EPISODE 129: Off the Hook

Thursday September 8, 2011
Diamond Motorsports Headquarters- Meeting Room
Nashville, Tennessee
2:03 PM Local Time
SOUTHERN ILLINOIS SMACKDOWN[/b]

I winced inwardly as the latest issue of Short Track Weekly was slammed onto the conference table in front of me.  On it, behind the blaring gold capitalized large-font letters, splayed a photo of me and Andrea.  It wasn’t the most attractive shot at me, that’s for sure.  My face was grim, my eyes closed at the moment of capture.  Still, I looked a heck of a lot better than Andrea did- upisde down, blonde hair flying wildly.  Another two tenths of a second, and the photographer would have caught her splash-landing into the mud puddle.

Needless to say, my ‘fight’ with Andrea was turning into quite the story in both the auto-racing and professional wrestling worlds.

“Sixty years,” boomed a deep voice, and I looked up at the speaker.  Kevin Anderson was the type of man who’s bodyframe belied his voice.  Thin and reedy, with a pair of wireframe glasses, Kevin looked like the type of person who still got bullied for his lunch money, even now into his forties.  But he had one of the most naturally projective voices I had ever heard in anyone- save for perhaps my manager.

He was also the owner of Terrence’s team, and was none to happy as he glared at his audience.  “Sixty years Diamond Motorsports has been around.  My grandfather, “Diamond” Douglas Anderson, started this team on a $5000 bank loan.  We’ve ran in ARCA every season since its inception.  We’ve won six championships, finished second fourteen times, and have nearly two hundred victories claimed over the years, including six this year.”

There was a brief pause.  “But NEVER have we been so embarrassed as we were two days ago.  My two drivers, the faces of this organization, decided to have a shouting match in the midddle of victory lane!  And then, their teams, and their WIVES, turn it into a massive mud battle royal, in front of half of ARCA!”

I opened my mouth to correct him- as the fight had hardly been every person for themselves, ‘battle-royal’ wasn’t the most appropriate term.  But some sixth sense alerted Terrence to my intent, and I winced as his shoe drove into my shin, under the table.  I darted a sullen glare at Terrence, but shut my mouth.

Kevin didn’t seem to have noticed.  He put his hands on the table, and looked at each other occupant in the room.  There were six of us- Terrence and I on one side of the room, while Wesley and his wife Andrea- her neck in a brace- sat at the other end.  In between us, sat Jimbo McNulty, Terrence’s pot-bellied, full bearded crew chief, and Lester Ducharme, who held the exact same position on Wes’ team.  Jimbo and Lester both sat motionless, stone faced, as Kevin looked the room over.  Wesley, for his part, actually had the decency to look somewhat acquiescent in the face of his boss, but Andrea was sneering openly in defiance.

“This shit has been going on for half the season,” Kevin finally growled.  “I don’t care what started all this, I don’t care who did what to who... but this stops now.  I’m not going to let MY racing team be turned into a damned soap opera because my driver’s can’t play nice with each other!”

 Kevin pulled his own chair out, and sat down in it, sighing as he did.  “I watched the tape of the incident several times, from several different angles.  The good folks of the ARCA fan-base apparently had their camera phones and YouTube accounts at the ready, so there was no shortage of good views.  So here’s what we’re going to do... Jimbo, Lester... inform your pit crews that each of them will be fined two hundred dollars, which will be withheld from their next paycheck.  And for losing control of your men, you both will receive a one thousand dollar fine as well.”

Both men remained stone-faced, glaring at Kevin, obviously unhappy with the decision.  But neither spoke to object.

Kevin wasn’t done, and he looked from Terrence, to Wesley, then to me.  “For interfereing in Wesley’s pit-road celebration, Terrence, I’m fining you five thousand dollars.  You should have kept it behind closed doors.”

Terrence nodded curtly, and I bowed my head, sighing.  It was more or less what I had expected, but I wasn’t happy about it.  Kevin looked to the other end of the table.  “Wes, you personally didn’t do anything wrong.  But you’re responsible for the conduct any guest of yours with access passes, and that includes your wife.  Therefore, I’m assessing a five hundred dollar fine... and Andrea will be banned from the pit area for the next two races.

Andrea puffed up like a fish, indignant at the punishment, and Wes opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped as Lester put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him. Wes closed his mouth, but both Hamiltons continued to look mutinous.

“Now, gentlemen, there’s three races left in the season, and we have a chance at Wesley winning the championship, and Terrence finishing in the top ten, and winning rookie of the year.  I, for one, would VERY much like to see that happen.  But it’s not going to happen if we keep in-fighting like this.  So play nice, for one more damned month, and let’s bring this baby home.  Then Wes, you can go play in Nationwide, while the rest of us figure out where to go from here.  Okay?” 

Kevin rose to stand, but was stopped by a howl of outrage.  Andrea had gotten to her feet, her posture and demeanor indicating that her apparent neck injury had miraculously healed.  “What about HER?” she demanded, pointing a finger at me.

“Oh yes, Wendy,”  Kevin looked directly at me, and smiled for the first time all meeting.  “Ms. Briese, do tell your boss that he can expect another ten thousand dollar contribution to the Komen Foundation.  I plan to donate the money gained from the fines I just assessed to that noble cause.  Oh, and... good luck Saturday.”

My jaw dropped in astonishment, and next to me, I could hear Terrence choking on his own surprise.  But my eardrums then shattered as an unearthly shriek filled the room.

“WHAT?!”

Even Wesley was outraged.  “That woman assaulted my wife, Anderson.  I should file charges after the damages...”

“I saw the tape from every angle, Wesley,” Kevin said shortly.  “All I saw Ms. Briese do was try and calm her husband down, and then defend herself when Andrea attacked her.  I don’t see any reason to punish that.  As for elbowing Andrea, I think anyone can see that was a complete accident.  And what were you doing behind her anyways, Ms. Hamilton?  You were on the other side of the winner’s circle when the ceremony was interrupted.. what inspired you to come up behind her like that?”

Andrea’s mouth was open, but no sound was coming out.  Either she had been struck speechless, or her voice had hit a tone that was was more suitable for canine ears.  Wes, however, found his voice, and it sounded surly.  “That’s bullshit, Anderson.  She threw my wife into a mud puddle!”

“And your wife was dumb enough to attack her.  Considering her occupation, you’d think that’d be considered inadvisable.” 

“FUCK. THAT.” Wesley roared, standing up.  “I’m never driving for you again, you son of a bitch.”

“After this season?  Be my guest... or non-guest, considering the threat” Kevin said mildly.  “But until then, you’re under contract to me, and I’d strongly advice you to fulfill it.  Otherwise, you’ll be so damn deep in legal battles the boys over at Tri-Star won’t even bother grabbing the shovel to dig you out.  It’d be such a shame to lose your Nationwide ride next year because your team isn’t willing to deal with the red tape, wouldn’t it?”

Some part of me thought that was a bluff, but if it was, Wesley didn’t call him on it.  Instead, he grabbed Andrea’s hand, and the two wordlessly stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind them.  Kevin looked nonplussed for a moment, then rose to his feet, shrugging with nonchalance.

“Jimbo, Lester, I want it to be known that if there’s any more incidents between anybody on your teams, anyone involved will be looking for another job before they can blink.  Now, I’ll see you guys in Salem.  Good luck.

Kevin stood up, and gave me one final smile, before leaving the room.  Lester and Jimbo got up, silently leaving as well, shutting the door behind them.  Leaving Terrence and I alone in the room.  Slowly, we turned to look at each other.

“What just happened?” I asked.

Terrence shrugged, obviously as stunned as I was.  “I think Kevin Anderson likes you.  I thought you were going to be thrown under the bus there.”

I nodded.  “I half expected you to be the one who pushed me,”

Terrence scoffed, although he was visibly wounded.  “Why?  Because I wasn’t happy with you for getting involved in all this?  Listen, Wendy... this whole ‘your world, my world’ thing?  Fuck it.  Because you care every bit as much about me auto racing as I do about you wrestling.  We’re in two damned difficult lines of work, and the only one’s we can really rely on for support is each other.  So...”

Terrence scoffed, and shook his head.  “I should have realized you weren’t in victory lane the other night for a fight, you were there to keep me out of trouble.  And Andrea, well, the dumb bitch got what she had coming. I’m sorry if I doubted you.”

I smiled.  “And I’m sorry for doubting you, too.  You’re a stubborn man, Terrence Thompson, but a good one.  You don’t do anything half-hearted... that’s what I like about you.”

Terrence got to his feet, and pulled me up.  “And I like how you won’t waiver in the face of anyone, no matter what the odds, or consequences are.  You might be a little to obsessed with the notion of fair-play.  But you know what?  Someone around here has to be.  To keep the rebels like me in check.”

“You,” I scoffed, “A rebel?”

Terrence grinned, and pulled me in tighter. “Damn right, always out to break the rules.  And do you know, what would be completely rebellious right now?”  He grinned, and leaned forward, whispering in my ear.

I gaped at him in astonishment.  “Absolutely not!  Here?!  What if someone were to walk in?  I’d hate to even THINK about the fine that would bring?

Terrence shrugged.  “We have the money.”

I paused for just a second, biting my lower lip.  Then I reached up, and wrapped my arms around my husband’s neck.  “Well, I guess the Komen foundation could always use another donation,” I whispered, before kissing him on the lips.

It was the best five-thousand dollar fine either of us had ever incurred.
==========================

From the private journal of Wendy Briese

10 September, 2011

It’s nice to know that sometimes, things do end up working out in the end.

When I walked into that winners circle, I had no intention of doing anything, except trying to calm my husband down.  Things had gotten out of control from there, and while I can’t agree with Mr. Anderson’s assessment that I’m blameless in the matter, it does feel good when someone actually realizes your intentions.

Maybe I expect too much of myself.  Maybe I’m too unwilling to let my hair down, and just enjoy the moment. I’m always constantly analyzing, and second-guessing everything I do.  Even in a victory, I’m watching the tape, trying to see what I could have done better.  And maybe Terry’s right... maybe I’m so obsesssed with the idea of fair play, I don’t actually give myself a chance to step back and appreciate the full aspect of the wonderful sport I’m in.

But it’s who I am, and its probably who I’ll always be.  I’ve been like that since I was a child... one of the few aspects of my father that’s carrried on to the next generation.  It’s the ultimate conundrum... what’s the point of trying to be a perfectionist, when you’re going to fail every time?

And yet, seeing where I stand now, as opposed to where Andrea stands, I’m reaffirmed in my belief that sometimes, despite everything, those who value fair play and honor do come through in the end.  Maybe not as much as I’d like, and maybe the road is more difficult than it should be, but there is a destination to be had there.  And its obtainable.

So as I sit here in the locker room, preparing for what will undoubtedly be the most important match of my FFW career, I can’t help but wonder if maybe the pendulum is going to swing the other way.  Because there was no doubt that Unstoppable was a victory for the unscrupulous.  Byte This wasn’t much better on that front, considering the actions of Isabella, Kitty, and Rori.

Maybe Sin & Sacrifice will see the momentum reverse.

Maybe it will start tonight, at Breaking Point.

Maybe I’ll be the one who finally pushes things in that direction.

It’s a vain assessment, that’s for sure.  But why not me?

Someone has to do it

-WCBT

EPISODE 128: Showdown

From the private journal of Wendy Briese

Monday 5 September 2011

It appears that I’ve overestimated the scope of the change of heart my partner has had.

I thought that I was joining a completely reformed Isabella, one who had turned over a new page, and had a new outlook on life.  And while it’s true that Isabella seems to have taken a more positive mindset, she obviously isn’t as concerned about mending her bridges as I had originally thought.

I thought Isabella wanted to beat Scarlett in a wrestling match- not completely take her head off with a steel chair.  It was absolutely disgusting the way she levelled Scarlett like that.  Scar didn’t deserve that in the least, and the fact that it was a teammate of mine who hit her with a chair makes me sick to my stomach.  It’s equally sick that Robbyn levelled Isabella after grabbing the chair from her, instead of simply throwing it out of the ring, but I suppose at that point things had pretty much deteriorated beyond the point of control.

Obviously, considering the differences we have in our approaches to this sport, this is a team that simply is not going to work out.  I’m sure Isabella thinks me a wet-blanket and a worrywort for caring about something so trivial as rules, and I’d simply rather not tie myself to a compulsive cheater. 

Besides, it just felt too awkward tagging with someone other than Terrence.  When you have as amazing chemistry as he and I did, teaming with someone else just feels so awkward.

Still, my mind can’t help but keep going back to last Tuesday, where I stood with Isabella on the Baltimore waterfront.  She had seemed so genuine then, and, despite the disaster of tonight, I do think she is sincere about wanting to atone for her most egregious offenses, and about stopping Samantha’s latest attempt at domination.  And I gave my word to her.  That’s not something I do lightly.

So even if Great Expectations was just a one-time deal, Isabella still has me if she needs me.  The more and more I think about it, the more and more I realize just how necessary it is that the A-List doesn’t hurt anymore people.  I don’t need to be completely in agreement philosophically with someone to recognize a threat to both of us.

To all of us.

At least outside of my disappointment in my partner, I had a great time out here in New York.  The autograph session was a blast- so many eager fans!  And knowing that we raised so much money for Komen... that makes it even better.  And from what I heard, my speech on the necessity for early detection and treatment was very well received.  I’m glad that I was able to do my part.

Even better, Terrence’s race was rained out at DuQuoin today, which means that they’ll have to run it tomorrow.  That means I’ll be able to attend- I’ve already got my early morning flight to St. Louis booked.  There’s only four races left in the season, and Terrence is trying to break into the top ten in points.  Terry seems to figure that top ten finish will give him a significantly better chance of securing a competitive ride next year. 

I just better bring some old jeans.  DuQuoin is a dirt track, and if it’s been raining all weekend... ICK!

-WCBT
=============================

Tuesday September 6, 2011
DuQuoin State Fairgrounds Racetrack- Pit Area
DuQuoin, Illinois
4:13 PM Local Time
“Terry!”

Even before the engine had shut off, I was running towards the car, trying my hardest not to slip and fall in the seemingly millions of mud patches that littered the area.  Speaking of mud- Terrence’s car was covered in it.  And, from the looks of things- fairly heavily damaged as well.  Nearly every section of the car was crumpled in some way, but the most damage sat on the right hand side, where the fiber glass had peeled away after Terrence had slammed into the wall on the last lap.

Even with the safety net up in the car, a fairly decent amount of mud had splatterred in through the window onto Terrence’s racesuit.  Still, I was just happy to see he was okay after that hit with the wall, and I dove at him and embraced him.  There weren’t many dirt tracks on the ARCA circuit, and after watching the mess of a race that had just finished, I was certainly grateful for that fact.

Terrence was more concerned about removing his helmet and gloves than he was about hugging me back, and as he tossed them in through the car’s window onto the seat, I could tell that he was in a bad mood.  He gave me a perfunctory hug back, but was looking around in the meantime. 

“Where’s Hamilton?” He asked, his voice low.

I blinked.  “The winner’s circle, I’d bet.  He won after...” 

“Right,” Terrence replied, cutting me off.  He shoved by me, purposely walking towards the exit to the pit area.  “Stay here, Wendy” he called back over his shoulder.

“Terry!  Wait!” I called after him, a sudden feeling of dread rising in my chest.  I didn’t like Wesley Hamilton any better than Terrence did, but the two had spent the last seven laps of the Southern Illinois 100 banging into each other, until Terrence had eventually been plowed into the backstretch wall, into an eleventh place finish.  Wes, naturally, had gone on to win.  Considering all that, I had a feeling that if Terrence so much as saw Wesley Hamilton, all hell was going to break loose.

“Terry!  Stop!” I called again, trying to run after him.  At least Theresa wouldn’t be around to see this, I realized with a sigh of relief.  Even though the race had been postponed, classes at College Park Elementary hadn’t, and Cassie had taken Terrence’s Charger and driven Theresa back home to Indianapolis.  It was only a four hour drive- we’d be home ourselves later this evening.

Provided my husband didn’t end up in jail for assault. 

The crowd was simply too thick for me to catch up.  Terrence was still a pretty big guy- standing over six feet, and still about two-thirty, even though his wrestling days were over.  He was a natural crowd clearer, second only to Pollaski.  Pro-wrestler might I be, I was still merely a hundred thirty pounds, and five-eight.  Against the onrushing tide of people, it was all I could do to not actually be pushed backwards.

Still, I managed to work my way through the enveloping ensemble towards the Winner’s Circle.  Wes’ car was every bit as muddy as Terrence’s was, and only slightly less banged up.  But Hamilton was grinning, holding the trophy- his fifth of the season aloft.  Even more annoying, the win had given Wes the points lead... made all the more frustrating by my husband actually falling back into twelfth in the standings.

“Oh, god, no.” I groaned.  Terrence was pushing his way through the throng of onlookers, heading dead on at Wes.  I gritted my teeth, and tried shoving my way through the crowd as well.  “Excuse me!  Pardon me!  I’m sorry!”

The responses I mostly got were words I’d never ever want my daughter repeating, but still, I continued to push through the crowd.  Maybe I could still...

“WHAT THE FUCK, THOMPSON?!”

Nope...

A massive explosion of noise from a couple hundred throats told me that the confrontation had begun, the fans hooting and hollering, hoping to see a brawl to cap off what had been a wild race to begin with.  With the crowd becoming so rowdy and volitaile, I had to pick my way through even more carefully, but I finally made it to the front, sighing in dismay at what I saw.

Terrence and Wes weren’t exchanging punches, but both men had the front’ of each other’s race suit in the other’s fist, and both men were letting the other know exactly what they thought of each other.  Around me, I saw other’s now pushing through the crowd as well- members of both driver’s pit crews, and several security guards.  I could even see Terrence’s crew chief, Jimbo McNulty, shoving his way towards his driver.

“Terry, please,” I said, coming forwards, and grabbing his free hand.  “Come on..”

“Not now, dammit!” Terrence snarled, jerking his hand away.

“Yeah, better run away, Thompson,” Wes snarled.  “Gonna let you old lady fight your battles for you?”

“Fuck you, Wes!  And fuck your driving!  You know you’re dirty!  Everyone knows you drive dirty!”

“Of course I drove dirty!  The track was a fucking mud pit, you idiot!” Wes retorted, a sneer on his face.

“Terry!  Please!  You’re making a scene!” I tried pleading again, looking around.  Both pit crews were emerging from the crowd now too, and some had taken to yelling each other as well.  Emotions were high, too high.

“I SAID BACK OFF!”  Terrence roared, jerking his hand away, and sweeping his hand out to push me behind him.  “Stay out of this, Wendy!”

Frustrated, I took a step back.  To heck with it... if these boys wanted to act like children, let them.  Get it out of their system.  Whatever, I had no desire to get involved.   I took another step back, throwing my hands up in exasperation, and beginning to turn around. 

I stopped as my elbow hit something hard, and heard a squeal of pain, followed by the gasp of the crowd.  Massaging the point of my elbow where I had connected, I turned around... and felt my jaw drop.

Andrea Hamilton was three feet away, clutching her face in her hands, mewling in agony.  As I watched in horror, a small stream of blood dripped through her fingers, running down her hand, then her arm. 

“Oh God...”

Andrea slowly pried her hands from her face... blood was liberally dripping from her nose, and was covering her face, her hands, the dress she was wearing.  I swallowed hard.

“Andrea.. I’m so... sorr..”  I was stammering.

Andrea looked at the blood, and then at me, and her face contorted into one of a raging demon, her fingers curling into claws.   The scream that came out of her was enough to curdle my blood.

“You.... BITCH!”

Then she was charging, headlong at me, her hands out as if she intended to tackle me and strangle me.  With so little time to react, instinct took over.  I sidestepped slightly, turning my hip into her.  As she  moved into me, I caught her arm, and pivoted with my body, taking her off her feet.  She flipped completely over, before landing hard on her back in a puddle of leftover rainwater from the previous day.

I was stunned.  I had hit thousands of armdrag hiptosses before, both in training and competiton.  Never before had I won a fight with it.

But as Andrea began thrashing in pain in the puddle, clutching her back and screaming as if the Inquisition itself had arrived to torture her, I knew that the fight was over.

At least between me and her...

The crowd had been stunned into silence when Andrea went flying, but now had found its collective voice, and was roaring its approval, some even going so far as to chant ‘catfight!’.  Flashbulbs were going off from several dozen cameraphones.  The cacophony redoubled as the two crews had collided with each other, pushing and shoving.  Apparently Hamilton’s team had taken the hiptoss as a declaration of war- something my husband’s team was more than happy to answer.

For their part, both Terrence and Wes had gone still.  Terrence was staring open mouthed at me in shock, while Wes was staring at his screaming and convulsing wife.  For a second, I thought that maybe this would maybe jar some sense into them, and realize that this was just stupid.

Then Terrence’s rear tire changer, a lanky Kentuckian by the name of Deuce, drove his fist into Wesley’s jackman’s face.  And with that, the riot was on.  Both teams were suddenly rolling around in the mud, swinging at each other with abandon, while the three or four security guards tried in vain to break it up.  Wes looked as if he was going to swing at Terrence as well, but then thought better of it, and turned, running to attend to his wife, who was still dramatically screaming as if she was dying.

Terrence looked over at me, a note of accusation in his glare, and I could only shrug back, too stunned to do anything else.  Then one of Hamilton’s boys charged at Terrence.  Terrence barely moved, just grabbed the guy, and chucked him into Wes’ car, the young man rolling off the hood, and falling to the other side.

Terrence then looked at the brawling pit crews, shook his head in disgust, and walked towards me.  Grabbing me by the upper arm, he forcibly- not violently, but not giving me much room to resist- led me away from the melee.

“And that,” Terrence sighed, “Is why I told you to stay back by the car.”

I risked one final glance back at the chaos.  The pitcrews were still fighting, with the crowd around them hooting and cheering them on.  Wes was helping a sobbing Andrea to her feet, while more security guards joined the fray.

I looked up at my husband.  “We’re in big trouble... aren’t we?”

The look on Terrence’s face was grim.

“Yup.”



Tuesday September 6, 2011
The RV- Main Cabin
DuQuoin, Illinois
5:45 PM Local Time
We cut in just as the cameraman is entering the RV, climbing up the steps, past the driver’s seat into the main cabin, with its television, pull-out sofa, and table on one side, and smaller couch, kitchenette, and storage on the other.  A small, lithe, redheaded figure is leaned over the sink, in mud splattered clothing, dipping her hands in the water, and cupping them over her face.   Wendy Briese, of course.

It should be noted that since the fight happened in front of like three hundred people, several of which were auto racing journalists, the preceding scene is very, very usable. 
Pollaski: “Ah, there she is!  The NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW ARCA WOMEN’S CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOORLD!”

Pollaski’s voice comes from behind the camera, giving a strong indication that he’s holding it.  Wendy glances at her manager, her face sour.  She turns back to the sink, shutting off the water, and drying her face.
Wendy: “Shut up, Dan.”

Pollaski doesn’t shut up.  Instead, he laughs.  Much to Wendy’s irritation.
Pollaski: “Oh, don’t tell me you’re upset about this.”

Wendy looks over at her manager, and yes, she definitely looks upset.  She swallows hard, and looks away.
Wendy: “Get that camera out of here.  I don’t want to...”

Pollaski: “What?  You don’t want to commemorate the best goddamn thing you’ve ever done?!  I mean, you just put a shrill, annoying little bitch in the hospital!  That has to count for something.”

Wendy’s practically trembling, as she continues to have her back to the camera.
Wendy: “She had no professional training.  No experience whatsoever.  I shouldn’t have...”

Pollaski: “Hang on... she came at YOU, remember?”

Wendy shakes her head, her head still down in shame.
Wendy: “I’m the professional here.  There was no justification for what I did.  I’m not proud of it.”

Pollaski: “Would it help if I told you someone uploaded a video of it to YouTube?  And eight hundred forty seven people already ‘like this’?

The glare Wendy’s shooting Pollaski would suggest ‘no’.
Wendy: “The only thing I have to say is that I truly regret my actions, and whatever consequences arise from this, either with ARCA, or FFW, I’m fully willing to accept them.”

Pause.
Pollaski: “Well, that’s kinda lame.”

Wendy: “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.  Throwing a defenseless woman into a mud puddle is not my idea of how to solve my problems.  It’s not who I am, and it’s not what I’m about.  I don’t advocate street fighting.  I don’t advocate...”

Pollaski cuts Wendy off with a laugh.
Pollaski: “Wait a second...  I’ve seen you do this before.  This whole overblown ‘I’m sorry I’m a horrible person’ thing.”

Pause.
Pollaski: “You’re not feeling guilty because you slammed Andrea Hamilton into a mud puddle.  You’re feeling guilty because you ENJOYED doing it!

Wendy: “NO!”

The look on Wendy’s face could only be described as scandalized.  Oh, and about as dishonest as we’ve ever seen her.
Pollaski: “LIARFACE!  FACE OF A LIAR!”

Wendy takes a deep breath, her teeth clenched.  
Wendy: “Okay... I’ll admit that, there might have been... some part of me... that felt... a really.. tiny bit of... satisfaction.”

Pollaski: “HAH!  I KNEW IT!  There was this little flicker of a smile on your face after you chucked her, before you went all like ‘Oh shit!  I’m not supposed to do this!’ 

Wendy’s starting to turn red.  Fairly impressive, given her normally pale complexion.
Pollaski: “Oh, Wendy.  What is everyone going to think when they find out that you love to pick fights with defenseless women, and drop them into mud puddles?  I mean, Colleen would have a field day with...”

It’s like you can hear Wendy’s patience audibly snap.
Wendy: “Oh, shut up, Pollaski!  And to hell with Colleen!  Like her opinion actually matters!”:

The outburst seems to have startled even her, and for a moment, she looks at the camera, stunned.  Finally, she shrugs, as if an “oh well, I said it.” aura.  
Wendy: “Any credibility that Colleen actually had died two weeks ago, when she decided to turn herself into one of Samantha Star’s little dogs.  Considering all that boloney she spewed in the weeks after Unstoppable... I’d had thought she’d at least have had better standards than that.”

Clearly agitated, Wendy begins to pace.
Wendy: “Do you even remember why Colleen supposedly decked Robbyn and I at Unstoppable, then spent ten excruciating minutes insulting the fans about it a couple weeks later?  It’s because the fans had the audacity to cheer for all three of us, despite the fact that the three of us all had differing philosophies.  Apparently that signifies that the FFW faithful are weak minded, unable to think for themselves, and willing to cheer for whoever they’re told to.”

A snort, and an eyeroll from the scarlet haired woman.
Wendy: “Well, maybe if Colleen actually used her BRAIN, she’d come to the conclusion that our philosophies didn’t mean ANYTHING at that moment.  The fans had just seen a great match, against three great wrestlers who had given everything they had for it.  Of course they’re going to cheer, and show appreciation.  The effort Robbyn and I gave deserved at least that much, even if Colleen didn’t think so.”

Wendy shakes her head.
Wendy: “But that’s all beside the point.  Colleen apparently criticizes the lack of independent thought in the people that buy tickets to watch her compete, and then she goes and signs with Samantha Star?  How the heck is that independent thinking?”

Both Wendy and Pollaski chuckle, but while Pollaski actually sounds amused, Wendy’s is more sarcastic.
Wendy: “Seriously, look at the A-List.  Rose Jenkins is little more than a lackey, a hired muscle to make Samantha’s irritations go away.  Payton’s a sycophant, always drooling over her boss.  Starla’s a vulture, who seems to enjoy feeding on whatever scrap Samantha throws at her, and Jo, well, we all saw how easily she was bought over the course of a couple weeks on Twitter.”

Probably if she wasn’t already so wound up, she would be choosing her words carefully, especially where her boss is concerned..  But between the fight and Pollaski’s button pushing, Wendy’s a bit more open about her feelings than usual.
Wendy: “And I don’t think that we can forget about the LAST person who actually tried to think differently than Samantha.  She got her bloody skull nearly caved in in the middle of the Elimination Chamber.  So you tell me where thinking for oneself comes into this?”

Wendy pauses, as if she expects Pollaski to answer.  When he doesn’t, she shrugs, and turns away, pacing again.
Wendy: “It doesn’t.  Colleen doesn’t give a lick about people thinking for themselves, any more than she actually cared about respect, like she so long claimed to.  Respect is a two way street- you have to GIVE some to receive some, something Miss Harmon never quite was able to figure out.  But she wasn’t about that anyways.  All Colleen cared about was validation.  People telling her that so long as she got in the ring and made another girl tap out in pain every other week, it didn’t matter how crappy her attitude she had.

Another snort, and a shake of her head.
Wendy: “Well she never got it.  The locker room got sick of her well before I had arrived, so she tossed them aside.  The fans never really gave it to her her either.  Sure, they respected her technical ability, like they do all talented wrestlers, but there’s only so much you can do before you start alienating your own supporters.  Colleen didn’t like that, so she turned away from them.  And Wolf wouldn’t just stand by and let her throw away the last vestiges of respect she had, so she tossed him aside too.”

Wendy stops pacing, and looks over at the camera.
Wendy: “Well, now she’s got it.  Samantha’s put out her hands, Colleen saw what she wanted, and started lapping it up like Kibbles and Bits.  I don’t know what drew those two together, and I don’t really care.  But I’m sure Colleen’s happy that now that she’s in league with our owner, it doesn’t matter how awful her attitude is, so long as she comes when Samantha calls her.

More pacing.
Wendy: “Except every action has a consequence, and I think it’s time that Colleen received hers.  Wolf Ramsey set it up nicely.  Colleen fired him, so he used the last vestige of power to set this match up, and stick me in there.  Me, the very first person who’s head Colleen saw fit to ram her microphone into.  Well, I’ve sat patiently for nearly two months since that day, waiting for my chance for payback.  And I’m going to get it, and hurt Colleen where it’s going to sting the most.  I’m going to take her Evolution title away.  And you know what that will be?”

Small pause, and Wendy breaks into a slightly vindictive smile.
Wendy: “Poetic justice.”

Pollaski: “Well, you better be careful.  Tara might think this ‘poetic justice’ is just another conspiracy theory.”

Wendy actually bursts out laughing at that.
Wendy: “It’s funny... it really is.  You’d actually think that someone who’s so dependent on coming up with paranoid conspiracy theories might actually pay a bit more attention.”

A small smile, then Wendy shakes her head, puffing a loose strand of red hair away.
Wendy: “Tara apparently thinks that the Byte This assignments were handed out in some secret meeting of the Illuminati, where we had to swear fealty to some new world order to get on the show.  Reality is, the show was announced on Twitter several weeks before, with open sign-ups being conducted over the same media.  There was absolutely no secret nature about it.  All you needed was a computer, and a Twitter account, and you could have been on.”

Although to be fair, Twitter could possibly be a conspiracy in and of itself...
Wendy: “As far as my speech... I wasn’t out to make the fans LIKE me with that.  I was doing my JOB.  I am, after all, FFW’s ambasssador to the Susan Komen foundation.  I’ve been asked to shoot several PSA’s concerning the necessity of screening and detection in breast cancer treatment, and it seemed fitting that at such a momentous event, I come out and give a little talk about it.  If you’re going to count conspiracy theories, you might as well at least do enough research by watching the SHOWS.  My PSA spots are ran during the commercials all the time!”

Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, and sighs, obviously still wound up.
Pollaski: “Well, from the sound of things, Tara’s hell-bent on becoming the new Colleen... someone who bitches no matter what kind of opportunity she’s been given.”

Wendy nods, rolling her eyes again.
Wendy: “Well, you have to feel for her.  It can’t be easy going through life that paranoid.  But who cares if it’s two or three people you’re facing?  Anyone in this match has a fair shot of walking out of this match the Evolution Champion.  All we have to do is climb that ladder, and grab the title.  Tara has two arms, and two legs, and seemingly some sense of balance.  The only thing that will be stopping her from getting up there are Colleen and myself.”

Small shrug
Wendy: “If you want to be a true champion, you have to be ready and willing to try and win, or defend, the title in any kind of match, even if it’s not to your advantage.  I’ve been in some that have favored me, and I’ve been in some that haven’t.  It doesn’t matter.  You go out there and you do whatever you can to win, and bring that belt home.”

Wendy scoffs, and stops pacing again, looking back at the camera.
Wendy: “And the match is on Breaking Point?  WHO CARES?!  It’s a title shot, for crying out loud!  They don’t come around that often, so really, honestly, does it matter what the set looks like, or which channel we’re on?  We win here, it still counts as much as it does a pay-per-view.  And heck, free television has more viewers than pay-per-view.  Which means whoever wins the title is going to be doing so in front of a much larger audience than we would at Sin & Sacrifice.  And think about it, like me and Crystal two months ago, this is the LAST match before the pay-per-view.  The last chance to convince fans to buy the show before the final buildup.  And it’s going to be the three of us out there doing it.  That’s a showing of as much faith as anything.”

Another shake of the head in disbelief.
Wendy: “And I do understand Tara’s frustration that she hasn’t been put in a match at Sin & Sacrifice yet.  But there’s still one more show to go, and that card’s not final yet.  She still can get on, and considering how talented she really is in that ring, I’d be shocked if she doesn’t.  But she’s not doing herself any favors by ranting and raving like a psychotic madwoman on the camera.”

Wendy pauses, biting her lip.
Wendy: “Nor is she with her idiotic offhand comments about a certain anniversary we’re commemorating this weekend.”

Pollaski groans in disgust.
Pollaski: “Dear God, this is the second year in a row when some idiot’s used that in a promo against you on this week.”

Wendy looks at Pollaski, and shakes her head in sadness and disgust.
Wendy: “I was born in New York City.  Colleen’s from Washington.  If Tara wanted to get under our skins with the comments, she succeeded, at least where I’m concerned.  But there’s a line you just don’t cross, for God’s sakes.  I’d hope even the likes of Tara Thunder would show a little more class than that.”

Another disgusted shake of the head.
Wendy: “But then again, looking at Tara, holding a sense of perspective doesn’t exactly seem to be her strong point.  From her delusions of paranoia, to her incendiary comments, to her apparent sense of entitlement, Tara is someone who is in need of a very stiff reality check.”

A small shrug.
Wendy: “She’s got a title shot.  That’s a chance, but it’s by no means a sure thing.  Tara seems to think that she’s coming for a coronation, and I’m going to be there to wreck it.  Hardly.  She’s coming for a triple-threat ladder match, and I”m going to be one of her opponents.  There’s a huge difference there.”

A small smile.
Wendy: “And I might have moral quandaries about a lot of things, but beating Tara and Colleen fair and square on Saturday night isn’t going to be one of them.  Because you know what?  I have dreams to.”

The smile widens. 
Wendy: “And at Breaking Point, I’m going to achieve one of them.”

Wendy suddenly starts as the door to the RV opens, and the camera turns, showing Terrence, looking fairly tired.  He looks from Wendy (a small hint of irritation on his face), then back to Pollaski.
Terrence: “We’re leaving. Now.”

Wendy looks slightly apprehensive.  
Wendy: “What’s going on, Terry?  What did ARCA and Diamond say about the-”

Terrence: “Team meeting.  Next Thursday.  We’ll all find out our sanctions then.  But before that, you and I are going to have a nice little talk.”

A small pause. 
Terrence: “WITHOUT that thing on.”

He’s obviously talking about the camera.  Pollaski takes the hint, and the last thing we see as we fade out is Wendy, still looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

Black.

EPISODE 127: Great Expectations (w/ Isabella Pazzini)

Monday September 5, 2011
Central Park- Performance Stage
New York, New York
11:37 AM Local Time

We open up somewhere in Central Park, a few hours before FFW’s innagural Byte This pay-per-view is set to go live.  There’s a small stage, normally used for performances in the park, but today, an FFW banner hangs over it.  A crowd of about two hundred seems to have gathered to watch the speakers on the stage- the newest addition to the FFW tag team ranks, the team of Wendy Briese and Isabella Pazzini.

Wendy is dressed as conservatively as usual, in a pale blue blouse and a long black skirt, her flame-red hair tied back in its usual ponytail.  Just below her left shoulder is pinned a pink ribbon, signifying the cause of this occasion.  Isabella, on the other hand, is wearing a t-shirt reading “More Like The Z-List” and a black skirt, also with a pink ribbon.

Wendy: Happy Labor day, everybody, and thank you for coming out today!  As you all know, in just a few hours, FFW, combined with the Susan B. Komen foundation, are set to be kicking off with one of the most amazing shows of the year!  And considering how many tickets and pay-per-views that we have had purchased, we cannot thank you all enough for your support!

Isabella: Absolutely right! We’ve already raised a few million pounds, but we need to keep on going! So buy souvenirs and all that good stuff, it’s all in a good cause! And those of you watching at home who haven’t ordered the show... what are you waiting for?

Wendy: And remember, it’s only ten dollars!  And since it’s a webcast pay-per-view, even if you have plans at the time of the event, don’t worry!  You can watch the event at any time in it’s entirety after it’s begun.  And remember, all proceeds from this event are going to the Susan B. Komen foundation and the Race for the Cure.  A truly noble cause that really needs our support!

Isabella: Definitely, 100%! You get to make a difference, and on top of that, you get to see the best wrestlers in FFW perform! Plus, as an added bonus, you get to see Heavensent & Hellbound as well!

Wendy looks at Isabella, a clear sign of exasperation on her face.

Wendy: Um... we’re trying to get them to WANT to watch this...

Isabella: It is a bonus! You get to see them get their asses whupped by the Unity Tag Team Champions!

Wendy: Unless they try and find another way to steal a victory.  Despite everything, they seem to be really good at that.

Isabella smirks.

Isabella: How about we talk about the Femme Fatales they ACTUALLY want to see?

The crowd cheers at this.

Isabella: I’m talking about... well, us, actually!

Wendy: Well, we’ve only been training together for a couple of days now, but I can tell you one thing- Isabella and I certainly know our way around a wrestling ring, and despite our obvious differences, we certainly are more than capable of complimenting each other’s styles.  And I think that we should all be proud that yesterday, Isabella actually managed to make it through an ENTIRE sparring session without cheating!

Isabella: Hey, you’re talking like it’s the first time! Besides, I don’t need to practice cheating. I’m already a natural!

Wendy rolls her eyes.

Wendy: Don’t worry, I’m still working on getting her to realize that’s not something to be proud of.  But Isabella, I was thinking... if we’re going to do this tag team thing... we should probably come up with a name for ourselves.

Isabella: Totally! Hey, I don’t suppose any of you have any ideas?

A loud voice from the crowd yells out “Crude & Prude”!

Isabella: Hey, I fucking well like that!

Wendy looks scandalized. 

Wendy: Absolutely not!  And I’m not a prude!

Isabella laughs.

Isabella: Awww... you so are! You think anal means a need to keep everything in order!

Wendy folds her arms, and glares at Isabella for a second, Isabella merely returning a grin.  Both women look away, as someone else yells out “Sugar & Spice!”

Wendy: That’s actually not a bad idea there...

Isabella: I see the logic, but it’s a little too cliched. That would be like having a name like Fire & Fury, and we’re totally not THAT lame!

Even Wendy is forced to laugh at the barb.  For a second, both women wait for more suggestions, but any shouted one’s simply aren’t even worth acknowledging.  Finally, Wendy turns back to Isabella.

Wendy: Well, I was thinking, you know people are anticipating that you and I teaming up could be a definite force here in FFW.  I think a lot of people are thinking that a Briese and Pazzini tag team, if they can work together, can take this tag division by storm.  I think it’s safe to say that we’ve been saddled with some... Great Expectations.

Isabella: Totally! I mean, we’re both awesome! We’re both beloved! And... hey, I just had a thought! Great Expectations should be our team name! Ha! Once again, Isabella has the great idea!

Wendy looks crestfallen.

Wendy: B...but...

Isabella: But nothing! You know, I am so inspirational! Always on the ball at the opportune moment! We’re rocking Wendy! With my brains, and your technical jazz, we’ll do awesome! And we fly under MY banner, the name that I came up with... Great Expectations!

The crowd around pops, and Wendy sighs on stage, obviously defeated.  She looks over at Isabella, stull half-amused despite it all.

Wendy: Well... Pip... if we’re going to make this team work, and live up to these Expectations, I think you and I have some work to do tonight.

Isabella: Work? Nah, it won’t be work! We’ll whip those asses like taking candy from a baby! I mean, come on. Do you guys like Scarlett?

The crowd cheers.

Isabella: Guess they do! And what about Robbyn?

The crowd cheers again, but then one very loud guy yells out “ROBBYN SUCKS!”

Wendy looks startled at the venom behind the voice, and she cranes out, looking for the source.

Wendy: That’s not Pollaski out there, is it?

Isabella shrugs.

Isabella: It’s probably one of her exes. Rumour has it she has like 27.

Wendy cringes.

Wendy: Well, for me, I’m excited about this match.  I’ve faced Robbyn before, but I’ve never gotten into the ring with Scarlett.  And honestly, this is one of the women I’ve been looking forward to facing in FFW, because I believe that the two of us in that ring would absolutely tear the house down.  I have nothing but respect for Scarlett, and because of that, you can rest assured that I’ll be doing everything in my power to beat her tonight!

Isabella: Hey, I respect Scarlett too. But having listened to her words about me, I think she’s full of shit personally. She’s a cocky little bitch.

Wendy looks about to speak, but Isabella puts her hand up to stop her.

Isabella: Scarlett likes to run her mouth about how I’ve never beaten her. About how she’s better than me. About how I’m full of crap. And you know what? I’m sick of it. Twice she has beaten me, and twice there was outside interference and other factors clouding the match. The only time we had a clear, one on one match, it ended a draw. I feel I have proven I’m as good as she is, and yet she continues to show me complete disrespect. You can’t deny that Wendy! I deserve her respect!

There’s a few boos at this, which causes Isabella to frown. Most of the crowd seems okay though.

Wendy: Well, you got to remember, Isabella, you and Scarlett have gone to war, several times, over the biggest prize in women’s wrestling today.  And it got personal... very personal.  I know you’re trying really hard to put that all behind you, but there’s a lot of people out there who haven’t yet seen the person you’re trying to become.  Trust me, when we beat Fire and Fury in that ring tonight, and we do it THE RIGHT WAY, it’s going to open a lot of eyes as to how serious you are about this.

Isabella: There’s a right way?

She looks confused.

Isabella: Trust me though guys, we will earn respect, and we will earn plaudits. We’re coming out today to win, and beat two of the top stars in FFW. And we will show both Scarlett & Robbyn that they need to put their damn egos in check and take us seriously. Because I don’t think that they are.

Wendy merely shrugs in response.

Wendy: Well, I have no problem with Scarlett... or her supposed ego.  But Robbyn... you know, I actually pay attention to what goes around here.  And I sure didn’t miss Robbyn running her mouth in sour grapes after Unstoppable, claiming I didn’t belong in that match.  Claiming that I cost her the contest, when she was the one who tapped out.  That doesn’t sit well with me, being used as an excuse for Robbyn’s failures.

Isabella: Robbyn always has excuses. She always has. That’s the sad fact. She simply can’t accept that without a ladder and a can of mace to hand, she isn’t good enough to be the FFW Evolution Champion.

Wendy looks slightly uneasy about Isabella flat-out saying Robbyns not good enough.  But she merely shrugs, instead of calling her parnter on it.

Wendy: It’s safe to say that excuses have never won anyone a title before, that’s for sure.  Robbyn brashly made a comparison to herself and the Komen foundatiion, trying to connect her team to theirs.  While it was clever, I don’t think the good folks at Komen ever came up short at something, shrugged, and said “Well, what can I say?  Everyone knows we’re not good at this part.”  No, they strive to improve, something Robbyn simply does not do.  And until she quits hiding behind her shortcomings, and attacks them head on instead of making up excuses, Robbyn’s never going to win anything meaningful... ever.

Wendy pauses, then grimaces, looking over at Isabella.

Wendy: I’m sorry, does that make me sound like a fanatical TV Evangelist?

The crowd laughs.

Isabella: I haven’t punched your face in, so no, not yet.

Isabella grins as the crowd laughs again.

Isabella: You’re right though. And I think that is why Robbyn has latched onto Scarlett. To gain some credibility, to give herself a person, to paper over the obvious cracks in her game. And you know what, Helmsley? It is NOT going to work. Because the simple truth is, you have no proper training, a bad attitude, and you’re a crier and a whiner. Put simply... you need a reality check girl. And both tonight at Byte This, and Saturday at Breaking Point... you’re going to get them girl. Loud and clear.

Wendy: As far as Scarlett goes... well, like I said, I can’t wait to get into that ring against her.  I have nothing but respect for Scarlett, even if she does think I’m a little preachy.  But I’m going to admit, I’m jealous as well.  The first year of my career involved a lot of tough matches, and I took a lot of tough losses.  Scarlett has had one of the most amazing first years anyone has ever had in this sport, and it wasn’t due to a lack of competition. 

A sidelong glance at Isabella there.

Wendy: The woman is a wrestling prodigy, a true diamond plucked from the rough.  But there’s an old saying.  ‘If you’re undefeated, you just simply haven’t faced the right person yet’.  And I know, Scar lost at Unstoppable... but I don’t think the disappointment of that sunk in, given how quickly after she learned the identity of her husband’s attacker and became set on vengeance.  So I think it’s time that Scarlett learns what it’s truly like to be disappointed in this sport.

Isabella: When it rains, it pours girl. When I suffered my first major defeat, I went on a horrible losing streak. Now I’m not saying Scar will suffer the same fate, but I think... now she knows what it is like to lose, that confidence, that aura of invincibility, has gone. And believe me, no-one wants a win over Scarlett more than us.

Wendy smiles.

Wendy: You can say that again.  Considering the schedule I’ve gotten laid out for me in the coming weeks, I better start nabbing as many wins as I can get!

A small, self-deprecating grin.

Wendy: So I hope you guys find it in you to watch Byte This! tonight, and I hope that all of you are ready to see the collision of two of the best superteams ever to grace an FFW ring!

Isabella: It’s going to be epic! But you know that! Because when it comes to this match... this show... you already have... GREAT EXPECTATIONS!

The crowd roars as we fade to black.

EPISODE 126: BYTE THIS! (w/ Isabella Pazzini)

The scene opens outside the house of Wendy Briese & Terrence Thompson. Isabella Pazzini can be seen, in what appears to be the very early morning light, a big smile on her face.

Isabella: Hello everyone! It is apparently six-o-clock in the morning right now, which is what time Daniel Pollaski told me to be here to promote my upcoming Byte This match with my partner, Wendy Briese! If you’re wondering why I’m filming now, I just wanted to say that I don’t appreciate being called out at this time of day! Just get that on record now! Anyway, let’s go.

She walks up to the door, and starts knocking. She waits a while, but no-one answers.

Isabella: Tum-tee-tum...

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!*

Isabella: Come on, come on, it’s promo time!

Isabella waits, and waits, but no-one answers. She looks up to the top floor, seeing the curtains are shut.

Isabella: Don’t tell me they’ve overslept!

Isabella pulls up a pebble from the driveway, and throws it at the window. Unfortunately, it flies straight through the window, leaving a small hole in its wake.

Isabella: Um... oops?

Nonetheless, the stone did the trick, as muffled voices- obviously Terrence and Wendy’s, although the words are impossible to make out- float out through the broken window.  The male’s voice sounds very upset, the females more confused and alarmed.  Isabella cringes, and looks up at the window to the house, expecting Wendy’s face to poke through looking down at her.  But nothing happens, and eventually, the voices stop. Isabella looked puzzled.

Isabella: That’s weird. What the hell is going on?

By this point, Isabella had apparently forgotten the camera was rolling.

Isabella: You think I should try knocking again? I’m not throwing another pebble.

Isabella starts towards the door, but suddenly runs away screaming as it flies open, a VERY angry Terrence Thompson storming out, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and a red pair of basketball shorts with the interlocking I and U of the Indiana hoosiers sewn on the leg.  The most telling feature, however, is the massive Louisville Slugger he’s carrying in his hand.

Terrence: GET OFF MY LAWN YOU FUCKING KIDS!

Wendy: Terry!  No!  Wait!

Wendy’s behind Terrence in the door, pleading with him to stop, and Isabella’s fleeing for safety, but the poor cameraman is too slow, and the next thing he knows, Terrence is swinging.  There’s a loud *OOMPH*, and suddenly, the camera is lying in the grass, the only thing visible is Terrence’s legs.

Terrence: That’ll teach you to throw a rock through someone’s window, punk!  You next?  You want so- Isabella Pazzini?  What the fuck!?

Isabella’s voice can be heard.

Isabella: Erm... the camera guy threw the rock through the window. I tried to stop him... anyway, Daniel told me to come here for the Byte This promo...

Wendy: What?  At this hour? He  knows I don’t even get up until six-thirty... what is he...

Wendy’s legs have joined next to Terrence’s in the shot, at an angle that would suggest she’s standing and looking down at the camera man. 

Wendy: Oh God... we are going to be in so much trouble...

Isabella’s voice has gotten louder, presumably meaning she’s walked across.

Isabella: Let’s just get him inside and see if he’s okay. I’ll bring the camera...

Sure enough, the camera suddenly raises up, and catches our first proper view of Wendy.  She’s dressed in a white nightgown, her hair disheveled from having just woken up.  She’s also a little flushed from the sudden activity her day’s started with, and definitely looking a little cowed from the experience.  She’s looking sheepishly over at her neighbor’s house, giving a small wave.

Wendy: Morning, Mrs. Fletcher!  Don’t worry about us!  Just a simple misunderstanding.

She grins, which fades quickly as she turns away.

Wendy: Just once... just ONCE I’d like to be able to show my face at a neighborhood council meeting...

Isabella: Help him up, we’ll go inside. How do you switch this thing off...?

There is some shaking of the camera and then we cut. The video reopens in the living room of the exact same house.  It’s a farily nice, well lit living room, with a large bay window allowing light into the room from the left hand side.  Out of the left corner of the screen, the very edge of a Lay-Z-Boy can be seen, while the camera is focused on the couch, which is sandwiched between two end tables, each with a lamp, the left one also containing what appears to be a small stack of magazines, and an X-Box controller.  Under the right, staring out at the camera with wary eyes, is a large, grumpy tabby cat.  Above the couch, hanging from the wall, is a rather large oil painting depicting a generic creek in autumn, the surriounding trees tinged with colorful leaves. 

On the couch itself sits Wendy, now much more awake and dressed in a simple lavender t-shirt and jeans, grinning sheepishly at the camera, the memories of the morning thus far obviously fresh with her.  Next to her sits Isabella, her coat now off and attired in her new merch, the “If You Can’t Beat ‘Em, Cheat ‘Em” t-shirt (which is now available on FFWShop.com) and a pair of simple black pants.

Wendy: Hey everyone!  You know, it’s been a couple of months since I was named FFW’s official ‘ambassador’ to the Susan B. Komen foundation, but I’ve enjoyed the honor and the opportunity it has presented to me.   The Komen foundation is dedicated to research that will lead to the treatment and hopeful eradication of breast cancer, one of the most dangerous diseases for a woman to have.  It’s only right that a company that is dedicated to the promotion of female athletes take an interest in spreading the word about women’s health, particularily educating people about this horrid disease.

A small smile.

Wendy: When I found out that FFW was taking our relationship with the Komen Foundation to the next level, and holding an event where the proceeds are strictly going towards the funding of this noble cause, I couldn’t wait to be a part of it.  That we’re holding it on Labor Day, in the middle of Central Park in New York City, with the matches that we have lined up for you... its going to be an absolutely momentous occasion.

Isabella: Absolutely, it’s going to be a real day for all you FFW fans. We’re going to have activities all day, aside from the show, and if you can’t get there in person, you can order it online for just ten dollars American. Ten dollars! And every penny of it goes to charity! I’m sure you’ll agree that is absolutely amazing, and we hope that you, the FFW faithful, will gladly contribute! The buyrates have been staggering already, and we thank you so much!

Wendy nods

Wendy: Isabella here is right.  The generosity of the FFW faithful knows no bounds, and we owe you our gratitude.  So, we’re going to thank you all the best way we know how.. by going out, and giving you guys the best show we can possibly put on!

Isabella: Absolutely!

She grins.

Isabella: There’s all kinds of awesome matches on the card. The FFW Champion, the Unity Tag Team Champions and some other insignificant champion that everybody hates and doesn’t care about... they’re all on this show! But I really think, out of all these great matches, there is one that definitely steals it. In one corner you have a former FFW Champion, and a former Evolution Champion! And in the other corner, you have a more attractive former FFW Champion, and the NEXT Evolution Champion! No other match on this show is as star studded as this one, and we absolutely intend to steal the show!

Wendy: I think you’re honestly dealing with the four best and most beloved wrestlers in this company today here.  Fire & Fury are a true super-team, and I wouldn’t fancy to bet against them, even against the Eternal Flame.  But, you know, Isabella and I both have been successful tag team wrestlers ourselves- so don’t count us out quite yet.

Isabella: Beloved? Me, really? Okay! Whilst they may be a super-team, however, I find it somewhat strange. I mean, Scarlett & Robbyn had one of the longest running feuds in FFW history. These two absolutely despised each other. And it isn’t really hard to see why. First of all, Scarlett is married to the love of Robbyn’s life. And don’t forget Robbyn not only tried to steal him, but USED Scarlett to get close to him! I don’t see how you can just forgive that kind of stuff. There’s still contention between them deep down, I know it! Isn’t there girls? There is, isn’t there?

For just a second, Wendy looks slightly bemused, then turns towards her partner.

Wendy: I don’t know... people change, Isabella...as  you can well attest.  Besides, it’s not exactly a secret that as of the last Breaking Point, you and I weren’t exactly on the same page either.

Isabella: Okay, you’re spoiling it!

She sighs, before letting loose a cheeky grin.

Isabella: I just find them an odd duck pairing. Then again, I suppose we are too. But I think that’s what works. Our styles compliment each other perfectly. You do the whole technical wrestling and submission schtick, while I run around jumping and hitting people with things when the zebra isn’t looking!

Wendy darts a mild glare at Isabella, folding her arms over her chest.

Wendy: OR how you could take advantage of your amazing agility and speed?

Isabella nodded.

Isabella: That as well! I mean, I am one of the quickest women in FFW. I’m not afraid to take a risk, and I’m pretty good at striking too. Someone once said getting hit with me hurt a lot, it was like a “hammer blow”!

Isabella grins, which only widens as the not-so-subtle hint completely blows by Wendy.

Wendy: Well, there’s no doubt that a good striking game can certainly turn the odds in your favor... it’s why I worked so hard to develop one.  But I think there’s absolutely no denying that you and I are certainly going to be carrying the experience advantage here... for whatever it’s worth.

Isabella: That’s true. Scarlett & Robbyn have been professional for around a year or so, and neither have hardly any tag team experience at all. In fact, both have had disastrous form in tag team matches in FFW. Whereas us... you’re an eight time tag team champion, and I’m a two time tag team champion. We’re older than them, and have much more professional experience. I mean, we found out this week that Robbyn hasn’t even had proper professional training. She’s basically a complete amateur who gets by from natural flair and talent. But tag team wrestling is not something that you’re born with, it is something you learn. You can’t just walk into a ring with another individual and expect to win, because... it really doesn’t work like that. You know full well, you’re like Mrs. Tag Team!

Wendy blushes slightly at the compliment.

Wendy: To be fair, all my success has pretty much come by the side of my husband, so I don’t have that much experience with different partners.  But that’s why Isabella’s here, in Indianapolis.  As soon as we’re done here, we’re off to the Speed City gym on Michigan Avenue to see if we can get our styles to mesh just a little bit.

Isabella: Exactly! I’m sure we’ll be a great team. I mean, my last partner, Samantha Star, was a pretty garbage wrestler, and we managed to hold tag team gold together! So the possibilities of what I could do partnered with a world class athlete such as yourself makes me really excited!

Wendy blushes again, but grins at the compliment.

Wendy: Well, there’s a reason why you’ve won the FFW Championship, Isabella... you’re every bit as talented as I am on the physical side.  But not just that, you’ve got the mentality that you need to succeed in this business. Not just mental toughness, something I know I have as well... but a psychological element that very few wrestlers are ever able to have.

Isabella: That’s something you learn. I’ve never been the most technically sound wrestler, even compared to Camilla I’m worse. Scarlett can pretty much wrestle me under the table, as can you, which is why I don’t get myself into classic wrestling matches. I use the attributes that I do have, and intelligence and ring knowledge are certainly amongst them. And these are things our opponents lack. Scarlett is one of the most talented wrestlers I’ve ever stepped into a ring with, but she’s mentally weak. Every time I’ve faced her, I’ve come that little bit closer to beating her, and I think it’s reached the point when I’ve finally cracked it. Scarlett lacks the mental toughness to cope when it gets intense... we saw that in the Chamber against Kaitlynn, who is another ring veteran. Scarlett’s just so used to winning comfortably that she freaks out a bit when things aren’t going her way. Sure, she beat me twice, but both times I’d provoked her into a state of anger. When we fought on a more level playing field, I outsmarted and outthought her, and was damn unlucky to only come away with a draw. Which is like kissing your sister, as they say, and that’s doubly bad for me because my sister is fat and ugly.

Wendy arches an eyebrow, and glances over at Isabella, who grins back.  Not having a sister herself, Wendy ultimately seems to decide that it’s just ‘one of those things’ and turns back to the camera.

Wendy: I think you’re underestimating Scarlett’s mental toughness.  She managed to put up with everything you’d done to her, and come away okay.

Isabella chuckles.

Isabella: Hey, I didn’t do anything THAT bad. But Robbyn’s the one that intrigues me more, to be honest. Twice in one week, I consider myself spoiled. I know Robbyn well, and she has the mental toughness of a gnat with a headache. She’s about ready to break down at any given opportunity!

Wendy: I hate to say it, but I have to agree with you.  By and large, Robbyn is fairly weak on the mental side.  I know we saw otherwise in her match against Valerie, and again in the WarGames, but outside of that, Robbyn, nine times out of ten, manages to beat herself with her neurotic tendencies.

Wendy pauses, glancing over at Isabella, before taking a deep breath.

Wendy: What really gets me, is how she clings to this whole “I’m not good at submissions,” like it’s some sort of a valid defense.  Like missing a complete element from your wrestling game is acceptable.  If I had that big of a gaping hole in my technique, I would be training night and day trying to figure out a way to overcome it, instead of simply accepting it and pointing to it every time I tapped out.

Isabella: Quite. I mean, I’ll be honest, my offensive submission skills are comparable to Colleen’s social skills, but withstanding a submission hold is largely mental. You have the overcome the pain mentally before you can overcome it physically. That’s her problem I think. In my opinion, the only worthwhile reason to submit is to avoid serious injury, and as this is a woman who happily wrestles with broken ribs, that’s clearly not an issue. Who the hell wrestles with broken bones anyway? Even now they’re healed, she made it such public knowledge that anyone with half a brain will target them. And this is why Robbyn hasn’t had much success lately. Her submission defense and her ribs are such easy targets that people flock onto them like vultures. When you’re at an early stage of your career in particular... Robbyn’s only 22... you shouldn’t have such glaring and obvious weaknesses.

Wendy: People confuse toughness and foolishness all the time.  Both you and I have been around this sport for a long time, and I’m sure we both know former colleagues who are mere shadows of themselves, crippled and bitter because they refused to take care of themselves.  One of my best friends committed suicide because he’d shoved himself into so many hardcore matches, that he couldn’t even get out of bed without being subject to crippling pain.  There’s nothing valiant, or tough about wrestling with an injury like a broken rib, especially when you run the risk of re-injuring it to the point that it will never heal correctly.  Robbyn seems to have done that... and she’s created an Achilles heel for herself that will haunt her the rest of her life, because she was foolish.

Isabella: It seems tastily ironic that when I first came into FFW, people cast doubts over my physical well-being, due to my long history of hardcore wrestling. But I’m absolutely fine. I have only wrestled injured once, when I had to defend a championship nine days after a Hardcore War match. Never again.

She shakes her head.

Isabella: Robbyn’s ribs, as you say, will probably never heal fully, and that is really sad, because it will cut her career short. If those ribs are targeted almost every match for the next three years, say, they will be absolutely wrecked. And she’ll be forced to retire to avoid spending the rest of her life crippled. If you’re listening Robbyn... please... see a specialist and try damage limitation.

Wendy glances over at Isabella, a sardonic smile on her face.

Wendy: That’s good advice, but you should be careful.  People might start thinking that you’re preachy.

Isabella: She’s a nice girl, if a little neurotic. I hate seeing anyone seriously hurt. There are too many tragedies in this business.

Wendy’s expression is grim.

Wendy: Believe me, I know.  I know all... too well...

Wendy glances to the side, her eyes widening just slightly as she registers something, then back to Isabella.

Wendy: Well, the gym’s about to open now.  What say we go and see just how well this team of ours is going to work?

Isabella grinned and nodded.

Isabella: Excellent idea. Robbyn, Scarlett... we’ll see you at the show. And if you don’t like what we have to say...

Isabella points at her crotch with both hands.

Isabella: BYTE THIS!!!

Wendy’s heads snapped around so fast, it’s a miracle she doesn’t have whiplash.  The scene fades with Wendy staring horrified and apalled at her partner, while Isabella merely grins.

EPISODE 125: The Light At the End of the Tunnel

The following is from the private journal of Wendy Briese

Tuesday 30 August 2011

What the heck am I doing?

Today I met with Isabella Pazzini on the Baltimore waterfront.  Since I had never really spoken to Isabella before, and we are going to be tagging together next Monday, I thought it would be a nice chance to get to know her.  But, just how open, and honest, Isabella was with me was startling.

This is a woman that I can see is in turmoil.  I think she’s realizing just how fruitless all that she had done in the past turned out to be.  All the cheating, the backstabbing, the malicious backstage attacks... it honestly seems like she has remorse for them, and wants to put it all behind her, and atone for her actions.  I find that admirable, that she’s apparently willing to face her past.

Equally admirable is that Isabella has come to realize that this ‘A-List’, much like the Power Trip and any other clique that Samantha has surrounded herself with in the past, is the absolutely last thing FFW needs at the moment.  I’ve been in companies before where the boss decided to build themselves an inner circle of employees, and those times were some of the most painful, frustrating, and miserable tims I’ve ever had in this business.

But still... do I really want to stand up to them?  When the only person I know who willl stand next to me is Isabella Pazzini?

Pollaski can make all the jokes he wants about the A-List not actually having many ‘A-Listers’ in it, but the fact remains is that we’re looking at five extremely dangerous women, led by a spoiled, conniving, ruthless she-devil who holds the vast majority of the power in this company.  We’ve seen several examples in just the past few months over the consequences of annoying Samantha Star.  Rose Astral.  Nina Astral.  Isabella Pazzini.  Lord knows who else before I even arrived.

I don’t want to be added to that list.  Samantha doesn’t just organize beatdowns- she arranges flat out destructions, designed to injure and humiliate her adversaries as much as possible.  Obviously, I don’t want it to happen to me.  No one likes being hurt or humiliated.  But its the fact that I have a daughter that worries me the most.  Opposing Samantha Star is a one-way ticket to having a hard life.  Any difficulties experienced by me will no doubt be witnessed by Theresa.  I’m already terrified that one day I’ll fall victim to an accident in that ring with Theresa watching.  Do I really want to put myself even more into harm’s way?

But... and I have to keep telling myself this... it’s the right thing to do.

You look back at history, and the horrible, oppressive governments we’ve seen over the years, and you’re left wondering “why didn’t anyone stop this?”  Why were monsters like Hitler and Stalin, Hussein, Gaddafi, Pinochet, Castro, and Franco allowed to wreak havoc on their people, and their neighbors, largely unchecked?

Because no one was willing to stand up to them.  Everyone was too afraid of the consequences that would befall them, and their families.

Obviously, the situation here doesn’t even compare to the situations that were in Germany, Iraq, or Chile (although I would hate to think of what the world would be like if Samantha Star ever gained actual political power).  And I don’t mean to cheapen the deaths of millions of innocents by making it seem that way.  But if we can’t stand up to our boss in a wrestling company, how can we expect people to stand up for themselves when the true tyrants arrive?

Doing the right thing is easy when there’s not likely to be any consequences from it.  It’s much harder when you know that it could bring you pain, suffering, humiliation, or worse.  But those are also the moments when doing the right thing matters even more. 

And that means standing up to the A-List, and not letting them bully me, or anyone else in this company around.  And not because Isabella asked me to.  Because this is simply what needs to be done, for the well-being of FFW.  No one wants to see Samantha’s goons running roughshod over the company, that’s for sure.  And maybe when the other roster members see me and Isabella standing up to these clowns, they’ll be willing to stand up too.  There’s over fifty wrestlers in FFW, and there’s a grand total of five ‘A-Listers’.  Even if just half the roster stands up with us, and tells Samantha that just because she owns this company, its not her personal playground, the A-List will be effectively kept in check.

Either way, I sense a bumpy road ahead in the FFW.  I can only hope and pray that whatever does happen, myself and my family are kept safe through it all. 

But I can’t let that stop me.  Not now.

-WCBT
==============

Wednesday August 31, 2011
The Nest- Master Bathroom
Indianapolis, Indiana
11:32 PM LOcal Time
“You should try swallowing, I heard it’s sexier that way.”

My eyes narrowed, I glanced over at my husband, who stood leaning against the bathroom counter, grinning at me.  Resisting the urge to chuck my toothbrush at him, I turned and spit into the sink, turning the water on to wash it down.  “How is that sexy?,” I said irritably as I reached for the bottle of Listerine.  “It’s disgusting.”  I could barely stand the taste of the Arm & Hammer toothpaste as it was.  Actually introducing that stuff to my digestive tract was hardly an appealing concept.

“I dunno, just something I heard,” Terrence grinned, as he grabbed a plain white t-shirt and slipped it on over his head.  “So, you’re like Isabella Pazzini’s best friend now?  Or...”

“Mmmm mmm mmm mm NM!”  It was kind of hard to respond with a mouthful of Listerine.  I leaned over again and spit.  “Not really her friend.  Just... someone she’s going to tag with.  And have her back if the A-List tries anything stupid again.”

“Well, just be careful.” Terrence warned, putting some Arm & Hammer onto his own tootbrush.  “The last person you ended up tagging with, you ended up marrying them.  I might get jealous.”

Considering I was busy pulling my blouse off over my head, Terrence couldn’t see me smiling.  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about there, hon.  But thanks for reminding me.  Isabella’s coming here tomorrow, and we’re going to cut a promo and then work out together.  See if we can get this team to mesh at all.”

“Ah, what time?”

I shrugged, tossing my clothes into a nearby laundry hamper, then reaching into my closet for my nightgown.  “She never said a time.  Doubt it will be too early though- Isabella’s never struck me as an early bird type.”

“Ah well, I’ll probably miss her then.  I gotta leave for Nashville around eight-ish.”

I stopped in the middle of slipping my nightgown over my head, and I looked over at Terrence, knowing full there was an expression of surprise on my face.  “You’re going to Nashville?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you at dinner?”

“No,” I said, quickly finishing slipping my nightgown on, although considering I did it rather abruptly, I’m sure some of my irritation was displayed.  “I’d have remembered if you did.”

“Om... wmf... smry”  Apparently Terrence was better at communciating with a toothbrush and toothpaste in his mouth than I was.  He leaned over the sink and spit.  “They called a team meeting for tomorrow.  Everyone’s supposed to attend.”  He paused, giving me the look he normally did when he was deciding whether to tell me something or not.  Finally he shrugged.  “Probably what we’re going to be doing next year without Hamilton.”

I couldn’t quite leave the excitement out of my voice.  “Wes is leaving Diamond Motorsports?!”

Terrence laughed sheepishly.  “Jesus, I really don’t tell you anything, do I?  Yeah, Wes got  a ride with Tri-Star Motorsports to race in the Nationwide series next year.”

I grinned back, “That’s great, Terrence!”

Terrence’s own expression crinkled.  ‘Great?” He asked quietly.  “You’re happy that cocksucker got promoted?”

“No,” I replied, a little defensively.  “I’m happy that you won’t have to deal with him anymore.  Maybe your next teammate will actually know how to act like one.”

“Or maybe I’ll get bumped up too...” Terrence said, although the tone in his voice suggested as if he didn’t truly believe it would happen.  In likelihood, it wouldn’t.  Terrence had steadily improved throughout the year, but still sat in eleventh in the standings in his rookie season.  Compared to Wes, who was in second, and had finished top five the last two years, the prospect of moving up wasn’t as realistic for him. 

Besides, I wasn’t sure myself if I wanted Terrence to race at the next level.  Nationwide was a more prestigious series, by far, but it also meant more dates- thirty-four compared to the nineteen races ARCA held.  That would mean a lot less time together.

“With any luck though, they’ll give me an extention now..” Terrence said, flopping back onto the bed, his hands behind his head.  “They told me they were going to evaluate it in October, but with their other guy leaving, maybe they’ll toss me a bone.  Lord knows it’d be nice to have an assurance I have a ride next year.”

“You’ll get one.  Everyone’s talking about how much better you’ve gotten,” I remarked, climbing into bed as well.  “Besides, you still have four races left in THIS season to get them talking some more.”  I leaned over, and kissed Terrence.   “But no more Wesley Hamilton,”  Or Andrea, I added silently, thinking of his little shrew of a wife. 

I leaned over and shut off the lamp on my bedstand, plunging the room into darkness.  Still, I almost expected my grin to be causing my teeth to glow in the dark, so wide it was.  Only four more races, four more weekends until one of the biggest thorns in my side was gone.

If only the same held true to the thorns that existed in my own career.



Friday September 2, 2011
The Nest- Formal Dining Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:13 PM Local Time
BLACKNESS.

Then, finally, the words appear on the otherwise still black scene:
JULY 30, 2011
UNSTOPPABLE 2
HOW THE EVOLUTION CHAMPIONSHIP WOULD HAVE ENDED...
IF ROBBYN HELSMLEY WASNT SUCH A PUSSY

Now, fade in.

Theoretically, the scene would be a wrestling ring, set in the middle of a packed and screaming arena.  But, in actuality, all that’s there is a mahogany table. It’s a decent sized table.  Fairly high quality.  Completely round, but with a crack down the center for leafs to be inserted.

Also on the table is a Robbyn Helmsley action figure, being held by a hand that would seemingly belong to an overweight adult male.  Like, y’know, Pollaski. 
Pollaski: “Robbyn Helmsley has just knocked Wendy out of the ring!  I think she’s contemplating another suicide dive!”

Pollaski’s voice carries in from behind the camera, as it’s obvious that he’s playing the announcer for the match.  Robbyn dances around a bit, as if she’s debating charging to the edge of the ring and jump.  Suddenly, a Colleen action figure comes in, Robbyn’s immediately on the ground, Colleen seated beside her, the scene trying to resemble an cross armbar.  
Pollaski: “Cross Armbar!  Oh my god!  There’s no way Robbyn is going to survive!  She taps out in ten seconds!

Pollaski makes the Robbyn action figure writhe in pain for a few seconds, but doesn’t tap.  
Pollaski: “Oh my God!  Robbyn’s actually showing some heart!  She might hang on!  Wendy’s getting up on the outside!”

More thrashing in pain, but again, Robbyn doesn’t tap.  Pollaski suddenly reaches down, grabbing Robbyn’s arm...
*SNAP!*
...breaking it clean off!
Pollaski: ‘OH MY GOD!  OH MY GOD!  COLLEEN JUST RIPPED ROBBYN HELMSLEYS ARM OFF!  ROBBYNS CAREER IS OVER!  HOW HORRIBLE IS THIS!?”

As Robbyn writhes in pain more, Pollaski, with his other hand, has apparently grabbed a bottle of red food coloring, and is squirting it with an eye dropper all over Robbyn’s shoulder, a small puddle beginning to spread on the table.
Pollaski: “BUT SHE NEVER TAPPED!  HER ARM IS RIPPED CLEAN OFF, BUT ROBBYN HELMSLEY NEVER TAPPED!  FINALLY, ROBBYN HAS LEARNED THE MEANING OF HEART!”

Pause
Pollaski: “Although she probably is in too much shock right now to do anything.  But BLEED!”

More food dye squirting.

Pollaski has the Colleen action figure stand up, still holding the arm.  Suddenly, another action figure comes running in from the side.
Pollaski: “OH NO!  HERE COMES WENDY!”

Pollaski has the Wendy action figure hit a very sloppy, stiff version of a Vortexiantor, spiking Colleens head into the middle of the growing puddle of ‘blood’.  Pollaski flips Colleen onto her back, then drops the Wendy figure on her.  More blood squirting onto Robbyn’s wound.
Pollaski: “One!  Two!  Three!  WE HAVE A NEW EVOLUTION CHAMPION!”

Pollaski grabs Wendy, and has her jump around in victory.  
Pollaski: “Wendy is the winner!  Like we all knew she would be!  And Robbyn Helmsley is going to bleed out and die because no one likes her enough to help her!  This is a great day for FFW!  But I think Colleen has a problem with it!”

Sure enough, Colleen attacks Wendy from behind, knocking her down.  She then begins jumping up and down on Wendy, who’s face down in the puddle of blood.
Pollaski: “Oh no!  This is barbaric!  Colleen is such a stupid sore loser!  Will anyone stop this?  Yes... look... ITS DANIEL POLLASKI!”

There has yet to be a Daniel Pollaski action figure.  So, Pollaski was forced to take liberties, and instead use a He-Man action figure.  Narcisistic, delusional liberties, but liberties none the less.  Colleen immediately falls to her knees in a gesture of supplication.
Pollaski: “Pollaski is here to wreak vengeance upon the stupid and bitchy!  Colleen is begging for mercy!  Will Pollaski grant it?”

He-Man swings Robbyns arms, and Pollaski’s real hands grab Colleen...
*SNAP* 
Twisting her head off!
Pollaski: “OH MY GOD!  POLLASKI JUST DECAPITATED COLLEEN AND SENT HER HEAD INTO THE UPPER DECK!  WHAT POWER!  AND WHAT A SOUVENIER FOR A LUCKY FAN!”

The now-headless Colleen lies on the table, and Pollaski squirts more red food dye all ove the place.  He-Man stands triumphant, Robbyns arm still in his!
Pollaski: “Tonight is the greatest night in FFW history!  Colleen and Robbyn are dead, Wendy is the Evolution champion, and Pollaski is the supreme dominant force in the universe!  And now look!  All the rest of the FFW locker room is coming down and thanking Pollaski personally!”

There’s a moments pause, and suddenly a moderately sized white bucket enters the shot, being overturned.  Pouring out is pretty much every single FFW action figure ever made, intermixed wtih some other female ones (namely every girl to ever appear in either Soul Calibur or Dynasty Warrirors, and a couple of the Sailor Scouts).  They all fall into a pile atop He-Man.
Pollaski: “What a night!  There is an absolutely insane Pollaski-centered orgy in the middle of the ring!  This is amazing!  And we have to cancel the rest of the show, and make this our main event, because this is just too awesome!  Good night everybody, and-”

Pollaski’s voice trails off and, the camera slowly turns upwards, to see Wendy Briese standing in the door way of the kitchen, looking fairly disgusted, horrified, and furious at the same time.
Wendy: “What are you doing?”

Pollaski: “Presenting an idealized version of prior events.”

Given by the expression on Wendy’s face, it’s likely that, outside the part about her winning, there’s nothing of the scenario that she would find ideal. 
Wendy: “Right.  Well, in the future, could you present your ‘ideal situation’ in a more ideal setting?  Namely, not my nice table?  I swear, Dan... if that food dye stains the wood...”

Pollaski sets to clearing the action figures off the table, grabbing them by the handfulls, and dumping them into the bucket.  Wendy disappears around the corner for a second, but quickly returns holding a roll of paper towels, and a bottle of Spic and Span.  As Pollaski chucks the last of the action figures into the bucket, Wendy rips off several long sheets of paper towels, and begins soaking up the dye.  She pauses, and picks up the severed arm of Robbyn Helmsly, looking at it.
Wendy: “You know, that wouldn’t have happened either.  I was almost there to save her.”

She’s trying, but not quite succeeding at keeping the bitterness from her voice.
Pollaski: “You sound bitter.”

See?
Wendy: “Ever since that night, I’ve tried not to blame losing that match on her.  It was just as much my fault for being too slow, and just as much to Colleen’s credit by capitalizing on the situation.  But DANG it... if Robbyn Helmsley could have held on for another five seconds.  I know... no ‘woulda-coulda-shouldas’... but still.  It just stinks when you lose knowing you fully well could have done more and better in that match.”

Wendy shoots her manager a dejected half-smile, and procures some more paper towel to soak up the red dye.
Pollaski: “Well, look on the bright side.  Robbyn’s pretty much blown her credibility with her lack of heart and her constant psychotic meltdowns.  She gets to play around with her ex-girlfriend, and leave serious business like the Evolution Championship to the grown-ups.”

Wendy can’t help but smile at that.
Wendy: “I’m lucky to be back in the picture myself... at least so quickly.  I thought that it’d take more than a win over Whitley Mercer to get back here, but... here I am!  And from the sounds of things, I actually have Wolf Ramsey to thank for that.  I guess I’m honored that he figured that I’m the best person to be a part of his final revenge on Colleen.”

Pollaski doesn’t quite sound too happy that another manager is going to get to claim credit for this.
Pollaski: “Well, any idiot can see that outside of Tara’s official status as number one contender, you have just as much a claim to that belt as anyone else in the locker room.  If Wolf wants Colleen to lose, he should go for the best chance he has.  It’s a shame Camilla Pazzini probably has other plans.  That tends to be a sure-thing where Colleen is concerned.”

Wendy snorts, shaking her head, mostly at the thought of Chunks in a ladder match.
Wendy: “Either way, I’m here.  And now, more than ever, I have to deliver the goods.”

She looks over at her manager, her expression dead serious.
Wendy: “This is as much of a ‘must-win match’ as any I’ve ever competed in.”

Wendy leans back over the table, grabbing the now-red soaked paper towels, and setting them aside, then picking up the bottle of Spic & Span, and spraying a fairly liberal amount of the chemical onto the table.  It should be noted that Pollaski, despite being the one who made the mess, hasn’t done a damn thing to help with the cleanup, other than picking up the action figures.
Wendy: “People seem to think I’m an eternal optimist, and maybe I am.  But I’m not clueless, and I’ve been around long enough to know how things work.  So I could stand here all day and say that I’m never going to give up, no matter how many times I come up short, I’m still going to be pressing on, until that Evolution Championship is in my hand.  But let’s be honest- that’s not how the wrestling world works.”

Wendy pauses, looking at the table, and then spraying some more chemicals.
Wendy: “You only get so many chances at a title in this business.   Especially in FFW, when every single title picture is completely loaded, and titles are defended monthly at the most.  Title shots mean something here, so when you blow it once, and are immediately given a second chance, it would be unwise to blow it again.  I wanted a second chance, I got it.  I’m not getting a third.  At least anytime soon.  So the best thing for me to do is not need one.”

A small smile as she wipes up more of the dye.  
Wendy: “Honestly, I like my chances here.  I’ve been in ladder matches before, and I know the key to winning them.  They reward the quick and agile, and I’m as fast as anyone on this roster.  They also reward those who have heart, because it takes a considerable amount of it to get back up after being pushed off a ladder.  Trust me, no one’s gotten better over the years at getting up after being knocked down than I have.”

A small, self-deprecating smile.
Wendy: “And I don’t think it’s a secret that Colleen detests ladder matches- heck, I’m pretty sure that’s one of the reasons why Wolf chose this to be a ladder match in the first place.  And Tara... well, she’s a good wrestler.   But she seems to be the impatient type.  And, perhaps even more than agility and speed, ladder matches require patience.  Because they are quite possibly the most frustrating type of match you can be in.  One minute, you’re at the top of the ladder, the title belt in your grasp, all you have to do is unhook it, and the next, you’re falling, landing, wracked in a world of pain, back to square one.  You have to be able to shrug off the disappointment and the pain, get back up, and keep going.”

Wendy seems to have finished the table, and she tosses the last of the paper towels into a nearby trashcan, then turns, admiring her handiwork.
Pollaski: “Well, maybe you’ll get off easy then.  Maybe Colleen will be so busy bitching about how ladder matches aren’t ‘real’ wrestling, and Tara will be so busy throwing a tantrum about... whatever the hell Tara Thunder throws tantrums about... you’ll be able to waltz right up that ladder.”

Wendy bursts out laughing, shaking her head.
Wendy: “I doubt it will be that easy.  There’s no such thing as an easy match in FFW.  But there’s also no such thing as an unwinnable match, either.  But if I want to be considered one of the top wrestlers in FFW, I need to start winning matches like this.  When it comes to the Evolution Championship, I’m out of shots, and I’m out of excuses.  Either I deliver the goods here, or...”

Wendy’s voice trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
Pollaski: “Well, you’re about the only wrestler in FFW who’s actually capapble of keeping herself in perspective.  So you know what’s at stake.  You won’t let yourself come up short.  Not this time.”

Wendy: “No...”

Wendy’s bending over, picking something up off the ground.  She stands back up- Coleen’s tiny action figure head in her hands.  She casually walks over, holding her hand out, over the garbage.
Wendy: “I won’t.”

Wendy drops Colleen’s head into the trash, and the scene fades.