SWF.com Exclusive: Garbage In, Garbage Out

[Mad Scientist 0]

Michael Alexander stands in front of dumpster behind the Halifax Metro Centre. As the camera focuses in, Alexander grins wickedly. "You know, Andrew Rickmen, you talk a lot about your performance in hardcore environments. You've quoted victories over people even dedicated fans struggle to remember, in matches that can only be found on antiquated VHS." At this, the Mad Scientist reaches into the dumpster, pulling out a dirty, rumpled, and unopened VHS tape of "SWF Blood, Sweat, and Fears: The Best of the Hardcore Division" which features an image of a moonsaulting Insane Luchador. "You say you're at your best in such a situation. Well, I feel the need to point out that even a black velvet painting of Elvis can look beautiful when it rests on a pile of excrement." Michael turns back to the camera as he examines the tape. "You see, Rickmen," Alexander muses, "you tout your daring, your scars, your ill-advised stunts, and your mastery of pathetic collections of household refuse." He pulls out a previously shattered version of IL's patented Excalibur, followed by a folding chair warped beyond all recognition, the splintered remnants of a kendo stick, and a dented garbage can lid, piling each object on top of its predecessor in a heap of brutally used hardcore implements.

 

"Rickmen," Alexander proclaims as he turns back to gaze at the camera, pointing at the hardcore heap before him, "I have to agree with you that you have chosen your stipulation well. I couldn't think of a more fitting environment for you. You certainly don't belong in a wrestling match, a contest of athleticism, skill, and intellect. But you are perfectly suited for a hardcore match and its implements...you belong there in fact. You share one critical bit of kinship with the hardcore match and its accessories...when you boil it all down to the essentials, it's all just garbage that is useless in any other context. It's out of place everywhere else, just like you."

 

"That, more than anything, is why you've never been able to gain the world title. It would be like a groundhog that tried to learn chess. Hopeless, hapless, humorous, and ultimately futile. But don't worry, Rickmen. After Hell Freezes Over, you won't have to worry about such things, because much like your used and abused kindred here..." Michael Alexander points to the heap of shattered props. "...and that groundhog, you will be cast back into your hole. Unlike the groundhog and this heap of flotsam, however, you will know that you had the chance to become something more." The camera then focuses close on Alexander's face as his wicked grin etches its way across his face. "But you just weren't good enough. Don't worry, though, because there will still be plenty of room out here for you." Alexander turns to walk away, tossing the battered VHS tape back into the dumpster. The camera closes in to show IL's picture, lying atop a shattered TV screen and a bag or two of moldy popcorn.

[The Ill One 0]

Nice, very nice... now I'm going to dig a few tunnels, a few holes in the arena and then pop out to roll you up. Asshole.

 

Seriously, nice one, man. I'll see what I can muster up in response.

[Mad Scientist 0]

Nice, very nice... now I'm going to dig a few tunnels, a few holes in the arena and then pop out to roll you up. Asshole.

 

Seriously, nice one, man. I'll see what I can muster up in response.

 

Thanks. Now I just have cobble together a match worthy of all this build-up...and good enough to beat you. Ulp!