Shortly after Shane's match.

He stands in the doorway of the dressingroom. He's still clothed in his ring attire. His body is covered is Pepsi. His tights are soaked with it. His boots stick to the floor when he walks. Drops of it fall from this chin. His hair is flattened by the liquid. The belt, HIS belt, is covered in a thin film of the drink. Though his face is wet with his enemy's product he smiles. His head doesn't hang, it's held up.

Shane stands in the doorway of the dressingroom. Pepsi drips from his body. He's watched as he stands in a puddle of the liquid. Several of the undercard and lowercard wrestlers watch Shane. He stands there smiling. It's not fake, it isn't put on to hide anything. He truly is smiling at Azure's attempted embarassment of him.

Shane crosses the dressingroom to his equiptment locker. He lays the ICWA World Title on the bench and sits down next to it. He reaches into his locker and pulls out a white towel and starts wiping the excess Pepsi off his body.

Shane: I know what you're trying to do Adam. It didn't surprise me as much as you think, I half expected it. Personally I thought you would have gone further. A Pepsi Bath seems below you Adam, it doesn't have the touch of originality you pride yourself on. Why didn't you replace my pyros with Pepsi, to throw me off my game at the beginning of the match? You could have lowered a cage, plastered with Pepsi billboards, around the ring. Maybe even dropped cans of Pepsi from the roof, each with a little parachute so it would float gracefully to the ground. I think you're slipping Adam, and I'm going to be there to push you over.

Shane wipes off his face and upperbody with the towel, before setting it aside. He reaches into his locker, again. This time he pulls out a picture of Mr. T.

Shane: Everyone is on the edge of their seats to see what we're goning to do next. They want to know how I'm going to get you back.

The smile is still evident on Shane's face. He moves one finger behind the Mr. T picture and presses a little button. Suddenly the picture comes alive with the voice of Mr. T

T: I pity the foo' who drinks Pepsi.

Shane presses the button a second time.

T: You a sucka if you don't dial 1-800-COLLECT

For a third time Shane presses the button.

T: That Azure is helluva scared a Shane Jackson.

Shane: You hear that Adam? The great man himself, Mr. T, has even got an opinion of you. Expect to be hearing a lot of it.

Shane points to the lockers on either side of him. One bears the name plate "Heinrich Himmler", the other is "Mike Manson". Sitting in both the lockers are pictures, identical, to the one that Shane holds. Slowly the camera pans around to all the lockers in the room. "Neptune", "John Miller", "Bob Decot", "Grimm", "Joe O'Brien", "Steve Decot", "Travis Smith", "R-Tank", "Sebastian", "oneALPHA13". Every locker in the room has a picture of Mr. T in it.

Shane: They're on sale in the CWF giftshop too. Every fan in the universe can own their very own "Adam bashing" Mr. T picture.

Still holding the picture, Shane picks the towel up again.

Shane: Personally, Adam, I think I am starting to pick up on some of your traits. I'm no psychic, but I can easily forsee you trying to justify me burning your precious piece of literature. You're probably going to say that I'm illiterate, that I had the bums read the book to ME, that I memorized the bit about Rueffio. It's sad because I'm almost positive that's what you're going to say.

Shane stands up and starts pulling his boots off.

Shane: You've said your going to make this a year long nightmare for me. Right? As scary as you believe yourself to be...you aren't. If all you're going to do is cover me in Pepsi then my nightmares aren't going to be all that disturbing. Expect payback for your prank, Adam. Be carefull though, because your next prank might have to live up to a new, higher, standard. MY standard.

The scene starts fading to black as Shane heads off to the showers to clean himself up.

Thursday, January 31/2002

A house show somewhere in Philadelphia. Mid-way through the card "Natural Wonder" Shane Jackson is slated to appear to respond to Azure's recent comments.

At the halfway mark of the show the commentator prepares the crowd for the ICWA World Champion's appearance.

Commentator: It's time wrestling fans. Here he is CWF megastar and YOUR ICWA CHAMPION. THE "NATURAL WONDER" SHANE JACKSON.

"Higher" by Creed starts firing from the speakers all around the arena. The crowd explodes in a wave of cheers for the World Champion.

Shane steps from the curtain. The cheers from the crowd get even louder at the sight of the "Natural Wonder". Shane's dressed in a pair of Addidas sneakers, Dockers pants and an open, fire print, shirt. His hair is gelled up and he has a pair of CK sunglasses covering his eyes. Over his left shoulder hangs the ICWA World Title, over the right is the CWF Stable Title. He carries a microphone in one hand.

Halfway down the isle, toward the ring, he stops and raises the microphone to his lips. His music is quickly quieted so he can talk.

Shane: I've been around the CWF for a few months now and I've built a massive fan base.

Shane points out to the crowd.

Shane: You're all fans of mine. All of you! Something, ALL, my fans know is that I DON'T CUT RING PROMOS. It's cheap, it's boaring, it's been over done and it's just not my style.

Shane walks over to one of the baracades and climbs over it and into the crowd.

Shane: This is where I'm talking from tonight.

He moves through the crowd shaking and slapping hands with his numerous fans. After a minute of meeting and greeting he stops.

Shane: I'm a little concerned about Adam Azure. Last I saw he was standing in front of a train, as it was rolling towards him. He was trying to prove a point, that he is going to be the last stop for the Cleveland Express. As unrealistic as that dream is for him it still bothered me to see him believeing that he could stop something bigger and better than he is. He was standing there, rambling on about how he thought he could be ME, as the train bore down on him. Poor, dillusional, Accolade. I hope he's not hurt. It would be a shame for the fans to have to think about the rail worker that's delegated to scrape him off the front of that Canadian Pacific train. All the guy wants to do is feed his family and what's he gotta do to get that money? Polish Azure bits off the faceplate of the engine.

Shane stops talking and begins moving through the fans again. After another few minutes of meeting his fans he stops again.

Shane: Now, assuming, Adam's carcass isn't dragging from car #25, he's probably going to want to know what I thought about his last comments that were directed toward me. Adam, next time you say "I'm tired of talking about Shane Jackson, when the front office gets off their asses and signs an actual match between us, I'll talk about Shane Jackson. Right now, I want to talk about the morons of the booking staff." Next time you say that, don't go mentioning my name 3 more times. It makes you look....well, a little slow. Just like the fans....

At the mention of the fans the crowd erupts into a chorus of cheers and yells.

Shane: ...it seems the Accolade can't get enough of me. Even when he doesn't want to talk about me anymore, he still does. Why? Because he's so captivated by me that he just can't think of anything else.

Shane takes off through the crowd again. Eventually he reaches a wall for the first balcony of seats. He tosses his titles up onto the balcony, the jumps up and grabs the railing to pull himself up. He stands on the balcony, picks up his titles, then continues on through his fans.

Shane: I saw the most recent federation rankings. Eventhough I'm not CWF Champion I'm #2. It goes to show how much integrity I've brought to MY ICWA World Title. It's above the CWF's own pride and glory. It really makes you think. If I've come this far with a, so called, "fake championship" belt how far would I be able to go with a real belt? I'll tell ya, because I AM carrying a "real belt", I'm going to walk right past the Accolade and take MY rightful place at the top of the CWF. The Accolade isn't deserving of the #1 spot. The title he carrys is built on his imagination. As much as he, says, he gave up the lower belts for his Universal Title, we all know the truth. Adam saw himself loosing the other belts to people, he believed, were below him. He gave up the belts because he was on the verge of loosing them anyway. The belt around his waist is the only thing can, legitimatley, cheat to keep. He likes being able to say he's a champion, even if it's unjustified. I can see him when he's 75, sitting in his salt water shack, in Halifax, listening to Sloan and the Johnny Favorite Swing Orchestra as his old lady is out catching Cod and he sits, starting, at his worthless, unrecognised title. The whole time he'll be muttering to himself "I'm the Universal Champion, I'm the Universal Champion". Get over it Adam!

Shane continues his climb through the arena and the fans. He pauses for a second to buy a COKE from one of the arena vendors. He down the drink in a handfull of seconds before moving on.

Shane: I said I've created a title. One that's bigger than even the Universal Title. I didn't do it because I want to be like Adam, I did it to prove a point to him. Anyone can create a title and SAY it's great. Hell, even Miller can create a belt, call it the Super Duper Coyote Rug Burn Championship and say it's the best thing that anyone's ever laid eyes on. The only problem with that is NOBODY CARES. I can create a belt, just as easily as the Accolade did, name it whatever I want and say it's great. Just because I do so doesn't mean it is. The only reason people are fighting for the Universal Title is because the front office has a spot to fill on the card.

Shane's ascention through the crowd is nearing it's end. He reaches an exit near the back of the blacony.

Shane: Before I end this there's something I'd like to point out, maybe it's been overlooked, possibly on purpose. It looks like people are picking sides in this feud. Adam has Rueffio, Smack and Guardian on his side. Me? At first I thought that people were afraid to stand with me as I faced off against Azure and the men that back him. I was wrong. "Shane Jackson is probably the funniest man I've ever known. I've only ever faced him once, so I can’t gauge his ring ability the way I can Diablo's or Azazel's. But, to me, he's currently the best mic worker in the business." Neptune. Someone who knows something good when he sees it. When people look at him they see the mask of a rookie, when I look at him I see a hidden talent. He's better than he lets on, which is a trap that someone, soon, is going to fall into.

Shane begins walking down the hallway toward the exit that will take him around the back of the arena and back ot the dressing room. He pushes open the door, as he steps out he ends his promo with a few last words.

Shane: Saying you're the best and actually being the best are very different things. Being "simply the best" doesn't measure up to being "truly the best". Even an Accolade should know that.

The door closes behind him. The announcer comes back on and prepares everyone for the next match.

Saturday, February 2/2002

V/O: So I'm facing part of my past again. Part of what made me GREAT. Grimm and Joe, two men who hate me, and hate each other more.

Fade in to a park. It has numerous people wandering around having fun. It's a bright, winter morning and many Philadelphia residents are taking advantage of it.

The park is only a short distance from the First Union Center. Shane sits on a park bench, he's taking a break from his training. He wears his Blue Jacket's winter coat, along with a his Doc Martin boots. His red and white cargo pants finish his look.

Shane: I remember, not too long ago, when I was crossed with a similar situation. I went 1 on 1 with Grimm, it was one of Joe's attempts at blocking the Cleveland Express. As the match drew on, Joe began to see the promise, that lay with Grimm, fade. What, at first, appeared to total dominace started sliding. Sliding, in my favor. Joe was forced to make a choice. Stay with Grimm and get handed another loss, by me. Or turn his back on his friend, and mentor, and join my cause. A shot, from a steel chair, signified Joe's two-faced conversion. That was, at least, six months ago. He's still dealing with this problem, he's still dealing with Grimm. My part in this play is supposed to be done, but I'm being forced back in.

Shane stands up from the park bench. He looks out across the park. With, intelligent, eyes he watches a man playing with a dog. The man throws the frisbee, the dog catches it and brings it back.

Shane: Eventhough I want nothing to do with either of these men, I'm still looking foreward to this match. A reunion of sorts. It's like going back to the old highschool for a day. Reliving old memories. Joe gave me my direction in the ICWA. He helped point me to the top of the CWF. My victory over Grimm proved to me that I have the skills to be the best. I knew that if I could survive a match with him that I was destined for something bigger, much bigger.

Shane turns away from watching the dog. He starts walking. He's heading through the and back toward the arena.

Shane: As much as I look foreward to this match, I know that it's pointless. Joe and Grimm, both, are too old and too far past their prime to be a threat to ME and MY Title. They had their victories years ago, when they were young and their bodies were able to heal quickly.

He leaves the park and is now headed along the sidewalk.

Shane: All Grimm is anymore is a bruised, beat up, tired, ancient shell of his former self. He's, forever, searching for the glory and fame he used to have. Joe isn't too much better. He's still depressed, still self centered and still unhappy with everything in his life. Joe attempts to find something in the world that will make him happy. I don't think that's ever going to happen.

Shane, quickly, crosses the street. He's only a block from the arena now.

Shane: I value my life as an entertainer. Everytime my music plays and I step out on that runway, it's like a rush. An arena full of people, fans. All of them cheering and screaming for ME. They hold signs with my name, posters with my picture. They listen when I talk and applaud when I win. I still can't believe how priveledged I am to be living the lifestyle I dreamed of when I was young. When I sit in a mall and sign photo's for people it pleases me to see how much value they put in a simple marker scribble. If I could, if it were possible, I would like to circle every arena I appear in. Circle it and shake the hand of every person in every seat. I would thank them for making me what I am, a megastar, by asking for their autograph.

Shane passes an alleyway as he approaches one of side entrance to the arena.

Shane: Joe and Grimm don't care about their fans, probably because they have very few. If an arena full of people started cheering and screaming for Grimm, I'd doubt he'd know what to do. He would, most likely, grab the closest guy, spit in his face, pull him over the railing and stomp a hole in the back of his head. I don't think Grimm deals well with being liked.

Shane steps off the sidewalk and into the arena's parking lot.

Shane: Joe, on the other hand, if ever faced with a stadium full of fans, would still be depressed. Happiness isn't something Joe understands. His whole life is built around sorrow and that's all he knows. Joe's a homeless, lifeless, Prozak poppin', Zolofpt downing, alcoholic, who can't see the gifts he's been given.

A few feet from the arena door Shane stops.

Shane: Joe and Grimm bring a fight, to me, on Monday. The Cleveland Express is going to roar past both of them, still carrying it's ICWA World Title.

He moves up to the door and opens it.

Shane: One month down in the "Year of the Natural Wonder". There's 11 more to go, which means a whole lot more winning for me. It's MY year and it's MY time.

The door, slowly, closes behind Shane as everything fades to black.