Jolly Old St. Nicholas

[Nick Knight]

{Nick Knight is sitting in his electric chair decked out in bright lights and tinsel for the holidays. He is dressed in a Santa suit with the typical thick leather belt being replaced by the IWF Invictus Championship. An oversized sack full of packages at his feet.}

When I was growing up Christmas was a figment of my imagination. There was no tree decorated with lights because there was more than one year that the power bill just didn’t get paid. Presents just didn’t exist because any extra money that we might have had my mom smoked away. Hell, more than one year it was like The Grinch Stole Christmas because the shit I already owned would just disappear in the night.

That’s the reason that I spend way too much fucking money buying gifts for my friends and family every year, and I love doing it. I live for it, and everywhere I go I am always looking for the perfect gift for all of my loved ones. I buy so many gifts that I have to pay people to wrap everything up, and it will take them at least a day to get it all done.

{Knight lets out a long sigh.}

Nick Danger, I once considered you my friend, and I was more than generous with the gifts that I gave you. I let you stay under my roof, eat my food, and train at my gym. I busted my ass and gave you the knowledge that you need to succeed as a professional wrestler. You took those skills and went on to be the World Television Champion, and just because the whole Revolution thing had fallen apart I was still proud of you.

Then last week you threw that all away when you walked into Hunnington Powell’s office and accepted my open challenge. Now I am not going to be some whining little bitch about this because I’ve been in this business long enough to know that pretty much anyone can turn on you if given the slightest opportunity. Last week when I walked down to the ring and made that open challenge was the opportunity that you needed to stab me in the fucking back, and I’m pretty fucking proud of you for doing it because it shows me that you’ve finally grown a set of balls.

Now the problem is that you killed our friendship, which means no more presents. I am not going to wrap this pretty belt up in some shiny fucking paper with a tag that says TO: NICK DANGER and stick it under the tree for you to open on Christmas morning. No, you are going to have to earn this belt, and I’m sorry to say that you just don’t have what it takes. I’m not saying this just to talk shit Nick, I’m saying this as someone that has been watching you closely for the past couple of years. I’ve watched you grow from being the next best thing to an enhancement talent to one Hell of a hand inside of the ring, but that doesn’t mean you are anywhere close to being on my level.

{A red-faced Nick Knight fights to keep control of the volume of his voice.}

Twenty-four years I’ve traveled the world honing my craft making me one of the baddest motherfuckers on planet Earth. There is absolutely nothing that you can do that I haven’t seen before, and will probably see a dozen times more. I mean, I have spent years of my life wrestling Mexico so that high-flying shit’s not going to work. Take one look at the scars that cover my body and ask yourself, “Do I really want to get hardcore with ‘The Hollywood Butcher?” Then please bring your weak-ass striking game because I will chop your nipple into the fifth row for someone to catch and keep as a fucking souvenir.

I know everything there is to know about your game because I’ve already seen it all. Hell, I’m the one that taught you most of it, and you fucking know that it’s true. Yeah, you came to work with me knowing a bunch of moves, but I’m the one who taught the psychology of being a professional wrestler. You had no fucking clue who to think like a champion, then you spent months working with me and you became a champion.

{The rage is replaced with a grin in the blink of an eye.}

The only problem for you is that I didn’t teach you everything that I know, and even if I did you wouldn’t have the guts to half of what I told you to do. You still think that you can get somewhere in this business by actually being a good guy, but you’re dead fucking wrong. There’s not a truly successful person in this business that doesn’t know that sometimes you have to go to some pretty fucking dark places if you want to reach the top of the mountain. Trust me, even your good buddy James Gilmore has more than a few skeletons in his closet.

We both know that you aren’t willing to go to those places Nick, so how in the Hell do you think you have a chance to beat me? You have proven time and again that you are a pussy and afraid of the dark, while I have embraced it my entire fucking career. It is the darkness that helped me claw my way out of the gutter, and it is the darkness that has helped me build a career so epic that it’s only a matter of time before I am a member of the IWF Hall of Fame.

Tuesday night is going to be a match unlike any in the history of professional wrestling, but that means jack shit for you Nick because the outcome is still going to be the same. We are going to fight your ass off because I’ll give you credit for one thing, you’re a fighter, but when the bell rings you’re going to be trussed up bloody chicken, and my hand is going to be getting raised. The belt is going with me back to the beach and it’s going to be propped up on my mantle for all of my family on Christmas day.

I’ll try to leave enough of you to celebrate Christmas in an Anaheim hospital, and maybe you can go back to Philly to celebrate the New Year.