The EBWF logo flashed across the screen before it faded to show Dean Ambrose standing backstage at the American Airlines Center in Dallas. He looked unsettled and quite jittery, as he paced back and forth.
Dean Ambrose: Survivor Series. Survivor Series. Tonight in Texas. How about that?
He shook his head.
Dean Ambrose: There’s a tag team elimination match, as is customary at Survivor Series, and not only is it a complete cluster of people who have no business teaming together. The Gorgeous Guys, Ciampa, Kevin Owens. Likely stable.
He rolled his eyes.
Dean Ambrose: And then there’s The Rock, The Miz, Bobby Roode, and me. ME! Teaming with them. Are we supposed to be the good guys? I… what is this? Well fine. Fine. I can play ball. I can be a team player. Suuuuuuuuure.
He rolled his eyes.
Dean Ambrose: I’m not sure The Rock even works here. I’m pretty sure The Miz hasn’t successfully lead a team in…well, ever. If I’m not mistaken, Bobby Roode is hands down the most arrogant man walking the halls. What could possibly go wrong?
He gave an exasperated sigh.
Dean Ambrose: Ciampa thinks he’s a prophet! Kevin Owens thinks he’s God’s gift to wrestling! The Gorgeous Guys think they’re actually good looking. What the hell! And Jimmy Havoc is running this show? I think it shows! It really shows. It’s all as looney as he is!
He stopped pacing and focused into the camera.
Dean Ambrose: So let me tell you something fellas. I don’t have a whole lot of faith in this so called team. But I absolutely hate to lose. So if this is the hand I’ve been dealt, then I guess it’s the hand I’ll have to play.
Still looking disbelieving, Ambrose walked out of the frame as the screen faded to black.
This Should Be Good
This Should Be Good
Writers aren't exactly people. They're a whole bunch of people. Trying to be one person.
The only living, breathing, Queen of Efeds in captivity
"You can't blame a writer for what the characters say." - Truman Capote