(ESPN Commentator): Oh and what a sucker punch for Rangers! Kyle Bartley was at fault there and McGregor had no chance! It's now Sporting 2-1 Rangers and the Scots have to score now with eight minutes left if they want their European dream alive!
Butch punches the arm of the couch in anger.
(Butch): Aw for f*** sake! Shower of shite!
Butch sits for the next seven minutes or so, edging closer to the edge of his seat as the game approaches the final minutes.
(ESPN Commentator): Ricky Foster now, the on-loan Aberdeen right-back just on the edge of the Sporting eighteen yard box he cuts in and that's a great cut back to David Healy, he plays it along the six yard area and there's Maurice Edu to tap it in from close range! Rangers have their vital second away goal in the final minute!
Butch literally flies off the couch, roaring at the top of his lungs.
(Butch): YAAAS! YOU F***ING DANCER! GET F***ING IN THERE!
Butch is so caught in the euphoria of the football result that he doesn't even hear the phone ringing. Wisdom, passing by the living room, smiles and rolls her eyes, reaching over the couch and answers the phone.
(Wisdom): Hello?
The voice of Hans von Richtoven echoes on the other end of the line.
(Hans): Hi Wisdom, its Hans; is Butch in?
(Wisdom): Hey there Hans, yeah he's here, if I can get him to calm down; he just watched that soccer game I recorded for him and I think his time won.
(Hans): Ahhh….jump about six feet in the air screaming all the profanities under the sun.
(Wisdom): Right on the money, hold on I'll get him for you….
Wisdom holds the handset away from her ear and shouts to Butch.
(Wisdom): Butch….Butch!
Eventually, Butch calms down slightly and turns to see Wisdom standing, her eyebrows raised and the phone in her hand.
(Wisdom): Its Hans on the phone for you.
(Butch): Ah cool, thanks hun.
Wisdom smiles, rolling her eyes again, handing Butch the handset and she turns, leaving the room, muttering something about men and sport.
(Butch): Alright mate, how's it going?
(Hans): Certainly not as good as yourself it seems. Just watched the Rangers-Sporting game I take it?
(Butch): Yeah, a belter of a game like, big Mo Edu popped up in the last minute to send us through on the away goals rule.
(Hans): Nice, nice. Well, have you seen the card for Havoc yet?
(Butch): Not yet, no how come?
(Hans): Check it. Like, now! I won't tell you what's on it, and I'll let you go the now because I have a feeling you're going to make an even larger hole in the roof than the one you just made.
(Butch): Erm, okay, I'll probably phone you later.
(Hans): See ya!
Intrigued, Butch changes the channels on the television until he comes to HWAtv. He waits for a few moments until the commercials air and then finally the card for the Iran Havoc comes up and Butch sees his next opponent. He, protruding his bottom lip out slightly, nods, thoroughly impressed and manages to give the camera a knowing smile before lounging back onto the couch, arms behind his head.
(Butch): Could this day get any better?
The scene temporarily fades to black. The scene opens again several hours later with Butch, having managed to view Eddie's latest promo, sitting at a desk in his study. A small HWA camera crew has set up shop about ten feet in front of him and the director, headphones around his head, steps forward slightly.
(Director): You're on air in five, Mr Parker….five, four….
Butch nods in acknowledgement, as the director stops his verbal countdown and counts the last three seconds with his index, middle finger and thumb before giving Butch the thumbs up as the light on camera turns to red.
(Butch): So Eddie, the time has now come. You can stop your moaning and whining about not wanting to face me, about not having to step up to the plate and look me in dead in the eyes across the ring. Because at the end of the day, you've been forced into this, haven't you? Whether you like it or not you are facing Butch Parker, there are no two ways about it, so I guess it's time to put up or shut up, eh Ed?
Butch smirks before rising from his seated position and he walks out from behind the desk, and begins to walk back and forth, his eyes flitting to the camera every so often.
(Butch): Just like you've made it no secret of your desire to avoid a confrontation with me; I've made it just as transparent my desire to inflict a great deal amount of punishment on you. You've managed to secure nigh-on visible loopholes in your contract preventing what's now become an inevitable face-off between us.
Oh it must really stick in your craw mustn't it Ed? Hmm? To look upon someone as over-rated such as me, as over-hyped such as me, to look upon me and think that you have nothing to gain from facing me and dismiss any sort of notion regarding a match with me with a shitey little smug cop-out promo, thinking you've got it all planned out, that you'll just continue to ignore me and then management comes along and bursts your little balloon and tells you to shut your mouth and get on with it.
That's why you're suddenly barricading yourself in Talon's Ice Box and leaving your witless cronies who disappear for weeks on-end only to reappear in time to slander your opponents when you're somehow not available to. You're training your arse off because you know you're going to be in for the fight of your life and that there's no escaping this and believe me you will need to be at the peak of your best physical conditioning for what's coming at Havoc, Eddie. But surely, you'd be best concentrating all your time on your preparation, rather than making pointless t-shirts in some pathetic attempt at trying to get a rise out of me?
In fact, a much more constructive use of such lucrative time could be used in asking yourself why can't you actually give a straight-up answer to even one of the many questions and cracks I've posed to you over the many months that you've continued to elude me….Could it be as simple as…..you just can't?
Butch stops for a brief moment to take a swig from a bottle of Pepsi sitting atop the desk on his right-hand side. After clearing his throat, he speaks again.
(Butch): I could go on and on and on Eddie, quite literally all day, but quite frankly I think I've said all I've needed to say really. I'm sure if you actually paid attention to what I've said in the past instead of dismissing my words offhand and disregarding them as nothing more than snooezfests like you seem to do on a daily basis you might provide me with some more misconstrued and twisted bullshit to dissect and throw back in your face like a child's shite-filled diaper. Until then, I guess I'll just have to wait….
(Director): And cut…that was great Mr Parker, we'll have that aired for you within the hour.
Butch takes another drink from the bottle of Pepsi and shakes the man's hand.
(Butch): Thanks that's great. You's can let yourselves out; you know where the front door is. I'm heading down to the gym.
The scene fades to black.
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