Chain Reaction 7: The Minstrel vs. Eddie Patton vs. Eddie Whisky
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The Minstrel
League Member
- Joined
- Mar 6, 2012
- Messages
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- Points
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The Evil You Don't Know
[A vacuum roars as it’s pushed across the carpet of a nursery by a rather large young man. The white crib sits in the background against blue wallpaper with stripes containing cartoon ducklings. The baby is noticeably absent from the nursery as the noise would almost certainly result in one of the more violent crying fits one could imagine.]
[The man is wearing a black t-shirt with a worn yellow Batman logo on it and a pair of blue jeans. His hair is styled back and slightly up, dark in color with an almost navy tint to it. He could not be older than twenty as there is energy and youthfulness apparent in his appearance despite his rugged jawline complete with reddish brown stubble. The young man also appears to be in exceedingly good shape.]
[As he flips the vacuum off, he breathes a sigh of relief and stares at the crib with a slight grin. As he squats to wrap the chord up, there is a grimace of pain on his face.]
John, you are going age unbelievably well if you keep doing that.
[A woman's voice - older, mature speaks with a tone, which can best be described as some combination of concerned and disapproving. The woman walks in sporting a dark green sweater and a pair of jeans. Her hair is brown with signs of grey and is slightly longer than shoulder length. She walks past the younger man who rolls his eyes while finishing wrapping up the chord. She has a mobile in her hand with various cartoon characters as decorations.]
John: All done here, ma.
[John grabs the vacuum handle with his right hand and lifts it off the ground.]
Mom: Hit the living room with it quick - they're about an hour out with Brandon. We want everything to be perfect.
[John nods his head and walks towards the door. This woman, who is presumably his mother, situates the mobile on the hook above the bed with the utmost delicacy. After hanging it just right, she admires her handiwork and gives an almost identical grin to the one we just witnessed from John.]
Mom: He'll be here soon.
[Tears well up in her eyes, but do not break free. Her excitement is evident as the grin has turned into an all-out smile - perfectly imperfect.]
Mom: I've got to make sure everything is set downstairs for Maggie.
[She turns gracefully and starts to exit. In the background, we see a shadow unnaturally creep slowly up from the right corner of the room to just in back of the crib. Mom stops right before she hits the door as she feels a breeze at her back. The breeze causes the mobile to spin and to start to play music. A puzzled look crosses her face, she gets chills down her back, but continues out of the room.]
[The window we can see is shut.]
[The shadow creeps back to its spot in the right corner of the room - crossing through sunlight as it does so.]
[Fade.]
[A doorbell rings and in response, the door opens to reveal a young man with blue eyes and short brown hair. He looks to be just a teenager, but appears worn out and tired – he lacks the energy of a man his age. His eyes do not have the life of someone who is so young.]
[The young man wears a green t-shirt with "Wildcard" written across the front and a pair of jeans. Over his shoulder, he has a dark blue duffle bag. The young man seems thin in build, but with good muscle tone.]
[He gives his best effort at a smile as a hand reaches out to him.]
How's it going, Brandon?
[Into the picture walks a man, who we've just met, but who has obviously grown older. John has traded in his jet-black/navy blue tinted-hair - for a dark brown/grey combination, and has now grown the beard full complete with a brown/red color combination. John still seems to be in good shape although obviously not as great as before.]
[Brandon steps in and accepts John's hand.]
Brandon: Good as can be expected, I suppose, Uncle John.
[John gives a half-grin as he takes the young man's duffle bag from him. He pats Brandon on the back as the young man walks in and closes the door behind him.]
John: I hear that, buddy.
[The young man takes a couple of steps into the house and plops down on the dark blue couch in what appears to be the living room. The coffee table in front of him has a pair of unopened sodas waiting – the young man clicks one open. John tosses the bag onto a chair by the side of the couch and sits down on the ottoman that accompanies the chair. ]
[There is an awkward pause...]
John: So... Listen... I want you to know - from my own experience - that continuing your training can be really therapeutic in a lot of ways. Or at least it was for me…
[John fumbles with his words – not wanting to be overbearing on the young man.]
Well, what I mean is… We're all our own people so if you wanted to take some time off, that would be more than okay too.
[Brandon has been looking away from John, but once John finishes speaking. Brandon looks at John with an appreciative though only slight grin.]
Brandon: Yeah, I have given it some thought. I appreciate your advice and, honestly, everything you've done throughout this whole process with my mother.
And I have given it a ton of thought and I agree – I think continuing would be good for me. I think I need that release at this point.
[John was obviously hoping to hear that answer - as he nods his head approvingly.]
John: Listen, you don't have to thank me at all - I'll do whatever I can for you. I have total faith that Maggie will get better…
[Brandon snickers at this comment and rolls his eyes as he leans forward and preparing to rise from the couch.]
Brandon: Have a lot more faith than me. Anyway, let me get settled so we can grab some grub – I’m starving here.
[John just nods his head knowing he does not need to say anymore at this point. He reaches around and gives Brandon his duffle bag from behind where he sits. The young man heads off to the right and up the stairs. John watches Brandon go up the steps and then leans backs, running his hands through his hair.]
[Fade.]
[A spotlight shines on a stage where a stool sits occupied only by a mask - the Greek mask for comedy - solid white with an extreme grin. The auditorium where the stage is located is seemingly empty as there are rows of empty seats leading up the stage.]
[Or not. There is some shuffling behind the red curtain on the stage, which stops without warning.]
[The cameraman slowly moves towards the stage when another spotlight turns on, shining on the mask at first and then slowly lighting the path up the aisle. The director of this light can only be identified as a silhouette as the distance and glare from the light make any details impossible to see.]
[Shuffling – louder this time - behind the curtain again brings the attention to the stage.]
Anticipation... Anxiousness... And the relief that follows once the moment has passed.
[The voice is somewhat raspy but deliberate in its enunciation - refusing to let any word slip without purpose. The just-above whisper tone is only just loud enough to make out over the shuffling behind thebright red curtain.]
And what follows is... A sigh... A cry... A laugh!
[There is a bit of a giggle, which follows this rather abrasive statement following the steady slow speech prior. The laughter almost seems to be coming from the mask with its mocking grin on stage.]
That sense of relief only follows the beginning, but what about after… Is it worth it to ever lower you guard? Weren’t you bracing for something much bigger than one moment?
[A figure emerges from behind the red curtain, but the man is only a silhouette to our eyes. There are no definite features of him at this time as he lurks in the shadows on stage approaches the front where the mask was sitting.]
I certainly hope so because it is much less fun with the defenseless. Too easy. However, when they are braced for every possible outcome… That’s when the real fun begins.
[We hear the sounds of two hands slapping and then rubbing together emphatically.]
This is my hope for you Mr. Patton and Mr… Ahem… Whisky. I hope neither of you have gotten too comfortable, too content with your respective places, which judging by your most recent exploits is on your back.
[He chuckles at this comment.]
Because if that’s the case you’re in the wrong line of work my friends – there’s a swell fellow downtown though who could probably give you on opportunity working nights on the corner. And you might even enjoy the pounding if you catch my drift.
[The man has reached the chair still chuckling along, but we still can't make out any of his facial appearance, but we can see he is wearing a black suit with a white shirt. His hands rest in his pockets as he comes to a complete stop – he see-saws back and forth on the tips of his shoes though.]
Enough silliness, if you do want his card, I’ll leave it with the ref before the match – I’m sure the ref will give it to you once you regain consciousness.
The point is I hope you’re not satisfied with your most recent failures and I hope you prepare like it’s your first match, like it’s your first time under the big bright lights. I want the desperation of coming off a loss, I want you at your absolute best…
Because, if that’s the case and even if it’s as I suspect not very good, I still get to reap the benefits of witnessing the utter shock and dismay in your eyes, when all your work, preparation and…
[He shudders before continuing onto the next point.]
Talent… turns to nothing. When I take everything you’ve worked for, everything you are truly passionate about – and burn it down. Burn. It. Down.
You see my ability to distort and surprise will overcome what you think is possible – Mr. Patton and Mr. Whisky, you may be expecting the unexpected, but I assure you… You will still be caught by surprise.
As will the rest of this wrestling federation – one at a time. Or hell, if they’re feeling frisky enough – like this week - two at a time. Who doesn’t enjoy a good ménage a tois, eh fellas?
[He giggles a bit while reaching down and grabbing the mask from the stool. With his hands he seems to place the mask over his face although it is difficult to tell based on the lighting.]
But that element of surprise… That's magic. That's when the jokes on them. And unfortunately, my friends, this week on the both of you.
[He steps forward finally from the shadows revealing the mask on his face. He has both of his arms out and makes a rather dramatic bow and holds the pose for a second.]
And that is no laughing matter…
[The spotlight goes completely out and the feed is lost.]
[A vacuum roars as it’s pushed across the carpet of a nursery by a rather large young man. The white crib sits in the background against blue wallpaper with stripes containing cartoon ducklings. The baby is noticeably absent from the nursery as the noise would almost certainly result in one of the more violent crying fits one could imagine.]
[The man is wearing a black t-shirt with a worn yellow Batman logo on it and a pair of blue jeans. His hair is styled back and slightly up, dark in color with an almost navy tint to it. He could not be older than twenty as there is energy and youthfulness apparent in his appearance despite his rugged jawline complete with reddish brown stubble. The young man also appears to be in exceedingly good shape.]
[As he flips the vacuum off, he breathes a sigh of relief and stares at the crib with a slight grin. As he squats to wrap the chord up, there is a grimace of pain on his face.]
John, you are going age unbelievably well if you keep doing that.
[A woman's voice - older, mature speaks with a tone, which can best be described as some combination of concerned and disapproving. The woman walks in sporting a dark green sweater and a pair of jeans. Her hair is brown with signs of grey and is slightly longer than shoulder length. She walks past the younger man who rolls his eyes while finishing wrapping up the chord. She has a mobile in her hand with various cartoon characters as decorations.]
John: All done here, ma.
[John grabs the vacuum handle with his right hand and lifts it off the ground.]
Mom: Hit the living room with it quick - they're about an hour out with Brandon. We want everything to be perfect.
[John nods his head and walks towards the door. This woman, who is presumably his mother, situates the mobile on the hook above the bed with the utmost delicacy. After hanging it just right, she admires her handiwork and gives an almost identical grin to the one we just witnessed from John.]
Mom: He'll be here soon.
[Tears well up in her eyes, but do not break free. Her excitement is evident as the grin has turned into an all-out smile - perfectly imperfect.]
Mom: I've got to make sure everything is set downstairs for Maggie.
[She turns gracefully and starts to exit. In the background, we see a shadow unnaturally creep slowly up from the right corner of the room to just in back of the crib. Mom stops right before she hits the door as she feels a breeze at her back. The breeze causes the mobile to spin and to start to play music. A puzzled look crosses her face, she gets chills down her back, but continues out of the room.]
[The window we can see is shut.]
[The shadow creeps back to its spot in the right corner of the room - crossing through sunlight as it does so.]
[Fade.]
[A doorbell rings and in response, the door opens to reveal a young man with blue eyes and short brown hair. He looks to be just a teenager, but appears worn out and tired – he lacks the energy of a man his age. His eyes do not have the life of someone who is so young.]
[The young man wears a green t-shirt with "Wildcard" written across the front and a pair of jeans. Over his shoulder, he has a dark blue duffle bag. The young man seems thin in build, but with good muscle tone.]
[He gives his best effort at a smile as a hand reaches out to him.]
How's it going, Brandon?
[Into the picture walks a man, who we've just met, but who has obviously grown older. John has traded in his jet-black/navy blue tinted-hair - for a dark brown/grey combination, and has now grown the beard full complete with a brown/red color combination. John still seems to be in good shape although obviously not as great as before.]
[Brandon steps in and accepts John's hand.]
Brandon: Good as can be expected, I suppose, Uncle John.
[John gives a half-grin as he takes the young man's duffle bag from him. He pats Brandon on the back as the young man walks in and closes the door behind him.]
John: I hear that, buddy.
[The young man takes a couple of steps into the house and plops down on the dark blue couch in what appears to be the living room. The coffee table in front of him has a pair of unopened sodas waiting – the young man clicks one open. John tosses the bag onto a chair by the side of the couch and sits down on the ottoman that accompanies the chair. ]
[There is an awkward pause...]
John: So... Listen... I want you to know - from my own experience - that continuing your training can be really therapeutic in a lot of ways. Or at least it was for me…
[John fumbles with his words – not wanting to be overbearing on the young man.]
Well, what I mean is… We're all our own people so if you wanted to take some time off, that would be more than okay too.
[Brandon has been looking away from John, but once John finishes speaking. Brandon looks at John with an appreciative though only slight grin.]
Brandon: Yeah, I have given it some thought. I appreciate your advice and, honestly, everything you've done throughout this whole process with my mother.
And I have given it a ton of thought and I agree – I think continuing would be good for me. I think I need that release at this point.
[John was obviously hoping to hear that answer - as he nods his head approvingly.]
John: Listen, you don't have to thank me at all - I'll do whatever I can for you. I have total faith that Maggie will get better…
[Brandon snickers at this comment and rolls his eyes as he leans forward and preparing to rise from the couch.]
Brandon: Have a lot more faith than me. Anyway, let me get settled so we can grab some grub – I’m starving here.
[John just nods his head knowing he does not need to say anymore at this point. He reaches around and gives Brandon his duffle bag from behind where he sits. The young man heads off to the right and up the stairs. John watches Brandon go up the steps and then leans backs, running his hands through his hair.]
[Fade.]
[A spotlight shines on a stage where a stool sits occupied only by a mask - the Greek mask for comedy - solid white with an extreme grin. The auditorium where the stage is located is seemingly empty as there are rows of empty seats leading up the stage.]
[Or not. There is some shuffling behind the red curtain on the stage, which stops without warning.]
[The cameraman slowly moves towards the stage when another spotlight turns on, shining on the mask at first and then slowly lighting the path up the aisle. The director of this light can only be identified as a silhouette as the distance and glare from the light make any details impossible to see.]
[Shuffling – louder this time - behind the curtain again brings the attention to the stage.]
Anticipation... Anxiousness... And the relief that follows once the moment has passed.
[The voice is somewhat raspy but deliberate in its enunciation - refusing to let any word slip without purpose. The just-above whisper tone is only just loud enough to make out over the shuffling behind thebright red curtain.]
And what follows is... A sigh... A cry... A laugh!
[There is a bit of a giggle, which follows this rather abrasive statement following the steady slow speech prior. The laughter almost seems to be coming from the mask with its mocking grin on stage.]
That sense of relief only follows the beginning, but what about after… Is it worth it to ever lower you guard? Weren’t you bracing for something much bigger than one moment?
[A figure emerges from behind the red curtain, but the man is only a silhouette to our eyes. There are no definite features of him at this time as he lurks in the shadows on stage approaches the front where the mask was sitting.]
I certainly hope so because it is much less fun with the defenseless. Too easy. However, when they are braced for every possible outcome… That’s when the real fun begins.
[We hear the sounds of two hands slapping and then rubbing together emphatically.]
This is my hope for you Mr. Patton and Mr… Ahem… Whisky. I hope neither of you have gotten too comfortable, too content with your respective places, which judging by your most recent exploits is on your back.
[He chuckles at this comment.]
Because if that’s the case you’re in the wrong line of work my friends – there’s a swell fellow downtown though who could probably give you on opportunity working nights on the corner. And you might even enjoy the pounding if you catch my drift.
[The man has reached the chair still chuckling along, but we still can't make out any of his facial appearance, but we can see he is wearing a black suit with a white shirt. His hands rest in his pockets as he comes to a complete stop – he see-saws back and forth on the tips of his shoes though.]
Enough silliness, if you do want his card, I’ll leave it with the ref before the match – I’m sure the ref will give it to you once you regain consciousness.
The point is I hope you’re not satisfied with your most recent failures and I hope you prepare like it’s your first match, like it’s your first time under the big bright lights. I want the desperation of coming off a loss, I want you at your absolute best…
Because, if that’s the case and even if it’s as I suspect not very good, I still get to reap the benefits of witnessing the utter shock and dismay in your eyes, when all your work, preparation and…
[He shudders before continuing onto the next point.]
Talent… turns to nothing. When I take everything you’ve worked for, everything you are truly passionate about – and burn it down. Burn. It. Down.
You see my ability to distort and surprise will overcome what you think is possible – Mr. Patton and Mr. Whisky, you may be expecting the unexpected, but I assure you… You will still be caught by surprise.
As will the rest of this wrestling federation – one at a time. Or hell, if they’re feeling frisky enough – like this week - two at a time. Who doesn’t enjoy a good ménage a tois, eh fellas?
[He giggles a bit while reaching down and grabbing the mask from the stool. With his hands he seems to place the mask over his face although it is difficult to tell based on the lighting.]
But that element of surprise… That's magic. That's when the jokes on them. And unfortunately, my friends, this week on the both of you.
[He steps forward finally from the shadows revealing the mask on his face. He has both of his arms out and makes a rather dramatic bow and holds the pose for a second.]
And that is no laughing matter…
[The spotlight goes completely out and the feed is lost.]
Last edited:
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
(SFX: Thud. Thud. Thud.)
(FADEIN as Eddie Patton is hitting a heavy bag over and over again. He looks absolutely exhausted and sweat drips down from every inch of his body. He's wearing boxing gloves and an Indiana Hoosiers tanktop with grey sweats. After a few moments he almost collapses and stops, leaning against the heavy bag. He catches a breath after a few moments.)
PATTON: "Startin' to become a real habit of mine. Walk into a place with big hopes, big dreams... and walk right out with big disappointment.
"Somethin' about those first night jitters. I dunno. Somethin' about the comfort I feel. About the way I ain't quite arrived yet. I dunno.
"And while I sure appreciate Mr. Minstrel findin' the time to let me know about alternative types of work... there ain't not other work in the world for me. And if that means I gotta out out there, night after night, and get my butt whipped pillar to post, then so be it.
"I ain't a quitter. I ain't gonna run back home with my tail tucked between my legs. I know I don't look like much, but I am a man. And a man don't just up and quit when things don't go accordin' to plan.
"He doubles down. He pushes harder and harder. Until there ain't hardly anything left. And then he pushes a little harder than that.
"The differenc between a champion and a nobody ain't such a big gap as they think... we ain't just all blessed by the Lord. It's earned right here.
"Right here... there's truth in this punchin' bag. It don't what color your skin is or if you are a rich or poor man. It only cares how hard you hit. How hard you fight back.
"How hard you're willin' to push when the world is pushin' you.
"That's what you want, right, Minstrel? Me angry and desperate for a win? Ready to expect the unexpected and lose anyway?
"You reckon I ain't got much of a chance against a man like you who wants to watch the world burn, right? You're just here to punish us all for some deed done to you long ago.
"Well I ain't here to pay for nothin'. I'm here to wrestle. To get every, each and every single night. And it don't matter if I lose because every loss teaches me somethin'. Every misstep and mistake makes me stronger.
"You can spend your whole life regrettin' the choices you make and standin' back and wishin' things had been different. But life ain't like that. The past is the past.
"If I could go back and beat that fella last Chain Reaction, I would. But I can't. I can only double down. I can only push harder and further.
"I still feel that electricity runnin' through my veins. I know I'm destined for this business and this business is destined for me. And it ain't gonna happen overnight.
"Whether it's you, Minstrel, or you, Mr. Whiskey, I'm gonna come to win. I'm gonna come to prove myself. To build somethin' for myself, for my family, for everybody back home who agrees with Minstrel that I'm too dumb and too talentless to do this. To cut my teeth.
"They say that the whole business has left people like me behind. That pure wrestlin' ain't exciting any more. That I'm just fodder for the real talent.
"People say a lotta things. But I ain't worried about that.
"Because the future is so bright I gotta wear sunglasses.
"One foot in front of the other. Always movin' forward.
"Destiny awaits, gentlemen."
(FADEOUT.)
(FADEIN as Eddie Patton is hitting a heavy bag over and over again. He looks absolutely exhausted and sweat drips down from every inch of his body. He's wearing boxing gloves and an Indiana Hoosiers tanktop with grey sweats. After a few moments he almost collapses and stops, leaning against the heavy bag. He catches a breath after a few moments.)
PATTON: "Startin' to become a real habit of mine. Walk into a place with big hopes, big dreams... and walk right out with big disappointment.
"Somethin' about those first night jitters. I dunno. Somethin' about the comfort I feel. About the way I ain't quite arrived yet. I dunno.
"And while I sure appreciate Mr. Minstrel findin' the time to let me know about alternative types of work... there ain't not other work in the world for me. And if that means I gotta out out there, night after night, and get my butt whipped pillar to post, then so be it.
"I ain't a quitter. I ain't gonna run back home with my tail tucked between my legs. I know I don't look like much, but I am a man. And a man don't just up and quit when things don't go accordin' to plan.
"He doubles down. He pushes harder and harder. Until there ain't hardly anything left. And then he pushes a little harder than that.
"The differenc between a champion and a nobody ain't such a big gap as they think... we ain't just all blessed by the Lord. It's earned right here.
"Right here... there's truth in this punchin' bag. It don't what color your skin is or if you are a rich or poor man. It only cares how hard you hit. How hard you fight back.
"How hard you're willin' to push when the world is pushin' you.
"That's what you want, right, Minstrel? Me angry and desperate for a win? Ready to expect the unexpected and lose anyway?
"You reckon I ain't got much of a chance against a man like you who wants to watch the world burn, right? You're just here to punish us all for some deed done to you long ago.
"Well I ain't here to pay for nothin'. I'm here to wrestle. To get every, each and every single night. And it don't matter if I lose because every loss teaches me somethin'. Every misstep and mistake makes me stronger.
"You can spend your whole life regrettin' the choices you make and standin' back and wishin' things had been different. But life ain't like that. The past is the past.
"If I could go back and beat that fella last Chain Reaction, I would. But I can't. I can only double down. I can only push harder and further.
"I still feel that electricity runnin' through my veins. I know I'm destined for this business and this business is destined for me. And it ain't gonna happen overnight.
"Whether it's you, Minstrel, or you, Mr. Whiskey, I'm gonna come to win. I'm gonna come to prove myself. To build somethin' for myself, for my family, for everybody back home who agrees with Minstrel that I'm too dumb and too talentless to do this. To cut my teeth.
"They say that the whole business has left people like me behind. That pure wrestlin' ain't exciting any more. That I'm just fodder for the real talent.
"People say a lotta things. But I ain't worried about that.
"Because the future is so bright I gotta wear sunglasses.
"One foot in front of the other. Always movin' forward.
"Destiny awaits, gentlemen."
(FADEOUT.)
The Minstrel
League Member
- Joined
- Mar 6, 2012
- Messages
- 92
- Points
- 0
Perception
[A young, auburn-haired woman sits in a rocking chair in a familiar nursery with a baby in her arms. She looks down at him contently – her eyes open and close slowly – but the smile on her face never changes. She is completely at peace with the world with the baby in her arms. The woman has soft, pale features and is wearing a tanktop and a pair of sweatpants.]
[This type of peace is never meant to last with an infant though as the baby’s arms start to flail about and he begins to cry. In an almost shocking fluid motion, the woman arises from the rocking chair and holds the baby vertically in her arms. In an attempt to comfort him, she lightly bounces him while she faces the window.]
[After a moment, the baby quiets… The child appears to be enthralled with something, which has caught his attention.]
[Behind the woman, the door slowly starts to close on its own.]
[Having calmed the baby, she places him down in the crib and turns on the monitor.]
You stay here for a minute, Brandon, my good little man.
[She smiles as he loses his footing and crashes butt-first into the bed. After walking backwards for a few steps, making faces, which prompt a giggle from the child, the woman turns to find the door has closed. She looks quizzically at it.]
Did I shut the door?
[She scratches her head and rolls her eyes at herself.]
Not enough sleep, I’m starting to lose it.
[She tries to open the door, but the knob will not turn. At first, she simply jiggles the handle to no avail and then attempts to turn it hard, but still fails.]
[She steps away and looks frustrated. Her hands hit her sides in frustration, but her half smile tells us she’s not overly upset.]
Crap.
[Undoubtedly, she’s relieved that she’s in the room with the child and not the other way around. She heads back towards the crib and leans over the edge where the baby is looking up at her.]
Already going senile… Poor Brandon.
[She hears the door open behind her and screams as she turns to find a man.]
Man: What?
[As the man approaches, she breathes a sigh of relief then when he arrives she slaps him on the arm. The man is a good-looking, younger gentleman with a slight tan, dirty blonde hair and is wearing a t-shirt and jeans.]
Woman: Dan, you scared the crap out of me! Why were you holding the door?
Dan: Are you losing it, Maggie? I was not holding the door – I just came in front outside.
[Maggie shakes her head as he smiles at her and reaches out for her shoulders. She looks up at him with a grin on her face.]
Maggie: I just might be… You have to look at that door – it jammed.
[Maggie steps closer and gives Dan a kiss before starting to walk towards the now open door.]
Maggie: I need a cup of tea, can you watch him for a few?
[Dan shouts back at her playfully as he leans over the crib to engage his son.]
Dan: Yes’sah mas’sr!
[Maggie is out of the room, but we hear her call back while laughing.]
Maggie: You are so lame.
[Fade.]
“Boy, that Jagr is something else, huh?”
“Yeah, that was a good win for them tonight.”
“Nothing like a Rangers game on the cheap. Loved it when you told the guy from Buffalo that his long hair couldn’t hide his redneck.”
[John stands in the doorway, leaning against the molding. He is wearing the classic royal blue New York Rangers jersey and a pair of jeans. His arms are crossed on his chest. He is mid-chuckle as we come into view looking over his nephew Brandon.]
[Brandon, the teenager, lies on the bed, tossing a football up in the air to himself while staring at the ceiling. He wears a Rangers t-shirt and jeans.]
Brandon: Well, what do you expect wearing a Sabres jersey to MSG and acting like a moron?
[There is an edge to this statement – a disdain, which John thoughtfully recognizes as thorough annoyance instead of good-hearted fun. He decides not to push the topic any further instead try to steer it towards a more fruitful place.]
John: Anyway, I hope you had a good time. Thought it would be fun.
Brandon: It was.
[The answer is half-hearted. John takes slow step closer to the bed.]
John: Do you want to talk about anything? You’ve been very dismissive of this whole thing.
[Brandon catches the football and places it at his left side. He continues to stare at the ceiling. There is a moment of awkward silence while Brandon collects his thoughts. After a breath, he decides to answer.]
Brandon: Just don’t see the point in talking.
John: The point is you’ve had to grow up awful fast and it’s a lot
Brandon: Stop. I don’t want all this emotional crap right now.
[John lifts hands up in a backing-off gesture and actually does take a small step back, not wanting to push too hard.]
John: I will, I just want to remind you I’m here. In fact, I almost look forward to it - there’s some things I’d like to tell you…
Brandon [interrupting]: About Aunt Katrina?
[John raises his eyebrows in disbelief at how blunt the interruption was, but quickly recovers and nods his head.]
John: Yeah… I guess, whenever you’re ready…
Brandon: What’s tomorrow?
[A half-smile from John - admiring Brandon’s focus on his craft – appreciating the signs of a strong work ethic from the young man.]
John: Cardio, arms, back and submission tactics.
[Brandon nods and after another short pause, he turns his head. He looks at his Uncle with sympathy in his eyes.]
Brandon: I’m sorry.
John: Don’t be. When you’re ready…
[With that John edges his way out of the doorway. With his back turned on the way out, he hits inside of the doors molding with a tap.]
John: Good night.
[Fade.]
[Outside one of the more outrageous looking sights in Seattle – the Grand Illusion Cinema – a place that looks more like a funhouse than a movie theater. The steps leading to the bright red doors are surrounded by a swirl of autumn colors.]
[Segue to inside the venue. The carpeted floor leads us to the wall where a movie poster hangs surrounded by a gold frame. The movie poster is for George A. Romero’s classic Dawn of the Dead, which features the drawing of a zombie rising over the horizon like the sun. Above the drawing’s head, sits the tagline – “When there is no more room in hell, the Dead shall walk the Earth.”]
It could be referred to as just a gore film.
[The cameraman turns to reveal the source of the voice – although we already know based upon the raspy, but methodical tone – it is the Minstrel. He appears wearing his Greek mask of comedy with a matching white shirt and black tie. He also wears black slacks.]
Or as a brilliant piece of social commentary… Or as one of the more innovative films ever made…
When discussing something’s value, purpose or worth… It’s important to read between the lines and have a full understanding of what you’re dealing with.
[He walks towards the poster and leans on the wall next to it. He faces the poster and runs his hand down the side of the framing.]
My friend and yours, Mister Patton, has decided to take some liberties with what he believes is my motivation… And as you could have predicted, the good ole’ boy is dang wrong.
[He laughs after inflecting some awful southern twang mockery into his voice. He turns towards the camera and leans with his back against the wall.]
You see Mister Patton, I’m not out to make you or anyone else pay for something from my past. My motivation is…
[He shakes his head to stress the point.]
NOT. THAT. SIMPLE.
[He allows the emphasis of the words to sink in before lackadaisically shrugging his shoulders.]
But I can’t expect a simple Hoosier like yourself to read between the lines, especially since your attempt was only after we had just met. I would think a Midwestern gentleman like yourself would know better than to judge a book by its cover.
[He raises his right hand up from out of his pocket, points his finger at the camera and waves it in a condescending manner.]
How entirely disappointing.
[He returns his hand to his pocket before lifting himself off the wall.]
I am not going to tell you what my purpose is… That would ruin the fun – but I can assure you it is not my past, Mister Patton. In fact, my past, as you so eloquently put it, is the past.
[He chuckles at the sheer obviousness of the statement and the tongue-in-cheek reference to Patton.]
I feel reborn, rejuvenated, reinvented as a result of my past. I’m brand new and thankful for what happened. I’m free… So no, I’m not out to hurt and defeat you because of something that happened to me.
[He holds up two fingers on his right hand and places his left over his heart.]
Scout’s honor.
But I digress because this is not all about me – it’s about you and your tireless work ethic.
[He mock boxes the camera before chuckling.]
You see, Patton, you’re correct in saying I believe you to be a lower-level talent – it’s simply a fact – you’re what we call a grinder. A guy, who works and works, and occasionally, will see his hard work payoff with a win. Weak on talent, strong on heart.
But frankly, all your talk about me underestimating you is wrong – sure, you’re a threat to win the match – sunshine’s on a dog’s ass every once in a while. You work hard, you prepare, you’re a real ‘rassler.
I may get bored and you could roll up ole Mister Whiskey and score the win… Completely conceivable.
But you’re not a threat to dominate me, you’re not a threat to hurt me, you’re not a threat to make an impact on me.
[His demeanor changes suddenly, he leans over and in a low guttural growl he states…]
But I am.
I can change you and use you as a god damn punching bag! I can change Whiskey to the point where his silence will become permanent! I can change this whole ****ing wrestling federation!
[Sensing himself getting heated, he shakes himself off in an attempt to cool down. He runs his hands through his hair and adjusts his tie.]
You cannot, Mister Patton. You cannot, Eddie “the Mute” Whiskey. You aren’t game-changers – you’re just pawns.
Which brings me back to the matter of perception… When viewed in full context – I will be viewed as a force of nature.
And the path of destruction I leave will not end with you two on this night. I’ve got something very special planned for my debut – something the both of you and the adoring public won’t soon forget.
But it all starts with you two…
Both of you - the jokes, the punchlines…
[He giggles slightly before bowing to the camera.]
But unfortunately, this is no laughing matter.
[Fade out.]
[A young, auburn-haired woman sits in a rocking chair in a familiar nursery with a baby in her arms. She looks down at him contently – her eyes open and close slowly – but the smile on her face never changes. She is completely at peace with the world with the baby in her arms. The woman has soft, pale features and is wearing a tanktop and a pair of sweatpants.]
[This type of peace is never meant to last with an infant though as the baby’s arms start to flail about and he begins to cry. In an almost shocking fluid motion, the woman arises from the rocking chair and holds the baby vertically in her arms. In an attempt to comfort him, she lightly bounces him while she faces the window.]
[After a moment, the baby quiets… The child appears to be enthralled with something, which has caught his attention.]
[Behind the woman, the door slowly starts to close on its own.]
[Having calmed the baby, she places him down in the crib and turns on the monitor.]
You stay here for a minute, Brandon, my good little man.
[She smiles as he loses his footing and crashes butt-first into the bed. After walking backwards for a few steps, making faces, which prompt a giggle from the child, the woman turns to find the door has closed. She looks quizzically at it.]
Did I shut the door?
[She scratches her head and rolls her eyes at herself.]
Not enough sleep, I’m starting to lose it.
[She tries to open the door, but the knob will not turn. At first, she simply jiggles the handle to no avail and then attempts to turn it hard, but still fails.]
[She steps away and looks frustrated. Her hands hit her sides in frustration, but her half smile tells us she’s not overly upset.]
Crap.
[Undoubtedly, she’s relieved that she’s in the room with the child and not the other way around. She heads back towards the crib and leans over the edge where the baby is looking up at her.]
Already going senile… Poor Brandon.
[She hears the door open behind her and screams as she turns to find a man.]
Man: What?
[As the man approaches, she breathes a sigh of relief then when he arrives she slaps him on the arm. The man is a good-looking, younger gentleman with a slight tan, dirty blonde hair and is wearing a t-shirt and jeans.]
Woman: Dan, you scared the crap out of me! Why were you holding the door?
Dan: Are you losing it, Maggie? I was not holding the door – I just came in front outside.
[Maggie shakes her head as he smiles at her and reaches out for her shoulders. She looks up at him with a grin on her face.]
Maggie: I just might be… You have to look at that door – it jammed.
[Maggie steps closer and gives Dan a kiss before starting to walk towards the now open door.]
Maggie: I need a cup of tea, can you watch him for a few?
[Dan shouts back at her playfully as he leans over the crib to engage his son.]
Dan: Yes’sah mas’sr!
[Maggie is out of the room, but we hear her call back while laughing.]
Maggie: You are so lame.
[Fade.]
“Boy, that Jagr is something else, huh?”
“Yeah, that was a good win for them tonight.”
“Nothing like a Rangers game on the cheap. Loved it when you told the guy from Buffalo that his long hair couldn’t hide his redneck.”
[John stands in the doorway, leaning against the molding. He is wearing the classic royal blue New York Rangers jersey and a pair of jeans. His arms are crossed on his chest. He is mid-chuckle as we come into view looking over his nephew Brandon.]
[Brandon, the teenager, lies on the bed, tossing a football up in the air to himself while staring at the ceiling. He wears a Rangers t-shirt and jeans.]
Brandon: Well, what do you expect wearing a Sabres jersey to MSG and acting like a moron?
[There is an edge to this statement – a disdain, which John thoughtfully recognizes as thorough annoyance instead of good-hearted fun. He decides not to push the topic any further instead try to steer it towards a more fruitful place.]
John: Anyway, I hope you had a good time. Thought it would be fun.
Brandon: It was.
[The answer is half-hearted. John takes slow step closer to the bed.]
John: Do you want to talk about anything? You’ve been very dismissive of this whole thing.
[Brandon catches the football and places it at his left side. He continues to stare at the ceiling. There is a moment of awkward silence while Brandon collects his thoughts. After a breath, he decides to answer.]
Brandon: Just don’t see the point in talking.
John: The point is you’ve had to grow up awful fast and it’s a lot
Brandon: Stop. I don’t want all this emotional crap right now.
[John lifts hands up in a backing-off gesture and actually does take a small step back, not wanting to push too hard.]
John: I will, I just want to remind you I’m here. In fact, I almost look forward to it - there’s some things I’d like to tell you…
Brandon [interrupting]: About Aunt Katrina?
[John raises his eyebrows in disbelief at how blunt the interruption was, but quickly recovers and nods his head.]
John: Yeah… I guess, whenever you’re ready…
Brandon: What’s tomorrow?
[A half-smile from John - admiring Brandon’s focus on his craft – appreciating the signs of a strong work ethic from the young man.]
John: Cardio, arms, back and submission tactics.
[Brandon nods and after another short pause, he turns his head. He looks at his Uncle with sympathy in his eyes.]
Brandon: I’m sorry.
John: Don’t be. When you’re ready…
[With that John edges his way out of the doorway. With his back turned on the way out, he hits inside of the doors molding with a tap.]
John: Good night.
[Fade.]
[Outside one of the more outrageous looking sights in Seattle – the Grand Illusion Cinema – a place that looks more like a funhouse than a movie theater. The steps leading to the bright red doors are surrounded by a swirl of autumn colors.]
[Segue to inside the venue. The carpeted floor leads us to the wall where a movie poster hangs surrounded by a gold frame. The movie poster is for George A. Romero’s classic Dawn of the Dead, which features the drawing of a zombie rising over the horizon like the sun. Above the drawing’s head, sits the tagline – “When there is no more room in hell, the Dead shall walk the Earth.”]
It could be referred to as just a gore film.
[The cameraman turns to reveal the source of the voice – although we already know based upon the raspy, but methodical tone – it is the Minstrel. He appears wearing his Greek mask of comedy with a matching white shirt and black tie. He also wears black slacks.]
Or as a brilliant piece of social commentary… Or as one of the more innovative films ever made…
When discussing something’s value, purpose or worth… It’s important to read between the lines and have a full understanding of what you’re dealing with.
[He walks towards the poster and leans on the wall next to it. He faces the poster and runs his hand down the side of the framing.]
My friend and yours, Mister Patton, has decided to take some liberties with what he believes is my motivation… And as you could have predicted, the good ole’ boy is dang wrong.
[He laughs after inflecting some awful southern twang mockery into his voice. He turns towards the camera and leans with his back against the wall.]
You see Mister Patton, I’m not out to make you or anyone else pay for something from my past. My motivation is…
[He shakes his head to stress the point.]
NOT. THAT. SIMPLE.
[He allows the emphasis of the words to sink in before lackadaisically shrugging his shoulders.]
But I can’t expect a simple Hoosier like yourself to read between the lines, especially since your attempt was only after we had just met. I would think a Midwestern gentleman like yourself would know better than to judge a book by its cover.
[He raises his right hand up from out of his pocket, points his finger at the camera and waves it in a condescending manner.]
How entirely disappointing.
[He returns his hand to his pocket before lifting himself off the wall.]
I am not going to tell you what my purpose is… That would ruin the fun – but I can assure you it is not my past, Mister Patton. In fact, my past, as you so eloquently put it, is the past.
[He chuckles at the sheer obviousness of the statement and the tongue-in-cheek reference to Patton.]
I feel reborn, rejuvenated, reinvented as a result of my past. I’m brand new and thankful for what happened. I’m free… So no, I’m not out to hurt and defeat you because of something that happened to me.
[He holds up two fingers on his right hand and places his left over his heart.]
Scout’s honor.
But I digress because this is not all about me – it’s about you and your tireless work ethic.
[He mock boxes the camera before chuckling.]
You see, Patton, you’re correct in saying I believe you to be a lower-level talent – it’s simply a fact – you’re what we call a grinder. A guy, who works and works, and occasionally, will see his hard work payoff with a win. Weak on talent, strong on heart.
But frankly, all your talk about me underestimating you is wrong – sure, you’re a threat to win the match – sunshine’s on a dog’s ass every once in a while. You work hard, you prepare, you’re a real ‘rassler.
I may get bored and you could roll up ole Mister Whiskey and score the win… Completely conceivable.
But you’re not a threat to dominate me, you’re not a threat to hurt me, you’re not a threat to make an impact on me.
[His demeanor changes suddenly, he leans over and in a low guttural growl he states…]
But I am.
I can change you and use you as a god damn punching bag! I can change Whiskey to the point where his silence will become permanent! I can change this whole ****ing wrestling federation!
[Sensing himself getting heated, he shakes himself off in an attempt to cool down. He runs his hands through his hair and adjusts his tie.]
You cannot, Mister Patton. You cannot, Eddie “the Mute” Whiskey. You aren’t game-changers – you’re just pawns.
Which brings me back to the matter of perception… When viewed in full context – I will be viewed as a force of nature.
And the path of destruction I leave will not end with you two on this night. I’ve got something very special planned for my debut – something the both of you and the adoring public won’t soon forget.
But it all starts with you two…
Both of you - the jokes, the punchlines…
[He giggles slightly before bowing to the camera.]
But unfortunately, this is no laughing matter.
[Fade out.]
Showtime
League Member
Eddie Whisky is pacing yet again. So many thing are going through his mind. Upcoming matches. The color of cheese. Why Mary-Lynn Mayweather is still kicking despite the kicking he gave her...
Eddie Whisky: A MUTE, Minstrel? I dispute you calling me a mute! Heavens, no. I am a firm believer in the old adage "better to say nothing and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and leave no doubt!" Well Minstrel, I am here to remove all your doubts!
Eddie pauses, silently repeats what he just said, and scowls.
EW: I am not falling for your mind games, Minstrel! As it was, I was overly-focused towards that no-good cheating cheat of a no-goodnick known as Mary-Lynn Mayweather!
Eddie begins to pace again. You can only describe pacing so much before you're just repeating yourself. Eddie paces.
EW: But now that you have drawn my attention, let's set Mary in the corner and address you. Okay? Fine!
Eddie grabs a dented folding chair and has a seat.
EW: Do you think you could fool me, Minstrel? Do you think by slightly changing your voice and doing your fancy headgames with me that I would not recognize you? You are the very same Minstrel that came begging for work at a certain just-recently-closed wrestling company of which I was headlining. As soon as they relented and finally hired you, suddenly it closed. So it seems you have the power to make a wrestling company die.
Eddie steeples his fingers under his chin.
EW: And it seems like you want to do that with my new pet-project, the IWF. Well Minnie, can I call you Minnie? That is NOT GOING TO HAPPEN! Again! In the months that Eddie Whisky has graced the IWF, we've gone from a one-trick pony show that begged for showtimes in a community center in-between minor hockey and swap meets, to a touring juggernaut that is running pay-per-views in Vegas! And until the IWF acknowledges this and gives me my due, I will not stand idly by as you try to shut yet another wrestling company down!
Eddie shakes his head vigorously to agree with himself. Then back his chin goes onto said steepled fingers.
EW: The IWF belongs to me, Minstrel. And you can't just come here with your cute little destructive misanthropy and spout all your cute little barbs at me not expect Eddie Whisky to stick his huge boot up you cute little ass!
Eddie pauses again, then amends quickly.
EW: STUPID! Stupid little ass! Cuz you're stupid!
Eddie stands up again. And yes, he paces.
EW: But you are just one factor in the things distracting me from my date with destiny and Mary-Lynn Mayweather. Not that I'd want to date her! Ew!
Eddie makes a 'yucky' face.
Eddie Patton, don not think I don't know what you are trying to do. Trying to cash in on the IWF moneymaking superstar that is me, Eddie Whisky. Eddie Patton? Seriously? You happen to have the same name as me? I laugh at your feeble attempt at trying to pretend that you are another Eddie Whisky.
Eddie tries to laugh. He snorts and sounds rather like a constipated pig.
EW: And dammit, I wish people would stop and read and get my name right! Whisky! No 'e'!
How he can tell how someone spells what he says aloud is beyond us. Just go along with it.
EW: Not some stupid Kentucky corn liquor, but fine Irish whisky like the kind my sweet mother drunk while carrying me! In her arms! Stupid! She only drank Guinness while she was pregnant. And if I ever hear you mock my mother again Eddie Patton...
Eddie kicks the folded chair far and away.
EW: I will make you eat that chair! Through your nose! So it'll hurt more and taste like your snot! Hah ha! Eddie Patton eats snot!
With nowhere now present for Eddie to sit upon, he simply stands.
EW: And now that I have evaded Mary-Lynn Mayweather's attempts to make me forget about her, I say forget you, Mary-Lynn Mayweather! You have managed to steal two wins from me now! First you blatantly got the ref to side with you and count fast! Do you think I forgot that? Eddie Whisky never forgets!
Eddie Whisky pauses again, hs brow furrowing as though trying to remember something else.
EW: And then for some reason at the last Chain Reaction you pulled another win out of my ass! First, gross. Second, there will not be a third time! I am strongly lobbying for I am you to have a non-disqualification match at our next meeting! No crooked refs, no unfair rules, no nothing to makes excuses about if I lose!
Pause. Thought. Frown.
EW: And I WON'T LOSE! You see, I know your tricks now, "MLM." Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me! But fool me three times? NOT GONNA HAPPEN! There is no more shame for either of us, because you can't fool me again!
Eddie nods firmly, convinced he made sense.
EW: But first things first. Come Chain Reaction #7, I will not fool anyone and it will be the Minstrel and Eddie Patton that are shamed!
Fade...
Eddie Whisky: A MUTE, Minstrel? I dispute you calling me a mute! Heavens, no. I am a firm believer in the old adage "better to say nothing and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and leave no doubt!" Well Minstrel, I am here to remove all your doubts!
Eddie pauses, silently repeats what he just said, and scowls.
EW: I am not falling for your mind games, Minstrel! As it was, I was overly-focused towards that no-good cheating cheat of a no-goodnick known as Mary-Lynn Mayweather!
Eddie begins to pace again. You can only describe pacing so much before you're just repeating yourself. Eddie paces.
EW: But now that you have drawn my attention, let's set Mary in the corner and address you. Okay? Fine!
Eddie grabs a dented folding chair and has a seat.
EW: Do you think you could fool me, Minstrel? Do you think by slightly changing your voice and doing your fancy headgames with me that I would not recognize you? You are the very same Minstrel that came begging for work at a certain just-recently-closed wrestling company of which I was headlining. As soon as they relented and finally hired you, suddenly it closed. So it seems you have the power to make a wrestling company die.
Eddie steeples his fingers under his chin.
EW: And it seems like you want to do that with my new pet-project, the IWF. Well Minnie, can I call you Minnie? That is NOT GOING TO HAPPEN! Again! In the months that Eddie Whisky has graced the IWF, we've gone from a one-trick pony show that begged for showtimes in a community center in-between minor hockey and swap meets, to a touring juggernaut that is running pay-per-views in Vegas! And until the IWF acknowledges this and gives me my due, I will not stand idly by as you try to shut yet another wrestling company down!
Eddie shakes his head vigorously to agree with himself. Then back his chin goes onto said steepled fingers.
EW: The IWF belongs to me, Minstrel. And you can't just come here with your cute little destructive misanthropy and spout all your cute little barbs at me not expect Eddie Whisky to stick his huge boot up you cute little ass!
Eddie pauses again, then amends quickly.
EW: STUPID! Stupid little ass! Cuz you're stupid!
Eddie stands up again. And yes, he paces.
EW: But you are just one factor in the things distracting me from my date with destiny and Mary-Lynn Mayweather. Not that I'd want to date her! Ew!
Eddie makes a 'yucky' face.
Eddie Patton, don not think I don't know what you are trying to do. Trying to cash in on the IWF moneymaking superstar that is me, Eddie Whisky. Eddie Patton? Seriously? You happen to have the same name as me? I laugh at your feeble attempt at trying to pretend that you are another Eddie Whisky.
Eddie tries to laugh. He snorts and sounds rather like a constipated pig.
EW: And dammit, I wish people would stop and read and get my name right! Whisky! No 'e'!
How he can tell how someone spells what he says aloud is beyond us. Just go along with it.
EW: Not some stupid Kentucky corn liquor, but fine Irish whisky like the kind my sweet mother drunk while carrying me! In her arms! Stupid! She only drank Guinness while she was pregnant. And if I ever hear you mock my mother again Eddie Patton...
Eddie kicks the folded chair far and away.
EW: I will make you eat that chair! Through your nose! So it'll hurt more and taste like your snot! Hah ha! Eddie Patton eats snot!
With nowhere now present for Eddie to sit upon, he simply stands.
EW: And now that I have evaded Mary-Lynn Mayweather's attempts to make me forget about her, I say forget you, Mary-Lynn Mayweather! You have managed to steal two wins from me now! First you blatantly got the ref to side with you and count fast! Do you think I forgot that? Eddie Whisky never forgets!
Eddie Whisky pauses again, hs brow furrowing as though trying to remember something else.
EW: And then for some reason at the last Chain Reaction you pulled another win out of my ass! First, gross. Second, there will not be a third time! I am strongly lobbying for I am you to have a non-disqualification match at our next meeting! No crooked refs, no unfair rules, no nothing to makes excuses about if I lose!
Pause. Thought. Frown.
EW: And I WON'T LOSE! You see, I know your tricks now, "MLM." Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me! But fool me three times? NOT GONNA HAPPEN! There is no more shame for either of us, because you can't fool me again!
Eddie nods firmly, convinced he made sense.
EW: But first things first. Come Chain Reaction #7, I will not fool anyone and it will be the Minstrel and Eddie Patton that are shamed!
Fade...
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
(FADEIN to Eddie Patton standing, quite simply, in front of the IWF logo. He's wearing his wrestling garb.)
PATTON: “Growin' up in Indiana, a boy has one hero: Larry Bird. He's the one we all look up to. The legend. The greatest. At least 'round these parts.
“My older brother, John... he got all the height. All the talent. All the speed and skill. I reckon God blessed him enough for the both of us. The way my mom rooted for him playin' varsity basketball...
“Me, well. I wasn't so tall, or so fast. No, I made a downright lousy basketball player.
“But I had a real dumb dream anyway.
“I remember goin' to wrestling matches when I was just a little kid and seein' these great big hulking guys bashing each other in the ring. My dad loved it.
“But me, I always liked the little guys. The technicians. The mat experts.
“It was almost like... for once, it didn't matter how big or strong or fast or naturally gifted someone was. A guy could learn to be better. He could try harder and harder. He could learn.
“And he could stick up for himself and fight back. Yeah... I remember seein' it and thinkin' there was nothin' better in this world.
“I wish I coulda made my momma understand that. And she sure as heck doesn't get more convinced when every time I'm about to debut another time I get my butt whipped like some kinda new kid on the bus.
“But I can't take it back.
“I can only learn. Adapt. Become better.
“Every misstep is another chance to learn and become more aware. Our mistakes teach us. Our flaws make us stronger.
“In a match like this, it's difficult to prepare, for two different styles at once. To learn to always have eyes in the back of your head. To always be aware.
“But prepare I must. Because I know when I get in that ring, there will be two men in that ring who want it just as badly as I do. And they may well be bigger 'n stronger 'n faster 'n heck... maybe even smarter.
“I hardly know either of ya. Y'all have already anointed yourselves the winners, but I reckon I'll probably show up anyway. See if I can't throw an ol' monkey wrench in the pipes here.
“Because even if I don't win.. even if I lose the next million matches out here in IWF... I'll know there are kids in that crowd just like me. Too little brothers and too slow and kids who get pushed around.
“And they're gonna see someone like me in there... someone who stands toe to toe with the greatest athletes in the world. Someone who has pain-stakingly taken the time to learn every possible technique in every possible situation, every counter to every reversal...
“And maybe they'll become inspired. And then they'll have a dumb dream.
“Maybe.
“But I don't wanna play second fiddle to nobody. I didn't come here to watch the Minstrel and Eddie Whisky make names for themselves. I ain't no steppin' stone.
“Just keep writin' me off, boys. Just pencil yourselves in for a win. Just come into that ring, overconfident... so certain of yourself.
“It's March, boys, and you know what that means... Cinderella's got her slipper on and luck favors the prepared.
“I can't wait.”
(FADEOUT.)
PATTON: “Growin' up in Indiana, a boy has one hero: Larry Bird. He's the one we all look up to. The legend. The greatest. At least 'round these parts.
“My older brother, John... he got all the height. All the talent. All the speed and skill. I reckon God blessed him enough for the both of us. The way my mom rooted for him playin' varsity basketball...
“Me, well. I wasn't so tall, or so fast. No, I made a downright lousy basketball player.
“But I had a real dumb dream anyway.
“I remember goin' to wrestling matches when I was just a little kid and seein' these great big hulking guys bashing each other in the ring. My dad loved it.
“But me, I always liked the little guys. The technicians. The mat experts.
“It was almost like... for once, it didn't matter how big or strong or fast or naturally gifted someone was. A guy could learn to be better. He could try harder and harder. He could learn.
“And he could stick up for himself and fight back. Yeah... I remember seein' it and thinkin' there was nothin' better in this world.
“I wish I coulda made my momma understand that. And she sure as heck doesn't get more convinced when every time I'm about to debut another time I get my butt whipped like some kinda new kid on the bus.
“But I can't take it back.
“I can only learn. Adapt. Become better.
“Every misstep is another chance to learn and become more aware. Our mistakes teach us. Our flaws make us stronger.
“In a match like this, it's difficult to prepare, for two different styles at once. To learn to always have eyes in the back of your head. To always be aware.
“But prepare I must. Because I know when I get in that ring, there will be two men in that ring who want it just as badly as I do. And they may well be bigger 'n stronger 'n faster 'n heck... maybe even smarter.
“I hardly know either of ya. Y'all have already anointed yourselves the winners, but I reckon I'll probably show up anyway. See if I can't throw an ol' monkey wrench in the pipes here.
“Because even if I don't win.. even if I lose the next million matches out here in IWF... I'll know there are kids in that crowd just like me. Too little brothers and too slow and kids who get pushed around.
“And they're gonna see someone like me in there... someone who stands toe to toe with the greatest athletes in the world. Someone who has pain-stakingly taken the time to learn every possible technique in every possible situation, every counter to every reversal...
“And maybe they'll become inspired. And then they'll have a dumb dream.
“Maybe.
“But I don't wanna play second fiddle to nobody. I didn't come here to watch the Minstrel and Eddie Whisky make names for themselves. I ain't no steppin' stone.
“Just keep writin' me off, boys. Just pencil yourselves in for a win. Just come into that ring, overconfident... so certain of yourself.
“It's March, boys, and you know what that means... Cinderella's got her slipper on and luck favors the prepared.
“I can't wait.”
(FADEOUT.)