Big Gold Buckle: Boss Ross vs Ella-Mae POSTED, Saloon OPEN

Challenges will be made one at a time, in the form of a promo. 

The scene opens to a desert vista bathed in the reddish violet glow of a stunning sunset, distant buttes dramatically reaching skyward; the iconic Monument Valley, one of the holiest sites in all of cowboy culture. A keen observer aiming their eyes toward the edges of their television set might notice where the green screen ends and the high school gym begins, ruining the illusion, but for anyone staring straight at the center of their screen, it is truly a breathtaking sight.

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.

Slowly ambling horse hooves are heard, perhaps echoing a bit more on the hardwood basketball court than they would have done across the orangey siltstone floor of the real Monument Valley. A sad, splotchy horse slowly makes its way onscreen. On her back sits a shirtless hairy-chested man with a neatly manicured beard, wearing jeans a fair few sizes too small and some extremely ornate cowboy boots, as well as an enormous Stetson. For some strange reason, he has the strap of a belt threaded through the loops of his jeans but the belt has no buckle and the ends of the strap flap freely in front of him. He swings his legs off the horse to climb down, gets caught on the stirrup momentarily and makes a not-entirely-graceful, slightly stumbling dismount, but recovers quickly and doffs his hat to the camera.

“Howdy pardners. The name’s Hoss. Hoss Haskins. I wrassle for a little old outfit out of Corpus Christi called Calvary Christian Wrestling, which I’m contractually obligated to mention is an i.W.e. subsidiary,” he says. “Look here. I’m just a simple cowpoke who enjoys the simple things in life. I love looking out over a purdy sunset like the one you see behind me. I love pulling on a good old broken-in pair of boots. I love blasting empty beer bottles off of fence posts with my six-shooter. I love riding around on old Crowbait, my horse here.”

Hoss gives the horse a loving smack on the hindquarters, but old Crowbait doesn’t seem to be expecting it. She whinnies angrily and takes off running, exiting stage left. The rhythmless clatter of panicky horse hooves booms around the gym, making it sound as though a sudden thunderstorm might be making its way toward Monument Valley. Hoss looks alarmed as he watches the horse gallop around offscreen, but pulls himself back together and turns to the camera again.

“And I just love me a good sturdy pair of blue jeans just like these bad boys here.” He slaps his thigh loudly, just in case anyone needed assistance locating the jeans in question. “But as y’all can clearly see, I’m havin’ me a mighty heap of trouble keepin’ my britches up today.”

This is not true at all; the jeans are practically skintight.

“That’s why I’m on the hunt for a new belt buckle. Some no-good yellow-belly must’ve made off with my old one because I’ve been looking everywhere from Laramie all the way down to Tucumcari for it, to no avail. But while I was out on the trail, I heard word of an even better belt buckle kickin’ round back in my old stomping grounds, the great state of Texas. A big ‘un. A gold ‘un. A belt buckle that used to belong to one of the rootinest tootinest sons-of-guns to ever kick up dust. Wild Bill’s Big Gold Buckle, to be precise.”

Hoss pauses for dramatic effect, waggling his eyebrows in a way that causes his entire cowboy hat to move along with them. But the moment proves not to need any additional drama. A loud crash somewhere offscreen is heard, followed by a chorus of otherworldly pings caused by a couple dozen inflatable balls all bouncing at once. The thundering of hooves comes to a crescendo and Crowbait suddenly reappears before the camera and stands on her hind legs, punching the air and neighing angrily. Several basketballs bounce by like alien tumbleweeds. Hoss Haskins dives offscreen just in the knick of time as Crowbait’s hind legs unleash a forceful kick that topples the entire green screen backdrop, and Monument Valley is no more, the buttes abruptly replaced by a basketball hoop and some rickety bleachers. The horse exits stage left again.

“The only dang thing standing between me and that dang Big Gold Buckle,” Hoss continues, walking back out in front of the camera and completely no-selling what just transpired, “... is some two-bit tenderfoot goes by the gosh dang name of Red Masterson. Now I don’t know this here Red Masterson from Adam, but I do know one thing, and I tell you what. He works for Warrior Pro. We got a sayin’ about them boys back where I come from, goes a little somethin’ like this: Warrior Pro sucks. Yep you heard me right. They suck something serious, by golly. And on Thursday night, I’m-a gonna show y’all the superiority of the CCW - and all i.W.e. subsidiaries, for that matter - over sucky old Warrior Pro. I’m going to make sure Red Masterson’s shoulderblades get well acquainted with that gosh dang wrestling mat, and once I hear that one-two-three I’m gonna grab that there Big Gold Buckle, pop it onto this here belt, hitch up my britches and ride off into the sunset.”

Hoss Haskins gestures behind himself to a sunset that is in fact no longer there. Seemingly on cue, a snorting and screeching Crowbait leaps onscreen once again, albeit briefly. This time, her mighty hooves kick directly toward the camera lens and the scene abruptly cuts to black.