BLACK DAWN: World Title Match - "Triple X" Sean Stevens (c) vs. Rocko Daymon
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jayshort
Long Live THE KING
Re: BLACK DAWN: World Title Match - "Triple X" Sean Stevens (c) vs. Rocko Daymon
FADE:<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com
fficeffice" /><o></o>
<o></o>
The scene opened up in a confined room inside of a psychiatric ward. The room was small, faintly lit, and each corner of the walls were covered with a large enhanced image of EPW World Heavyweight Champion, Sean Stevens, with his chest pressed up against the breast of Caitlyn Daymon, passionately engaged in a mouth-to-mouth/tongue-to-tongue kiss, highlighted by the disgustingly long trail of spit that flows from his mouth to hers.<o></o>
<o></o>
"This is the moment you've been waiting for, Rocko … this is your moment in the sun, your fifteen minutes of fame, your time to shine," a male voice echoed. <o></o>
<o></o>
The camera panned frenetically from corner-to-corner inside of the room in search of the voice.<o></o>
<o></o>
"In a perfect world, MacGyver never dies, the bullied nerd gets the girl, and the semi-talented, blue collar fan favorite wins the big match against the ultra talented, bad boy super-DUPER-star." <o></o>
<o></o>
Finally, the camera settled and focused on an entrance/exit where Triple X crossed the threshold, scented candle in his left hand, his EPW World Championship over his right shoulder, held in place by his heavily cast right hand. <o></o>
<o></o>
"From the moment you returned to Empire Pro Wrestling I've played you like a string-puppet. I've made you be who I wanted you to be, and I've disrespected everything that you love, cherish and stand for. I knew you'd eventually be my opponent, because in a perfect world no one else could be. I did the things I did, and said the things I've said knowing full well that Black Dawn would come and that you would be the guy standing across the ring from me ... and, the potential consequencesof my actions didn't even come close to making me second guess hog spitting a mouthful of mucus into your wife's mouth, and on your family name, while you watched helplessly. Partly, because I personally don't give a sh_t about your heartache, pain, or suffering," he shrugged. "More so, because the image of you all livid and vengeful is more of a comedic teenage high school spoof than a horror movie. And, mostly, because the thought of f__king you out of another opportunity at breaking through that glass ceiling makes my dick hard, and while masturbation is always nice, it pails in comparison to the multiple orgasms I had after I screwed -- no,raped you -- out of the King of the Cage, and sent you running out of that arena with your tail tucked, faster than Kobe Bryant's accuser out of his hotel room," he snickered. "Just like you little white b_tches always do..." <o></o>
<o></o>
The champ's hair hung gently beneath his shoulders, and he had a three week old, Amish-style goatee. He was wearing a sleeveless "The Triple X Show" circa 2001 t-shirt, and faded black jeans, and as the camera panned inward, he leaned into the candle, eyes closed, almost as if he were worshipping it in front of the images on the wall. <o></o>
<o></o>
"And, I've practically gift wrapped this thing for you, Robocop. I've given you the reason, the motivation, hell ... I've even given you the f__king sympathy card. I've given you everything but the title on a silver platter, because, even though this should be your perfect ending, you've still gotta work for it. Think about it, you've got more fans cheering for you than you've ever had at any point in your entire career, and it's because I made them feel sorry for you. I made you respectable again. And, it's not because I have any admiration for you, because I don't. But, because you were in the right place at the right time. You had the perfect mixture of past history, childish banter, and mind numbing annoyance to piss me off. Toss in a tournament where a championship opportunity is at stake, and top it off with your overbearing, loud mouth wife, and it actually made the selection process easy. <o></o>
<o></o>
"I got my rival, my epic encounter, and we've got the entire world watching us. In a perfect world, there's no way you can lose this match because all of the momentum is in your favor, and every single person who pays their hard earned dollar to watch us wrestle will be rooting you on. In a perfect world, this match will be a platform to take you to that next level, and it'll be your one defining moment that everyone will be able to point to when your legacy is questioned. In a perfect world, this will be that match where you do the unthinkable; taking chances you never thought you'd take, all for the love of the most prestigious title you've ever had a chance at winning. <o></o>
<o></o>
"If this were a perfect world, Rocko, I'd almost feel inclined to congratulate you, because Lord knows you've been through enough obstacles in your career where you probably deserve this more than I do.<o></o>
<o></o>
"But, this isn't a perfect world, this is the real world. <o></o>
<o></o>
"And, if we can be realistic for a moment … you and I both know that you can't touch me inside of a wrestling ring. And, your fans know it, too – despite all of your excuses. They've seen it for themselves. They're just fascinated about the possibility of a cheesy happy ending, and that's the only reason they continue to support you. <o></o>
<o></o>
"In the real world, I am the wrestling version of the Alpha and the Omega. The Beginning and the End. The King. A first ballot Hall of Famer. A Certified Legend. And, Grand Champion. Everything that goes on in this industry runs through me, because my reputation is unstained and impeccable, and until I decide to step down from my throne, there's not an individual on this planet that can change anything. <o></o>
<o></o>
"You, Rocko? You're a footnote. An afterthought. You'll always be remembered as the guy with the side-splitting insults. The guy that guaranteed a bunch of sh_t that he was never able to deliver on. The guy that went down fighting but ultimately always went down. <o></o>
<o></o>
"In the real world, Rocko ... you're Pinocchio. Puppets don't win championships, Daymon, the person pulling the strings does. And, in our circumstance, I've played the role of Gepeto from day one. It was me that made you accept your trashy, bottom feeder, blue collar existence. It was me that turned you from a proud, reputable warrior and loving husband, into an arrogant, greedy, politician, who would sacrifice the very woman he vowed to love and protect forever for a shot at a belt. <o></o>
<o></o>
".... And, in case you never got the memo ... that night, in your hotel room, when I dunked your wife's head down the toilet a couple of times to cool her off? After the initial protest, I'm the guy that bent her over your bathroom sink, pulled down her silk black panties, and f__ked her doggy style, causing her to moan until she eventually began to scream my name. <o></o>
<o></o>
"That's the real reason why she was crying when you got to the hotel room, Rocko. Not because I hurt her ... but, because I HURT her. And, it's hard for her to live with the guilt that she betrayed you by f__king your biggest nemesis, and LIKED it. <o></o>
<o></o>
"And, whether you knew the real truth about that night or not, your reaction's not going to make one bit of difference on the outcome of Black Dawn, because this is the real world, and I am a better wrestler than you, I am tougher than you, and I am willing to go out there and die to keep this title around my waist. <o></o>
<o></o>
"Are you ready to kill me, Rocko? Because, believe me when I tell you, I'm definitely ready to kill you. And, if you're not up for the challenge, if you're one step slower than perfect ... it just might come to that."<o></o>
<o></o>
... FADEOUT<o></o>
<o></o>
FADE:<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com
fficeffice" /><o></o><o
></o>The scene opened up in a confined room inside of a psychiatric ward. The room was small, faintly lit, and each corner of the walls were covered with a large enhanced image of EPW World Heavyweight Champion, Sean Stevens, with his chest pressed up against the breast of Caitlyn Daymon, passionately engaged in a mouth-to-mouth/tongue-to-tongue kiss, highlighted by the disgustingly long trail of spit that flows from his mouth to hers.<o
></o><o
></o>"This is the moment you've been waiting for, Rocko … this is your moment in the sun, your fifteen minutes of fame, your time to shine," a male voice echoed. <o
></o><o
></o>The camera panned frenetically from corner-to-corner inside of the room in search of the voice.<o
></o><o
></o>"In a perfect world, MacGyver never dies, the bullied nerd gets the girl, and the semi-talented, blue collar fan favorite wins the big match against the ultra talented, bad boy super-DUPER-star." <o
></o><o
></o>Finally, the camera settled and focused on an entrance/exit where Triple X crossed the threshold, scented candle in his left hand, his EPW World Championship over his right shoulder, held in place by his heavily cast right hand. <o
></o><o
></o>"From the moment you returned to Empire Pro Wrestling I've played you like a string-puppet. I've made you be who I wanted you to be, and I've disrespected everything that you love, cherish and stand for. I knew you'd eventually be my opponent, because in a perfect world no one else could be. I did the things I did, and said the things I've said knowing full well that Black Dawn would come and that you would be the guy standing across the ring from me ... and, the potential consequencesof my actions didn't even come close to making me second guess hog spitting a mouthful of mucus into your wife's mouth, and on your family name, while you watched helplessly. Partly, because I personally don't give a sh_t about your heartache, pain, or suffering," he shrugged. "More so, because the image of you all livid and vengeful is more of a comedic teenage high school spoof than a horror movie. And, mostly, because the thought of f__king you out of another opportunity at breaking through that glass ceiling makes my dick hard, and while masturbation is always nice, it pails in comparison to the multiple orgasms I had after I screwed -- no,raped you -- out of the King of the Cage, and sent you running out of that arena with your tail tucked, faster than Kobe Bryant's accuser out of his hotel room," he snickered. "Just like you little white b_tches always do..." <o
></o><o
></o>The champ's hair hung gently beneath his shoulders, and he had a three week old, Amish-style goatee. He was wearing a sleeveless "The Triple X Show" circa 2001 t-shirt, and faded black jeans, and as the camera panned inward, he leaned into the candle, eyes closed, almost as if he were worshipping it in front of the images on the wall. <o
></o><o
></o>"And, I've practically gift wrapped this thing for you, Robocop. I've given you the reason, the motivation, hell ... I've even given you the f__king sympathy card. I've given you everything but the title on a silver platter, because, even though this should be your perfect ending, you've still gotta work for it. Think about it, you've got more fans cheering for you than you've ever had at any point in your entire career, and it's because I made them feel sorry for you. I made you respectable again. And, it's not because I have any admiration for you, because I don't. But, because you were in the right place at the right time. You had the perfect mixture of past history, childish banter, and mind numbing annoyance to piss me off. Toss in a tournament where a championship opportunity is at stake, and top it off with your overbearing, loud mouth wife, and it actually made the selection process easy. <o
></o><o
></o>"I got my rival, my epic encounter, and we've got the entire world watching us. In a perfect world, there's no way you can lose this match because all of the momentum is in your favor, and every single person who pays their hard earned dollar to watch us wrestle will be rooting you on. In a perfect world, this match will be a platform to take you to that next level, and it'll be your one defining moment that everyone will be able to point to when your legacy is questioned. In a perfect world, this will be that match where you do the unthinkable; taking chances you never thought you'd take, all for the love of the most prestigious title you've ever had a chance at winning. <o
></o><o
></o>"If this were a perfect world, Rocko, I'd almost feel inclined to congratulate you, because Lord knows you've been through enough obstacles in your career where you probably deserve this more than I do.<o
></o><o
></o>"But, this isn't a perfect world, this is the real world. <o
></o><o
></o>"And, if we can be realistic for a moment … you and I both know that you can't touch me inside of a wrestling ring. And, your fans know it, too – despite all of your excuses. They've seen it for themselves. They're just fascinated about the possibility of a cheesy happy ending, and that's the only reason they continue to support you. <o
></o><o
></o>"In the real world, I am the wrestling version of the Alpha and the Omega. The Beginning and the End. The King. A first ballot Hall of Famer. A Certified Legend. And, Grand Champion. Everything that goes on in this industry runs through me, because my reputation is unstained and impeccable, and until I decide to step down from my throne, there's not an individual on this planet that can change anything. <o
></o><o
></o>"You, Rocko? You're a footnote. An afterthought. You'll always be remembered as the guy with the side-splitting insults. The guy that guaranteed a bunch of sh_t that he was never able to deliver on. The guy that went down fighting but ultimately always went down. <o
></o><o
></o>"In the real world, Rocko ... you're Pinocchio. Puppets don't win championships, Daymon, the person pulling the strings does. And, in our circumstance, I've played the role of Gepeto from day one. It was me that made you accept your trashy, bottom feeder, blue collar existence. It was me that turned you from a proud, reputable warrior and loving husband, into an arrogant, greedy, politician, who would sacrifice the very woman he vowed to love and protect forever for a shot at a belt. <o
></o><o
></o>".... And, in case you never got the memo ... that night, in your hotel room, when I dunked your wife's head down the toilet a couple of times to cool her off? After the initial protest, I'm the guy that bent her over your bathroom sink, pulled down her silk black panties, and f__ked her doggy style, causing her to moan until she eventually began to scream my name. <o
></o><o
></o>"That's the real reason why she was crying when you got to the hotel room, Rocko. Not because I hurt her ... but, because I HURT her. And, it's hard for her to live with the guilt that she betrayed you by f__king your biggest nemesis, and LIKED it. <o
></o><o
></o>"And, whether you knew the real truth about that night or not, your reaction's not going to make one bit of difference on the outcome of Black Dawn, because this is the real world, and I am a better wrestler than you, I am tougher than you, and I am willing to go out there and die to keep this title around my waist. <o
></o><o
></o>"Are you ready to kill me, Rocko? Because, believe me when I tell you, I'm definitely ready to kill you. And, if you're not up for the challenge, if you're one step slower than perfect ... it just might come to that."<o
></o><o
></o>... FADEOUT<o
></o><o
></o>
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Things are looking up
(We fade in at dawn in Houston, Texas at dawn. In the distance, there is a light with a figure silhouetted before it. In slow-motion, the figure approaches the camera, presenting an abstract moving collage of light and shadows.)
Rocko Daymon
What does asay… after spending years of his life at the very bottom, always looking up... long dedicating himself to a single goal… finally see everything he ever wanted laid out in front of him and just ripe for the taking?
He says the most obvious thing: It’s About F*cking Time.
(The figure comes into view as the shadow encompasses the light source behind it and the camera adjusts the image. As the camera moves into real time, ROCKO DAYMON stands before the camera. The camera zooms out to reveal the location: he’s standing in the prairie in the outskirts of Space City. As he comes to a stop, he stoops down and absently runs his fingers through the dirt.)
Rocko Daymon
I somehow expected you’d inevitably try to turn this into some sort of dick-measuring contest, Sean.
After all, that’s pretty much the only thing you know HOW to do when there aren’t enough cold, hard facts to lean on. But even having no argument whatsoever doesn’t stop you from going into the typical routine of ignoring your obvious short-comings, exaggerating your contestable wins, and bringing up your allegedly flawless record for the millionth time.
(Rocko comes to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks out beyond the horizon. He sports a regular pair of jeans with a black and red silk Hawaiian shirt over a bread and butter metal t-shirt. His rugged beard clings to his jawline like a long, brown, furry strip stretching from one sideburn to the next, practically juxtapose to his opponent’s.)
Rocko Daymon
Sean… I’ve played this game before. I put up with this brow-furrowing, cloud-f*cking-cuckoo logic of yours the last time when we had our dance in the cage. Admittedly, I kinda hoped you would have learned from that near-mistake, after you dragged your sorry ass through the door as if the cage was literally sh*tting you out onto the floor with only half a second to spare. But obviously, you’re beyond understanding anything outside of your own ass-backwards sense of realism.
Seriously… listening to you prattle on about the differences between a perfect world and the real world is like hearing a cattle rancher from around these parts talk about the rich, bovine-y fragrance in the air: No matter how you spin it, you still can’t get past the overwhelming smell of bullsh*t.
(Rocko makes a face, as if just saying the word sets off some sort of mental trigger that suddenly reminds him of the smell and it suddenly hits him.)
Rocko Daymon
First of all, Sean… while this match may have that after-school Disney flick vibe going for it, you’d be sorely mistaken if you thought I was so easily caught up in the hype. I’m well aware of what it’s like to be living in the real world. Believe me … I realize it every time I wake up and remember that the title still isn’t wrapped around my waist, in spite of years of hard work and sacrifice. The “real world” is a cold, unforgiving b*tch, and nobody—NOBODY—knows that better than I do.
Do you know what that kind of reality is like, Sean? I don’t imagine you do, given how much you stroke yourself off in front of the camera…
Anybody with enough mental fortitude to pick their nose could see that your perception on the real world is completely f*cked. What you’re constantly refusing to admit to yourself is that your idea of reality is just another example of a “perfect world,” one that fits your view. In that perfect world, “Triple X” Sean Stevens has never lost a match… nor has anybody else ever come close to beating him in the ring. In that world, everything he says is true—history even changes at his command—and all the fans think just like him. In that world Sean Stevens stands at the apex of professional wrestling, like he was the squared circles own personal Jesus Christ. He also sh*ts gold nuggets that smells of roses.
(He visibly rolls his eyes.)
Rocko Daymon
But the reality of the situation at hand is that I’m not the underdog people hope will win… but rather the man they expect to lose. After all, I’m the one living with the reputation that I can never win when it matters…
And right now… it certainly matters. I finally have this chance to rid myself of the stigma that’s clung to me like a stink that never goes away. With that, I have a chance to stick it to a man who’s been asking for a solid boot in his ass for years. On top of all that, there’s the Empire Pro World Heavyweight Title… the biggest prize of all… and the very thing I’ve dedicated the last four years of my professional career to winning.
Do I really need to explain how far I’m willing to go and how much I’m willing to sacrifice to put you down? I know you’re an airhead, Sean, but I think you can at least at least figure that out on your own. In reality, while you would just as easily suspect I’d fail “like I always do,” you’d be surprised to see what I can dish out when it matters the most. After all, you were certainly on the brink of sh*tting your pants in the cage when you found out that I’m not the punk you remember me as.
(A half-smile forms on his face.)
Rocko Daymon
In the end, I just have to leave people with their expectations… and tell them to watch and see what goes down in the ring. I’m sure many will be watching…
There’s a lot of hype surrounding this match, concerning our history, and not surprisingly, the media’s milking it for every drop it’s worth. Ironically though, it didn’t have to be this way. This match could have just as easily been a basic contest between two men fighting for the same prize, with no bad blood involved at all.
But you wouldn’t have it that way, would you, Sean?
(He shakes his head, as though to answer his own rhetorical question.)
Rocko Daymon
Over the past few months, Empire Pro has witnessed what you’ve put me through. You’ve done everything in your power build the animosity between us, hoping it would piss me off something fierce and give you the psychological edge. But really, the only thing you’ve accomplished through all the effort you wasted trying to get under my skin is define yourself as what you really are: a dickless coward who preys on people when they’re coming around the corner or just coming out of an exhausting match.
Obviously, you’ve gone as far as to convince yourself that you made this epic confrontation happen under your own power. That’s debatable… but more importantly, it seems that somewhere between giving yourself more credit than you’re worth and comparing yourself to some fictional woodcarver, you forgot to share with the fans your reasoning for taking it this far.
Well, I’ll save you the effort…
You see, our match at King of the Cage was the kindling to this raging fire. Although, Sean, I think we should clear something up, so everybody knows what really happened. I mean, we all know you take a lot of hard bumps in what you do. In fact, in that very match, you fell nearly 15 feet from the top of the cage to the canvas, landing square on your forehead, so it wouldn’t come as any surprise if you had the IQ and logic of a squash. But… I would think you would at least have the motor skills and basic functioning to pick up the tape, put it in the VCR, jam your thumb down on the play button, and see how things really went down.
The only thing you were “raping” that night was the canvas as you crawled out of that cage on your belly like a snail on the straight edge of a razor. Meanwhile, I was standing tall on both legs, wondering how in the F*CK that blinged-out ass-pirate ICE TRE managed to fall out of thin f*cking air and right on top of me. By a nose, you managed to win that match and move on… but not without looking like you had just gone through hell and back. One thing was for certain… there wasn’t a damn person in the arena that night that wasn’t thinking to themselves, “Sh*t… Stevens really lucked out on that one.”
On that night, you lucked out, and you know it. I fought you at your own level and stood my ground, and it pissed you off to no end realizing that “professional wrestling’s garbage man” nearly made you look like a fool in front of all those fans. That night, even though you won the match and earned your spot in the tournament finals, you knew that we would inevitably meet again… and the World Title would very likely be on the line.
(The gall and daring in his eyes as they pierce the camera give the impression that he were looking directly at Blue-Eyed Badass sitting on his couch at home.)
Rocko Daymon
But you know, I was actually willing to let you take your win and move on with the bragging rights… but that wasn’t enough for you, was it? No, Sean… obviously, you weren’t content with just the win. You weren’t going to rest until you had beaten me legitimately, and leaving NO QUESTION as to who the better man really is.
That’s why you pushed so hard to make this happen… to build me up for what many are saying is the biggest match of my career, just so you can tear me down on the grandest stage of all: the main event of Black Dawn with the strap up for grabs… just to repair that huge blow I put in your ego.
It was a nice plan… but this time, Sean, I’ve been a step ahead of you.
The only reason you’ve gotten away with all that you’ve done is because I allowed it to happen. Believe me… I could have ended this as soon as it began. I could have just found you in the back one night when nobody else was around and beat the living bejesus you to the extent of my satisfaction… but that would have solved nothing. I didn’t lift a finger against you… because I knew that was all the motivation you needed to try and break me, all this time thinking you were the one pulling the strings. I let this escalate, knowing full well how much I would be risking, just to give your budding title reign a painful abortion, and to know that whenever the fans in the future think of Sean Stevens as “champion,” it never goes without coming after the word “transitional.”
(Silence for a moment as he allows this to sink in.)
Rocko Daymon
You want to kill me, Sean? Well you’re welcome to try. You wouldn’t be the first person who thought they could bury me in the earth and leave me for the worms.
To be honest, killing you isn’t my intention. No, I want you to living and breathing through every agonizing moment you’re going to experience. I want you to feel it through every pound of flesh on you until you wish you were dead. I want you to beg me to throw your ass off that throne and back into the kiddie pool.
And we’ll see how YOU deal with being the man at the bottom looking up.
(Daymon turns from the camera and begins walking toward the rising sun, from where he came… blotting the light of dawn in shadowy black.)
(We fade in at dawn in Houston, Texas at dawn. In the distance, there is a light with a figure silhouetted before it. In slow-motion, the figure approaches the camera, presenting an abstract moving collage of light and shadows.)
Rocko Daymon
What does asay… after spending years of his life at the very bottom, always looking up... long dedicating himself to a single goal… finally see everything he ever wanted laid out in front of him and just ripe for the taking?
He says the most obvious thing: It’s About F*cking Time.
(The figure comes into view as the shadow encompasses the light source behind it and the camera adjusts the image. As the camera moves into real time, ROCKO DAYMON stands before the camera. The camera zooms out to reveal the location: he’s standing in the prairie in the outskirts of Space City. As he comes to a stop, he stoops down and absently runs his fingers through the dirt.)
Rocko Daymon
I somehow expected you’d inevitably try to turn this into some sort of dick-measuring contest, Sean.
After all, that’s pretty much the only thing you know HOW to do when there aren’t enough cold, hard facts to lean on. But even having no argument whatsoever doesn’t stop you from going into the typical routine of ignoring your obvious short-comings, exaggerating your contestable wins, and bringing up your allegedly flawless record for the millionth time.
(Rocko comes to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks out beyond the horizon. He sports a regular pair of jeans with a black and red silk Hawaiian shirt over a bread and butter metal t-shirt. His rugged beard clings to his jawline like a long, brown, furry strip stretching from one sideburn to the next, practically juxtapose to his opponent’s.)
Rocko Daymon
Sean… I’ve played this game before. I put up with this brow-furrowing, cloud-f*cking-cuckoo logic of yours the last time when we had our dance in the cage. Admittedly, I kinda hoped you would have learned from that near-mistake, after you dragged your sorry ass through the door as if the cage was literally sh*tting you out onto the floor with only half a second to spare. But obviously, you’re beyond understanding anything outside of your own ass-backwards sense of realism.
Seriously… listening to you prattle on about the differences between a perfect world and the real world is like hearing a cattle rancher from around these parts talk about the rich, bovine-y fragrance in the air: No matter how you spin it, you still can’t get past the overwhelming smell of bullsh*t.
(Rocko makes a face, as if just saying the word sets off some sort of mental trigger that suddenly reminds him of the smell and it suddenly hits him.)
Rocko Daymon
First of all, Sean… while this match may have that after-school Disney flick vibe going for it, you’d be sorely mistaken if you thought I was so easily caught up in the hype. I’m well aware of what it’s like to be living in the real world. Believe me … I realize it every time I wake up and remember that the title still isn’t wrapped around my waist, in spite of years of hard work and sacrifice. The “real world” is a cold, unforgiving b*tch, and nobody—NOBODY—knows that better than I do.
Do you know what that kind of reality is like, Sean? I don’t imagine you do, given how much you stroke yourself off in front of the camera…
Anybody with enough mental fortitude to pick their nose could see that your perception on the real world is completely f*cked. What you’re constantly refusing to admit to yourself is that your idea of reality is just another example of a “perfect world,” one that fits your view. In that perfect world, “Triple X” Sean Stevens has never lost a match… nor has anybody else ever come close to beating him in the ring. In that world, everything he says is true—history even changes at his command—and all the fans think just like him. In that world Sean Stevens stands at the apex of professional wrestling, like he was the squared circles own personal Jesus Christ. He also sh*ts gold nuggets that smells of roses.
(He visibly rolls his eyes.)
Rocko Daymon
But the reality of the situation at hand is that I’m not the underdog people hope will win… but rather the man they expect to lose. After all, I’m the one living with the reputation that I can never win when it matters…
And right now… it certainly matters. I finally have this chance to rid myself of the stigma that’s clung to me like a stink that never goes away. With that, I have a chance to stick it to a man who’s been asking for a solid boot in his ass for years. On top of all that, there’s the Empire Pro World Heavyweight Title… the biggest prize of all… and the very thing I’ve dedicated the last four years of my professional career to winning.
Do I really need to explain how far I’m willing to go and how much I’m willing to sacrifice to put you down? I know you’re an airhead, Sean, but I think you can at least at least figure that out on your own. In reality, while you would just as easily suspect I’d fail “like I always do,” you’d be surprised to see what I can dish out when it matters the most. After all, you were certainly on the brink of sh*tting your pants in the cage when you found out that I’m not the punk you remember me as.
(A half-smile forms on his face.)
Rocko Daymon
In the end, I just have to leave people with their expectations… and tell them to watch and see what goes down in the ring. I’m sure many will be watching…
There’s a lot of hype surrounding this match, concerning our history, and not surprisingly, the media’s milking it for every drop it’s worth. Ironically though, it didn’t have to be this way. This match could have just as easily been a basic contest between two men fighting for the same prize, with no bad blood involved at all.
But you wouldn’t have it that way, would you, Sean?
(He shakes his head, as though to answer his own rhetorical question.)
Rocko Daymon
Over the past few months, Empire Pro has witnessed what you’ve put me through. You’ve done everything in your power build the animosity between us, hoping it would piss me off something fierce and give you the psychological edge. But really, the only thing you’ve accomplished through all the effort you wasted trying to get under my skin is define yourself as what you really are: a dickless coward who preys on people when they’re coming around the corner or just coming out of an exhausting match.
Obviously, you’ve gone as far as to convince yourself that you made this epic confrontation happen under your own power. That’s debatable… but more importantly, it seems that somewhere between giving yourself more credit than you’re worth and comparing yourself to some fictional woodcarver, you forgot to share with the fans your reasoning for taking it this far.
Well, I’ll save you the effort…
You see, our match at King of the Cage was the kindling to this raging fire. Although, Sean, I think we should clear something up, so everybody knows what really happened. I mean, we all know you take a lot of hard bumps in what you do. In fact, in that very match, you fell nearly 15 feet from the top of the cage to the canvas, landing square on your forehead, so it wouldn’t come as any surprise if you had the IQ and logic of a squash. But… I would think you would at least have the motor skills and basic functioning to pick up the tape, put it in the VCR, jam your thumb down on the play button, and see how things really went down.
The only thing you were “raping” that night was the canvas as you crawled out of that cage on your belly like a snail on the straight edge of a razor. Meanwhile, I was standing tall on both legs, wondering how in the F*CK that blinged-out ass-pirate ICE TRE managed to fall out of thin f*cking air and right on top of me. By a nose, you managed to win that match and move on… but not without looking like you had just gone through hell and back. One thing was for certain… there wasn’t a damn person in the arena that night that wasn’t thinking to themselves, “Sh*t… Stevens really lucked out on that one.”
On that night, you lucked out, and you know it. I fought you at your own level and stood my ground, and it pissed you off to no end realizing that “professional wrestling’s garbage man” nearly made you look like a fool in front of all those fans. That night, even though you won the match and earned your spot in the tournament finals, you knew that we would inevitably meet again… and the World Title would very likely be on the line.
(The gall and daring in his eyes as they pierce the camera give the impression that he were looking directly at Blue-Eyed Badass sitting on his couch at home.)
Rocko Daymon
But you know, I was actually willing to let you take your win and move on with the bragging rights… but that wasn’t enough for you, was it? No, Sean… obviously, you weren’t content with just the win. You weren’t going to rest until you had beaten me legitimately, and leaving NO QUESTION as to who the better man really is.
That’s why you pushed so hard to make this happen… to build me up for what many are saying is the biggest match of my career, just so you can tear me down on the grandest stage of all: the main event of Black Dawn with the strap up for grabs… just to repair that huge blow I put in your ego.
It was a nice plan… but this time, Sean, I’ve been a step ahead of you.
The only reason you’ve gotten away with all that you’ve done is because I allowed it to happen. Believe me… I could have ended this as soon as it began. I could have just found you in the back one night when nobody else was around and beat the living bejesus you to the extent of my satisfaction… but that would have solved nothing. I didn’t lift a finger against you… because I knew that was all the motivation you needed to try and break me, all this time thinking you were the one pulling the strings. I let this escalate, knowing full well how much I would be risking, just to give your budding title reign a painful abortion, and to know that whenever the fans in the future think of Sean Stevens as “champion,” it never goes without coming after the word “transitional.”
(Silence for a moment as he allows this to sink in.)
Rocko Daymon
You want to kill me, Sean? Well you’re welcome to try. You wouldn’t be the first person who thought they could bury me in the earth and leave me for the worms.
To be honest, killing you isn’t my intention. No, I want you to living and breathing through every agonizing moment you’re going to experience. I want you to feel it through every pound of flesh on you until you wish you were dead. I want you to beg me to throw your ass off that throne and back into the kiddie pool.
And we’ll see how YOU deal with being the man at the bottom looking up.
(Daymon turns from the camera and begins walking toward the rising sun, from where he came… blotting the light of dawn in shadowy black.)
jayshort
Long Live THE KING
Re: BLACK DAWN: World Title Match - "Triple X" Sean Stevens (c) vs. Rocko Daymon
FADE:
The scene opened up on a ranch-like setting, in the back yard of an old, western looking house, with creaking wood floors, dusty shutters, and broken windows. In the background, the sound of barking dogs echoed, sometimes at an agonizing volume, as they howled, growled, and fought for territory and food.
“I didn’t need to watch another promo of you dissecting everything that I say, while trying to figure out the inner workings of my mind. I have no shelf life, Rocko … people like me don’t need excuses or lies. The story of my WRESTLING CAREER has infinite chapters, with more depth than anything that you’ve ever done in your entire LIFE. And, from the moment I met you, I’ve done nothing but tell it like it is.”
The champ, SEAN STEVENS stepped through a pair of swinging doors, clad in a MIKE RANDALLS-esque poncho, hat, and cowboy boots – clearly an attempt a mockery – double barrel shotgun in his left hand.
“When the truth doesn’t tell you that you’re successful, it’s usually telling you that you’re a failure, and I’m sure that hurts … and, while you may not want to accept my version of the truth, it doesn’t make it any less factual. I don’t want to make this a King of the Cage issue, because there’s not a person on the planet with a functioning brain that can dispute that *I* hold that crown, despite my lack of hardware. But, if you want to go down this road, where you start talking in circles like you’re smarter than you actually are, I’ll play along this once.
“You and I wrestled in the King of the Cage tournament – fact. We both made flat out guarantees, with no fine print clauses – fact. Ice Tre interfered, because, well … Ice Tre has nothing better to do, and *I* won – FACT. I didn’t say I’d beat you and become the EPW World Heavyweight Champion if there was no outside interference. And, even if I did lose because of someone else, unlike you, I wouldn’t have used it as my cop-out, especially considering the fact that your wife cheated on your behalf in every King of the Cage match prior to ours, but I forgot how much of a hypocrite you are, Rocko. Thanks for reminding me.
“I simply said I’d beat you. And, I did.
“I beat the living sh_t out of you for twenty minutes, within an inch of your life, and yeah … you did hang tough,” golf clap. “You always hang, and I’m sure your mom is sitting in her double wide mobile home beaming with pride. But, you also lost … just like you always lose,” he shrugged.
Triple X cocked his rifle, and shot it in the air.
“And, while you’ve once again donned the cape of Captain Obvious, with your convoluted lectures, and boring stories about things that happened six months ago … this is the real reason why I kicked your ass week in and week out. Because you didn’t want to let your loss die. Because you felt the need to drop subliminal messages in almost every promo you cut afterwards. Because you still feel like you’re in a position where you can talk to me and about me like we’re peers, when in all actuality, you don’t even have the pedigree to be my water boy, due to the fact that the position suggests you not crack under pressure.“
Stevens twisted his face at the smell of manure as he approached a gated area, where several dogs ran to meet him.
“You’re like a dog, Rocko; you’re never satisfied with what you have. I could give you a juicy piece of steak, but you always want the biggest piece. You should’ve accepted your role; you should have played your position. You had a nice little cozy space in the mid-card, where you could’ve thrived at. You could’ve made history just by being who you are, but instead you choose to step outside of your boundaries.
“I’m the big dog, Rocko. I belong where I am, and that’s why you’ll always seem to see me at the top. The EPW World Championship was not won on a fluke; I beat Lindsay Troy and Joey Melton because it was my birthright to be the best. The very moment I came out of retirement, one of the first things that I said I’d do was become the champ, and here I am...
“… And, you can call me a liar, a cheater, lucky; hell … you can call me Susan for all I care, just as long as you put EPW World Heavyweight Champion in the prefix, because that’s who I am, and it’s who I’ll be until *I* decide to change things. In fact ... you can continue to examine the dictionary for every synonym of the word stupid to lace your promos with, to hide the fact that you really have nothing to say, and, that you’re grasping at straws for material, and it still won’t make a difference. It still doesn’t change that I beat you, that I'm better than you, and that on that night, in your hotel room, when you tried to comfort your crying wife with a french kiss, and it had that funny taste, it was because technically you french kissed my penis.”
He smirked.
“You're like a delusional John Kerry. America didn't make last election so close because they liked him. They voted for him because they disliked Bush. Don't flatter yourself into thinking you're more important than you actually are, Rocko. I don't want to kill you. I want to keep my title, and I will, by any means necessary, and if that means taking it to that level where you don't return, so be it. Because, not all dogs are obedient, Daymon. Some like to test their master, to flex their muscle, to try to run the master's house, and bite the hand that feeds them. *I* made you a main eventer, I made you popular, I made you who you are, and if you want to be an ungrateful little b_tch, and not fall in line?”
He cocked the shotgun once more, and fired it again, only this time, a painful moan echos.
“... *I* will be the one that puts you to sleep.”
... Fade-to-Black
----
*Disclaimer*
No animals were hurt in the filming of this promo. I mean, c'mon people, his last name is Stevens, not Vick.
FADE:
The scene opened up on a ranch-like setting, in the back yard of an old, western looking house, with creaking wood floors, dusty shutters, and broken windows. In the background, the sound of barking dogs echoed, sometimes at an agonizing volume, as they howled, growled, and fought for territory and food.
“I didn’t need to watch another promo of you dissecting everything that I say, while trying to figure out the inner workings of my mind. I have no shelf life, Rocko … people like me don’t need excuses or lies. The story of my WRESTLING CAREER has infinite chapters, with more depth than anything that you’ve ever done in your entire LIFE. And, from the moment I met you, I’ve done nothing but tell it like it is.”
The champ, SEAN STEVENS stepped through a pair of swinging doors, clad in a MIKE RANDALLS-esque poncho, hat, and cowboy boots – clearly an attempt a mockery – double barrel shotgun in his left hand.
“When the truth doesn’t tell you that you’re successful, it’s usually telling you that you’re a failure, and I’m sure that hurts … and, while you may not want to accept my version of the truth, it doesn’t make it any less factual. I don’t want to make this a King of the Cage issue, because there’s not a person on the planet with a functioning brain that can dispute that *I* hold that crown, despite my lack of hardware. But, if you want to go down this road, where you start talking in circles like you’re smarter than you actually are, I’ll play along this once.
“You and I wrestled in the King of the Cage tournament – fact. We both made flat out guarantees, with no fine print clauses – fact. Ice Tre interfered, because, well … Ice Tre has nothing better to do, and *I* won – FACT. I didn’t say I’d beat you and become the EPW World Heavyweight Champion if there was no outside interference. And, even if I did lose because of someone else, unlike you, I wouldn’t have used it as my cop-out, especially considering the fact that your wife cheated on your behalf in every King of the Cage match prior to ours, but I forgot how much of a hypocrite you are, Rocko. Thanks for reminding me.
“I simply said I’d beat you. And, I did.
“I beat the living sh_t out of you for twenty minutes, within an inch of your life, and yeah … you did hang tough,” golf clap. “You always hang, and I’m sure your mom is sitting in her double wide mobile home beaming with pride. But, you also lost … just like you always lose,” he shrugged.
Triple X cocked his rifle, and shot it in the air.
“And, while you’ve once again donned the cape of Captain Obvious, with your convoluted lectures, and boring stories about things that happened six months ago … this is the real reason why I kicked your ass week in and week out. Because you didn’t want to let your loss die. Because you felt the need to drop subliminal messages in almost every promo you cut afterwards. Because you still feel like you’re in a position where you can talk to me and about me like we’re peers, when in all actuality, you don’t even have the pedigree to be my water boy, due to the fact that the position suggests you not crack under pressure.“
Stevens twisted his face at the smell of manure as he approached a gated area, where several dogs ran to meet him.
“You’re like a dog, Rocko; you’re never satisfied with what you have. I could give you a juicy piece of steak, but you always want the biggest piece. You should’ve accepted your role; you should have played your position. You had a nice little cozy space in the mid-card, where you could’ve thrived at. You could’ve made history just by being who you are, but instead you choose to step outside of your boundaries.
“I’m the big dog, Rocko. I belong where I am, and that’s why you’ll always seem to see me at the top. The EPW World Championship was not won on a fluke; I beat Lindsay Troy and Joey Melton because it was my birthright to be the best. The very moment I came out of retirement, one of the first things that I said I’d do was become the champ, and here I am...
“… And, you can call me a liar, a cheater, lucky; hell … you can call me Susan for all I care, just as long as you put EPW World Heavyweight Champion in the prefix, because that’s who I am, and it’s who I’ll be until *I* decide to change things. In fact ... you can continue to examine the dictionary for every synonym of the word stupid to lace your promos with, to hide the fact that you really have nothing to say, and, that you’re grasping at straws for material, and it still won’t make a difference. It still doesn’t change that I beat you, that I'm better than you, and that on that night, in your hotel room, when you tried to comfort your crying wife with a french kiss, and it had that funny taste, it was because technically you french kissed my penis.”
He smirked.
“You're like a delusional John Kerry. America didn't make last election so close because they liked him. They voted for him because they disliked Bush. Don't flatter yourself into thinking you're more important than you actually are, Rocko. I don't want to kill you. I want to keep my title, and I will, by any means necessary, and if that means taking it to that level where you don't return, so be it. Because, not all dogs are obedient, Daymon. Some like to test their master, to flex their muscle, to try to run the master's house, and bite the hand that feeds them. *I* made you a main eventer, I made you popular, I made you who you are, and if you want to be an ungrateful little b_tch, and not fall in line?”
He cocked the shotgun once more, and fired it again, only this time, a painful moan echos.
“... *I* will be the one that puts you to sleep.”
... Fade-to-Black
----
*Disclaimer*
No animals were hurt in the filming of this promo. I mean, c'mon people, his last name is Stevens, not Vick.
Last edited:
Others are looking down
(We fade in midday at a scrapyard in Houston’s Fifth Ward. Through the heaps of corroded metal that surround them, two figures appear on screen. One of them wears a set of faded blue coveralls with the name over the front pocket reading “Rufus,” likely an employee or the owner of the yard. The man walking with him is ROCKO DAYMON.)
Rufus
He’s right up here.
Rocko Daymon
Cool… how much are you asking for again?
Rufus
I dunno… twenty? Twenty-five? Don’t really matter, since you’re going to say no after you see him.
(The come to a clearing in the sprawled aisle of car parts and twisted metal. A solid brown stake has been buried a few feet into the earth. Tied to this pole in the ground is a chain that extends about fifteen feet and ends at a leash around the neck of the ugliest gray mutt to ever fall out of a b*tch’s ass.)
Rufus
Yeah, that’s him.
Rocko Daymon
…damn, you weren’t kidding.
Rufus
Yeah, well… that ain’t no show-dog you’re looking at. Gotta be ugly… can’t be TOUGH if you ain’t ugly, know what I’m sayin’?
Rocko Daymon
What’s its name?
Rufus
Hooch.
(The dog, missing an eye, an ear, and marred beyond all belief, lazily acknowledges the humans from his place on the ground. It’s a middle-aged dog with mostly bullmastiff features, far detached from a young stallion but hardly on in years. Rufus takes a swig from a flask and turns back the way he came.)
Rufus
I’ll give you a few to look him over, make sure he ain’t got any parasites. Come see me in my office if you want him.
Rocko Daymon
Thanks.
(Alone with the dog, Rocko comes in for a closer look, staying outside the reach of its chain. The two spend a moment studying each other… and eventually, Rocko arches an eyebrow to the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Do you know what the benefit of being a stupid dog is?
(Hooch picks up a nearby cattle bone with his maw and digs his yellowed teeth into it, passively gnawing through another day of his canine life.)
Rocko Daymon
Hooch here pretty much fits your typical junkyard dog stereotype: ugly as sh*t and just as dense… but not without his rough side. Hooch is what you might call a “survivor,” in that he’s had a lot of tough moments in his lifetime, but stood strong through it all. Every mangled appendage on that dog’s body is a testament to how much sh*t he’s suffered. Although to be fair and realistic… we can assume that most of that sh*t was only the result of him being dumber than your standard “Not Another Genre-Spoof Movie.”
Yet in spite of being stupid most of the time, this dog has acquired a type of secret wisdom that can only come from playing with matches and getting your ass burned.
(He glances at the dog and briefly points at his eye, pointing out that it’s missing.)
Rocko Daymon
I bet you anything he learned to stay out of whatever the hell did that to him. You know how I know? Well, he still has the other eye, don’t he?
This dog had to become a fighter just to survive, and the fact that he’s still there should tell you right away that he’s learned enough over the years to fight well.
Ugly and stupid… and thus, underestimated. A lethal combination…
(Daymon steps within that safety zone of fifteen feet, and the dog immediately looks up from the bone and on the approaching human.)
Rocko Daymon
Hooch is hardly a candidate to win the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, by all means… but you have to wonder, even if he could give a damn… would he? No doubt, he could live the rest of his life tied to that pole without complaint, provided other dogs keep out of his space.
And one would be wise to abide…
(Daymon takes a few steps closer, and the animal instinctively comes up on all fours, quietly growling as a way of warning. Rocko pauses before advancing any further.)
Rocko Daymon
…because the “hand that feeds” is apparently also the one that scolds. That doesn’t make an obedient pup… it only makes an uncontrollable monster, bound to a stake for the safety of others.
(Not backing down, Rocko lowers himself to the animal’s level and holds out his hand, palm down. Tentatively, the large canine approaches, catches his scent, detects that he’s no threat, and allows the wrestler to scratch the nape of its neck for only a moment. Satisfied with this shared interaction, Daymon stands up and backs outside of the dog’s space, turning to the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
When you abuse your dog, Sean, you have to expect that it will inevitably turn on its master. Just don’t forget that there’s no chain that holds me back.
(Rocko continues down the path that led him to the dog, following it by memory. The Texas weather has allowed him to dress light today, sporting only a standard pair of carpenter jeans and a black Neurosis t-shirt. He takes his time, walking with the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
I admit that I’ve made more mistakes in my career than I can properly keep count of, and you probably know that better than anybody else, Sean. But if there’s been anything decent to come out of every f*ck-up in my legacy, it’s that I gain a unique perspective of the pecking order of life. I use that kind of wisdom to evolve as an athlete, mentally and spiritually… to succeed beyond those that bested me once before.
You constantly talk about what I’ve “always” been… never really grasping that every time you step in the ring with me, you’re facing a tougher, wiser, more determined Rocko Daymon that isn’t about to be fooled a second time around. That’s why even though some could argue that I have a reputation for falling short of the goal line… NOBODY can deny that every time I go for it, I get just a little bit closer than the last time.
Eventually, something’s got to give… and considering you’re still stuck on the same mentality as JA and Hiroshi in that everything and everyone is forever unchanged in all circumstances, I’d say that “give” has finally arrived.
After all, I really don’t expect you would know anything about growing as a professional athlete, Sean. According to your own bullsh*t logic, you’ve “always” been this industry’s greatest wrestler… and really, how can you get any better than being that? But being the best at what you are is a double-edged sword.
What you and those that underestimated me before you fail to grasp is that knowing everything there is and everything there ever was to professional wrestling leaves you blind to the things that will be.
Just like my success, your failure is inevitable. It was practically written in stone that one day, somebody would begin to think and act a step ahead of you, and the thing you’ve “always” been will be overshadowed by that which you will become at the hands of the man that has outgrown you.
(Another clearing is several feet up ahead. Daymon hangs back to address the camera for a few more minutes.)
Rocko Daymon
Keep in mind… I’m not trying to refute what you claim to be. But you seem to have trouble in realizing that I really don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, regardless of your legacy and career achievements, you’re still flesh and bone that can be hurt and broken. Being the best ever is nothing more than resume padding… and it means nothing as to who will be the better man at Black Dawn.
You certainly weren’t the better man in the cage… no matter how many times you try to deny it, or pass it off as unimportant to the matter at hand.
And just to clarify, I wasn’t really referring to the match that you initially brought up to make any excuse on my own short-comings, Sean, but thank you for jumping to that conclusion like the predictable c*ck-ass you always are. I was merely pointing out the fact that you were in that ring bleeding like a menstruating vagina, in a position a tad contradictory to what one would envision to be the “Alpha and Omega of wrestling.”
I can understand if you lack the stones to admit I slapped the red, crab-ridden pubic hairs out of your molars, but the more you continue to deny it, Sean, the graver your situation becomes.
The problem with people who “always” succeed like you, Sean, is that you overlook the fact that you almost lost because of you made the mistake of underestimating what I could bring to the table when it mattered. Your mindset going into this match is almost completely the same as it was then… only this time, we don’t have a cage around us, and you’re going to have to do a little more than crawl to walk out of that arena with the belt.
Like last time—or more appropriately, like “ALWAYS”—you’re suffering from the same problem: In spite of how good you might be in the ring, you don’t know how to evolve under all that f*cking blonde hair. Hell, your every televised XxX-capade is just a different way of saying the exact same recycled message: “I’m the best ever, and you’re not, so HA!”
(A dry chuckle escapes him.)
Rocko Daymon
That’s why every time I hear the word “always” slip out of your mouth, whether it’s referring to how you’ve “always” been at the top spot or how I’ve “always” failed when it mattered most, it’s like music to my ears—on the level of the first four Black Sabbath albums—because you don’t know how wrong you are. Rather than think about what I might be bringing and how far I’m willing to go this time around, you’d just as soon as fall into that age-old expectation that Rocko Daymon is and “always will be” nothing but a failure.
But how much are you willing to bet you’re completely and undeniably correct, Sean? Are you so sure that you’re right that you’ll risk your title, your pride, your reputation… your career? Will you guaran-f*cking-tee it to my face?
(A daring smile crosses his face as his brown eyes burrow holes into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
I’m telling you now, Sean… if you continue to believe that I can’t win when it matters, then just like JA and Hiroshi before you, you’ll come to find out that “always” isn’t as constant as you thought it was.
There’s more that lies beneath the surface of what you THINK is the truth, Sean… and you just aren’t seeing it, either because you’re too proud or too dumb.
It’s probably a little of both.
(No more smiles… completely confident and straight-faced.)
Rocko Daymon
The truth is… professional wrestling is an ever-growing, ever-changing industry… and right now, times are a-changing. Sadly, Empire Pro’s World Heavyweight champion is not. His ego’s gotten away from him, as we all knew it would, and I’m going to be the one to serve him the “Reality Check” that Cameron Cruise only wishes he could dish out.
Why me? Well, there’s no easy answer to that. Maybe it’s because I represent the classic revolution of the servant overthrowing the master. Maybe fate just decided that my time to rise has finally come. Or maybe it’s just because out of all the people that have failed at the hands of Sean Stevens in the past year, I’m the one that came closest to derailing his train.
All that matters is that I’m here, and whether or not all the change in me pays off in the long run, I’m not about to back down from this once in a lifetime opportunity.
(Rocko again begins walking, heading for the small trailer that is Rufus’ “office” near the main gate. The scrapyard owner stands leaning against a hollowed-out Coke machine, sipping at his flask.)
Rufus
So, what do you think?
Rocko Daymon
Not for me, man. That dog is done living under a master.
Rufus
Yeah, I suppose he is. Though I suppose it kinda makes you wonder how he’ll get by in life without somebody looking after him.
Rocko Daymon
Oh… I’m sure he’ll survive.
I guarantee it.
(Rocko steps through the open gate and out onto the streets of Houston as the camera fades to black.)
(We fade in midday at a scrapyard in Houston’s Fifth Ward. Through the heaps of corroded metal that surround them, two figures appear on screen. One of them wears a set of faded blue coveralls with the name over the front pocket reading “Rufus,” likely an employee or the owner of the yard. The man walking with him is ROCKO DAYMON.)
Rufus
He’s right up here.
Rocko Daymon
Cool… how much are you asking for again?
Rufus
I dunno… twenty? Twenty-five? Don’t really matter, since you’re going to say no after you see him.
(The come to a clearing in the sprawled aisle of car parts and twisted metal. A solid brown stake has been buried a few feet into the earth. Tied to this pole in the ground is a chain that extends about fifteen feet and ends at a leash around the neck of the ugliest gray mutt to ever fall out of a b*tch’s ass.)
Rufus
Yeah, that’s him.
Rocko Daymon
…damn, you weren’t kidding.
Rufus
Yeah, well… that ain’t no show-dog you’re looking at. Gotta be ugly… can’t be TOUGH if you ain’t ugly, know what I’m sayin’?
Rocko Daymon
What’s its name?
Rufus
Hooch.
(The dog, missing an eye, an ear, and marred beyond all belief, lazily acknowledges the humans from his place on the ground. It’s a middle-aged dog with mostly bullmastiff features, far detached from a young stallion but hardly on in years. Rufus takes a swig from a flask and turns back the way he came.)
Rufus
I’ll give you a few to look him over, make sure he ain’t got any parasites. Come see me in my office if you want him.
Rocko Daymon
Thanks.
(Alone with the dog, Rocko comes in for a closer look, staying outside the reach of its chain. The two spend a moment studying each other… and eventually, Rocko arches an eyebrow to the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Do you know what the benefit of being a stupid dog is?
(Hooch picks up a nearby cattle bone with his maw and digs his yellowed teeth into it, passively gnawing through another day of his canine life.)
Rocko Daymon
Hooch here pretty much fits your typical junkyard dog stereotype: ugly as sh*t and just as dense… but not without his rough side. Hooch is what you might call a “survivor,” in that he’s had a lot of tough moments in his lifetime, but stood strong through it all. Every mangled appendage on that dog’s body is a testament to how much sh*t he’s suffered. Although to be fair and realistic… we can assume that most of that sh*t was only the result of him being dumber than your standard “Not Another Genre-Spoof Movie.”
Yet in spite of being stupid most of the time, this dog has acquired a type of secret wisdom that can only come from playing with matches and getting your ass burned.
(He glances at the dog and briefly points at his eye, pointing out that it’s missing.)
Rocko Daymon
I bet you anything he learned to stay out of whatever the hell did that to him. You know how I know? Well, he still has the other eye, don’t he?
This dog had to become a fighter just to survive, and the fact that he’s still there should tell you right away that he’s learned enough over the years to fight well.
Ugly and stupid… and thus, underestimated. A lethal combination…
(Daymon steps within that safety zone of fifteen feet, and the dog immediately looks up from the bone and on the approaching human.)
Rocko Daymon
Hooch is hardly a candidate to win the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, by all means… but you have to wonder, even if he could give a damn… would he? No doubt, he could live the rest of his life tied to that pole without complaint, provided other dogs keep out of his space.
And one would be wise to abide…
(Daymon takes a few steps closer, and the animal instinctively comes up on all fours, quietly growling as a way of warning. Rocko pauses before advancing any further.)
Rocko Daymon
…because the “hand that feeds” is apparently also the one that scolds. That doesn’t make an obedient pup… it only makes an uncontrollable monster, bound to a stake for the safety of others.
(Not backing down, Rocko lowers himself to the animal’s level and holds out his hand, palm down. Tentatively, the large canine approaches, catches his scent, detects that he’s no threat, and allows the wrestler to scratch the nape of its neck for only a moment. Satisfied with this shared interaction, Daymon stands up and backs outside of the dog’s space, turning to the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
When you abuse your dog, Sean, you have to expect that it will inevitably turn on its master. Just don’t forget that there’s no chain that holds me back.
(Rocko continues down the path that led him to the dog, following it by memory. The Texas weather has allowed him to dress light today, sporting only a standard pair of carpenter jeans and a black Neurosis t-shirt. He takes his time, walking with the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
I admit that I’ve made more mistakes in my career than I can properly keep count of, and you probably know that better than anybody else, Sean. But if there’s been anything decent to come out of every f*ck-up in my legacy, it’s that I gain a unique perspective of the pecking order of life. I use that kind of wisdom to evolve as an athlete, mentally and spiritually… to succeed beyond those that bested me once before.
You constantly talk about what I’ve “always” been… never really grasping that every time you step in the ring with me, you’re facing a tougher, wiser, more determined Rocko Daymon that isn’t about to be fooled a second time around. That’s why even though some could argue that I have a reputation for falling short of the goal line… NOBODY can deny that every time I go for it, I get just a little bit closer than the last time.
Eventually, something’s got to give… and considering you’re still stuck on the same mentality as JA and Hiroshi in that everything and everyone is forever unchanged in all circumstances, I’d say that “give” has finally arrived.
After all, I really don’t expect you would know anything about growing as a professional athlete, Sean. According to your own bullsh*t logic, you’ve “always” been this industry’s greatest wrestler… and really, how can you get any better than being that? But being the best at what you are is a double-edged sword.
What you and those that underestimated me before you fail to grasp is that knowing everything there is and everything there ever was to professional wrestling leaves you blind to the things that will be.
Just like my success, your failure is inevitable. It was practically written in stone that one day, somebody would begin to think and act a step ahead of you, and the thing you’ve “always” been will be overshadowed by that which you will become at the hands of the man that has outgrown you.
(Another clearing is several feet up ahead. Daymon hangs back to address the camera for a few more minutes.)
Rocko Daymon
Keep in mind… I’m not trying to refute what you claim to be. But you seem to have trouble in realizing that I really don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, regardless of your legacy and career achievements, you’re still flesh and bone that can be hurt and broken. Being the best ever is nothing more than resume padding… and it means nothing as to who will be the better man at Black Dawn.
You certainly weren’t the better man in the cage… no matter how many times you try to deny it, or pass it off as unimportant to the matter at hand.
And just to clarify, I wasn’t really referring to the match that you initially brought up to make any excuse on my own short-comings, Sean, but thank you for jumping to that conclusion like the predictable c*ck-ass you always are. I was merely pointing out the fact that you were in that ring bleeding like a menstruating vagina, in a position a tad contradictory to what one would envision to be the “Alpha and Omega of wrestling.”
I can understand if you lack the stones to admit I slapped the red, crab-ridden pubic hairs out of your molars, but the more you continue to deny it, Sean, the graver your situation becomes.
The problem with people who “always” succeed like you, Sean, is that you overlook the fact that you almost lost because of you made the mistake of underestimating what I could bring to the table when it mattered. Your mindset going into this match is almost completely the same as it was then… only this time, we don’t have a cage around us, and you’re going to have to do a little more than crawl to walk out of that arena with the belt.
Like last time—or more appropriately, like “ALWAYS”—you’re suffering from the same problem: In spite of how good you might be in the ring, you don’t know how to evolve under all that f*cking blonde hair. Hell, your every televised XxX-capade is just a different way of saying the exact same recycled message: “I’m the best ever, and you’re not, so HA!”
(A dry chuckle escapes him.)
Rocko Daymon
That’s why every time I hear the word “always” slip out of your mouth, whether it’s referring to how you’ve “always” been at the top spot or how I’ve “always” failed when it mattered most, it’s like music to my ears—on the level of the first four Black Sabbath albums—because you don’t know how wrong you are. Rather than think about what I might be bringing and how far I’m willing to go this time around, you’d just as soon as fall into that age-old expectation that Rocko Daymon is and “always will be” nothing but a failure.
But how much are you willing to bet you’re completely and undeniably correct, Sean? Are you so sure that you’re right that you’ll risk your title, your pride, your reputation… your career? Will you guaran-f*cking-tee it to my face?
(A daring smile crosses his face as his brown eyes burrow holes into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
I’m telling you now, Sean… if you continue to believe that I can’t win when it matters, then just like JA and Hiroshi before you, you’ll come to find out that “always” isn’t as constant as you thought it was.
There’s more that lies beneath the surface of what you THINK is the truth, Sean… and you just aren’t seeing it, either because you’re too proud or too dumb.
It’s probably a little of both.
(No more smiles… completely confident and straight-faced.)
Rocko Daymon
The truth is… professional wrestling is an ever-growing, ever-changing industry… and right now, times are a-changing. Sadly, Empire Pro’s World Heavyweight champion is not. His ego’s gotten away from him, as we all knew it would, and I’m going to be the one to serve him the “Reality Check” that Cameron Cruise only wishes he could dish out.
Why me? Well, there’s no easy answer to that. Maybe it’s because I represent the classic revolution of the servant overthrowing the master. Maybe fate just decided that my time to rise has finally come. Or maybe it’s just because out of all the people that have failed at the hands of Sean Stevens in the past year, I’m the one that came closest to derailing his train.
All that matters is that I’m here, and whether or not all the change in me pays off in the long run, I’m not about to back down from this once in a lifetime opportunity.
(Rocko again begins walking, heading for the small trailer that is Rufus’ “office” near the main gate. The scrapyard owner stands leaning against a hollowed-out Coke machine, sipping at his flask.)
Rufus
So, what do you think?
Rocko Daymon
Not for me, man. That dog is done living under a master.
Rufus
Yeah, I suppose he is. Though I suppose it kinda makes you wonder how he’ll get by in life without somebody looking after him.
Rocko Daymon
Oh… I’m sure he’ll survive.
I guarantee it.
(Rocko steps through the open gate and out onto the streets of Houston as the camera fades to black.)