(MIDWEST PLAY-IN] The Ragin' Redneck vs. Cassidy McKenzie

[CuseTroy]

Midwest Region Play-In Match

To be held at the Breslin Events Center, East Lansing, Mich.

RP Deadline: Sunday, April 5 @ 11:59:59 p.m. EST

 

[The Rage]

Prison Letters: Origins

Prison Letters: Origins

I know what's been said of me, the vile rumors of being a cheat and a murderer; how I disgraced myself as a wrestler and a human being. That's the vile venom the public spews about me and that's fine with me. I want, no I need you to believe how things really transpired here; I need you to hear my side of the story. I'm sitting here, rotting in this dark, damp prison cell in Arlington, Texas, this much you know, for crimes that I did not commit. The cot feels like I'm sleeping on needles, the floor smells like piss, and the winds blow in through the cracks, sounding like a tormented banshee. TEAM officials have decided to strip me of the championship I rightfully won, because they want nothing to do with me now. That's fine, I don't need their approval. I just want you to hear the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I want you to know that I had nothing to do with the murder of that drifter boy, Justin Cooperstown, and nothing to do with that diva Stacy Johnson. After you hear my side of the story, you will come to understand how things really happened.

I would start from the beginning, if I knew what the beginning was. I cannot surely say how long I've felt the urge to return to wrestling; I guess deep down I've always had the itch to return but it was oppressed by the humble lifestyle we enjoyed. But like any strong addiction, I couldn't just quit cold turkey and be done with it. It kept eating at me like a parastical tapeworm that just wouldn't die. I needed to feed it, even if it was the wrong thing to do, because I needed to satisfy its hunger. But nothing ever really satisfied the urge. That is until a few months ago I found out about an annual tournament called the TEAM Invitational Tournament. I felt a sense of excitement, anxiety, wonder, and panic that I had not felt in ten years. The euphora that swept through me as I thought about hitting the wrestling mat, flying through the air, and smashing someone through a table soon grew to be overwhelming. Of course, with a ten year hiatus and my body not as nimble as it used to be, I needed something more. I couldn't just hit the gym again and hope to be ready to face some of the biggest challenges in my career. I needed extra help, and that's when I decided to take steriods and human growth hormones. I began that regiment, knowing that for the first time in my life I was going to ask for an unfair advantage. But when you spent eleven years of your life, fighting the proper way, to earn nothing, and then sit back for another ten years wondering if you will ever get a second chance, you do not care about what's right or wrong when you get that second chance. I knew it was morally wrong of me to start taking steriods, and I suspected it would be legally wrong for me, too. So I convinced myself that I really wasn't cheating, because I took the steriods before I applied to the tournament, when I was considered a civilian by their standards. I figured TEAM Officials would surely let this slide because I was not a licensed wrestler at the time of training, nor was I active in any federation sanctioned or unsanctioned by TEAM. But as fate would have it, TEAM did not see it that way. But that part of the story is a bit further down the road.

I knew I could not tell you the truth about why I had to go to East Lansing, Michigan alone back on April 4th. I knew you would have tried to stop me or insisted that you come along. But I also knew that I would not be able to hide it from you for long, and that eventually you would have forgiven me over time. How silly that sounds to hear now as I write this! I was given a directive to travel to East Lansing, Michigan to partake in one of the four play-in matches for the tournament held at the Breslin Events Center, against someone simply named the Ragin' Redneck. No "Ragin' Redneck" Bob, or Bob the Ragin Redneck, or Leeroy "Ragin' Redneck" Tinsley, just simply the Ragin' Redneck. His moniker confirmed to me what I feared all along: That the TEAM community did not, and would not take me seriously. It was a fact I long accepted and decided to focus all my attention on one goal that weekend: The Ragin' Redneck.

At least, that was what would have happened if anyone knew anything about him. I scanned the portfolios that TEAM provided each participant and found nothing under the Ragin Redneck. I tried to make sure that I had simply overlooked him, or wondered if he had sent in an application under a different name. But the more I searched for any information on the Ragin' Redneck, the more frustrated I grew, and the more obvious it seemed that he was just a figment of the TEAM's imagination - an empty ballot conjured solely for making sure the tournament would get underway.

Then it finally hit me like a rock solid steel chair shot to the head. If the TEAM committee thought I was fodder, unfit to be taken seriously, then the same could be said of the Ragin' Redneck. The name reminded me of one of those dime a dozen wrestlers we had back in the old days, the ones who knew only a limited number of wrestling moves, but made their money because they knew how to throw a punch, kick you when you were down, and cheat when the referee wasn't looking. Too bad for the Ragin' Redneck, his kind was someone I knew how to fight all too well, because I didn't earn the nickname "The Rage" because I followed the rules or played fair. I required three knee surgeries, two back surgeries, and a dozen other operations throughout my career, because I did everything BUT play fair.

As the day to face the mysterious Ragin' Redneck grew closer, I realized that I had wasted my time. He was nothing more than the equivalent of an anonymous henchman - simply there as bait for the hero, or to serve as points for Mario before he saved the princess. You remember his kind. We had plenty of these "anonymous henchmen" back in the old federaton. During the peak of its era, when it had five shows a week, every Saturday and Sunday morning the roster took turns beating up on nobodies. They had no names, no gimmicks, no chance. They were random people who signed waivers, put on some tights, and tried to put on a good show for the weekend morning crowds. The problem was that they were not good enough, not by a long shot, and none of them ever showed any potential. Of course, we always had one or two who would fight like he was fighting for his life, give the crowd something to cheer about if only for a minute, but the end result was the same: he was beaten like a clubbed seal by anyone in the federation with any decent talent. The only interesting things that happened during those weekend morning shows was the occassional interview, or the backstage fights. These anonymous henchmen? They were nothing more than fodder, they were used to boost our wins record. Over time, the federation realized that and got rid of them. There were no longer two weekend morning shows, but one night show held every Sunday night. This is what the fans wanted. They did not to see "The Rage" Cassidy McKenzie beat up some guy they could have beaten up themselves.

That's what the Ragin' Redneck reminded me of. And he also reminded me that I never needed to pay any attention to them. Likewise, I could overlook him and look forward to my match with Ravager. Ravager was the number one seed in my bracket; he was someone I would end up facing in Bloomington, Indiana. Why the TEAM committee felt it was absolutely necessary to hold two matches in every arena and not just have each regional in one arena, is beyond me. But that's how they work it, and the success of this tournament in its fourth year is proof that the fans love it and will pay any price to see it.

As you know by now, I had no problems with the Ragin' Redneck. He turned out to be the "anonymous henchman" kind of wrestler I told you about, and fought just the same. Of course, you also know by now that I managed to get through my bracket. But the next few fights were anything but anonymous henchmen. They were some of the most intense matches I have ever had.

The time to end this letter is growing nigh. I know there is still much left to discuss. I hope that with this first letter, you would have an understanding of why I made the decision to return to wrestling and why I failed TEAM's mandatory drug testing. I hope you understand that this is something I needed to do for myself. There is still much to discuss, yes, and I am hoping that you are willing to hear the rest of my story. Next time, I will tell you the story of how I was introduced to the Diva, Stacy Johnson, and how I met this interesting drifter, Justin Cooperstown. If I had known then what I know now about these two, and what they were capable of, I would have quit the tournament right on the spot and taken the first flight back to New York.

But life it seems...is not without its adventures.

Your loving husband,

Cassidy McKenzie

-Excerpted from Prison Letters, a series of personal letters Cassidy McKenzie wrote to his wife, Margaret McKenzie, while incarcerated at Arlington County Jail

On May 17th, the wrestler known as "The Rage" Cassidy Mckenzie was immediately arrested following his triumph in the finals of the TEAM Invitational tournament. Police found the body of drifter named Justin Cooperstown in a nearby warehouse, his face severally burned off, with blood samples matching the DNA of Cassidy McKenzie. In conjunction with the legal proceedings and Cassidy McKenzie's failed drug test, TEAM Officials have decided to strip Cassidy McKenzie of his victory and offered the remaining semi-finalists a triple threat winner take all match. Cassidy McKenzie is currently in Arlington County Jail awaiting trial.

 

[bean]

Date: April 4, 2009
Time: 5:00pm
Location: Hardcore Drinking-Durham, NC
Bubba J, the Ragin' Redneck, sits outside the establishment on a wooden bench. He has a dip of Copenhagen in his mouth and his head hangs as he spits some Copenhagen to the pavement below. From behind the camera we hear a voice of a very sexy sounding lady.
"Come on Bubba, are you ready?"
Bubba raises his head and nods as his eyes bore into the camera. The rage filling them to the depth of his brain, he spits again before speaking.
"Unemployed, funny that is. Prison, again another co-incedence. See Cassidy, coming into this little tournament I thought this was just going to be a pissant I'd walk over. I thought it would be a piece of cake that a fat kid could scarf down before his mama had time to give him a napkin to wipe his filthy mouth. I thought all this, but see Cassidy, I was wrong. See, I was wrong in thinking all of this when all along, I should have known. I was unemployed, but then realized, why put myself through hell at Rebel Pro just so I could get that pitiful check they handed to the winners? When I co-own this here bar with my bud, Vincent Black, and can make more in one night than in a month at Rebel Pro? Answer is because I enjoy the pain I cause, I enjoy bringing people to the edge of their endurance and then hurling their worthless carcasses over the edge to the abyss below. I enjoy that Cassidy and I was damn good at what I did. But it seemed that I enjoyed it too much because that piece of **** Rex Caliber wanted me gone from his precious Rebel Pro and he definitely got his way in the end. So, as far as wrestling is concerned, I am unemployed at the moment and you know something, that does me just fine."
He spits a stream of brown liquid to the pavement.
"See Cassidy, it gives me more time to work on my strategy of how I want to take you apart piece by piece. Make no mistake, son, not if I am going to take you apart, but how I want to do it. Do I start at your ankle and work my way up so the pain is more intense as you go through the match? Do I start at your head and work my way down? I haven't decided yet Cassidy, but I will before our match takes place, I will decide on the path of destruction that I so choose and you will suffer at the hands of one, Ragin' Redneck. Make no mistake, I am no figment of your imagination, I am as real as can be. So your thoughts of is this guy paid by TEAM to take me down? Can go out the f*bleep*ing window just like your chances of winning this match went out the window when your name was placed behind mine. I noticed that, The Ragin' Redneck vs Cassidy McKenzie, because you are behind me son, and that is where you are going to stay. Behind Me, Bubba J!"
A saddistic chuckle as he spits again.
"Prison, yeah, like I've never been there. So tell me Cassidy, how does it feel being the fresh fish? Hmmm....? Does it feel good when four men hold you down and a fifth one has fun with you? Then they take turns? Don't tell me it doesn't happen, because I've watched it happen to others while I was in there. Valdosta State Prison, yeah, been there and done that scene. But, I was only there for about a week and able to stay out of the Fish Market as they called it there, but you did something a whole lot more serious, so you'll be in there for a while. I smell tuna and there ain't a can of Starkist tuna anywhere around."
He laughs and spits again.
"You've been in federations where all anyone could do was throw a punch, so have I. I was just in one where if all you knew how to do was throw a punch, you were a dead man. See, we threw chairs, barbed wire, glass tables, all sorts of other toys for the enjoyment of the sick and twisted. You've had surgery on your knees, your back, and most recently you had a balloptomy. That being the procedure where the Texas Judicial system removed what remained of your balls when they placed you in that prison. But honestly man, I don't give a damn if you murdered someone, jaywalked, stole fifty cents from an old lady, because the fact is this Cassidy. I am going to kick your ass up in East Lansing Michigan. I don't give a damn if they held all of the matches in one building or held them all in different buildings, because the end result would still be the same. You'd be laying on your back, looking up at the lights, and wondering if anyone got the number of that Mack truck that just ran your ass over."
He spits one more time.
"I'm coming in this tournament to win, I am not going to play around, and after I leave you in that ring everyone here will know the force that is Bubba J. I'm going to walk all over your ass and leave you bloody, beaten, and wondering if you'll ever be the same. But Cassidy, do you want to know the best part about all of this?"
He raises an eyebrow to the camera.
"There. Ain't. A. Damn. Thing. You. Can. Do. About. It."

 

[The Rage]

The euphora of the Michigan State basketbal team having reached the finals of the NCAA tournament has trickled down into the Breslin Events Center in East Lansing. Everywhere, Cassidy Mckenzie can spot the average feverish fan wearing a green Spartans t-shirt, whether they are bandwagoners or purists he cannot tell. He doesn't care either, for he has finally heard from his opponent, the Ragin' Redneck and not a moment too soon.

Do you enjoy living in a magical world that you created?

Cassidy McKenzie walks slowly around the outer perimeter of the Breslin Events Center. The camera follwos obliquely behind him with the overhead sun casting a large shadow behind him. Cassidy doesn't bother to look at the camera, a sign that The Ragin' Redneck isn't worth acknowledgement.

Cassidy​

I really want to live in this magical world you live in. This world where women like nice guys, everyone has a job they aren't afraid to lose, every family has a nice hosue with a white picket fence, racism isn't even a word much less a practice, the Chicago Cubs have won the World Series, and the economy is in really great shape. I want that, Bubba, I really do. I want to live in a world where I can go home to my wife and **** her best friends and have her be ok with it. I want to go home and be able to drive any luxury car I want. But it seems that the only way I can do that, is if I live in this magical world you created. You know, this world where you seemingly know what's going to happen to me in the future, and one where you think you have a chance at beating me. It's a good thing I know about a show called the Blue Collar Comedy Tour, otherwise, I never would have known rednecks could be so funny.

Cassidy McKenzie stops to wave at some fans. They wave at him and smile, knowing that he is one of the wrestlers from the TEAM play-in matches. Cassidy McKenzie politely turns away from them, they don't ask for an autograph and he doesn't blame them. Only the older generation would have remembered him, if they chose to do so at all. Ten years away from the business can make people forget you. Cassidy is here to make sure they remember once again.

Cassidy​

I, too, can make **** up. But that's where the similarities between us end. I don't pretend to know the future; I don't pretend to live in a strange, magical world. I live here in the now and in the present; I live in reality. And the reality is that you're biting off a lot more than you can chew. I don't care what run of the mill federation you used to partake in. I don't care what kind of wrestlers you've faced, or how you can throw a chair, plywood, or sledgehammer. A retarded child with autism throwing a temper tandrum can throw a chair. That doesn't make you special, it just means you're not brain dead.

Cassidy McKenzie pauses at the wrestler's entrance to the Breslin Events Center. With only a few hours left for his play-in match, Cassidy McKenzie knows he has to get ready. There will be thousands watching in attendance and millions watching at home. But the only one he has anything to prove to is himself. This time Cassidy turns directly into the camera. The camera zooms in on his eyes. You can see a scar running down his left side, and the wear and tear of a reckless life shines proudly through his dark, brown eyes.

Cassidy​

You should know better than to come here and tell me how you are going to beat me because of what you did in the past. This might be a new rodeo for you, so let me fill you in on a little secret. No one here gives a **** about what anyone else did or accomplished anywhere else. All that matters is what happens here, what we do here. You can take your tired tirade of threatening me with past accolades, but the truth is, you accomplished nothing with me. Everyone here starts from scratch. Everyone here starts from the bottom up. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner you will realize that you are better off back where you belong. If you were such a great competitor, why did you come here? All I kept hearing was about how much you are going to beat me. That's not going to be good enough. Not by a long shot.

Cassidy McKenzie pauses for a bit, to make sure the Ragin' Redneck is following his every word, wherever he may be.

Cassidy​

I told you there were no similarities between us. That isn't merely truth, it's fate. There can be no similarities between us, because you lack the heart of a real champion. You have absolutely no idea what you're getting yourself into here with me. You have absolutely no idea what this tournament is about. Your ignorant tirade about my future predicament, and your past anecdotes are proof of that. You live in your own magical little world where Israelites and Palenstines live in peace. But the world isn't how you see it. And what's going to happen tonight isn't how you envisioned it. I've battled your kind before. I've grown tired of beating guys like you, guys who always talked tough, but had nothing to back it up. I've beaten guys like you, guys who think that the only thing that matters is how much they are going to get violent in a match. But they never see the bigger picture, they never care to look at their opponent, really look at their opponent. And worst of all, they never truly grasp the gravity of the situation they are in. Did you really think the TEAM Invitational Tournament was just going to be a run of the mill, fly by night operation? Did you really think you were going to have an easy time with me? By the end of the night you will learn reality, and you will accept the truth. And the truth is...

Cassidy McKenzie smirks at the camera, like he is about to mock a certain someone.

Cassidy​

The truth is, you were never going to be taken seriously here. You were never going to beat me. Because when I'm done with you, you'll learn what it means to be a real fighter, in a real match. You will learn what it means to be a real champion. And you will learn...

To. Stop. Talking. Like. This.

 

[bean]

Date: April 5, 2009
Time: 10:15pm
Location: bathroom at Hardcore Drinking
The walls are abnormally clean for a public restroom, especially one in a bar. The camera is trained on a toilet and a brown substance is inside of the toilet bowl. We know what it is, but we don't want to admit that someone would do a promo like this, the smell must be awful.
"Cassidy, you turn away from perhaps the only people that give a damn about you. You turn away from those who might make your head swell bigger than it already is. But the truth of the matter is this and I know the truth, I can handle the truth. See, they waved at you because they felt sorry for you. Perhaps they found one of your old matches on youtube or something and was like, this guy can wrestle? This guy used to wrestle? Who in the hell is this guy?"
Bubba sits the camera on the back of the toilet as it faces him and he fills the screen.
"You stand there and are like, I'm Cassidy McKenzie, ruler of... nothing. I'm a hasbeen that never really was. See Cassidy, you talk of me living in a magical world, but maybe you are the one that lives in the magical kingdom. They didn't ask you for the autograph because they don't give a damn who you are. Why would they want an autograph from a nobody who's only job was to... job? Yeah maybe you make people look good, maybe they gave you some titles along the way because they felt sorry for your ass, or maybe you were the champion in a fed where the people there actually sucked more than you do. I don't really know."
Shoulder shrug.
"Even if the fans are stupider than your mom is for letting your dad spew inside her that night, well, I give them some credit for not asking a turd to sign their little books. At least those particular fans have some credibility and didn't want to soil their experience with having to put up with your stupid diatribes."
He leans back up against the closed door, and crosses his arms.
"You speak of a magical world that I somehow belong to. What magical world son? You think this is some story like Harry Potter? You think I am Lord Voldemort and you are Harry Potter sent here to rid the this wrestling tournament of me? Wait, I bet you think I am that evil ring in the Lord of the Rings and you are Frodo and are sent here to destroy me before I rule over all. But Cassidy, dear stupid monkey spunk Cassidy, this ain't no magical world. In that ring, you won't be bleeding magical blood, it will be no magical ending for you, it will be pure blunt force that hits you. See, I don't play games. What I say, I do, understand that? Do you f*bleep*ing understand that I am not playing a game here?"
He looks into the camera, deeply.
"See Cassidy, this time, the hero will not stand tall after the battle of good and evil. This time, Harry Potter will not defeat Lord Voldemort, this time the journey to destroy the ring will not even begin. I am not the darkness that envelopes your soul, but I will send you into the dark son. This time, the ending of the story, is the villain standing tall over the broken form of the supposed hero."
He points at the camera.
"And the supposed hero, is you Cassidy. But don't worry your head, it isn't just you. It could have been anybody across the ring from me and the result would have been the same. Me walking down to the ring, stomping a mudhole in their pitiful excuse for a hide, and then chopping them down to size because I am the best damn lumberjack in the arena. Then, I'd stand over them with a one, a two, and a three. Just that simple, nothing personal, just business."
He crosses his arms across his chest again.
"I will admit to something that you said though. You were right about me not being special. See, throwing steel chairs, plywood, thumbtacks, barbed wire, all of that doesn't make me special, not in the least. But one thing does come of that, run of the mill federation, that you speak so lowly of. It made me one tough som***** and that makes it all the harder for you in our match. See, I was tough before, but now, I'm even tougher. That makes your job that much harder to get rid of me, but it won't be easy, it won't be fun... for you, but I'll enjoy the front row seat as I stomp my foot down on your ribs, down on your ankle, on your knee, and I finish off the whole bit by stomping my foot down on your face and adding another scar to that mug you call a face. Excuse me sir, I didn't know we all had to start from the bottom and work our way up. I was under the impression that I automatically was put on the top, and if you can't hear the sarcasm in my voice you are deaf as well as being dumb. I mean, I thought just because I was a former champion I should start at the top, please forgive me for not understanding the rules, but then again, I've never been one to play by the rules well."
He gives Cassidy a double bird, just because he wants to, no other reason.
"Why did I come here if I was such a great competitor. Well, I personally came here for the nachos, I mean it wasn't like I came here to wrestle or anything. I'm sure that Mikey came here for the hotdogs, Dan Ryan for the popcorn, and Ravager, if I know him at all, came here for the pizza. I hear the pepperoni is the best here in Michigan. You dumb som*****, I came here to win this tournament, I mean why in the damn hell did anyone else come here? You dumb piece of ****, I've heard some stupid **** before, but that was just stupid."
He is seeting with anger now.
"Damn, you are the reason the gene pool should have been bleached generations before. You are the reason people invented condoms. Out of millions of sperm cells, the retarded one wins the race... damn. The exact reason your mother should have made your father wear a trojan on that night."
He shakes his head, certainly someone can't be that stupid.
"So, Cassidy, you are going to teach me something. I am going to learn what exactly? You are going to teach me that you are a complete retard? Already took that class and passed with flying colors. But I'm here teacher, oh teach ye of vast knowledge and bull**** artist extraordinaire."
He leans over picking up the camera, he focuses it on the toilet bowl.
"See Cassidy, I don't care who you are, who you were, or what you might be one day. Sorry, but I just don't normally get in the habit of caring for pieces of ****. Just like a piece of ****, you need to be flushed. You shouldn't have come back after ten years, you should have stayed retired, or you should have stayed locked up in your basement quivering from the outside world. No matter what the reason you have been gone for ten years, you shouldn't have come out to play this game anymore, you shouldn't have come out just to get sent back into hiding after our match. Cassidy, you have alot in common with a piece of ****."
"you stink, you are full of hot air bubbles, and it is time for you to be flushed because you are stinking up the scene. Just like this stall stinks to high Heaven, you have stunk up the wrestling scene for too long and you need to stay down this time and don't return to the world."
He reaches out to flush the toilet.
"Enjoy the swirling sensation Cassidy. Enjoy the ride while it lasts as you spin around and around and wind up in the darkness. Cause Cassidy, you will wind up down in the darkness where all of the other pieces of **** live out their existence. Enjoy the ride while it lasts, because there. ain't. anything. you. can. do. about. it."
The camera stays focused on the swirling lump until it is sucked down into the darkness. The camera, it fades away.