Give Us What We Deserve—Lo, the Community Hath Arrived, Pt. 1: Prologue

Sulayman H.Senior Writer IJuly 24, 2009

As the dust settles, a ridiculously large crowd is walking in unison, bonded together by a cause so hopeless, they’re bound to fail.

There may be some hope left, or not.

They arrived at last, at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, and out of the bustling crowd, two young B/R creatures, one with shades and stilettos and the other, with a bag full of money and a swagger in his step emerged.

The two partners in crime approached the ticket counter:

Person No. 1: Why don’t you do it then?

Person No. 2: It’ll look suspicious if I do it, Drea.

Andrea: Jared, just because I’m a woman...

Jared: It’s the nature of the request that’ll disturb the management, dummy.

(Turns to counter)Yes, hello, ermm…I’d like to catch a flight to San Francisco please.

Sales agent: Of course, we have a flight leaving in three hours. Will that be two tickets?

Andrea: Yes, I mean no (shifts her sunglasses), we need 1284 seats.

Sales agent: Y’all are pulling my leg, right?

Jared: Not really…*Andrea turns and points to the crowd gathered outside the airport*

Sales agent: Well, umm, how’ll you all be paying?

Jared: (smiling) Cash.

Sales agent: I see, well let’s see what we can do here.


After three and a half hours and a lot of luggage, two aero planes (headed for San Francisco) carried with it the fiery passion for professional wrestling with a cunning scheme to break the walls down, if necessary.

(Jared finishes texting to his girlfriend and turns to face Andrea)

Jared: Hey, you want to see my tattoo?

Andrea: Eww, no.

Jared: But Sully was just kidding, really. It’s on my upper back.

Svyato: Will you shut up, Jared? Some of us have to get their beauty sleep.

Scott Beeby (turns around from his seat): How did you hurt your hand again?

Svyato: I told you, some masked assailant pushed me down a flight of stairs. That’s how I got the cast.

Jared: But you said…

Svyato: I know what I said!

While our heroes continued to chatter among themselves, three gentlemen sat comfortably in their first class seats sipping tea, deep in conversation and were also enjoying a DVD of the best of Grizzly Redwood collection.

Shane Howard (rapidly switching shades): Tell me again, why M didn’t want to come?

Ray Bogusz: Because he’s M.

I don’t think anything like this has been done before and for good reason, two words: EPIC FAIL

Shane H: Word. (Settles for the shutter shades)

Jason Le Blanc (buried in his work): Be optimistic, one among us has planned this whole thing and all you guys can think about how badly it’ll all turn out to be.

Here, hold this, will you? (Hands Ray a stack of flyers)

Joe Burgett arrives with a No. 1 jersey with a big B/R logo in the front.

Joe Burgett: More homework?

JLB, Shane and Ray in a bored tone: Oh, hi Joe.

Joe B.: So, how come you guys get to fly first class and I don’t? Ray isn’t even in the top five!

Ray: You don’t hear AkD whining, do you?

Joe B: That’s because he doesn’t have time to join this escapade; he’s too busy meeting with experts trying to study divination just to figure out the exact date of Shelton’s “WWE title win”.

Ray: Shelton’s on ECW.

Shane (mutters): At least, he’s doing something productive.

Back in the coach seats, two elderly men are seated next to the window and begin to chat.

Leroy W: Matt, don’t you miss your family?

Matthew H: Yeah, but Sully’s my best buddy and I‘ve got to do what’s right.

Leroy: It certainly is, my friend. But how did Jared come up with this much cash? Plot *cough* hole *cough, cough*

Matthew (turning to Jen P): Aren’t those the same clothes Leroy has on in his profile picture?

Jen Preston: (shrugs) Recognized easily?


As our brave protagonists land in San Francisco and look for suitable lodging, there is a plot brewing deep within the bowels of the Bleacher Report office where things go slurp in the night, mostly due to everyone being so hopped up on caffeine.

Zander (counting money): Are you positive about this information?

(?): Yes, it’s quite accurate.

Zander then gets up from his armchair and stares out of the window of a 20 floor skyscraper which he calls his kingdom when in the privacy of his office.

Z (turns around): Well done, Mr. Getters. I told you we’d benefit from this partnership. I’m going to fan add you twice, just because I can.

They plan on bringing a fight; they’ll try their best to talk me into giving the pro wrestling section a tab on the front page.

I have to prepare, D-Mo, get me a glass of wine. They shall feel the wrath of Zander, the great.

As Zander Freund, the evil, cunning, yet surprisingly good looking B/R General Manager plans his own little coup against the entire wrestling community, the first rays of the Sun hit the morning sky and this sends our resistance team into panic mode.


Me: We’re running late, we’re already two hours behind schedule.

Chedda Bob (who wears a paper bag on his head): Where are our community leaders, yo?

Dub, Andrea, Sulayman and Shane get into one cab and proceed to ask the driver to take them to 330 Townsend St.

Me (looking at Dub’s cast): What happened? You fell down a flight of stairs?

Dub: No, I’m hiding a stash of codeine, I asked Svy if I could borrow it.

Andrea and Shane give Dub a stern look.

Dub: What? Not the codeine, the cast. I’ve got anger issues, it isn’t even funny.

The fact that four of B/R’s frequent users (the fantastic four) were in one cab and there was pin drop silence only proved the fact that on the outside of cyberspace, none of them had anything in common.

Fortunately, the ice was broken by Ms. Claire who treated us to an hour of Edge-ucation and proceeded to tell us how Edge’s five o’ clock shadow helps him gain massive heat with the fans.

Dub (getting frustrated): Alright, enough of this crap. (pulls out a gun from his cast) Get out of the cab now! I’m driving.

While the fabulous five (driver included) would be engaged in a rather comical situation which would include cursing, hand gestures and oddly enough, a falafel, the B/R building was beginning to attract attention from the other members of the wrestling community.

Slowly but surely, a swarm of people circled the B/R office surrounding all routes leading to and leaving the building.

Some even went as far as spraying n.W.o. and DX on the glass but when a member was caught spraying the words ‘Main Event Mafia’, a fight broke out.

Taking the advantage of the increased level of testosterone, I and my brave comrade/sidekick/2nd best buddy would rally up the crowd and proceed to start a chant.

Sully and Jared: What do we want?

Crowd: A tab!

Sully and Jared: Where do we want it?

Crowd: On the front page!

Ray (raising his hand lazily and speaking drearily): And more coverage. (He added quickly) For the wrestling section.

As Zander peered out of the window of his office on the 20th floor, he started laughing.

Z: Come here, Getters, this is hilarious, look, look; they’re like ants down there.

Getters (in a feeble attempt to speak): Yes, high-larious.

Jared then began to go overboard; watching 300 twice in the same flight might do that to you as well.

Jared: Yeah, that’s right. Take no prisoners; leave no cubicle uncharted, as we take over here tonight!

Jev Thorpe: There’s a limit, you know?

Ice Berg/Chedda Bob/God of Wrestling: Yo, dis jaun is seriously messed up in da head, yo.


Zander continues to mock the furious inhabitants of the Wrestling Community.

Z: Ha, if they think they can hurt me, they better think again.

Zander turns to three of the founding fathers of Bleacher Report to confide in them.

Z: Now, on to you three; not only will you be mummified and preserved but you’ll also be put in a sarcophagus. I know, I know, how will our legacy continue?

Well, portraits will be hung in honor of your sacrifice and commitment to this site. Now that you’re handing the reign of B/R over to me…

All three: Wait a second when did that happen?

Z: I can’t take any chances with this, for all I know; expert negotiator Jev Thorpe could have used his “mad skills” to turn you all into pro resistance protesters.

Suddenly, a cell phone starts to sing Santino Marella’s theme tune.

Z: Who the hell? Get out, everybody out!

We return to a sad sight as the crowd noise has died down.

Christi Lott (checking her watch): Can we get in there already?

Scott Beeby (with an expression of pride): Calm down, will you? I started the whole thing, by the way.

Christi Lott: Quiet!

Shane H: Where’s Jason?

Leroy: He’s handing out flyers for something, I don’t know.

Leroy then walks a few steps away from the tab hungry mob and takes out his cell phone. He dials a few numbers in and proceeds to call someone.

Rocky Getters (holding a Vertu phone): Sir, it’s Leroy Watson, he wants to speak to you.

Leroy: Hello? Zander? Check, check, freaking check! I’m losing precious talk time here!

Anybody there? Dude, this is just like that time I tried to write a wrestling piece!

Z:  Speaking, hold on, how did you get this number?

Leroy: Alex, I’m on your speed dial, remember? And you gave me your number.

Z (puts his hand on the microphone and tells Getters): Cancel my cell phone subscription and get rid of the speed dial function on this phone.

Getters: How am I suppo—?

Z (whispering): I don’t care how you do it.

Getters dashes out of the office.

Z (to Leroy): Yes, what is it, Watson?

Leroy: Well, this is just me thinking out loud but wouldn’t it be sensible to avoid all this chaos and turmoil and instead give the wrestling section what they want; what they deserve.

Z: Never! This is the part where I make a reference to Sherlock Holmes but screw that. What has me in knots is why you even hang out with the bunch. You’re a 16 time AOTD winner, you’re like that wrestler, what’s his name, err…Ric Hart.

I don’t get it, why are you people trying so hard to get my attention, even the CLs, sending me so many emails that I’ve come to have a new found appreciation of the delete button.

Zander gets on his knees and screams to the heavens.

Why are you people standing up against me? There is no reason to; I gave you an open forum to discuss your opinion about sports, not about how I run my own website. Why do you this to me?

Leroy: Fair is fair.

Getters (runs into the office breathless): Sir, they’ve broken through the doors.

Z (shouts to the ceiling): Damn you, Leroy for starting this!

Getters: Actually, it was Sul—

Z (rubbing his chin): They’ll try to get me, force me to submit to their will but as long as I have this (pats his coat pocket) I’ll be safe. Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. (Z starts to panic and wipes the sweat off his upper lip with Rocky’s tie)

Zander then nervously removes a vial and places it on top of his desk.

He smiles widely and when Rocky enquires as to what the contents of the vial are, he replies with a menacing smile.

Z : Leroy’s secret sauce.


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