Primetime Championship Wrestling: Ted DiBiase Jr. - Primetime Championship Wrestling

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Ted DiBiase Jr.

#1 User is offline   Lil Dicky Icon

  • Lower Midcarder
  • Group: Roster Member
  • Posts: 139
  • Joined: 04-July 12
  • Superstar:AJ Styles
  • Hometown:Gainesville, Georgia
  • Height:5'11"
  • Weight:218 lb
  • Finisher:Phenomenal Forearm
  • Record:02-00-01

Posted 15 May 2017 - 07:14 PM

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real name - - theodore dibiase jr.
ring name - - ted dibiase jr.
height - - 6 ft 3 in
weight - - 214 lb
hometown - - Madison, Mississippi, USA
age - - 34

disposition - - heel
gimmick - - ted dibiase jr. is a slick, straight talking businessman who stepped away from wrestling to focus on his companies. now, he's back to take advantage of what he predicts to be this generations crash.

fighting style - - ted dibiase is a slow, methodical wrestler who will take his time when in the ring. using rest holds and submissions, dibiase looks to pressure his opponents into mistakes and wear them down before using high impact signature and finishers.
finishing moves - -
- dream street (cobra clutch slam)
- dream crusher (cobra clutch legsweep)
- million dollar dream (cobra clutch)

introduction rp -
With the sound of muttering, and the occasional loud slam that was very predictable in this environment, in this company. The camera would fade in, in unison with this array of sounds and our location soon became very clear. The scene was your stereotypical run-of-the-mill run down gym, with such a small amount of work-out equipment that people seemed to be standing around moreso than working out. There was one big difference though, between your typical gym and this one the camera was focused on. The people inhabiting this room, floating like a bad smell, were all dressed as if they were ready to wrestle. The outfits were all different, ranging from denim shorts and t-shirts to long tie-dyed wrestling tights. The bodies within the attires weren’t much more inspiring, with the majority of the men over the normal age that one might usually be within the professional wrestling industry. Despite that, there were painted faces, wacky hair-dos and long flowing lochs to be seen for what seemed like miles within the massive hall. Beyond the waves of unoriginality and the bang average, in the middle of this gym, was the centrepiece. With a spotlight shining through the musty atmosphere, a wrestling ring was lit up. Within it, two men stood next to eachother, simultaneously dropping onto their backs and taking bumps. Each bump seemed to cause alot of distress to both, with neither in the most tremendous shape. One other man stood in the ring, his hair spiked upwards into a lime green mohawk. He would grip the front of his denim jackets pockets, looking towards a small tripod that was set up in the corner of the ring. After a brief moment to psyche himself up, he would violently dart his gaze towards the camera. “And if you think that you’ve got me ALL FIGURED UP, THEN YOU’VE GOT ANOTHA’ THING COMIN’! CAUSE INSANE MIKE AIN’T SOMEONE TO BE CALLIN’ DOWN- or out!… Shit…” His shoulders would slump forward as he wiped the spit from around his mouth. The scene was hopeless in general, the camera that was rather high in the room slowly panning down. As it did, a voice would seemingly speak over the noise, almost like a documentary style observation, however the vocalist soon became very clear. “This scene, it may look pathetic to some. To many, this is a room of people chasin' a dream that fell out of their grasp thirty years ago. These men are simply those still young at heart, tryin' to find a style that will make their name shine in lights that one last time. They’re just like me and you, except this sport has passed them by and they are tryin' to brute force their way into this business, usin' every angle they can think of. Most of them know, in the back of their mind, that there’s no chance. I mean, who’s gonna hire Insane Mike?! Let me tell you, NOBODY! Nobody in their RIGHT MIND would hire Insane Mike. And the sad part? Mike probably knows that, but that doesn’t stop Insane Mike. Insane Mike doesn’t drop his dream, no matter how unlikely any modicum of success may be. Insane Mike, and the rest of these stereotypes, they’ve all done it before. Every single one of them has had their time under the lights, and this? Well this is just their way of tryin' to find it again.

The camera, now panned all the way down, would spot one man who was completely still amongst the chaotic scene. Men lifting weights, men stretching, men practicing locking up, and yet the one person standing out was the man without a movement. Dressed in a smart charcoal Armani three-piece, the son of the legendary Million Dollar Man would step into the forefront with a swagger unlike anyone else in the room. “
I am Ted DiBiase, and this? This is the previous generation. There is nothin' wrong with them, they are simply a few many years too far behind us. These men, once upon a time, could’ve been somethin' special. Insane Mike? He could’ve been your Jay Briscoe. Wreckless Rob over there? He could’ve been Seth Rollins, before Seth Rollins was Seth Rollins… Y’see what I’m sayin’ here?… These people are victims of time, and in this business, just like any other, TIME IS MONEY!” Ted would step from behind a few men who were working out infront of him and slowly start to saunter around the hall. He would maintain eye contact with the camera lens at all time however, professional. “Time is the human races biggest threat, because you can’t stop time, and in Primetime Championship Wrestlin'? Time is beginnin' to take its toll. Because for every night that PCW continues, time runs out for many of this generation. Time runs out for Seth Rollins’ knee, time runs out for Edge’s neck. With every second that passes, time casts a shadow over this doomed empire. In wrestlin', shelf life is an important asset. Yet with every bump, every kick, every CRASH down on someone’s HEAD, they expire... Slowly, like a tickin' timebomb, the stock of PCW is fallin'… Every sound of that bell, no matter how entertainin' it is for all of you, is another step towards the inevitable.” Ted would shake his head. He was disappointed in the shape of this industry as a whole. “So why am I here?!… Why would Ted DiBiase grace this wasteland like a rare ray of sunlight?… Because, like the keen businessman that I am, I smell opportunity. PCW is slowly headin' towards a CRASH, and I? I intend to take advantage of it! This company is primed for someone like me, someone with an eye for the future and a VISION like no other!” Ted grinned, brushing the front of his suit down after passing down two more men lifting weights. “Whilst everyone else within PCW sits and watches, standin' still, I am tellin’ you my intentions. Ted DiBiase will SHORT this roster and absorb the rewards. One by one, time will cut down the old, decrepid, past-it ‘superstars’ and send them on their way. Send them here…” DiBiase would stop, turning fully towards the camera which also came to a stop. “I don’t have to take them down myself, I don’t have to fight my way to the top, because this company? This empire? The CRASH is IMMINENT! And when all is said and done? The man with the foresight to envision the apocalypse will be stood atop the mountains of bodies, REAPIN’ WHAT’S LEFT!” DiBiase would laugh to himself as he stepped away from the scene, grinning from ear to ear as the camera panned out once more. The roster of wrestlers with their best days behind them would continue to work, throwing themselves to the ground and straining with weights far too heavy, all desperate to make it. DiBiase simply trudged out of the door,
heading onto better things, youth intact.

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Firm Handshake.

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