[Today, Jeff Andrews has elected to wear a shirt.]

 

[The shirt says “DEFIANCE” on it.]

 

[Other than that, there hasn’t been a whole lot of change since last time. Once again, Jeff is slumped in his brown leather armchair, green and yellow mesh John Deere trucker’s cap tilted low over his face. For some reason, even though he’s at home, he’s wearing his wrestling boots. They’re plain black. just fyi.]

 

[Also, he has a bottle of beer. Sam Adams Alpine Spring, if you want to be precise here.]

 

“It’s a funny thing about tournaments. The truth, and I do feel bad about admitting this, considering the Ultratitle and the prestige and the legendary names involved, is that I’ve never really thought tournaments were all that great.”

 

“I’ve booked some, y’know.”

 

“And there’s always the same host of problems.”

 

“Some guy who’s awesome just has a bad week and bounces out early.”

 

“Two of the best in the tournament meet each other in the first round, and someone who should’ve had a great run ducks out early due to horrible luck of the draw.”

 

“On the flip side, there’s always going to be a kid who goes way, way further than he’s supposed to. Maybe he just ends up in the light side of the brackets, steps up a little while someone has a bad week, and you’ve got someone in the finals who no one ever cares about.”

 

“And then there’s always someone who ends up in the tournament for some reason, no one cares about him, but he’s good, and he takes out a favorite, or two, or even four.”

 

“I wanna be that guy.”

 

[Andrews takes a drink of his beer.]

 

“Now, me being an unknown, I’ve got kind of an advantage right off the bat. If I advance, if I advance even one single time, I’ve overperformed. I mean, overperformed in the estimation of others. I already know I’m good. Went over that last time. Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough, Dr. Curiousity sure missed the point, but...”

 

“Lord I’m sorry, I can’t focus on this. I keep wanting to call the guy Dr. Q, then I remember this stupid computer game I played in High School, called the Island Adventures of Dr. Quandary or something like that, and then I just keep remembering it. Keep waiting for Dr. C to ask me if I have what it takes, the Acid Test can I pass, and escape from the Hall with the Glass of Green Gas?”

 

“Meh, I’m probably the only person who remembers that thing.”

 

“Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah, I was talking about tournaments.”

 

[Another drink of the beer. Jeff Andrews has had his issues with the Demon Drink in the past, but at least right now, the drinking seems to be pretty well under control. He’s not drinking straight from a rye whiskey bottle, at least.]

 

“And if Dr. Curiosity’s good at tournaments like he claims... you know, I can actually respect that. For me, the hard part of tournaments is finding the focus. Cos it’s so easy to go out there, burn the house down in one match, and then say ‘good enough’. If I was Dan Ryan, I’d throw one of those rage comics up, with the little stick figure guy frowning badassily and saying ‘good enough’, but I’m not.”

 

“So Dr. C likes his tournaments.”

 

“But apparently, he doesn’t like listening, because blathering on about me thinking I’m not good enough or whatever that was. Seriously. He listened to what I said, and came up with... that?”

 

“He may be an okay pro wrestler, even if he is undesirably zany, but he’s clearly so stupid I have to question whether he’s actually a doctor.”

 

“At the very least, I think it’s reasonable to demand to see the diploma.”

 

“Or to translate that into Stupid, “PICS OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN””.

 

[Andrews takes another drink of beer. This one’s long and aggressive, and he slams it down when he’s done.]

 

“Let me make myself clear. When I say I am lazy, I mean that I often find myself burned out from the work I’m doing that I find myself unable to pursue an active interest in extracurriculars like open invitational 128 man tournaments. Not that I don’t know how to work, not that I don’t get into that ring and bust my ass putting on great matches with the best talent in the world - you’ll shortly be able to see all those matches on http://www.defiancewrestling.com by the way, check it out some time. My back hurts, my knees hurt, and you know something, you little tourney-crawling freak with a stupid accent?”

 

“I earned those aches.”

 

“You, on the other hand, are a clown.”

 

“You look for a line, and you run to the front of it and dance.”

 

“And you call that a successful career?”

 

“I call it goddamn disrespectful.”

 

“A career based on bragging rights that you’ll never have to defend, never have to justify, never have to risk yourself for their sake.”

 

“And more than that...”

 

[Andrews slams down the rest of the beer, chucks the bottle to the side.]

 

“You do it all by acting like a fool and hoping your opponents underestimate you? MOTHERFUCKER DO YOU WANT MY OLD MACARENA GIMMICK? You think that’ll help you win the Ultratitle? You want me to go down to Mexico, buy a sombrero and a pancho, stuff you into them, and play a dance track while you shake your ass like a spaz?”

 

[Andrews is suddenly calm again.]

 

“Sorry, bro, but underestimating people isn’t how I play. It isn’t my style. And fool, one of the most successful wrestlers in the CAL, dude named Calvin Astroth, he had two moves, his finisher and a double axehandle. So don’t go thinking I’ll look past you just cos you love to keep going for a 450 splash you can’t land.”

 

“As for me, I hit people. I whale on them. If I get a chance I dive on them, ‘cos I trained as a luchador back when I was a scrawny kid breaking into the business. I kick their heads into the balcony with the Kendo Sidekick, bounce their skulls off the mat with the Mind Eraser, collapse their ribcages with the Ultraglide, and choke them unconscious while dislocating their shoulders with the Charm City Crossface. Cos the Ultraglide don’t care whether I’m indifferent to my opponent, hate their guts, or even love ‘em, it collapses their ribcage all the same.”

 

[He looks down for his beer, realizes he no longer has it, and scowls.]

 

“I trust I’ve made myself clear.”