephens, well, it's just gettin'to be too much for me. I mean, you think Tom's back is bad, Joe, take me to a real doctor stead of a vet and you'll see how bad things are."

 

"You know," Peters scowls, "we have a very good medical insurance program here. I'm sorry you didn't like the last doctor we sent you to, but he's far from a veterinarian. You don't need to cut a promo on me, James. I understand what's wrong, I'm just not sure how to fix it."

 

"Who's cutting a dadgum promo on who now?" Matheson seethes. "I'm just trying to tell you what's going wrong in this place when you're letting the inmates run the asylum and givin'em the keys to all the cells."

 

"I think you've had too much tonight," says Peters gently. "Maybe you should go back to your hotel and try to sleep it off."

 

"Oh, ferpete'ssake," says Matheson disgustedly, "I can hold my damn liquor and I'll thank you not to treat me like a little girl on prom night! Jesus H. Christ, I've been drinking bourbon longer than you've been alive. What the heck's your problem, boy?"

 

Peters sighs. This is the sort of thing he'd been hoping that the commissioner's office would deal with, but, of course, the commissioner's office isn't equipped to deal with complaints against it. "James, you've hung around with Bill Hearford enough to know that if we have someone under contract, we can't just give him the boot because his back goes bad. Sure, maybe some of the other leagues do that, but that's the problem with treating wrestlers as independent contractors instead of employees, like we do. Tom's been loyal to us, and he wants to get back in the ring. It's easier to keep him happy by making him commissioner...."

 

"You saying I'm not loyal?" spits Matheson.

 

"... and to let you get some new talent over," Peters finishes, in measured tones. "You might have to take a few bumps, but you'll still be on TV making us money, and keeping Flesher on TV by making him wrestle is just going to shorten his career. James, please understand, this is a business decision."

 

"You're full of shit," James snaps.

 

Peters stands up. "James, there's some information waiting in your hotel room. I'd like it very much if you read it and considered the options we're presenting you. In the mean time, please go easy on the bourbon." With that, Peters turns around and walks out the door, unwilling to take any more abuse from the disgruntled, inebriated manager.

 

"Waitress?" shouts Matheson. "Another Knob Creek, and make it snappy..."