Sam vs. the Oliphaunt
Prim: Okay, everybody, we have some world class entertainment still to come, so don't go away anytime soon! Our next match features two fabulously exotic and one-of-a-kind contestants, champions each in their own right who have NEVER been matched with one another EVER BEFORE in ALL of HISTORY! Yes indeed, ladies and gents, you are about to witness an amazing feat of fighting, a rage of wrestling, the Match of Middle Earth!
In THIS corner, we have the Returning Champion of the Shire, whom you will recognize from his earlier victory this very day! Samwise Gamgee!!!
(Sam, still in his purple spandex but now sporting a lightweight pair of flower-patterned shorts and cropped tee-shirt over it, is shoved back out onto the mat. He looks a bit confused, but quickly sizes up the situation at hand.)
Sam: I already...but....oh, a curtain call!
(Sam bows several times to the crowd, who award him with laughter mixed with screams of adoration and general shouting of assorted slogans.)
Prim: ANNNND in THIS corner we have the Champion of the South, come to us all the way from beyond the Edge of the Map - The OLIPHAUNT!
(A large shadow falls across the bleachers, and all audience's collective face tips upward in awe. There is a large thump and some heavy breathing noises. Sam, who is still busy bowing, fails to register this change in the lighting and sound. Pippin frantically waves his arms in a series of complex hand gestures towards Sam.)
Sam: (squinting at Pippin) You want me to...up...over...so big....fishing....stretched out....long....Tarnation and confustication, Mr. Pippin, I can't make head ner tails of what you're tryin' to signal.
(Pippin puts his arm up to his nose and waves it up and down)
Sam: Now that looks like...an Oliphaunt's trunk An Olipahunt's trunk? Oh! Oh! I see, Mr. Pippin! Thank'ee.
(Sam turns to the awe-struck, bulge-eyed, unusually silent crowd and carefully folds his hands behind his back for proper recital.)
Sam: First of all, thanks to all of you for requesting my poem. It's right generous of all of ye to allow me to recite for you. Now, I know you're probably wantin' to get on to the next wrestlin' match, so I won't take up too much time with my jaw-flappin.'
Big as a house
Grey as a mouse
Horns in my mouth
I live in the South...
He is suddenly flattened by a large, grey foot.
Prim: ANNND the winner is....THE OLIPHAUNT!!! Let's hear it for the Champion of the South, everyone!!!
(On cue, the audience erupts into screeches, screams and hollers as the Oliphaunt steps...over....the bleachers and lumbers away towards the concessions supply truck.)
Pippin, followed by Merry with a wheel-barrow, comes out and shovels Sam into it. He pats him comfortingly, molding him back into shape.
Pippin: You did good, Sam! You did just fine! What a fighter! What a champion! What a hobbit! What a showman!
Aragorn: Well, that didn't seem like a very fair match either.
Arwen: (checking her makeup in her pocket mirror) Yeah, yeah. Whatever.
(A wagon is called to collect the steaming pile of Oliphaunt-Doo for the gardens and everyone takes a break for soda and chips while the grounds crew clean up.)