“For today’s sermon, we’re going to discuss 1 of the 7 deadly sins…Greed!”

Fade in...

As the camera focuses, we find ourselves peering through the bars of a small cage. A “Hello, My Name Is” sticker appears stuck to the side, with “Morty” scrawled on it in black sharpie. As the intricate layout becomes more visible from within, we notice a straw bedding laying across it’s interior. As we pan across, an exercise wheel and water feeder, big enough for a small pet comes into frame. Soon after, from out of the darkest corner, a small timid grey mouse emerges; more interested in rummaging around for the morsels of food stricken amongst the cage than the intrusive camera. While the mouse begins sniffing out and scoffing down the grains, engorging itself in hurried fashion, the screeching sound of the hinged roof opening can be heard. The mouse freezes. Still clutching to a grain mid chew, as a long, sharp finger nailed claw reaches in. The camera pans out to find The Sinister Minister, dressed in his trademark devilishly red suit, now stroking the mouse with his index finger from within his clutch. A sadistic grin grows upon his face, as he looks back to address the camera, while he talks into the ear of the trembling mouse.

JM: “Greed. A never ending hunger that gnaws at the edge of your mind. Always pushing you to take just a little bit more. At first, a crumb here and there seems harmless—just enough to get your fill. But soon, you’ll find yourself scurrying across floors, squeezing into corners, and raiding pantries, grabbing everything you can, even when you’re not hungry anymore. The more you take, the more you want. And so it's never enough. You might stuff your cheeks full, but there’s always a new treasure to find, a new stash to hoard.”

Unclasping his grip on the mouse, allowing it to sit upright in his palm, The Sinister Minister stretches out his arm to allow the small creature to begin cautiously crawling up the sleeve of his jacket.

JM: “You see folks, in the end, greed is the ultimate trap. It will make you reckless, and sometimes even leads you astray into dangerous places—societal traps, poisonous vices, or worse, the prowling cat. It’s a vicious cycle. One you just can’t seem to escape: the thrill, followed by the terror of losing it all. Greed may fill you for so long, boys and girls, but it will always leaves you with a constant feeling of emptiness, as if you’re chasing something that can never be caught.”

Plucking the mouse up by the tail, The Sinister Minister raises the helpless creature high above his head, tilting his back and opening his mouth wide like the jaws of a lion about to devoir it’s prey. He watches on as the mouse pirouettes around, precariously dangling in the air, staring down into the abyss below it.

“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! We’re going to Disneyland!”

The new voice breaks the tension in the room, as The Sinister Minister quickly places the mouse back inside it’s cage, closing the roof and watching it burrow itself down under the straw to safety. While he brushes himself down and adjusts his jacket, the camera zooms out, at which point an excitable Mikey Whipwreck enters the shot, sporting and oversized TaleSpin t-shirt, Hawaiian shirt and comically enlarged mouse ears atop his messy, fiery red head of hair.

JM: “Mikey, my boy, today’s your lucky day!”

MW: “Disneyland here we come!”

JM: “Well, not quite yet. You see, I have some news to share. It appears that in a bizarre turn of events, a day that you and I never thought possible has seemingly come back into fruition. Rumour has it, that our old friend Paul E. has decided that it’s time, once again, to raise our once beloved ECW like a phoenix from the ashes - Only this time, there are no “zombies” to appease any network sponsors or grotesque, oily gigolo’s for the Sandman to cane the living hell out of!”

MW: “What about that guy from Twilight?”

JM: “You mean Kevin Thorne? That dollar store Gangrel rip off. As well as a certain group of “Sports Entertainers”, he’s still hanging around like a bad stench; and let’s just say the only thing broody in the locker room right now is that jezebel, Ariel.

But Mikey, I digress. It seem’s the universe has come full circle and we find ourselves back where it all begun. 27 years ago, ECW presented Barely Legal; the biggest dance of them all for our locker room of misfit toys. A dance that truly put ECW on the map. Though, I might add, a dance that you were so unceremoniously left apart from. But now my boy, we have an opportunity on our hands to right the wrongs of history. And this time you will go to the biggest homecoming ball of them all!”

MW: “This doesn’t sound good…”

JM: “Because this isn’t just the rebirth of Extreme Championship Wrestling. This is our return to the promised land! The Hammerstein Ballroom; the epicentre of hardcore wrestling, in all her glory. Now that should ruffle the feathers of those Viking Hall purists! And for you Mikey this is your Disneyland, where all your wildest dreams come true.

There’s just the rather small matter of Mike Awesome standing in your way…”

MW: “Oh, this really doesn’t sound good!”

JM: “Now Mikey, listen to me…”

MW: “I don’t wanna hear it James. I mean, I always envied his mullet, but it’s called the “Awesome Bomb” for a reason. I’m gonna spend the rest of my week pulling splinters out of my ass, when you, me and Morty could’ve been enjoying corn dogs on Space Mountain!”

JM: “Well, they do have some sinfully delicious treats!”

Mikey pauses for a moment, his hands on his hips, the sudden realisation of the mammoth task ahead of him is now starting to sink in. Pacing up and down, Mikey begins to tug at the collar of his shirt nervously, as if his whole body was on fire with nerves. A grimace on his face only indicates the perilous thoughts running through his head. His face contouring in all sorts of pre-invisioned pain, as he begins pulling at his hair and scratch at his skin. He stops in his tracks, slapping his face with a few swift strikes of his palm, enough to bring him back down to reality, to remember who he is - not who he was.

MW: “Mike Awesome? Man, where do I even start? He was a force of nature, no doubt about it. The guy had the size, the power, the look—he could’ve easily been the top guy in any company, and he knew it. But here’s the thing, Mike and I—our whole thing in ECW—it wasn’t just about who could throw the hardest punch or hit the biggest move. It was about heart, it was about the underdog story. I was always the small guy, the one who wasn’t supposed to win, and Mike, he was the perfect contrast. He could’ve tossed me around like a ragdoll, and honestly, he did - multiple times, but at the end of the day, this undersized, scrappy kid from Buffalo, was the one who always had the biggest heart!

But there was something else, too. Deep down, Mike was always looking for that next big payday, that next step up. It wasn’t just about the art of wrestling for him, it was about the business. Mike didn’t need ECW, like the rest of us. He wasn’t as loyal to the ECW family as we thought. I get it—wrestling is a business—but sometimes, when you leave for the money, it feels like you’re forgetting where you came from and that kinda hurt. ECW was my home. This is where I cut my teeth in the business - hell, I even lost a few along the way. I busted my ass for this company. Night after night, I took on all comers and defeated guys with more stature and more prevalence in this business than he could care to hold a candle to. Sure, I didn’t exactly make it out the gate in WCW and I sure as hell wasn’t getting picked by the Fed any time soon. But that didn’t bother me. I bled purple for a reason, because ECW is in my blood and I wasn’t here to make a quick buck off of being in the ring with a bigger name, like Masato Tanaka!”

JM: “Well, I mean Sandman did bet us a case of beer you couldn’t beat him…”

MW: “So here’s a home truth for you MIKE, your greed didn’t just consume you because of how bad you wanted to become a champion, it consumed you because of how desperately you needed that bingo hall spotlight so that you could stay relevant!

James, gimme my inhaler!”

The Sinister Minister produces an asthma inhaler from his jacket pocket, handing it to a jittery Mikey, who quickly takes a puff. Holding his breath until his cheeks balloon and his entire face blushes red, before letting out a wheeze of relief. The Sinister Minister addresses the camera.

JM: “While Mikey pulls himself back together over there, why don’t we turn out attention to you, Jeff Jones. A man who seems to be taking this whole “Judge” business just a tad too seriously, don’t you think? Hey Jeff, it’s a gimmick! Now listen, I get it, you’re here to serve a purpose as your client’s spokesman and in doing so it’s your duty of care to ensure that in no uncertain terms we understand the cataclysmic Wrath that’s headed our way - But Jeff, we all know I’ve been there, done that, so let’s move on…”

MW: “You know, I named my mouse after Mortis…”

The camera pans back over to Mikey, who can now be seen peering into the cage, waving back at the mouse who pokes his head out from under the straw. From under the table, Mikey produces a wedge of perfectly yellow cheese. Mikey scoops the mouse from out of the cage, allowing him to niddle on the treat, from the comfort of his friends hands. While doing so, much to their dismay, The Sinister Minister pulls a mouse trap out from inside his jacket pocket.

JM: “Don’t worry Mikey, it’s just a "prop"!"

Holding the trap in his hand, The Sinister Minister begins to slowly pull back on the metal bar with his finger, as it starts increasing in tension - creaking as it goes. Mikey shields the eyes of the mouse as he looks on in horror, much to the amusement of The Sinister Minister.

JM: “Now, this is where today’s sermon starts to come together. You see Mikey, to Mike Awesome, you are nothing but a big piece of cheese. His hunger for competition is unquestionable. His appetite for devastation, second to none. And you Mikey Whipwreck are seemingly the appetiser on his smorgasbord of destruction. He will stop at nothing until that piece of cheese is firmly in his grasp. But every giant grows weary, testing the waters before they strike. Wrapped up in his own ego and ambition, by the time he realises the cost of that glory, the smell of victory wafting in his nose, it’ll all be too late.”

THHHWWWAAAAAKKKKKKK!!!!!

The Sinister Minister releases his finger, allowing the bar to come crashing down against the wooden panel. He lets out a cackle as the sound makes Mikey tremble. Placing the trap back down on the table, The Sinister Minister takes the mouse from Mikey, mocking the pet for being so scared of his antics as he strokes it along the back to console it. Mikey addresses the camera.

MW: “Mike Awesome you’re a beast—there's no doubt about it. But in locker room full of tough guys, you always dropped the ball and went home when things didn’t go your way. When I step into that ring against you at Barely Legal, I know it will be like being thrown into the deep end of the pool, but that’s what ECW was all about!

We aren't playing it safe here anymore. This used to be a place where we took risks, and Mike, I will always be the the perfect foil to that mentality. You had big dreams Mike. I gotta give you props for that. You wanted a seat at every table, from Georgia to Connecticut, but sometimes, those dreams come with a price. A price you paid for with your dignity, to go from being the big man with limitless potential to just another guy on a crowded roster.

But, should there be any of that dignity still left inside you Mike, I promise you, there won’t be enough padding in your wallet to comfort you from the fact that you’ll wish you still had it easy prancing around as That 70’s Guy or running around pretending to be Hardcore in Titan Towers, when I painfully, I mean, when I kindly remind you exactly what it means to be Extreme!

Oh man, what am I gonna do?! He’s gonna kill me!”

JM: "Don't worry, my boy! Now, see to it that the car is packed and ready to go. We have a reservation at Goofy's Kitchen with Princess Jasmin...St.Claire!"

The Sinister Minister winks at the camera before he places the mouse down on the sofa found beside them. Mikey Whipwreck exits the shot.

JM: “Now usually, this is where I recite the whole spiel about how your soul is ours for the taking, as if I’m some sort of Babayka or malevolent force to be reckoned with, yada, yada, yada. But you see Mike Awesome, you hardly have a soul worthy of my time. You’ve already pimped yourself out to Ted and Eric and whatever was left to the big boys up in Hartford. So you tell me, when this doesn’t go the way you expected, when you throw your toys out of the pram and head off to greener pastures with your tail between you legs once more, what use have I for you then? The humiliation from your career of short comings might mean you have a much bigger point to prove in all of this then we do - and we welcome you to try…Because the fact that this business chewed you up and spit you back out, is only a reflection of the fact that you have no soul left to give.”

The Sinister Minister sits down on the couch, taking a load off while he waits. Something immeditely feels wrong. Realising he’s sat on something rather uncomfortable, he pauses. Lifting himself up, he looks back down at the seat - only to realise he’s sat on Morty. In panic, he quickly places a cushion over it, crossing his legs and stroking at his goatee as if nothing had ever happened. Mikey returns. 

MW: “Alright, cars packed! Let's go! Hey, have you seen Morty anywhere?”

JM: “Ah, it appears he already left without us Mikey…we better get going!”

Our duo head off, as The Sinister Minister addresses the camera one last time - Placing his index finger to his mouth, informing us to keep a tight lip on the mouse's tragic dissapearnace.

Fade out.