 |
| **Scene opens at the familar penthouse on 21st and West End, the home of professional wrestling great, "The Nitemare" Rob Osbourne. The camera get s a stirring look inside the office of Rob Osbourne, behind door 1 on floor 5. He is sitting at his desk going over a few business reports when he gets his AO-HELL voice pop up "You've got mail" He opens the mail and it is the official, relased bracket set up for the S.A.W. World Championship tournament. He looks at the brakcet he is in for this week's show. He notices that according to the rules listed, all wrestler's will have two matches that first night. He sizes up the rest of the bracket for a moment and rubs hs jaw smiling crookedly. He reaches over and dials a number on his cell phone and waits for an answer on the other end.** VOICE: Hello. NRO: Hey, it's me, listen, don't hang up. I know about what happened, I want you to hear me out in person, where you at? VOICE: Brooklyn. Fifteenth street. NRO: Cool, stay put, I'll be there in three hours. Is there a bar near bye? VOICE: Yeah, a little shit dive around the corner. NRO: Go there... VOICE: Don't you wanna know the name of the joint? NRO: If it's a shithole on fifteenth street, I'll find it. VOICE: Cool, I'll meet you there at say, what siz my time, capesche? NRO: That'll do. **Osbourne hangs up the cell phone and lights up a feshly rolled Dominican blunt. As he lights the end he motions to the camera man to roll tape. ** NRO: COUGH I thought I would let the world in on how Rob Osbourne views life in general, and life in the ring. Take this combination I am stoking on right here. Fine Thailand weed, purchased while in the IoA, and Columbian cigars, mixed for fine pleasures, not previously known to man. And why were those pleasures previously unknown? Because no man ever had the simple, planned out forethought, or the planning to realize what a potent combination they would indeed put out. You see, in a nut shell, that's how wrestling is. You see, while most wrestlers will watch a little tape on the history of a guy over and over; I only do it once, I have one of those memories you could say. But what i do is plan out, pin point decisive goals for a match. I prenavigate everystep i will take, every possible scenario, well what if this happens, then this happens. And who said those "If, Then" theorums in Algebra and Trig would never come in handy? You see Chris, dear, dear Christopher. My only brother, the young, morally corrupt, socially distorted, egomaniacal, little big son of a bitch! I love every damned thing about you. You merely lack focus. Self Control. Dignity. Morals. Plans. Goals. Dreams. Oh, and ability. But other than that, you're good to go. On to more pressing matters. I won't waste my time telling you people out there in T.V. land what I plan to do to exact my revenge for what he did to me at Pop in 98. Now, what I am here to do, is talk about the ever pressing round two. Finally, if "The Devious One" is able to get past that masked retard sporting Ole' Glory speedos , he will have a shot at yours truelly, the most hated man in this company, hands down, "The Nitemare" Rob Osbourne. Scotty D, you have to get past U.S.A. before you ever think about N.R.O. On the wing and prayer that somehow, you manage to make it out of that match with your ass in tact, never fear, i will serve that sumanabitch up silver platter style right for ya! How can I ensure that I will even make it to the second round? Pay back. You see, a long time ago, in a promotion far, far away, there came a tournament, similar to this one. But the difference is, this tournament was on the heels of the death of one of the greatest men to ever grace the squared circle, my father, Joe Osbourne. My dad's dying words to me, on his death bed, were "Let your brother win every once and awhile Robbie." Now, I know it was parly the morphine drip talking, but even on his death bed, he was bitching at me to play nice in the sandbox. So I did. I carried out my father's wishes and I tapped out to my brother so he could ,move on and gain his only Universal Championship ever. That was four years ago, ironically enough, one day shy of four years ago exactly! And this time, the J-O-B isn't getting done by me. There's an old saying in this sport that I have held true to each and every day for my entire career, always, ALWAYS collect on your favors! And, witht hat in mind, I have a plane to board, and another favor to cash in on. Jimmy, shine up my belt Jimmy, cause there ain't a damned thing that you, that mule JJ Waterworld can do for ya. And bu god, I hope I Pray i make it to the finals, because the other side of that bracket has some names I would love to force into submission. A guy by the name of Auslese. That little rat bastard is going to have one hell of a time getting past either Donovan Torigianni or The IoA's finest piece of rotting meat, Mike Van Pro. I heard in the speech given by "Commissioner" Pledge Alligance when he said he wanted brutality, violence and good ole fashioned ass whoopings to flourish here in the S.A.W. I was there when he said "build angles" and "start heat." 'Scuse me boss, but I don't think there's an incinerator big enough to supply you with as much heat as you got between the Most Valuable Pussy in the S.A.W. and the next World Champ, "The Nitemare" Rob Osbourne. Mikey, the clock is ticking, and it's time to put up or shut up, once and for all. **With that said Osbourne escorts the camera crew to the door. He gathers his things and follows right behind. They take the elevator to the ground level and hop in a limousine. The camerman and SAW road angent decide to shoot the breeze with the Nitemare in the car ride from his lavish home to Nashville International.** |
 |
 |
| AGENT: Rob, are you seriously that confident when it comes to Mike Van Pro in the finals? You have never been in the ring with him. I mean, he does have to also go through the likes of your former protege' in the AWF, one Too Extreme. What are the chances that he does that? For that matter, how do we know Donovan Torigianni won't rip him apart? |
| NRO: You're right, I have never been in the ring with him. But I have taken a man to the limit, a man that everyone thought had killed Mikey Van Pimples, Z-Pac. A few months ago in the IoA, I took MVP's heterolifemate for a very long ride, and he didn't even take me out, some smack addict named The Pond Cricket or something did. Anyway, i have a good hunch, this sorry bastard is finally about to learn what "The Nitemare" is truelly capable of. |
| **With that we had arrived at the airport and were pulling around the back entrance of the east tarmack. We pull up beside a huge jet liner, looks like a 747, suddenly a hatch lowers and the limo pulls in . The hatch raises and the plane taxi's the runway for take off. We are now inside Osbourne Inc's latest creation; a literall, mobile home. A customized 13,000 square foot jumbo jet is made into a trnsportable home and office for the Nitemare as he travles, allowing him to always access business needs wherever he may be. We step out of the limo and head to the cabin as we feel the plane take off.** |
 |
| AGENT: What are your thoughts on the rest of the pack in the SAW Rob, and moreover, what do you feel about the main competition from the "other bracket?" |
 |
| NRO: But do you really want to know what I think? Ok, I'll tell ya. That new guy, the "mysterious" Auslese. The only thing mysterious about this guy is how he could be such an elite promo cutter and not catch his mistakes. Practice makes perfect; slow and steady win the race. |
| But what gets me the most is that Beantown moron. I can't help but think, if he has a run in paid up front, or has some friends of his show up with a hummer, that Wicked Boah that spends his days riding around the "T" may get past Donovan Torigianni. If he does, I'll be praying to my God every night that he deliver to me the Wicked Spooney Southie...and I shall show him what pain, terror, and true, unadulterated , uninebriated Anarchy is really all about. I'm sure that he will be sitting down tonight with his Packy and his Spooky and watching this tape. And when he does i hope he laughs. And when he does i hope he chokes, and when he chokes, i hope , for his sake, for the sake of his young tender boy that wrestles in his daddy's promotion, that he dies of asphyxiation, as it would be much more painless, and much less brutal than anything little Mikey from Beantown gan bring to the table, and you can tell Father O'Halerhan all about it when you go for altar boy "special time" there at your local Boston Roman Catholic Church! Other than that gentlemen, there are no real threats on the opposite side of the bracket, should Donovan Torigianni somehow get eliminated by the More Vaseline Please hero from the city that will never be able to break the curse of the bambino. As for the others down there, lil' Timmy Osbourne and Too Extreme, Shawn Hillard and the like. TE< you and me, we're tight, so if you're smart you'll know your place in the food chainand stay out of the Nitemare's way. Tim, i really don't think i have to tell you twice, you know who butters the bread in preofessional wrestling with the last name Osbourne, now don't we? You girls have a nice day, I'm off to cash in that favor. |
 |
| **With that said, the plane screetches down onto the runway at Laguaria in New York. Osbourne steps off the plane and heads for the car, posing one final time for a promotional pictures or two, then heading off to his rendevue on 15th street. FTB** |