The scene opens up inside a hotel room. There's beer cans all around the room, and the stench of Coors' rules the air. All of a sudden a stumbling Sean Boyle comes on screen and flops on his bed. He grabs the remote and starts to smack it. The Yankees/Red Sox game comes on as he sees the Red Sox down 9-0 after two innings. He looks up and spots the camera. He lets out a goofy smile and a wave. He steps up and walks to his closet. He opens the door as the camera zooms in on the jersey hanging. It's an away Red Sox jersey with "Yankees Suk" "69" on the back.

Sean grabs the jersey and puts it on. He reaches up and grabs his red skull cap and his "B" Boston hat. He puts the skull cap on, then the Boston hat on backwards. He walks over to his bed and grabs a beer. He opens the can and takes a swing. All of a sudden his cellphone rings. He reaches into his pocket and flips it on. We hear from the screaming it's Rollin Thunder.

'Allo???

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU BOYLE? VETALO AND I ARE AT THE AIRPORT WAITING FOR YOU.

'Allo???

Boyle!!!

Yes Mr. Thunder

I want you to get your ass down to the La Guardia airport immediately. We got Mayhem to do in 20 or so hours. You better be here in half an hour.

You got it champ!

Boyle flips his phone close and turns the volume up on the TV.

Come on Red Sox...you are so close to the divisional title, don't blow it. You know, I've heard that a lot. "Sean, you're so close. Don't blow it." Well for the last 6 months, I've blown every chance I have had. Maybe it's because I am not good, maybe the talent is TOO good..or maybe I don't have any motivation. Well, now that I have motivation, if I perform well against Mick Wilson, I get Cortez Prodigy in the ring for the Eurasian Title.

Now, every week I face some punk. Be it Reed, or Mick, or Jeremiah, and they all say the same thing. "Why am I facing Sean Boyle, he doesn't try, yet he gets matches after matches. He gets title shot after title shot." Well..that's because, I'm too god damn important to this business, let alone this company. I haven't been myself for the last 6 months, but now that I have motivation, the old Boyle is back. The cocky Boyle, the Boyle that debuted a few months back. The Boyle that didn't take shit from anyone. The Boyle that doesn't give a damn about anyone. I'm with Rollin and Vetalo, I don't like them 100% of the time, they don't like me 100% of the time. Hell, they don't like EACH OTHER 100% of the time. But they co-exist some how.

Tomorrow night, in Austrailia, it's yours truly, Sean Boyle going up against Mick Wilson. You're right Mick, I should be fighting for the Hardcore Championship. I should work my way up to the World Title. But, atleast I have respect for the business. You can call me "lazy, obnoxious, self-centred," but atleast when I have a Championship, I respect it, and am grateful for the belt. If you don't want the Hardcore title, vacate the belt.

Boyle gets up and walks around the room. He goes and grabs his duffle bag and turns the TV off. He opens his room door and walks out. He closes it as he leaves and walks to the elevators. He presses down and waits for the door to open. It finally does as he walks in. He leans against the back wall and presses the "Parking Lot" button. He's on the top floor so he decided to put his bag down.

You better spend some time with your girl before you leave for Sydney. Why you might ask? Call it a cliche, but I will beat you down. I will bruise and break down your body. I will beat you into oblivion and your bitch won't recognize you........I'm just kidding. One look from me your girl will get wetter than she ever has and will drop your ass in a second. You know what I hate more than ungrateful pieces of shit? Athlete's who talk about their past accomplishments.

You might have been the man in WOW, BACW, ICW, or CWA, but this is TNT. Those are kiddie leagues compared to us. For you to speak about the shit you've done in the minors, proves you don't respect TNT. I'll beat respect into you boy. I won't even need Vetalo and Thunder to do it. Do you ever stop complaining about not getting a title shot. Maybe if you asked nicely you might get a title. Or stop bitching and go out and beat someone. Try this week. You beat me and I'll consider talking to Thunder about giving you a shot. You're right, you don't have a lot of stroke with Kent to get a title shot, but maybe if you "stroke" K.S. you might be able to get a shot at the TV Title. Haha, you're the wrestler type, who will be stuck at the lower card level.

The elevator doors open as Boyle grabs his bags and walk out. He reaches for his car keys and apporaches his car. He unlocks the car and pops the trunk. He throws his bags in the back and slams the trunk down. He goes to sit in his car, but places his shoe on the seat and leans on his leg and talks.

You should be happy, someone of my caliber, has decided to face someone of your caliber. I'm filet mignon, you're a Big Mac. I'm a straight flush, you're a pair of jacks. I'm the Yankees, you're the Mets. You just don't match up to me. But, maybe you'll get lucky and beat me. I don't have to beat you, I just have to perform well. Now, that I have my motivation back, there's nothing stopping me from walking into Sydney, whipping your ass, and leaving number one contender for the Eurasian Championship. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to meet the rest of da 'Rollers at the airport. Holla!

Boyle steps into his car and slams the door shut. He starts the engine and drives off.