Scrapbook
FADE IN...
Open on a Chicago hotel room on the North Side. Looking out the window onto the Windy City, we can make out landmarks like Wrigley Field and the Sears Tower from this perch high above the Second City. Sitting on an armchair in the corner of the room is TROY DOUGLAS, wearing black sweatpants and a sleeveless grey t-shirt, his standard workout garb. Panning left, the camera sees a stack of items on the night table, all currently face down. The camera returns to DOUGLAS, a grim look on his face.
DOUGLAS:
Loneliness, Jonathan?
You think YOU know something about being alone? Honestly, Marx, you must take me for a greater fool than your lil' buddy Jacobs.
C'mon, Jonathan, I know your an intelligent man. You don't need all this backtalk and rhetoric, because as well-schooled as you are, you should know I've been around too long and withstood way too much to be intimidated by any pseudo-intellectual bullsh*t.
I understand that you've been through pain, Marx. Hell, we all have. Pain's pretty much a prerequisite of the life that's chosen us, and when we sign those cotnracts with a new employer, we recognize the fact that pain will most certainly factor into our lives in the long run.
You've had pain, yes. Injuries, maybe even a questioning of your desire, we all go through that.
But REAL pain, REAL loneliness, Marx?
You're barking up the wrong f*cking tree, rich boy. You want to know what being alone is, I'll show you.
DOUGLAS pulls a series of items from the stack on the night table, and they are revealed to be a number of photographs, some older than others. The first is of a high school aged DOUGLAS, wearing his green number 44 basketball jersey of the East Lake Prep Pirates. In the picture, he stands with his arm around a man, approximately 50 years of age, wearing a suit, a whistle hanging around his neck. The camera pans back to DOUGLAS, the same pained look on his face.
That's my father, Marx. Or, rather I should say that he WAS my father, before he got gunned down on his own f*cking sofa in February Oh-Three. He raised me by himself, along with balancing his basketball coaching career and a full slate of history and literature classes to teach. He's the man who taught me how to live the way I do, how to carry my self with both pride and respect. He died, and I lost my guide, my conscience.
The camera pans to the second photo DOUGLAS took to from the pile. This one shows DOUGLAS, about two years prior to this date, wearing a stylish black suit. In his arms, a pretty black haired girl of around the same age as Troy in a blue dress. From the pose, it's obvious that they had just broken from a kiss. On the girl's finger, a sparkling diamond ring, on the faces of both, radiant smiles. The camera once more returns to DOUGLAS, this time a look crossed between nostalgia and remorse.
If dad was my conscience, then SHE was my heart and soul. Lauren Bennett, my fiancee, killed on the same GOD DAMN F*CKING NIGHT as my father, in the very same place. They were home in Greensboro, and I was in f*cking Edinburgh, Scotland on a GXW Euro tour. This picture, Jonathan, was taken not two minutes after I proposed to her. She was everything to me, all I wanted and more than I ever needed or deserved. Then some two-bit criminal decides to waltz into our house and go on a free shopping spree, and when he saw my dad and Lauren, he pulled out a .38 and shot them each three times.
THAT is why I tried to end my life, Jonathan, because without these two, there really wasn't anything left for me. It took some good friends and a lot of time to realize what I still had. That's the reason I came back to this business, because while I didn't have the two people I cared about most, I still had this overwhelming desire to prove myself to the rest of this godforsaken planet.
So you see, Marx, when it comes to me, you have absolutely no right to talk about pain and loneliness. You have no right to call me ignorant. You want to do anything, walk a mile in my shoes. Then, MAYBE, you can talk to me about what it is to deal with real adversity, Jonathan. Until that time, can your f*cking smartass remarks and settle it in the ring.
That's what this all really comes down to, Jonathan. That squared circle where feuds can end and men can become legends. At Destrucity, you and I settle this petty dispute. At that point, we'll know just who can do the talking from then on.
After that, you can go one and make your Old School Revolution, and I can continue my quest to finally vindicate my struggles with a World Championship, here or elsewhere.
But, at Destrucity, it's just you and me, and I'm planning on showing you just one more thing.
That you are not a savior.
Hell, your not even a Gentleman.
You just a mortal man, Marx, just like any of us, with weakness like any of us. When you show that, close the curtain.
So, I'll see ya at the end of the road.
Let's make some magic.
...FADE OUT
uts his arm around the shoulder of Marx:: It will be okay Jonathan, I HAVE AN IDEA WHICH WILL BRING NEW MANAGEMENT DOWN TO ITS KNEES!