RELOADED 15: Amsterdam

[Kid Chameleon]

Ascolta, Valentino

(Cutto: A street-looking fella with a white vest, a pair of ripped jeans that look two sizes too big for him and a moustache and bit of gruff on the chin that make him resemble Begbie from Trainspotting or as his countrymen have called him, a poor man’s Frankie Garage – Google it on Google.it if you haven’t got a Scooby about what I’m on about.)

(Stroking his chin, apparently in pensive mood, this brand-new character begins to speak with an Italian twang.)

“I ‘ate the nord of Italy, Valentino Ferrari. You are from Venezia, near Verona, where people dare to say to us Neapolitans: Welcome to Italy. You sit up there, drinking, judging persons from the sud and think you are regal and elegant?”

(We still don’t know the name of this guy, but judging by the way his minstrel-like eyes are moving, he’s what you’d consider ‘out there.’)

“From what I see of you, you are typical polentone: Arrogant, slimy, you make a’ my skin crawl. I wanna go and dive into the Bay of Naples for a bath after watchin’ your performance.”

(Then, he scoffs in a dismissive way.)

“You think you’re Italian because you wear a football t-shirt? What have Venezia ever done in the Serie A? Two words: Diego Maradona. Oh, you and your pals from Verona didn’t like him too, did you?”

(The southern Italian shakes his head.)

“I can’t see anything I like about you, stronzo. You’re from the nord, you’re Veneziano and your name’s Valentino? Mio dio, I wanna kick your culo from Amsterdam to Notting’am, you testo di cazzo.”

(That means: I want to kick your ass from Holland to England, you dickhead. Continuing with the theme of Nottingham, which I thought was an odd inclusion… )

“I’m the Robin Hood of Italy. I steal from the rich and I give to the poor. What I’m gonna do to you in Olanda is steal a victory from you, take your pride and POW…Vaffanculo.”

(Whoever he is, he’s a foul-mouthed young man with a chip on his shoulder and I refuse to translate what he said at the end, but you can guess.)

“Sono Roberto Veroli. Piacere. Ascolta, Valentino…

“They call Adrien Broner ‘The Problem.’ Consider me your problem since now. I tell to you that you don’t know ‘ow to ‘andle this problem, but don’t ‘ave any ideas of entering the Grand Prix, you cazzo grande.”

(Adjusting his shirt, Veroli, with mischievous eyes and his hands in pockets, struts forward to confront the camera one final time.)

“Ti ricordi mi chiamo? Roberto Veroli. I am LA TUA PROBLEMA in Amsterdam. ‘ow are you going to solve this?”

(Roberto points to his chest and smiles before winking at the camera. FADE.)

 

[Biron]

CONTROL

(CUTTO: Jack Bryant, sporting a black Jack Bryant/Jack Daniel’s-styled Alabama Smash Mouth Wrasslin’ tee, Wranglers, and Bronc Stomper boots, standing in front of a RELOADED 15: SMOKE ON THE WATER backdrop. The NFW Television Title is slung over his right shoulder.)

JACK BRYANT: “ Hell, Dorchester, with you runnin’ over yer Greatest Hits a’gin n’ a’gin like a Bloodhound bayin’ trail, yer bound ta’ make a fella think yer tryin’ ta’ convince yerself somethin’. You broke Wildstar. You broke Rayne. You ran tha’ Plumber right outta’ tha’ Frontier. n’ fer tha’ past six months, you been sayin’ yer gonna’ put me out ta’ pasture, too. (scowls) How’s that comin’ along, bub? Yanno, you run me down with yer Jaguar n’ busted mah ribs up real bad. You beat tha’ tar outta’ me with a chair in Portland. (nods) Ah’m STILL standin’, Dorchester. You just don’t GET IT. Ah’m not Wildstar. Ah’m not Joe tha’ Plumber. Ah’m Jack Bryant n’ Ah’m tha’ toughest sonuvab(bleep!) ta’ lace boots in this sport. Ya’ can talk n’ talk ah’bout blackin’ out n’ doin’ horrible things ‘ntil yer BLUE in tha’ face, but it’s not gonna’ make me roll over n’ hand you a DAMN THING. ”

(JB slaps the Television Title’s faceplate.)

“ Ah know that puts you in a tough spot. Ah think everybody n’ their brother has noticed that as soon as tha’ goin’ gets rough, Dorchester Stratton beats feet. That’s tha’ difference between me n’ you, Dorchester. Ah’ve made a livin’ with mah back against tha’ wall, constantly fightin’ tha’ numbers game. You’ve operated on tha’ other side - backjumpin’ folks n’ usin’ numbers ta’ yer advantage. That’s fine as frog’s hair, but, sooner ‘er later, tha’ day rolls around when them crutches get kicked out from underneath you. That’s tha’ reality a’ yer situation, son. Yer gonna’ be sharin’ a cage with Jack Bryant in Amsterdamn - n’ tha’ deck’s not stacked in yer favor. ”

“ You’ve lost that precious CONTROL that you n’ Rumsfeld curl up next ta’ like it’s a damn baby blankey. (cracks a crooked grin) Ah love listenin’ ta’ you rich yuppies yappin’ ah’bout how yer in control n’ this n’ that. See, that might make ya’ feel warm n’ fuzzy inside, but it’s a crock a’ bull. When it comes ta’ wrasslin’, yer in tha’ same boat as tha’ rest a’ us. Ya’ might have a measure a’ control down at tha’ Country Club where yanno tha’ bus boy is gonna’ take yer motor mouthin’. Sure, Rumsfeld might control you … she has you wrapped around her little finger. She seems ta’ think that yer gettin’ inta’ that Steel Cage ta’ satisfy her, Dorchester. ”

(JB shakes his head.)

“ Ya’ better be comin’ with a helluva lot more than that. ‘cause if yer thinkin’ about Rumsfeld when that cage drops, yer gonna’ end up in a BAD WAY. Yer gonna’ wake up from a different kind a’ BLACKOUT, bub n’ Ah’m gonna’ be standin’ over you with mah TV Title. Ah’m not comin’ inta’ this match fer love, money, ‘er championships, Dorchester. Ah’m comin’ ta’ SURVIVE. Ah’m not plannin’ on walkin’ away without a scratch. Ah expect ta’ be bleedin’ like a stuck pig. Ah wouldn’t have it any other way. Ah show up lookin’ ta’ thump. n’ time n’ time a’gin, mah arm’s been raised when tha’ smoke clears. Tha’ proof is in tha’ puddin’. You’ve made a career a’ losin’ these matches n’ that’s nothin’, but straight shootin’. ”

(JB holds out the TV Title.)

“ n’ Amsterdam, tha’ closest yer comin’ ta’ a belt is the one Rumsfeld is wrappin’ around yer neck back at tha’ hotel room. Ah’m KEEPIN’ THIS ONE. ”

(FTB)

 

[GreggG]

Re: CONTROL

(CUT TO: The nearly destroyed hotel room, with broken glass, upturned mattresses and ripped wallpaper. Sitting in a brown leather chair is DORCHESTER STRATTON. Despite the carnage in his room, STRATTON is back to Country Club form -- his hair Brylcremed into perfect form. He has on a white, pressed dress shirt from the JOS. A BANK DORCHESTER SATIN line. He has on a blue/pink young Republican tie. His blue blazer has a pink tri-fold handkerchief, all capped with creased khaki chinos and polished black shoes.)

DORCHESTER: "Happy Jack wasn't old but he was a man."

(Dorchester chuckles.)

DORCHESTER: "I haven't talked about my past in QUITE some time. I haven't talked my life as... as DC. But for those who don't remember, for those who require a history lesson, let me remind you. I grew up..." (Dorchester looks disgusted.) "I grew up POOR. My dad? Still don't know who he is. My mom? She had me when she was 16 and ended up in and out of the best rehab facilities the Lehigh Valley in Pennsylvania has to offer. I was raised by my aunt and uncle in a small house in some piece of sh*t small town. And I shared a room with my cousin... he was like a brother to me. He was MY HERO."

(Dorchester's hands are quivering and he laughs again.)

DORCHESTER: "The kids couldn't hurt Jack. Though they tried tried tried."

(Dorchester looks up at the ceiling and laughs again.)

DORCHESTER: "Y'see, Jack... Jack wanted to BE someone. He wanted to ESCAPE the Lehigh Valley. And he thought the best way for him to do just that was by pickin' up his guitar to PLAY. He had the Kurt Cobain poster on the wall above his bed. He had the Pearl Jam T-Shirt he stole from the mall. But his FAVORITE band... the band he idolized the most... was The Who. And I sat on the bottom bunk, watching him take his guitar and wiiinnndmilll" (Dorchester pantomimes this) "his arm up and down. And his favorite song?"

(Dorchester smirks again.)

DORCHESTER: "Happy Jack wasn't old but he was a man."

(Dorchester adjusts his tie.)

DORCHESTER: "So my cousin... he thought he was going to be the next great rock star. He thought he was going to get out of the dump we lived in and he thought he was going to live that life. But guess what? GUESS WHAT HAPPENED TO HAPPY JACK? GUESS WHAT?" (Dorchester chuckles.) "He didn't quite make it. His band? Yeah, they toured around a bid. They got in the van and drove around looking for a record contract that never quite came. And do you know what HE SAID? He said that the reason it didn't happen was because HE WOULDN'T SELL OUT. He wouldn't let some corporate overlord CHANGE his music or dress him up in nice clothes. And because he didn't..." (Dorchester sneers.) "COMPROMISE his morals, he didn't make it. He may have his morals. He may be able to sleep at night. But he's sleeping in the same bed he did when he was 12 years old. In the same house he grew up in, that two bedroom DUMP on the other side of the tracks, out near the woods where the hobos go to DRINK. And yeah, the kids are GREAT but those support payments -- the QUICK CHECK WAGES don't exactly PAY for them to get clothes except for the ones they can pretty much STEAL from the Salvation Army thrift store."

(Dorchester smooths out his hair.)

DORCHESTER: "I decided to make it out of the Lehigh Valley by becoming a WRESTLER. I got my start in this industry because Eddie Mayfield caught wind of a videotape me and my moron friends made where I jumped off of a trampoline through a table placed upon some thumbtacks. And I sat back for years, hoping to make it, ONLY IT DIDN'T HAPPEN. And then I got to team up with Tsunami and I met..." (Dorchester shakes his head and mumbles.) "Rayne... AND I WAS ABOUT TO BE A STAR! BUT THEY USED ME! THEY USED ME AND THEY CHEWED ME UP AND THEY WERE GOING TO THROW ME OUT JUST LIKE THEY DID TO MY COUSIN! THEY TOSSED ME ASIDE SO WILDSTAR COULD GE THE GLORY! THEY TOSSED ME ASIDE AND THREW ME OUT AND TREATED ME LIKE I WAS NOTHING MORE THAN TRAILER TRASH!"

(Dorchester takes a breath. And then he smooths out the pocket square.)

DORCHESTER: "Well, Jack, I was confused and then... then VERONICA told me that she saw something in me. Her -- a beautiful, prep school blonde... TALKING TO ME. The girl from the OTHER SIDE OF TOWN, the place where they go skiing and have beach houses... WAS TALKING TO ME. And she said that she could dress me up and I could cut my hair and I could... I could HAVE what she had. And you know what?" (Dorchester starts to cackle.) "I wasn't going to end up like my cousin. Did I sell out? Did I throw what I believed in out the window so I could live in a Manhattan penthouse and have a permanent reservation at the Lower Merion Country Club and so I could drive a Jaguar that would one day CRASH INTO YOUR RIBS, JAAAACK BRYAANNTTT?"

(Dorchester smiles.)

DORCHESTER: "Yes. Yes, I did. And I don't regret it ONE SECOND."

(Dorchester then looks around the room and at his hands.)

DORCHESTER: "But, Jack... JAAAAACKKKK... I KNOW what they say. They're saying that DORCHESTER STRATTON is just like... is just like DC STRATTON... a sheep in WOLF'S CLOTHING. They're saying that I can't win the big one. They're saying that I WON'T WIN THE TITLE! THEY'RE SAYING THAT I'M JUST LIKE MY COUSIN! THEY WANT TO TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME! JACK BRYANT, YOU WANT TO TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME! And Jacccck..... Jaaaaaaaaackkkyyyyy..."

(Dorchester stands up and starts chuckling as he kicks some broken glass around his feet.)

DORCHESTER: "I... I just can't let that HAPPEN to me, can I? I might not be able to hurt you, Jack. BUT I WILL--" (Dorchester punches the wall with each word.) "TRY! TRY! TRY!" (The wall's dented. Dorchester holds up his hand and looks at his knuckles and smiles.) "AND I WILL DROP THINGS ON YOUR BACK! AND THAT IS NOT--" (More punches.) "A LIE! LIE! LIE!" (Dorchester's knuckles are bleeding and Dorchester's eyes start to empty.) "But I WILL STOP YOU, JACK! AND I WILL STOP THE WATERS LAPPING! BECAUSE, JAAAACKKKKKKKK--"

(Dorchester SCREAMS and picks up his chair and throws it RIGHT into the window. He throws it AGAIN into the window so the glass shatters. He just blankly stares down. Then from the side, still wearing his black teddy, walks VERONICA ABRAMS RUMSFELD, with a weird red scar across her face and neck.)

RUMSFELD: "We're going to PREVENT YOU from being happy... Jack."

(Rumsfeld grabs Dorchester's hair and starts tonguing him. When their lips part, he looks around in disbelief as to where he is. FTB.)

 

[Ford]

Re: CONTROL

JACK HARMEN: (O.S.) "WELCOME TO SATURN VALLEY, ZOOM BOING DING!"

(FADEIN: Jack Harmen stands backstage at the arena in Amsterdam. Behind him is a large NFW banner, waving in a slight manufactured breeze. He's dressed in black cargo pants and a Superfly Express t-shirt worn over top of a large tie dyed sweater. Harmen cracks a smile.)

JACK HARMEN: Listen Flying Man. You've been in NFW for a hot minute. There's NO way you've collected the 8 different melodies of your soundstone yet. You've probably just beaten Titanic Ant and maybe the Happy Carpenter who wants to paint everything blue. Seriously De Ocho. Where's your Paula? Where's your Jeff? Where's your Poo?

(Harmen narrows his eyes.)

JACK HARMEN: I don't know how a video game could name a character Poo, but they did.

(Harmen sneers.)

JACK HARMEN: Hell, you haven't even gone through maze of the dungeon man in the desert! You haven't faced the diamond dog in the lava mines in 65,000,000 BC. I bet YOU can't even TIME TRAVEL yet. Have you even MET a Dinosaur?

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: And here you are, saying you're about to reach the final boss, about to complete your epic journy across time and space. You haven't even learned how to teleport in a straight line! C'mon Ocho, you know better than me the only way to get face to face with the Evil Mani Mani statue inside your mind is to have already fought 18 crazy hippees, a couple enraged driverless taxi's and the Gods of Thunder and Storm! I mean, you are in the right SPACE, but you aren't in the ring TIME.

(Harmen holds his nose together.)

JACK HARMEN: You stink De Ocho. (smiles, releases nose) And you know that's a compliment. (laughs) Listen De Ocho. I like you. I think you have all the potential in the world to be the NFW World Champion.

(Harmen leans in, framing himself in a medium close up.)
'
JACK HARMEN: You just don't have what it takes to be the NEXT NFW World Champion.

(Harmen steps back a step.)

JACK HARMEN: BOING! We are all Mr. Saturn. But not all Mr. Saturn's can win the Grand Prix. Behind Grapefruit Falls, Zoom there's a secret. Just say 'Say Password,' wait three years! THEN, you might be ready.

(Harmen strokes an imaginary goatee.)

JACK HARMEN: And while I was watching all these vignettes, I noticed Alex Austin getting incredibly distracted by JJ and the Hellfire Club. Listen, Alex, Castor was a fighting champion. He was an honorable and lecherous visionary who's legacy very few will have the chance to even come CLOSE to. But he did it by focusing on what MATTERED at hand.

(Harmen rubs his empty right shoulder, as his other hand clutches the Everett strap around his waist.)

JACK HARMEN: The NFW World Heavyweight Championship. Cause Alex Austin concerns himself with a titleless spoiled child of a man who demands people respect him instead of going out there to earn it. Alex Austin is all about making sure people respect the gravitas and championship reign of Castor V. Strife. He says he's the next generation of Castor disciples.

But no matter the skill, no matter the talent, if the focus isn't there... Alex is just going to be another body in that Grand Prix that's going to be hit with a SUPERFLY dive. Cause you're all over the place Austin, trying to keep the HFC away from the three singles championships, when you should just let them FAIL, like the miserable CREATENS they are, and let the chips fall where they may. You should be worrying about YOURSELF and winning the Grand Prix so you can maybe fill a QUARTER of the shadow Castor has left behind.

(Harmen frowns, and steps closer to the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: You don't have faith in Jack Bryant? You don't have faith in Rook Black? You think they need HELP to take out the Hellfire Club? These two men symbolize everything that's great about this fine organization. They are CHAMPIONS and WARRIORS the likes of which are DESTINED for VALHALLA. To think they can't beat three smarmy entitled pricks, even with both hands tied behind their back, is a DISGRACE to the CHAMPIONSHIPS of NFW.

(Harmen shrugs.)

JACK HARMEN: So sure, lose your focus, worry about things that are inevitably out of your control, and neglect your chance to become the NEXT, NFW World Champion.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: And here I thought you'd be doing everything you could to win the NFW World title, to challenge Castor when Strife recovers from his broken body and soul, to PROVE to him, that you've ECLIPSED one of the greatest champions NFW, and this SPORT has ever seen.

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: Guess I was wrong.

(Harmen bellows out into an even longer laugh.)

JACK HARMEN: But at least you're not Lane Cash. You call Rook lazy but Mr. Cash Cow over there is the EPITOME of laziness. Oh, I don't give a damn about this match, or this opportunity. Who cares about the secondary titles. But oh, now it's two weeks before the Grand Prix and Impulse wins the title, puts a shot on the line for the big belt and suddenly it's WORTH it to Cash to show up?

(Harmen shakes his head.)

JACK HARMEN: I'm pretty sure that guy doesn't take the apocalypse seriously. Even this opportunity, which Cash is WILLING to get off his lazy ass for, it's just going to be LOST when he gets in the ring with FIERY, COMMITTED competitors. Some of the greatest aerial artists this sport has ever SEEN!

(Harmen turns to his side. He pulls up his sweater and t-shirt to reveal his tattoo on his left bicep.)

JACK HARMEN: I didn't have "Greatest Cruiserweight" tattoo'd on my shoulder for SHITS AND GIGGLES. I earned this fifteen years ago, wrestling some of the toughest luchadors Mexico could ever seen. And I've validated this tattoo every time I've entered the ring. Sure. I've lost a step or two, but I've compensated with my agility, with my flexibility. I'm cagey, I'm aware, I'm focused, and I pride myself on being the greatest all around High Flyer this SPORT has ever seen. That means I can hit any of you out of no where with a no hands piscada, or just as easily roll to the side to avoid your face splattering into the barricade tope.

(Harmen smiles)

JACK HARMEN: This match should just be called “The High Flyer” match. It's RIGHT up my wheel-house. The only thing I can see going wrong?

(Harmen sneers. He rushes forward and grabs the camera by it's lens.)

JACK HARMEN: Phil Atken and Teddy Alexander STEALING the Everett straps from Superfly's waists, and ME turning into a RAGE FILLED LUNATIC! But to prevent that, until that bell rings between Superfly and Double A, my entire focus is there. Nova and I have spent WEEKS preparing for this defense, and I may only have a few days to cram for the Grand Prix.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: That's all I'll need.

(Harmen lets go of the camera. He takes a step or two back.)

JACK HARMEN: OH! And Impulse. I just want to let you know I appreciate you putting up a World Championship opportunity to the winner of the Grand Prix. But should Double A make these belts come off? And if the NFW board allows it? When I win the Grand Prix? I won't be challenging for the World Belt. Not until Superfly gets their rematch.

I have my reasons. I have my motivations. So while being the NFW world champion would be an illustrious honor I can only dream to have on my resume... it's a selfish dream.

(Harmen takes a deep inhale in.)

JACK HARMEN: When you're part of the brotherhood that comes with being one half of the Superfly Express, the will of the team comes before the will of the individual.

(Harmen smiles. He unlatches the tag strap and raises it high.)

JACK HARMEN: United we stand, divided we fall.

(Harmen steps off frame, as the camera ZOOMS in on the NFW logo. FADE TO BLACK.)

 

[Jesse Ramey]

Re: CONTROL

The scene opens in the Laos jungle; the camera frantically shakes as Jesse Ramey places it on a rock overlooking his bungalow. He looks worse for wear than he ever has before, and there is even a more crazed look in his eyes now.

“This will be my final transmission from the jungles,” the camera fuzzed in and out, “things have taken a turn for the more drastic. My camera man has perished, sorry NFW management. I told him not to eat the berries by the river that they were poisonous, but he didn’t listen.”

“My raft is complete,” Ramey paused, “all I need to do now is place it in the river and I’ll be able to float my way down to the nearest airport. Shouldn’t be a problem though, getting through security looking like I do right now could be a problem though.”

“I am prepared for the grand prix royale though,” the camera shot static again, “I am definitely in a better place now. A better state of mind going into this, a more enlightened state of mind so to speak; you can call me crazy if you like. Any one of you who have entered into this match; and I’ll take that. If you think I’ve going bat s(bleep) crazy then how isn’t that to my advantage and your disadvantage.”

“You think you’re going to be dealing with a rabid dog backed into a corner,” static, “then that’s exactly what I’m going to give you in this match. I’m going to go harder, stronger, and come at you more than I’ve ever done before in the center of that squared circle.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a member of the NFW roster or if you’re one of the so-called world roster,” static, “I am the best wrestler in this industry going today, period. I’m a better high flyer than Jack Harmen, I’m a better submission technician than Alex Austin, I’ve gone further off the deep end than Legion, and I am definitely more entertaining inside of the ring and out than Leyenda De Ocho.”

“First,” static, “I am going to go into Brawlhalla and do something that no one thought even possible. I am going to win the fatal four way and then I am going to take the Triple Crown from Rook Black. Then I’m coming to Reloaded, and I’m going to win my chance to go up against Impulse for the NFW World Title; and I’m going to win that as well.”

“I’ve been looked over and stepped over you years,” static, “now it’s my time to take my own opportunities by the balls and make a name for myself. I’ve already got a title around my waist to date, how many of the rest of you can say that aside from Phil Atken? Despite the fact that NFW doesn’t allow us to acknowledge them here because they aren’t titles apart of their ‘universe’.”

“I will be all of your undoing in this match; I will be your ragnarock.” Static, “I hope you’re all prepared to endure the beating of your lives when you step inside of that ring, because I definitely am. This is Jesse Ramey, signing out from the jungles of Laos.”

Ramey stood grabbing hold of a rock and walking closer to the camera.

“End Transmission!”

He shouted as he brought the rock down crushing the camera and sending the feed into a constant state of static.

 

[brusch]

Re: CONTROL

“I live in a world of heroes. A sea of characters who inspire me and motivate my actions. And Jack Harmen...you're one of those heroes, too.”

(The camera opens to Leyenda de Ocho in front of an extremely pixelated backdrop depicting the Evil Mani Mani statue in front of a field of pixelated blue and black waves emanating from its center. Ocho slowly paces back and forth, mostly looking at the ground.)

Ocho: “I’ve heard the stories about me…I know what everyone believes. Things like ‘Meteoric Rise’ has been thrown around, and I don’t like thinking about it much because I don’t want a big head. But now? Jack Harmen, High Flyer, final four in ULTRATITLE, legendary tag team champion and all around Hall Of Famer All The Time is riffing on EARTHBOUND. Before all the other competitors in the Grand Prix and even word one about himself, he quotes Saturn Valley because of me.

And it feels a little surreal.

Link, Ness, Mario - these are the ones I looked up to when I disconnected from the world and plugged into a new one within my mind. When I watched wrestling? It was High Flyer. The man is creative, the man is a little nuts, and he was the best cruiser I ever saw when I was growing up. And for him to sit down and decide ‘the first thing I better tackle is Leyenda de Ocho’ is something I can now cross off my Wrestling Bucket List. I don’t want to throw too much shade on him either, because he may be the only Grand Prix finalist who understands me…

…at least, he almost does. He was talking about Ness and not Flying Man, but I understand what he was trying to say.

Jack, in your incredible Earthbound run-through that I’m pretty sure only you and I fully understood, you made some good points. It’s true, I’ve only been around NFW a few months, and heck - my first televised match ever was less than a year ago. I’m only 23. So far, the only championship I’ve gotten is the Winning Your Hearts title that people like to talk about. Any way you slice it, I’m not ‘supposed’ to be here. I’m not ‘supposed’ to be at the forefront of the minds of men like Rook Black and Jack Harmen. I’m not ‘supposed’ to emerge from a field of 13 other hungry and talented men to challenge the man who dethroned the biggest star of 2012 for the world championship.

But hey…shock the world, right? I wouldn’t be very true to the tenants of Flying Man if I were to lay down. I’m bringing everything I’ve got, and we’ll all find out if the step or two that High Flyer lost translates to a step or two I’ve gained.

The road through the Grand Prix in this celebration of all things cruiserweight SHOULD go through Jack Harmen. And I can’t wait to take it there.”

(Ocho stops pacing and looks up to the camera with a calm, confident smile, his hands on his hips.)

(CUE UP: “The Jolly Flying Man” from the Earthbound soundtrack.)

Ocho: “Courage with a capital C. It’s what I’ll use to face a legend. A wildman trying to sail thousands of miles on a raft to make the show on time. A ruthless submission artist who wants nothing more than to burn us all in the aftermath of his master’s Fall From Grace. Men who I have faced before in different circumstances, men whom I’ve never seen before. The frightening world of the unknown and the evil that lives within all our minds we’ll all face when we stand in that ring against thirteen other warriors.”

(Ocho grins widely.)

Ocho: “Game On.”

(The music trails off as the camera fades to black.)

 

[Ford]

Re: CONTROL

JACK HARMEN: (O.S.) The best wrestler in the world doesn't get lost in OUTER MONGOLIA.

(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC interlaced with the NFW logo. CUTTO: Jack Harmen, staring down at a hand held cinéma vérité camera in an extreme close up. Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: He doesn't have to SAY he's entertaining, whether that's in a generalized soliloquy or comparison to his peers, the GREATEST WRESTLER doesn't NEED self validation... Jesse Ramey is entertaining because he SAYS he is. HA! Jesse Ramey SAYS he's going to come to New Frontier and DESTROY us... DOUBLE HA! Ramey tryin' to cast a shadow on the legacy this promotion has carved itself through granite, TAKE ALL THE GOLD? TRIPLE HA! Jesse thinks he can lay claim to Rook Black's Triple Crown Championship getting LOST in the WOODS?! And somehow he parlays that into a shot at Impulse and then takes THAT title, QUADRUPLE HA! Then he sets them BOTH ABLAZE and he rides an imaginary and ridiculously gaudy golden chariot into the heavens and stars... Never to be seen again... THANK GOD! Well, that is until that spin off reality show he winds up starring in with his sidekick robot as they explore jungles while battling Polar Bears like Steve Irwin.

(Harmen shakes his head. He grabs the bridge of his nose and sighs.)

JACK HARMEN: EASIER SAID THAN DONE! You know how many times I've tried to take the Triple Crown, then the National Championship, off of Rook Black's shoulders? HELL! I even freaking DID IT! And even I! The greatest cruiser weight this sport has ever seen, the craziest bong-bomb baddest braggadocio FREAK of a lunatic couldn't keep Rook's grubby little mitts from regaining that belt the SAME EXACT NIGHT.

(Harmen shrugs.)

JACK HARMEN: Granted, extenuating circumstances and loftier ambitions, but the point remains valid. And so Jesse Ramey? He really thinks, just because he's a star from another circle, from another portion of the globe, that taking Rook Black's TRIFORCE will be just taking candy from a BABY?!?

(Harmen sneers.)

JACK HARMEN: I've tried. That baby will fuss and cry, and if he's teething, which Rook always is, he'll BITE YOUR FINGERS CLEAR OFF! Jesse, listen, take it from a man who's been around the world, traveled and wrestled in every continent, from incompetent opponents to world renown LEGENDS, I have seen EVERYTHING this sport has to offer.

(Harmen shakes his head.)

JACK HARMEN: And yet I have NEVER seen the determination and drive to be the BEST, to KEEP what is RIGHTFULLY his, represented in anyone like what I see in a staring contest with Rook Black. Rook's is no slouch, and you're treating him like a red-headed stepchild, like a man NOT worthy of his LEGACY! QUINTUPLE LAUGH as I may be so lucky to see your spine ripped clean from your body, head detached from said spine, as we'll all listen to Rook Black play a jaunty tune on his brand new skeleton xylophone.

(Harmen backs away from the camera, pacing.)

JACK HARMEN: I look at this Grand Prix, and I see youngsters, I see newbs, I see returning legends of the past and never has beens all vying for a shot at Impulse's World Heavyweight Championship. It got me thinking. All of these men competing in this Grand Prix are either new hires, recent returnees, Legion, Atken, Akita, or myself. A lot of these individuals LITERALLY walked in off the streets and are claiming their right to be the NFW World Heavyweight Champion.

(Harmen runs his hands through his hair. He sighs.)

JACK HARMEN: Yet I've been in New Frontier since 2005 in an off and on capacity. I've wrestled here full time, called this place my HOME for the past FIVE years, and I have NEVER, EEEEEEEVER, had a World Title shot.

(Jack Harmen shrugs.)

JACK HARMEN: Joe the Plumber? Never even met that stinkbomb before he remembered he had a toilet somewhere that desperately needed unclogging.

(Harmen cracks his knuckles.)

JACK HARMEN: Castor Strife? Too busy with the Dan Ryan's and Eric Dane's and Impulse's of the world to worry about a masked freak tormenting the National Championship division, too focused on what he needed to accomplish to come to the tag division and see if the King of Hallucination or the Friendly Neighborhood Lunatic wanted a crack at his big shiny belt.

(Harmen raises his hands.)

JACK HARMEN: The stars just have never aligned. I don't fault Joe, cause I didn't want to touch that putrid puke hole with even JJ Deville's limp shriveled shrimp dick. No, and I don't blame Castor either. How could I? That guy put it out there every time he could. He and I were just on two divergent paths. I was worried about my new-found friendship and the EMT straps that NEVER COME OFF. Castor? He was making sure my slogan was his mantra. He held the World title for INFINITY. And sure, there may have been a time when I could have stepped up to the plate, but it wasn't right. I didn't have that fire. Not until Supah-fly... not until the Ultratitle...

(Harmen smiles, and looks at the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: All that being said Cas', know I've got an open contract waiting with your signature for the match that SHOULD have been the Ultratitle finals. Just sayin'.

(Harmen hops in place.)

JACK HARMEN: But ever since I've been SUPERFLY, I've had LIMITLESS energy, a BALL OF FIRE I haven't felt coarse through these veins since I was a 24 year old, wrestling in bingo halls and having barbed wire wrapped around my body as I hit my springboard piscada's. Wrestling hasn't been THIS MUCH FUN, in AGES!

(Harmen sneers. He rushes up and grabs the camera's sides again.)

JACK HARMEN: Atken got his shot, as unrichly as it was deserved. Legion's getting his. It's about time I got mine. In a match tailor made to utilize my two greatest talents, agility and CHAOS, I am the favorite.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Without me, this match could never happen. Because it just WOULDN'T FLY HIGH ENOUGH! Cause anything YOU can do!?

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: I INVENTED!

(Harmen sneers, and walks off camera, leaving the cameraman to film a portion of a sound stage and a hastily placed NFW flag hanging from a large metal frame. He shoves a man into the nearest wall as the camera fades out.)

JACK HARMEN: (O.S.) You smell like Joe the Plumber.

 

[Kid Chameleon]

Re: CONTROL

Title: Gouken's 3rd Disciple

With his shades on, even indoors, and his white t-shirt accompanying his trademark leather jacket and torn jeans, reminiscent of the console character he ripped his gimmick off of, Kid Chameleon may look cool, but as he drops the sunglasses in front of an NFW-sponsored set, the gaming newcomer cuts a rather serious figure, a contrast to what NFW fans have been used to thus far.

“All of the talk has been about Alex Austin. Alex Austin this and Alex Austin that. Well, when we met in the ring, it was a draw. One of the best wrestlers in the world didn’t get the better of Kid Chameleon. Was I lucky? Toward the end, maybe I was, but if I were that bad, the match wouldn’t have gone fifteen minutes, would it?”

Chameleon turns his back to the camera for a moment, and his hands-on-hips posture is one of frustration rather than relaxation.

“Alex, you call yourself your master’s disciple. Well, I’m Gouken’s third disciple and I’ve been watching videos of his other two – Ryu and Ken. I’m unpredictable and unconventional. I’m not classically-trained. I don’t have your background. I don’t execute textbook suplexes or have submission skills, except when I’m on the PS3 or X-Box 360.”

The shades are off altogether now as Kid removes them and pops them in the top pocket on his well-worn leather jacket.

“But that’s what makes me dangerous. I do moves you can’t do, have weapons you don’t have and am capable of things you’ve never seen.”

Alex The Kid, as he’s also known, shakes his head: “Castor Strife is not my god, Blaine Hollywood isn’t my hero, I’m not a fan of Freddie Sagawa, I’m not impressed by Impulse, I don’t rate Rook Black and I don’t think Leyenda De Ocho is a legend – yet. I’m not a typical wrestling guy, but I am a student of the game and I’m prepared for most things that are thrown at me. Can any of my opponents can say the same? I don’t think so.”

Pensive, Kid continues with his observations: “Maybe I was wrong when I said experience is overrated. I think I was. But, I’ve made strides and increased the level of difficulty in the few matches I’ve had.

I know I’ve got to get better and I realize why you aren’t talking about me. I’ve only won one match and I’m known for my gaming powers than my wrestling ability. But, make no mistake about it, I can wrestle and showed that against Alex Austin. And I’m only going to get better with…”

What a turnaround…

“Experience.”

 

[Biron]

Re: CONTROL

(CUTTO: Jack Bryant, the NFW World Television Title slung over his right shoulder as usual, standing in front of a NFW STAR backdrop. Bryant is dressed in a black STALLION tee featuring a crimson-eyed, steam-snorting black stallion on the front, “BRYANT” scrawled across the back in jersey-style, Wranglers, and black Stetson boots.)

JB:
“ Ya’ know, ‘chester, I really don’t give a HOOT why you buried DC Stratton back in ‘09. One reason is tha’ same ta’ another, far as I’m concerned. It all boils down ta’ CHARACTER. In a match like ours comin’ up at RELOADED, locked in a closed Steel Cage with no chance a’ escapin’ ‘r anybody else gettin’ in, I figure that’s what tha’ decidin’ factor will be. Sure, wrasslin’ ability is important, but, when you start comparin’ tha’ cream a’ tha’ crop ta’ each other, it’s a toss-up. I guarantee that neither a’ us would think TWICE about endin’ tha’ other’s career. (cracks a crooked grin) At this point, tha’ amount a’ spilled blood n’ bad intentions between me n’ you would make even tha’ Hatfields n’ tha’ McCoys blush. All that stuff is fine n’ good, but this one’s about a helluva lot more than that. It comes down ta’ what a man is made a’. It’s gonna’ come down ta’ tha’ foundations that Dorchester Stratton n’ Jack Bryant were BUILT ON. ”

(JB double-stomps a Stetson boot on the concrete floor he’s standing on.)

“ There was nothin’ easy about mah upbringin’. Mah old man was a tough sonuvab(bleep!) with little patience n’ a heavy hand. Ma worked two jobs n’ tried ta’ keep five kids outta’ trouble in tha’ meantime. Money was tight. Bein’ tha’ youngest a’ three boys, I wore hand-me-downs fer tha’ better part a’ mah life. (grins) Split more than a few lips over that, too. I never did get a whuppin’ fer fightin’. I remember bein’ a Freshman in High School - low man on tha’ totem pole n’ all. Mah oldest brother Joe, who woulda’ been a Senior at tha’ time, figured him and his friends would give me a hard time. So Joe runs me inta’ tha’ lockers on tha’ first day. Well, I dropped him right where he stood. (shakes head) Got kicked outta’ school fer a couple a’ days. Ma cursed me up n’ down. All tha’ old man did was crack that small grin outta’ tha’ corner a’ his mouth n’ slap me on tha’ back. That’s tha’ way I was expected ta’ carry mahself. Ta’ be proud n’ ta’ never back away from NOTHIN’. ”

“ I don’t fault you fer runnin’ away from those tracks in Lehigh Valley, ‘chester. I could even tip my cap ta’ tha’ way you went about it. (nods) But, rather than keepin’ them values, rather than stickin’ with tha’ girl you brought ta’ tha’ dance, you dumped ‘em fer a ride down Easy Street. That’s tha’ part that spins me up. Yer a man with NO VALUES. You talk about yer cousin Jack n’ how he’s got nothin’. (scowls) What in tha’ hell do you have ta’ hang yer hat on, bub? A fast car n’ an even looser woman. Weekends at tha’ Country Club. Yer nothin’, ‘chester. When tha’ rubber meets tha’ road, yer gonna’ choose tha’ money n’ tha’ Jaguar n’ Rumsfeld. Those aren’t tha’ kinda’ things that keep a fella fightin’ when he should quit. Ya’ quit ta’ keep those things. Ya’ can scream ‘Uncle’ at tha’ top a’ your lungs n’ still go ta’ sleep in yer Manhattan penthouse. Ya’ already did tha’ hard part in ‘09, ‘chester. Ya’ already gave up on everything n’ anybody that was worth somethin’ back then. Now, all you need ta’ do is choose tha’ easy way out a’gin. That’s somethin’ yer good at. ”

(JB readjusts the Television Title.)

“ Folks say what they do ah’bout you ‘cause it’s been proven time n’ time a’gin. You’ve squandered n’ walked away from oppertunities at every turn - whether it was tha’ All Tha’ President’s Men match ‘r puntin’ yer partner, Troy-boy Windham, in tha’ head at BRAWLAPALOOZA. I was five days removed from havin’ mah ribs smashed up by yer damn Jaguar. But, I was wrasslin’ in tha’ EMT Finals with Malik Anderson ah’gainst two a’ tha’ best tha’ Frontier has - Jack Harmen n’ Nova. You were sippin’ champagne in tha’ back like you did somethin’. I was out there bustin’ heads. I was lookin’ ta’ become a’ Double Champ in tha’ Frontier. I’m always hungry, ‘chester. Then there’s you, who seems ta’ think you can show up n’ take whatever it is you want. Well, I’m gonna’ nip that little habit right in tha’ bud, son. Yer lookin’ ta’ build yer throne off tha’ heavy liftin’ I’ve done. Ya’ done it ta’ Wildstar. Ya’ did it ta’ Joe tha’ Plumber, but tha’ BUCK STOPS at Jack Bryant. I’m fixin’ on tearin’ down you n’ Rumsfeld’s little Fantasy World. Ya’ been broke before n’, come Amsterdam, when I start bendin’ up yer spine, when them vertebrae start poppin’, when it’s time ta’ NUT UP, yer gonna’ show yer true character n' get out while tha' gettin' is good. "

(FTB)

 

[Jesse Ramey]

Re: CONTROL

The scene opens early in the morning; the makeshift raft has floated onto the banks of the Mekong River at its final resting place. Ramey now finds himself just on the outskirts Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A new camera man has been sent to greet him, and he slowly makes his way off of the raft and onto the land.

“Does anyone else find it funny that Jack Harmen sounds like a nineteen sixties Japanese man during a Godzilla film?”

Ramey paused waiting for a response, but nothing ever comes; apparently this camera man has learned from the previous one.
“You’ve obviously not been watching any of my broadcasts Harmen,” Ramey hesitated, “I didn’t get lost. I willingly left myself in that jungle to mentally prepare for this match. I figured if there was anyone crazy enough in this company to understand that it would have been you.”

“After all you are the man who made a living for years off of being the character who said he went into the future to sell people snow when they didn’t have any.” Ramey rolled his eyes, “At least I live in the here and now; and considering I haven’t heard you spouting off anything about the prior gimmick I would assume you do now as well.”

“You’re not an ignorant man though are you?” Ramey waited, “At least you’ve acknowledged me, unlike the rest of the competitors in this match who have merely mentioned me in passing. That’s the biggest mistake they could make because taking me for granted is giving me the advantage I want and need.”

“Just because I haven’t toured with the same promotions as you Harmen, doesn’t mean I haven’t seen the world myself.” Ramey exhaled, “We’ve both been respectably the best in the world in our respective circles. You’ve been in the ring with the best your circle has had to offer, and I’ve been in the ring with the best my circle has had to offer. Some of which are already working in this promotion and I’ve been in the ring with them before as well.”

“I’ve been in the ring with Rook Black before,” Ramey smiled, “I don’t need to hear you tell me about Rook Black. I’ve been there before and I know what he brings to the table. I know I’m on par with any abilities he has, and that’s why I don’t have a problem stating the fact. If I’m placed in the center of that ring with Rook that I don’t have a shadow of a doubt in my mind that I could take him down.”

“You’ve been in NFW since 2005?” Ramey scoffed, “You want to call me a has been or a never was? Isn’t that kind of like the pot calling the kettle black just a tiny little bit? What have you honestly done since the fan’s Wrestling organization? You’ve been carried in the tag team division by Nova here!”

“I’ve held championship gold for the past eight months!” Ramey smiled, “Does that sound like a has been to any of you? I’ve gone from taking a title to a place no one else has ever taken it, relinquishing it and then picking up another one on the very next show!”

“I’m not worried about anything going into this match Harmen.” Ramey stopped, “Because I know I’m just as experienced in that ring as you are, and the fact that you can’t acknowledge that means only one thing. It’s going to be even more surprising to you when I toss you over those ropes and then hit you square in the face with a springboard dropkick.”

“I’m out of the jungle,” Ramey smiled, “and I’m not going to be late for this. Scandinavia I hope you’re ready to be entertained again, it’s been a few years, but I’m coming back.”

The scene fades to black.

 

[EpyonMarx]

Re: Finally, A Little Incentive ...

(((FADE IN to Lord Coyner Pollard, his gaze on a family suit of armour in one of his lavish estates in England. The Lord is dressed incredibly smartly in a frilly tuxedo shirt with a velvet tailcoat and tuxedo trousers with black boots)))

LCP: 15th Century. Exquisite craftsmanship, is it not? Worn not on the battle field, nor intended for such use – Our ancestor, Lord Michael Pollard, was frail and in His 80s when this piece was commissioned and far beyond physical service for King and Country – yet despite and in spite of his frailty He had a pride in Himself and His name that has stood as a beacon through the centuries.

Pride in One’s name is something One would hope was shared by all and yet, We see, that hope is for naught. We merely have to look around at the assembled list of names in New Frontier of Wrestling to realise that there is no pride for Our fellow competitors, who go so far as to prostitute themselves in vain attempt to compete for a title they have neither right not standing to compete for.

Had they pride in their own worth, or better yet understanding of their true position in this life, they would not even deign to consider the merest hint of a thought of competing in this Great Prize (for We shall not use the vile tongue of Our enemies from across the English Channel).

(((He turns on his heel, looking now out across the lawn through the large window in the hall)))

LCP: Not one of the others in this contest have the social standing, and therefore the intelligence, to realise that this Great Prize can have but one winner – neigh, that it must have but one winner. Because despite what some of the lowly refuse, whether Colonial or not, believe, New Frontier Wrestling needs Us to vanquish Impulse, claim the championship, and through Our appearances and commanding performances illustrate to the Colonies and the wider world the virtues of true qualities. Qualities such as honour, virtue, pride, humility, of knowing One’s position and striving to achieve naught but the best for yourself while maintaining said position.

In short, the values of a true, civilised society.

And, yay, We have an ulterior motive, beyond that which David Cameron, Prime Minister, or Our fellow Royal advisers have granted to us. For they see the rest of humanity as needing an example, yet We… We see the deadly cancer spreading in Our homeland. The vile, repulsive stench that is the Colonies has strayed from the various corners of the once mighty British Empire and infected Britannia herself.

We see dwindling congregations in Churches, and increasing congregations in taverns. We see increased congregations in temples such as Wembley Stadium, where professional sports persons such as Wayne Rooney and John Terry might spit, befoul the air with vile language, and resort to unsporting methods to gain unfair advantage. All brought about by the proliferation of colonial so-called culture. Culture typified by the detritus that seeks to block Our path in New Frontier Wrestling. Legion. Phil Atken. Peter Windham, Kid Chameleon, and all the others.

People such as you and your antecedents are what has defiled the true consciousness of civilisation and society, even so far as to make stars out of … what is it called, Geordie Shore? In colonial territories, Jersey Shore. This must stop.

So too must stop the glorification of false idols, such as the aforementioned Rooney or Terry. Why, British youth and establishments now seek to ignore history, proudly supping from the teat of modern “stars” and ignoring the greatest sportsmen of the past. I lay at the feet of the over-hyped, over-inflated colonial entertainment machine the fact that the greatest footballing captain, William Ambrose Wright (also known as Billy Wright) is shunned despite his vast accomplishments, accomplishments done without caution and nor with attempts to besmirch the rules of engagement and competition. A true gentleman.

Neigh, We are not competing for the memory of William Ambrose Wright; yet he is an example to his sport, as We shall be to Ours.

The competition may be in a den of iniquity known as Amsterdam, from which your New York once had its name, but that is fitting a place. For out of the iniquity and destitution of the current environ of New Frontier a new day shall dawn. A more enlightened age is coming. One not where men such as Impulse or Legion would compete for scraps, nor where so-called proud men must prostitute themselves for approval.

Such men, and We use the term loosely, have neither the decency nor the skills required to prevail in the Great Prize. Yay, even at the cost of Our health, We shall prevail. For We have the necessary skills, the necessary ancestry, and the necessary determination and pride, while you all… are lacking. Simply because of who We are, We know that We shall prevail, for none of you are at Our level.

You are far, far behind.

(((END)))

 

[Rook Black]

Re: Finally, A Little Incentive ...

ROOK: "If you are not aware that you're a prisoner ..."

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK in his standard exercise gear, track pants, 1080s, pixelated ROOK t-shirt. He sits on a weight bench, carefully stretching the fingers and wrist of his right hand.)

ROOK: "Does that mean that you're free?"

(Satisfied, ROOK picks up a hand gripper, and works it with very slow contraction, hold, and very slow release.)

ROOK: "If you don't know that you've failed, does that not mean that you don't give up, and might potentially allow yourself to continue as if you've never failed?"

ROOK: "And if you don't know you've failed, and you never learn that you've failed, is that not a kind of success?"

ROOK: "And since you never know that you've failed, and since you've never given up, does that mean that through persistence alone, you can win?"

(ROOK switches the gripper to the left hand and does the same set.)

ROOK: "No."

ROOK: "No, you're not free, even if you don't know you are prisoner. Folks who do not know they are in prison, do not desire to escape making the ignorant prisoner is the ideal circumstances for the prison keepers. Meaning they have incentive to make you feel as though you are free when you are not."

ROOK: "No, if you don't know you've failed, it isn't secret success. It means your efforts can be harnessed to someone else's millstone, as you chase a hope that doesn't exist. Those who continue to struggle because they don't know they have failed contribute energy and resources that they could better spend elsewhere. Since they can be exploited, it gives those who would exploit them incentive not to let them know when they've lost."

(Switch to right hand.)

ROOK: "No, you can't win by persistence alone. No, you can't succeed by merely not giving up."

ROOK: "But it's desirable for your masters to make you believe that you can."

ROOK: "So how do you truly escape from all this?"

ROOK: "You have to look as hard as you can at your reality, and your place in it."

ROOK: "You have to appraise and access. And you have to decide what you are willing to do in order to escape."

ROOK: "If the walls of your prison are made by containing your imagination, if they are made by closing your mind's eye to the truly dynamic choices you can make, to be free, you have to discard all the things that you've been taught."

(Switch to left hand.)

ROOK: "You have to discard all the things that you've been told about how to live, how to compete, how to be happy, how to work, how to play, how to listen, even how to love."

ROOK: "You have to dispense with all things that you've been told you should want, should aspire to."

ROOK: "You have to cut away all the things you think you want because someone, or everyone, or anyone, wants them and that means that you should want them too."

ROOK: "All those things are static, it's all noise."

ROOK: "And once the air is clear, and you see clearly, and start learning what it is that you truly want."

(Switch to right hand, last set! go!)

ROOK: "And unfortunately, it's then that you've realized you've dumped most of the things that allow you to believe that things are okay when they are not. And that by getting rid of most of the things that give you false happiness and false contentment, you've actually eliminated the majority of ways to be happy."

ROOK: "And it's then that you're clarified world view, stripped of the mirage, is not looking upon an existence of comfort and joy."

ROOK: "But at least you're free, right?"

(Switch to left hand, you can do it!)

ROOK: "With the clarity that cost you so much to obtain, you can at least now look at things as they are. You can see the hands of the people who want you contained, want you dreaming and striving along very narrowly defined linear parameters of success."

ROOK: "And at that point, you can decide what to do, because of what you want to do, not because of what someone else tells you that you should want."

ROOK: "And though the moments of joy become so much harder to obtain, they do in fact become all the more precious because of their authenticity and because they are chosen by your autonomous will."

(ROOK finishes the last rep. He puts down the gripper, and opens and closes his fingers, stretching again.)

ROOK: "Reality, living, does not have a win condition. But it has plenty of lose conditions, many of which through misinformation have been disguised as a win condition."

ROOK: "You have to decide, on your own, what to strive for."

(ROOK shuts his eyes. FTB.)

 

[Kid Chameleon]

Re: Finally, A Little Incentive ...

Author's Note: Please believe I'm not 'stacking.' Had writer's block all week. Ironically, as the deadline for this closes, I'll be preparing for a 4-day holiday in Amsterdam. If only you'd waited! I could've done A REAL ROLEPLAY ON THE WATER. Well, for those of you who've heard me on EFG, you know you've had a really lucky break. Anyway, here's my 2nd and final roleplay.




Title: Total Wrestling

In Dam Square, the heart of Holland’s capital Amsterdam, the camera picks up a long queue waiting for the doors of Madame Tussaud’s to open. No, it’s not unique to London. As we zoom in, dozens of tourists smile, waving and raise distinctive bottle-green, er, bottles of Heineken, brewed right here…

To toast a booze-swilling…

KID CHAMELEON?

Minus the leather jacket with the shades nestled against his sweaty forehead and the plain white t-shirt sporting some tears in the collarbone region, with a couple of suckers by the looks of it, Chameleon smiles, pointing towards his Heineken.

“I was offered a spacecake, but when they told me what was in it, I told them I’d take Space Invaders any day. When that didn’t work, they asked me to pick my poison and gave me Heineken.”

Taking another swill of the continental beer, Europe being the continent in question obviously, Kid smirks: “It’s pretty good.”

Showcasing the centre of the Dutch capital, Kid Chameleon starts to narrate:“The Netherlands is famous for its architecture, waterways and art. What a lot of people don’t know is it also has a special game in the history of the video games. Where better could there be, where could be more appropriate, for one Patrick Wildendorg, a Dutch modder with a penchant for caffeine, to discover the Hot Coffee secret in GTA: San Andreas?

“Henk Rogers, another Dutchman, had a profound effect on my life as a kid. Why? He obtained the license to make Tetris go global.”

Fascinating stuff. I’m sure the 20 million who drop in on this city every year were told that on the tour bus.

“Philips, with Sony, created the CD and DVD. I realize and recognize that the Netherlands has a liberal and creative society, making the most of its limitations by using every bit of land to the max, and having relaxed laws so its people can also enjoy their lives to the max.”

Slurring his words, while taking another sip from his Heineken, the Manchild adopts a lower tone, capturing resolve and rebellion in his voice: “I know I’m not seen as a serious wrestler, but I’m taking ‘Smoke on The Water’ seriously. The Amsterdam Arena is amazing, it’s HUGE and by far the biggest stage Kid Chameleon has ever ‘played on.’ So, I had to check it out and I learned some interesting things about it.”

Reading from a piece of paper taken from his jeans, Mr. Chameleon, a Dutch history teacher, begins his first lecture: “It was opened in nineteen ninety-six and is the home of Dutch soccer club, SUPERCLUB, Ajax. That’s not the town in Ontario, nor the stuff to do with web development, but the best team in Dutch soccer history, which invented Total Football, confusing, isn’t it? Considering they play soccer. Why didn’t they call it Total Soccer?”
He’s hard work, isn’t he?

In a right state, he resumes: “Anyway, what that means is everyone in the team can play anywhere. So, the defense can be the offense and the offense can play defense. EVERYONE can play EVERYWHERE.

And what it made me realize is that in the Grand Prix Royale is that whoever wins it is going to need a bit of EVERYTHING: He’ll need power.

Speed.

Intelligence.

Cunning.

Wits.

Resilience.

Technique.

Killer instinct.

“And luck.”

Is that all?

No…

“The winner will need to be THE TOTAL WRESTLER.”

After ceasing to point his index finger at the camera in a rude way, Kid walks 20 metres or so to politely place his Heineken, empty presumably, in a bin and returns with renewed energy, though no less drunken.

“What do I bring to this party, except my bottle of Heineken and status as the World’s Greatest Gamer?”

Well, nothing considering you’ve just dumped your Heineken!

“I bring reflexes, unpredictability and the inexperience that tells me Kid Chameleon can win this thing!

You got Jack Harmen, Jesse Ramey, Peter Windham, Freddie Sagawa and Leyenda De Ocho, but is anybody the TOTAL WRESTLER?”

The finger-wagging is back. OUCH!

“In Amsterdam, on the water, in the Amsterdam Arena, in the coffee house, wherever it goes, wherever it ends up, Kid Chameleon is ready for any challenge. In my life, any game I’ve played, I’ve conquered and completed.

But this is the biggest challenge I’ve ever had.

I don’t need no walkthrough.

I don’t need a Game Genie.

I just need to be a CHAMELEON.

A DEMON.

A player who’ll take a chance to risk it all to win it all.

“I’ll need every attribute I possess and a bit more, but challenges like this, teach you things you never knew you had in you.”

Like alcohol for the first time, you lightweight?

“In Amsterdam, I’ll adapt, scrap, scratch, scream, kick and claw my way to wherever I can, as best I can, taking everything I can along the way.

I’m prepared to pay the price.

I’m prepared to risk a life.

I’m prepared for the game to be over.

I’m prepared for the biggest night of my career.

I’m prepared for anyone from Akuma to Zangief, from Blanka to Bison and Bowser.

I’m Alex The Kid.

I’m Lara’s Boyfriend.

I’m Sega’s Ambassador.

X-Box’s X-Factor.

Nintendo’s Number One.

“And now…”

Drum roll, please…

“I want to be NFW’s number one contender.

“Rook Black…you may be the final boss.

“But I’m the World’s Greatest Gamer and at the Grand Prix…

“I’ll be the TOTAL WRESTLER.”

(FADE.)

 

[Biron]

You're Welcome, Amsterdam


(CUTTO: Amsterdam, Netherlands; An outside-looking in shot from the Red Light District. Two women - you could say BEAUTIFUL BLONDES - are posing seductively in a famously red-fringed showcase window. CUTTO: Inside the windows, where LANE CASH, an almost spent Pall Mall Long dangling from his lips, leans against a wall behind the Blondes. He’s dressed in a black, leather bomber jacket, pocketless, charcoal slacks, and a Victorinox Swiss Army ‘Maverick II’ on his wrist.)

CASH: “You’re probably wonderin’ .. (tosses cigarette to the ground) why I would ever need to visit the Red Light District. Women literally heave themselves at me. (points a finger) I’m not just talkin’ about the fatties either. I’m talkin’ about models-slash-waitresses that are eight-and-a-halfs, maybe nines! You can tell them by the hitch in their giddy-up (shrugs) .. a broken pelvis just never heals right. (grins) But, don’t get it twisted - I dig these Dutch broads. (leans in) I heard there’s a couple around here that I can’t poke out through the bottom of the barrel with my Cashensprudel. THAT I GOTTA FEEL. (smirks) This visit has nothin’ to do with pleasure. Nah, this was all business. Me and Rutger Hauer just went halfsies and bought up this whole block. We’re gonna turn a SA-WEET profit, too. When it comes to women lookin’ to go SPREAD EAGLE, this is where you go. Just like when you’re lookin’ for the HOTTEST TICKET in wrestlin’, you check the bill for Lane Cash. ‘cause I’m the straw that stirs the drink and, just like my close, personal friend Reggie Jackson, some know him as ‘Mr. October’ or, as I like to call him, Reg, I crank it up when the LIGHTS GET BRIGHT. All I can say to you Amsterdam is “You’re Welcome”.

(LANE produces another Pall Mall Long.)

“Without me, this one was a DUD. This show was as cold as a whore’s heart until I brought some Hotlanta to it. We’re talkin’ a BONA-FIDE Snoozer. Seriously, what’s up with all these BED-WETTERS talkin’ about video games to no end? Hey, I rock FIFA-Thirteen like a fiend - there’s nothin’ better than makin’ a crooked toothed Brit break his controller ‘cause you’re droppin’ Hat Tricks like he was standin’ still. That’s just how Lane Cash rolls, baby. I’m kicked back on the MILE LONG COACH with the Blondes doublin’ down on me. You virgins are still down in your parents’ basement. Kid Chameleon, Leyenda de Ocho .. (shakes head) somethin’ is tellin’ me that if you two even stepped foot in the Red Lights, one whiff of taint later and you’d be scramblin’ for your spare whitey tighties. (sparks cigarette) I’m a THOROUGHBRED, chumps. I’m the HIGH SCORE. You think your life is gonna play out like some game where the hero saves the day and gets the girl? (scoffs) Be real, man. The reality is that you’re here ‘cause you’ve managed to develop a following that consists of fat, calloused-handed and scrawny, uncoordinated dorks. I used to stick kids like them, kids like you, in lockers just for SHITS and GIGS. Well, time passed, but shit’s still the same. You’re OVERMATCHED. I’m gonna give you a SNEAK PEAK at the Greatest Show on Earth and then it’s back to playin’ on Rookie for you. You can at least say that you brushed shoulders with King Cash .. (smirks) droppin’ my name is probably the best chance you’ll ever have at bein’ inside a woman that you didn’t have to pay or blow up!”

(A wide-grinning LANE takes a drag and exhales through his nostrils.)

“Speakin’ of bein’ inside a woman .. (smirks) Lucky Seven, I got your voicemails and I’d be more than willin’ to introduce you to my Lucky Ten. Just remember to douche. You can use that mop-topped moron that follows you around. (ashes cigarette) I’m talkin’ about you, Austin. Sorry, didn’t have time for Strife to get you up to speed. He’s probably too busy writin’ up cue cards for you as we speak. (feigns shock) Did you really think nobody would notice? (rolls eyes) You went from havin’ a bad case of mouth diarrhea anytime the word Submission was uttered - for what it’s worth, I always thought Jiu-Jitsu was a toy dog - to openly showin’ that you do indeed have shit for brains. Austin, if you want me to be the former World Champ’s messenger boy, then by all means go ahead. (takes a drag) Just stay outta my way ‘cause I’m not gonna pat you on the head and tell you that you’re a Good Boy. (exhales)It doesn’t matter if your Golden God has pummelled your chin like it was his testicle’s personal speed bag. I’m the BEST in the BUSINESS at deliverin’ boot to chin. It will be NAP TIME for Little Alex.”

“Jack Harmen .. (goes full stoic before cracking a smile) you GET ME, man. Well, kinda. I don’t consider myself to be lazy. I would call it EFFICIENCY. Do you really expect me to roll outta my silk sheet-covered bed to add some meat to the mid-card? Hell no! I’m a SHOWSTOPPER. I’m CASH MONEY. I gotta protect this investment. (showcase spin) If you’d been a bit more talented, if you had the PURE ABILITY that I possess, you could understand that concept, Jack-o. I give you props though, bro. You squeezed every drop of juice outta the LEMON that you are. (ashes cigarette) You did it all and you’ve got the ink to PROVE IT. (chuckles, shakes head) I was SEVEN when you got that done up on your bicep, man. SEVEN. I might have still been a virgin then .. (thinks back) maybe not, I ran with an older crowd. I’m glad you knocked the DUST OFF that old tattoo though. I bet you were really somethin’ ten-fifteen years ago. You were probably doin’ things that nobody had seen except South of the Border. Now, every reckless youth is out there flippin’ around. They’re hittin’ one outta ten and still layin’ claim to the throne of Greatest Flyer. Here’s a FREE TIP. There’s only one (holds up index finger) King. I pick and choose my spots, Jack-o, and I don’t MISS. You’ll know when it happens, bro, ‘cause this Money Train is gonna leave a mark.”

(FTB as a wide-grinning LANE flicks his cigarette at the camera.)

 

[Biron]

Runnin' Blades

(OORP Note: All I can say is Blame Katz for this.)


(CUTTO: Amsterdam, Netherlands - 4 AM; The shot opens on a half-naked RUTGER HAUER, wearing only black spandex shorts that are much too small, sitting Indian-style in front of PETER WINDHAM, who is completely naked and curled up.)

RUTGER: “I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. (stares into oblivion)
I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate.
All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. (smiles, looks at Peter)
Time to die.

(As RUTGER lowers his head and freezes, a shivering PETER begins to weep uncontrollably. Loud clapping and whistling breaks out. CUTTO: A pulled back shot revealing that the two men are on a rooftop in the Red Light District and are surrounded by a couple dozen hookers giving them a standing ovation. Off to the side, LANE CASH, with the BEAUTIFUL BLONDES nestled tightly to him, takes a long pull from his Pall Mall and exhales into the frigid Amsterdam air.)

LANE: “God, he’s fat and wrinkled.”

(FTB)

 

[Biron]

Dixie Pride

(CUTTO: The OSS - “Fabulous” FRANKIE FARGO and “The New American Stud” BRANDON MUELLER, both w/ a beer in-hand, sitting in cheap lawn chairs in Amsterdam’s Red Light District. There’s a dirty, beat-up Coleman cooler between them. In front of them, an Asian woman does her best to entice potential customers.)

FARGO: “All Ah can say is change tha’ damn record. (sends a stream of tobacco juice into the cobbled street) It sure seems lahk every time we’s poised ta’ regain them tahtles, some goin’s ons ‘er another screws it up. Has anybody n’ this place stepped for’werd an’ righted them wrongs? HELL NO! (gulps down beer as MUELLER shakes his head) They keep pilin’ up an’ pilin’ up. Well, Ah’m plain ol’ sick an’ damn tired a’ it! Tha’ Stud has had e’nuff, too! (MUELLER nods) We ain’t gonna’ rest on our laurels fer one second more! Them EMTs - them fur magnets - are dun belong ta’ us an, n’ due time, they gonna’ be hooked ‘round these waists. But, first, we dun got some PAYBACK ta’ hand ta’ a couple a’ slicked-up sumb(bleep!)es from across tha’ way!”

(MUELLER fluffs his peroxide blonde mullet as FARGO wipes tobacco spittle from his mangled, unkempt beard.)

FARGO: “Ah’m lookin’ right at ya’all, Venice Coast-ta’-Coast. Ya’ wanna’ jump us n’ a parkin’ lot? Ya’ wanna’ dangle that long-legged Penis Fly Trap n’ front a’ us? Ya’ wanna’ muck up our match ‘gainst them hippy sumb(bleep!)es Superfly Express? Let me tell you EYE-talians somethin’. Below tha’ Mason Dixon, when somebody pulls that bull on ya’, ya’ drag out behind tha’ woodshed an’ put a slug n’ their head. Yer gonna’ get reeaal familiar with all a’ them customs, boys. Startin’ at this here GEE-PEE-EX, we gonna’ give you a taste a’ tha’ South … it might sound sweet like BAR-BEE-QUE Chicken, but, lemme tell you boys somethin’, it ain’t gonna’ sit right n’ yer craw! Tha’ South Shall RISE A’GIN!”

(FTB as FARGO and MUELLER slam their foaming beers together.)

 

[Ford]

Re: Dixie Pride

(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC interlaced with the NFW logo. CUTTO: Jack Harmen, starring directly into the camera framed in a close up. His eyes bulge out of their sockets.)

JACK HARMEN: In two months, I'll have been a professional wrestler for twenty years.

(Harmen frowns.)

JACK HARMEN: TWENTY YEARS! And for the past twenty years, I've fought through my share of adversity, I've had my failures, my successes, but all in all? I've NEVER met someone, pound for pound, who can OUT, FLY, ME!

(HARMEN steps away from the camera, and cracks his neck by tilting his head to the side.)

JACK HARMEN: There's a reason I was called High Flyer for 18 of those years Lane, and it's not about how many flips one can do before hitting a simple body splash. It's not about doing cartwheel's and backflips for show with no real effect on your opponent. No, see, the reason why people called me High Flyer since 1995 is because I INNOVATED AND REDEFINED luchador wrestling, as an AMERICAN, in Mexico. You see, I spent the formulative years of my career in Triple A, wrestling the best luchadors this sport could put across from me in that squared circle. And while I was treated like an outsider... an American who couldn't even SPEAK Spanish... I ESTABLISHED myself as a premiere force due to my devil may care attitude, my speed, my agility...

…. And the fact that I HARDLY, EVER MISS!

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: And sure, maybe I've lost a step. I've missed more dives in the past five years than I did in the first ten. But with age comes wisdom... and I've learned to COUNTER aerial acrobatics BETTER than ANYONE in this sport.

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: And in a match where the qualification for victory is hitting a suicide dive to an opponent on the outside?

(Harmen leans in to the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: Well let's just say I should be elected KING of these matches. Cause when De Ocho or Alex Austin misses their twirly whirly flippy SHIT, I'll be sliding back in the ring to hit them with a SIMPLE Piscada.

(Harmen holds up a finger.)

JACK HARMEN: One mistake. One elimination.

(Harmen takes in a deep breath.)

JACK HARMEN: Then Legion finds himself taking out Fappity with a tope, only to see ME launching myself on top before he has time to counter.

(Harmen holds up a second finger.)

JACK HARMEN: A distraction. Another elimination.

And it goes on, and on, and on...

(Harmen backs away from the camera. He paces.)

JACK HARMEN: There is only ONE King of Flyers Cash. And while I've given up the name, I've not given up the throne.

(Harmen cracks his knuckles.)

JACK HARMEN: Come and try to take it from me. You know, if you can stop scratching your syphilis and crab riddled dick. You may like Amsterdam, but Amsterdam has a death wish out for you... Y'know what? Just stay as far away from me as you can. I'd rather not catch a not-yet-discovered disease where my dick turns into a pealed orange.

(Harmen tilts his head to the side and sways away.)

JACK HARMEN: Kid Chameleon is searching for the TOTAL WRESTLER?!

(Harmen smiles and outstretches his hands.)

JACK HARMEN: Here I am.

(Harmen sneers.)

JACK HARMEN: Lord Coyner Pollard? Welcome back from the undead. Maybe you and Phil Atken can distract yourselves arguing over who's country is more in the shitter, Scotland or England. And while you're distracted, BOOM, here comes the Flyer, flying like a Lunatic straight into your SKULL. Know you no longer have diplomatic immunity. There is no curious rule book to fall back on. It's time to go feudal on your entitled Colonial ass. Then, maybe you can enlighten me as to how you'll breathe without a larynx?

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Don't worry, you have a few days to figure that out.

(Harmen rubs his hands together, a sense of giddyiness building inside him.)

JACK HARMEN: And Jesse Ramey, goin' round sayin' I'm not crazy enough to get his lunacy?! Says I should understand him because I went around traveling through time and selling snow to people? HA! Listen Rams, I do what I want. You do yours. And until now, never shall the two meet. But know that I NEVER said you were a has been. I NEVER said you were a never was. You're the now, no doubt about that. But you're the now ELSEWHERE, and that doesn't change the fact that you're trying to walk off the street and TAKE WHAT'S MINE.

(Harmen sneers.)

JACK HARMEN: Wouldn't like it if I came to your home town and stole YOUR SPIRIT, wouldja?

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Get in my way? Take what's RIGHTFULLY mine?! I'll take EVERYTHING that's 'YOURS'.

(Harmen sighs, grabbing the bridge of his nose.)

JACK HARMEN: I am not a false idol. I am a VENGEFUL God. I am LEGEND! I am a KING! The KING of ALL Flyers... So to all my opponents in the Grand Prix? I leave you with these final words.

(Harmen leans in, sneering.)

JACK HARMEN: Dive at the King? You BEST not miss.

(Harmen shoves the camera away, causing the cameraman to stumble. Harmen wanders off, stage right, before the camera CUTS to a BLACK.)

 

[Biron]

Story Time w/ Lane


(FADEIN: To an exterior shot of the Sofitel Legend The Grand Amsterdam. CUTTO: Inside one of the five-star hotel’s Opera Suites - the BEAUTIFUL BLONDES are intertwined with each other underneath the sheets of the suite’s king-size bed. There’s more than one empty bottle of champagne scattered around the room. A barefoot LANE CASH, sporting light gray, drawstring sweatpants and gold-rimmed Ray-Ban Clubmasters, steps out from the decked-out bathroom.)

CASH: (walking around) “I’m not just a ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME Athletic Marvel, Jack-o. I’m not just the man that all the girls get weak in the knees over. No, ‘cause before I was all that, I was the Prince of the Cash Wrestling Family. (fetches cigarettes) You might have turned a FEW HEADS down in Mexico, bro, but the Cash Family BUILT the South’s Wrestlin’ Empire. We rolled DEEP. Now, sit back and let me tell you a story, Jack-o. (sparks cigarette) My pops - Carter Cash - ruled the roost. He had the money, the flowing blonde mane, and the skills to kill. He wrecked homes at EVERY STOP. He popped the double-digit World Championship mark before he was thirty-five. He had it all, man. But, he was gettin’ up there. (nods head upward) The YOUNG GUNS started shootin’ for his SOUTHERN CROWN. He held ‘em off. Then, along came a kid he couldn’t TIE INTO KNOTS. A kid that had more HOPS than all of Bavaria. (ashes cigarette into a potted plant) Well, Carter Cash - The Golden Idol of the 80s and 90s - ended up lyin’ in his own drool. The Southern Crown was his NO MORE. It belonged to the kid. It belonged to ME.”

(A beaming LANE takes a drag and exhales.)

“I learned somethin’ from that, Jack-o, and you should, too. You should accept that whether you choose to give up the torch or not, it won’t stop me from stampin’ out your flame. I’ve got the boot to handle that kinda HEAT. You wanna rock that Greatest Cruiserweight tat? (shrugs) Do it to it, bro-seph. You wanna call yourself the Greatest Flyer? (leans on counter) It’s yours. But, in the HERE and the NOW, man, you’re lookin’ at the King. You Cruiserweights are just bunch of JESTERS in Cash’s Court. That WORLD TITLE is ALL MINE. Step outta line, get in my way and you’re gonna be BELLY-UP. You can BANK ON THAT.”

(FTB)

 

[brusch]

Game Over

(FLASH CUT TO a series of rapid-fire highlights from the stacks of last-minute televised segments from Jack Harmen, Kid Chameleon, Jesse Ramey, Lane Cash, and more.

FLASH CUT TO a Leyenda de Ocho clip from a week prior.)

Ocho (v/o): "If you aren't prepared for the test that lays before you...if you aren't resolute in your aims, if you don't understand that you must find the courage within yourself rather than relying on fortune or circumstance...Desperation will take over. And Desperation is the fastest way to end your game."

(MORE FLASH CUT TOs across muted impassioned speeches by the aforementioned wrestlers, Rook Black, Frankie Fargo, and more. Ocho's voice speaks atop the flurry of action.)

Ocho: "Scrambling at the last possible moment to make up for lost time...heading forth into the further dangers that lie ahead with nothing more than a wing and a prayer, rather than preparing yourself mentally, physically, and emotionally from the very beginning...THIS is the Desperation with a capital D I spoke of.

This is where false bravado fades before pure-hearted vision.

This is where scrambled flailing at the air falls. Where Jack Harmen realizes it's time to pass the torch to the younger, hungrier, and now more Flying type of Man as he runs circles around a legend. Where Jesse Ramey realizes the stubborn prison of his mind will hinder him from achieving greatness. Where Kid Chameleon discovers the difference between loving something and BEING something. Where Lane Cash realizes his focus shouldn't be scattered across a hundred distractions that imperil any warrior.

This is my moment.

Impulse...I'm on my way."

​(Cut to black.)