Deception, Reality and Blame

[jayshort]

fade- in:

It was dark out, the sky … full. The camera zoomed in on CSWA superstar, Sean "Triple X" Stevens, in a secluded location, with wooded surroundings. The crickets chirped, because … well … that’s what they do, chirp. You could hear coyotes howling at the moon, as Sean tossed a rock off a giant cliff, looking on, interested as it dropped out of sight. The drop was so long, you couldn’t even hear it hit the ground below. Stevens ran his fingers through his long golden hair, turning to the camera to address it.

"They say you can’t feel the impact of your body hitting the ground when you fall … that the shock kills you before you hit the bottom. It’s funny," he smirked, kicking a couple more rocks over. "…even if they’re hitting rock bottom in groups, it doesn’t change anything … you still don’t hear it, don’t see it, until … it happens."

"But, other people do. That person who was smart enough to watch instead of participate, he can see it, he can get into detail of how it happened … could even write a book about it.

"The CSWA, guys … are the smart people watching you three plummet. GUNS is so used to being the man around here that he’s becoming senile. I understand that I opted out of taking your advice … that I spit in your face … that I’m an arrogant punk, and better yet … I, like all of your past opponents will be tossed into the third row, or whatever. I, also, understood it the first time you said it, and didn’t need it repeated every other sentence after. But, then again, you’ve been doing the same exact thing for years now … cutting your little five minute promos from your ranch, or in front of an "Intruders" backdrop, with your retarded looking, supposedly charismatic smirk – that, if I must say so … scares me – talking the same old nonsense that got you nowhere to begin with."

Sean smiled, rubbing his chin, as he continued.

"Eddie and Craig’ll call me names. …we’ll have to hear that stupid Intruder Alert sound effect thing, you’ll egg them on, and you three will reply to every promo I cut within a ten minute time span, up to twenty times, if I let you."

"It must suck being you, GUNS. Look at yourself. You’ll stand in front of your camera and tell anybody willing to listen that I haven’t done a tenth of what you’ve done in your career, and they’ll listen … keep a straight face … laugh behind your back, and go on about their day, because at the end of the day, when it all boils down to it, you have no idea who I am, what I’ve done, the places I’ve been and the things I’ve gone through. All you know is Poison Ivy, and well … the fact that all you can say about her is that she’s a slut, or that she’ll spread her legs for me, or anybody else in the business, pretty much proves me, GUNS doesn’t know sh#t point exactly. But, let me fill you in on an important little detail…"

"Poison Ivy and I broke up close to two months ago. …get some new material, bitch."

"But, back to what I was saying. …Look at yourself … at what you’ve become. Once upon a time you were revered, considered on of the best, not only in the CSWA, but the business. You stood up against guys like Hornet, Mark Windham – guys who are considered legends in this business and will be in the Hall of Fame if they ever wake up and realize they don’t belong anymore. You were one of them … one of the big guns, no pun intended. Then you came back … and, we all realized something that we were too stupid to know from the very beginning."

"You’re not talented, you never were. All you are is talk. You talked about burning the CSWA down brick by brick – by the way, how is THAT going?"

Stevens began to laugh, before catching himself and continuing.

"Then you hooked up with two more talkers, and failed and failed miserably at trying to prove to the world that the CSWA tag titles meant you were something special, even though that division has been dead for years. You say you didn’t come here for the CSWA World, but there’s nothing in your arsenal that prevents me from believing that the only reason you don’t want it, is because deep down, in your heart, you know you’re not good enough to even compete with the new generation of top tier athletes. …guys like me. I mean, if you could, you would, right? Despite the excuses why, you jumped at the opportunity to win the Greensboro title, and held it for a long time."

"So it’s not like you’re mad at me for spitting in your face, GUNS … let’s be honest here. You’re disappointed in yourself, disappointed in what you think you’ve become, but what you’ve really always been. Just a face on the roster. Nothing special … a guy who benefited from the backing of a promotional machine."

"And, you’ve got the nerve to laugh at everybody else … you’re the joke, little boy, and I’ll be more than happy to prove it in Chicago."

fade- to- black

 

[jayshort]

fade- in:

It was still dark out, and the sky still … full. The camera lens was shaky at first, as the cameraman struggled for positioning. Sean "Triple X" Stevens was sitting on the large flight of steps that led to his apartment door. But, it was a nice night out, he wasn’t tired, and didn’t feel like going to sleep. Instead, he figured he’d address two more … problems.

"Triple X-Lax … triple fat goose? I’m sorry, man … I see a lot of people drooling over your mic work, hell … I’ve even seen the blatant self promotion from you, yourself, Eduardo … about how you’re the master of the mic, how you’re this, that, and the other. I’m sorry, man … I tried to jump on the bandwagon like everyone else, you know what they say, if you’ve got a good reputation, you can bring garbage to the table, and it’ll be hailed as gold, most of the times … but, I can’t help but be extremely unimpressed."

"Unimpressed with your mic work, unimpressed with your daily antics, your in-ring ability, and your third grade nose dive, into the land of name calling. I have a question, Ed … can I call you, Ed? …eh, f#ck your response, Ed it is."

"What part of Triple X-Lax was designed to get to me? Above all else, I view you lower than I did before. Hell, you’re worse than an annoying, loudmouth wrestler. You’re a f#cking joke, and the fact that you haven’t been exposed for what you are already, makes me cringe at CSWA’s level of competition."

"You’re not funny, untalented, you feel the need to travel in packs to get your point across, but at the end of the day, you’re still not taken seriously. I can honestly say, the CSWA tag team titles have been devalued as a result of being in your possession for so long. I can also say with honesty, that the CSWA roster is a terrible place to be, as long as you’re an important part of the company’s product."

"I’ve dealt with your type before … all talk, no substance. The comic relief. The people that the powers- that- be hired to make the actual wrestlers laugh. Well … I’m not laughing, Ed. You, and your two partners are standing in the way of something I want, and it’s not a joke to me. I’m not coming to Chicago to put on a good show, or to do whatever it is, you sports entertainers are paid to do. I’m not reciting some lines a promoter asks me to recite to hype our match. I’m coming to beat the hell out of you, and no amount of name calling can save you."

"But, you’ll learn what I’m really about soon enough. …I promise."

fade- to- black

 

[Packschmid]

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

(FADEIN: GUNS standing in front of the iTV backdrop, wearing a WrestleThon '03 T-shirt.)

GUNS: Sean Stevens, I missed the part where I'm here for your personal entertainment. I don't need to bring a camera crew mountain climbing with me to get attention, son - I command attention just by standing in front of this stupid banner hung up on one of the walls in my ranch. I don't need to go on remote locations, I don't need to bring my love life in front of the camera, I don't have to bitch and moan when Merritt forgets to book me on a Pay-Per-View.

You're right about one thing, Sean - I don't know everyplace you've been or everything you've ever done. Quite frankly, Sean, your history in this sport doesn't seem to be all that important to anyone. If you've won some championship in some rinky dink hole in the wall promotion that I've neglected to give you credit for, then please accept my humble apology. I also apologize for not realizing that you and Poison Ivy have gone your separate ways. It's so sad when young love doesn't work out. Does this mean that you don't get to carry Eli's bags anymore either?

Son, you have the audacity to tell me that I'm not talented? Boy, talent ain't just about acrobatics and knowing 150 different variations of the suplex. A good old fashioned clothesline... a tightly applied bearhug...a high impact powerslam...and a simple Bionic Kneelift - they get the job done just fine. At the end of the day, Sean, it's not about some twerp with horn-rimmed glasses who's never been in the ring, writing dirt sheets in his basement and rating matches on a star system. It's about kicking ass and taking names.

Sean, you bring a camera crew with you and climb a mountain because you don't have what it takes to climb the metaphorical mountain in this business - the mountain that I've sat on top of. I've seen the view from the top, kid - a view that you'll never see.

You think you're special, Sean? I *know* I'm special. I *know* that I'm a legend in this sport. I *know* that when the smoke clears and the dust settles, I'll be remembered. Hell, even when I was gone for four years this place couldn't go two shows without my name being mentioned in some capacity. Will that ever be said about you, Sean Stevens?

You want to take a step toward immortality, Sean? You want to prove yourself in the big time? You want to show the world that you're not just some boy toy while Poison Ivy was on the rebound from Captain Vicodin? You want to show the world that you're not Eli Flair's caddy? You want to show the world that you're better than this talentless, old, boring, washed up joke? Then you bring it in Chicago, son. You put your money where your smart mouth is, and trust me, boy, you'll end up tossed in the third row like a sack of garbage.

This is what I'm talkin' about, Sean - just this kind of attitude - a wet-behind-the-ears punk who thinks he's done somethin', who thinks he knows somethin', but doesn't have a DAMN CLUE, comin' out here and talkin' about how GUNS ain't S[BLEEP]T.

I'm coming to Chicago, Sean - I'm coming full steam ahead, and I'm coming to make a statement. And that statement, Sean Stevens, is pain. Pure and simple.

You think you're better than me, boy? PROVE IT.

But here's a news flash for you.

You CAN'T.

Because you're NOT.

(GUNS storms off camera. FADE OUT.)

 

[jayshort]

fade-in:

Triple X, backdrop, camera recording on top of a tripod.

"Here's the thing I don't get about you older guys, GUNS. You'll tell me to prove myself, 'till you're blue in the face, only to discredit everything I've done, as being rinky-dink, or unimportant … or you'll say you missed it, because it wasn't worth your time. Do you see what I mean, GUNS? So predictable, it would be funny, if it weren't so sad. …I could reply to an entire GUNS promo without ever viewing it, and that, GUNS … is when you know you're doing something wrong."

"… Still don't believe me? Well, I really don't give a rat's ass, Bill. If I was a fan of your theory, I would've walked into my match- up against Shane Southern, last month, already defeated, because – as you put it – I couldn't compete with him in terms of talent. Is that your idea of advice? That's putting me down, not helping me devise a plan to win. That's you sticking your nose in my business, telling me to give it in, without even trying, because, in your eyes, I didn't measure up."

"…all I did was respond, Bill. It wasn't about having a chip on my shoulder, it was about being a man … a real man. I accepted your opinion, took it as a challenge, went to that show, busted my ass, and proved you, and whoever else thought I was going to get beat wrong."

"Am I excited about it? No. I didn't win the match, therefore I didn't do my job, but whoever thought I was a doormat for, Shane Southern, rising superstar, had a little more to think about when they left that arena."

"Fact of the matter, you can twist whatever events you choose to … say whatever you want about my relationship with Poison Ivy, and you know what? It still won't work. It stilll doesn't change my opinion of you, and the fact that you're angry because you were a whore to this business."

"Do I still carry Eli's bags? Bitch, find a tape of Primetime in Orlando, watch what I did to that man, then come back and ask me that question. I never brought my love life to the camera … never dreamed of doing so. It was people like Hornet, the commentators who wouldn't leave well enough alone, and little runts like you that pat themselves on the back because they feel like they have a little dirt to dish … because they think they know the real me."

"Boy, you don't know me. I've seen the tapes, watched the matches, saw you retire Hornet then faint afterwards in exhaustion … or was that from a left hook? …I forget. I saw you get beat by Troy Windham, the comic relief that was the jWo. And, I'm still not impressed. Call my accomplishments whatever you want, but I've been to the mountain top, in fact, I'm there now. You wouldn't know it, because it gets a little dizzy when you look up, from your rapid decline, but like I said the other day, the shock supercedes the pain, and eventually, you die without ever realizing you fell off the mountain."

"You're a legend in this sport, alright … a legend in your own mind. But, whatever right? …It shouldn't matter what I think. I'm just Eli Flair's caddy … I have no future, and a chip on my shoulder, right? Well, I'll tell you what, prove that to me. Do the one thing, nobody on the CSWA roster has been able to do to date. Not Hornet, not Mark Windham, Eli, Deacon, or your fetish, Shane Southern. Personally, I think you'll do the same thing you've been doing from the moment you returned here, claiming you'd tear the CSWA down brick- by- brick."

"…blow smoke. See you in Chicago, GUNS … the windy city … the place where the roid monkey officially runs out of steam, and the Blue- Eyed Badass plants the seeds to a run at the CSWA World title."

"Later, oompa-loompa."

fade- to- black

 

[EastPrez]

Visine won't get the red out we'll leave on you.

(FADEIN: To 'Hot Property' EDDIE MAYFIELD, same place - couch, coffee table with leg propped on it, XBOX controller in hands.)

MAYFIELD: "Let's get something straight, Stevens - Before you put your nose into my man Craig Miles' match at the last iTV, I HARDLY knew who the hell you were. "Who's this XXX they keep saying is gonna lead the new generation?" AH! I know - you were that guy who got dropped on his monkey head by Eddie Mayfield for putting his nose in Intruder Business. Way to strike fear into my heart, SHAWN. (Snickers)

So now, what, I'm not FUNNY? I play the cool heel, Stevens, not the Comedy Heel. I'm not here to make you laugh. Unless I change my gimmick to a stand-up comedian, it's not killing me if you don't find me witty, irreverent, dashing and charming. (Smirks) What DOES kill me, is that you can show up here WEEKS later, and all of a sudden think your opinion of me matters in my universe. I've been in CSWA for almost two years, and I don't see sh(BLEEEEP!) from you to see I need to sweat you, or give a sh(BLEEEEEP!) about what comes out of your mouth. You held a belt here? When was that? Sorry, I must've missed that. Because I know THIS much, I got THREE fu(BLEEP!)NG BELTS sitting here that might as well say on the name plate 'BETTER THAN SEAN STEVENS', because what you think of Eddie Mayfield - Dood, I could give a muther(BLEEEEEP!) about. You don't carry ANY weight, man - so save your 'Bad-ass' rap for someone who gives a damn.

You got words about the Tag straps - The Pros 'devalued' them. These World Tag titles sitting on my sofa right now... if it bothers you SO MUCH that I got em, and you don't - Kid, COME TAKE EM. Go get Uncle Chad, a booster pack of Yu-Gi-Oh Cards and some 20 sided dice and roll your ass up a partner, and come TAKE THEM. All of these people that HATEHATEHATE the Pros have YET to come and shut us up, so all of you can shut your pieholes over it. To me, you're a bunch of whiny middle schoolers, mad at the cool kids in High School with the fancy cars while you're peddaling your Huffy to class. Just EAT IT, and DEAL.

Or don't - I don't give a crap. You think you proved something while you held the door while Ryan punked me out a few days back? Wow congrats, Stevens, I bet Ryan shook you to use YOUR credit card at the Home Depot to buy that sledgehammer to bash my knee. You're a non-essential, Stevens, and since you've decided time is slipping past you, you wanna run out to the curb and bark at me?

Man, WHATEVER. I'll see you at iTV, just pray you don't wet yourself when I step to you, with ONE LEG, and smack you in the f(BLEEEEEP!) face. They'll be calling you the 'Black and Blue-Eyed Jackass' after I get done giving you your reciept. Sorry if that wasn't very 'funny-soundin' to you Stevens, but yunno what? It wasn't supposed to be."

(FADEOUT)

 

[Packschmid]

(FADEIN: GUNS standing in front of the iTV banner, wearing the WrestleThon '03 T-shirt.)

GUNS: Stevens, you want to plug up your ears and close your eyes while I cut this promo, be my guest. You say it's predictable? The truth usually is. I could come out here and tell a nice story, blow some sunshine up your ass about how good you could be, but here's the truth - you're not as good as Shane Southern. You weren't as good as Shane Southern before you wrestled him, you're not as good as him AFTER you wrestled him. You're right, you didn't get beat by Shane Southern. Instead, me, Eddie, and Craig came down and crashed the party. You should be THANKING us. We could have hung back, watched on the monitor, as the referee made his dramatic Rocky II ten count... you and Shane, struggling to your feet, the crowd on pins and needles... Triple X makes it up first, he goes after Shane - Shane ducks - PARTY'S OVER - ONE! TWO! THREE! And the crowd goes wild. We prevented that ending, Sean - we helped you save face - we helped you get your no contest or draw or whatever the official decision ended up being. But how do you thank us? You and Dan Ryan jump Eddie Mayfield in the damn locker room. (GUNS golf claps.) Wow, Sean - big man.

You think you know me because you watched a few videotapes? Hell, son, every fan sitting in that arena has WATCHED me wrestle - doesn't mean they can beat me. Is that really the best thing you've got going for you, boy - that you can work a VCR remote?

You can come out here, Sean, and you can call me old. You can make steroid references. You can call me washed up. You can call me short. You can even steal your new best buddy Dan Ryan's oompa loompa lines. Can you come up with your own stuff? Dazzle me - tell me something I've never heard before. Or even better, Sean - when we get to Chicago - climb into that ring and show me something I've never SEEN before. Do something to me that nobody's ever DONE before. You want to make a name for yourself? You want to plant the seeds for greatness? Here I am, boy - come make your mark. Come show me how good you REALLY are. You come to Chicago, BOY, and you give me EVERYTHING you've got.

And when I'm still standing, after you've dished out all that you're capable of, I want you to promise me one thing - don't soil yourself, but stand there and take what's comin' like a man. You see, Stevens, I'm sick of it - sick of young punks like you with no respect for anyone or anything talkin' smack to me because they've had a year or two of success. You think you're at the top of the mountain? (Chuckles.) Boy, you ain't even halfway there yet.

I'm sick of bottom feeders like Kevin Powers latching onto MY heat - dropping MY name in interview after interview - sticking his nose into match after match after damn match trying to get me and the fans to take notice of him. But most of all, Sean, I'm sick of every Tom, Dick, Sean, and Kevin in that locker room coming out of the woodwork and thinking they can beat me - thinking that they can improve their standing in life and in this business by taking potshots at a man who has done things in this sport that punks like you will only DREAM about - or watch on videotape.

Well, Sean, at Primetime in Chicago - I'm gonna do something about it. You can believe that, or you can stick your head in the sand. Either way - don't matter to me. At Primetime, Sean - I'm coming for one reason and one reason only. Not to earn a shot at the CSWA World Heavyweight title. Not to earn the right to main event at CSWA15. Not even for the thrill of victory. No, Sean Stevens, I am coming to Primetime to make a statement and enforce my will.

You think you can stop me?

Son, when Chicago's over, you can have a new videotape to add to your collection. The night the Strongest Arms in the World tossed your sorry ass into the third row like the bitch that you are.

Got a problem with that?

I didn't think so.