RP runs through Monday, May 14. 2 RP limit in this round.
Round 2: Jeff Andrews vs. Justin Voss
- Thread starter Chad
- Start date
fugginVOSS
The REAL Funk U. T-shirt
(CUTTO: A closed set somewhere at INFINITE Wrestling headquarters in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Complete with INFINITE Wrestling backdrop, a light blue with their logo emblazoned proudly across its front. It’s pinned against a black wall. It’s clearly of a good quality because the spots illuminating the set barely reflect off it at all.)
(Standing before the banner is JUSTIN VOSS. Hands on hips, proudly standing before the camera with a grin from one ear to the other. He runs a hand through his hair and rubs them together, as if he were warming up for something.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “God damn. There’s an electricity runnin’ through me like I was convicted of capital murder in Virginia. It’s coursing through my veins, man, at one hundred mile an hour and I gotta tell ya somethin’...
“IT FEELS GOOOOOOOOD TO BE ALIIIIIIIVE!
(Throwing his head back) “HOOOOOOOOO!”
(Voss bounces from foot-to-foot for a few seconds before straightening himself out.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Goin’ one-on-one against Maverick in front of all those fans I took the bull by the horns and drove him into the ground. I took that tough sonofab(censored)ch and pulverised him for the 1-2-3 and I ADVANCED through to the next round of the ULTRATITLE.
“God dammit.” (Voss thumbs himself in the chest on each of the next four words) “ DO I FEEL ALIVE!”
“I gotta hand it to you, Mark. Me and you collided in one Helluva a contest and no matter what the outcome was the winner was them fans. You can mark my words, if we ever hit that ring again in combat I know for a fact you’d have an axe to grind with me and I welcome that day should it ever come.”
(Pointing off into the future, Voss nods his head in exclamation to the challenge.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “But there’s no point me standing here before you dwelling on my victory. Men who live in the past often find themselves sittin’ on their porches sippin’ bourbon wonderin’ about shoulda-coulda-woulda’s when I’ve got a GONNA on my hands here. I’ve advanced to round 2 after one HELL of an ULTRATITLE display to face the man who defeated Doctor Curiosity.
“Jeff Andrews.”
(Nodding his head, Voss’s emotion begins to get all matter of fact as he shifts feet and his hands become more animated through the banter.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Me and Jeff have got a lot of things in common. He’s held Championship belts and I’ve done the same. The distance between now and holdin’ onto the big one, the World Championship, is probably about the same. He’s spent his time mentoring people to success, plying his trade on them and yeah... I been there, done that, too.
“S(censored)t, one of my favourite students went down to Cameron Cruise in my bracket. Ikan Jobtayoo. And I gotta say there ain’t a man with a bigger heart than the old Prince of Pinfall and I wish him every success he could ever have.”
(Pounding his chest, Voss raises a fist above his head as if to give power to his brother.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Yeah, Jeff. You and I ain’t so different. Sure, you’ve probably got a couple more years under your belt than me... Father Time’s clock’s got a few more ticks on you but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve wrestled far older and far hungrier than you before so when we collide it’s not gonna be any different.
“Your body is testing you. You’ve got aches in places you probably never thought you’d have when you were a kid. You started using the word ointment and get anal about following the instructions so those aches don’t go on for days. You stink like muscle rub and instead of a post-match beer you’re thinking about that hot shower to soak out the knife-edge chops. Me? My right knee clicks when I walk and I’m developing shin splints. I dislocated my shoulder a couple years back wrestlin’ Spike Saunders and it’s never been the same since.”
(Subconsciously, Voss begins to rub his right shoulder and roll it in its socket.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “We ain’t so different you and I.
“Two guys with enough ring experience to understand that all this jibber-jabber and gum flappin’ don’t mean a damn when it comes to colliding in the ring. Two wrestlers who’ve lived this industry be it inside the ring or backstage behind a camera.
“But that’s where there similarities end.”
(He sweeps both arms across his body from one side to the other, as if cutting that conversation where it lies.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “See the REAL difference between you and I is after a long time of not giving a damn about the cause and effect of my actions inside a wrestling ring I’ve seen a need to change. I never fully comprehended the butterfly effect me getting on a stick and making myself one of the most hated men in this industry would have on my family.
“Professional Wrestling isn’t just about standing inside that ring and being technically efficient. There’s nothing doing about being the most pure wrestler that competed. It don’t matter if you got a move set of one hundred holds or seven. To get OVER in this industry is about making those fans care about one of two things:
(Holds up one finger.) “They either wanna see you kick someone’s ass...
(Holds up a second finger.) “...Or get your ass kicked.”
(Shrugging his shoulders as if to say What can I say, it’s true! Voss carries on.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “I made a life out of being that guy that put asses in seats simply because they wanted to see that s(censored)t-eating grin wiped off my face. They wanted to see somebody... ANYBODY... beat the living crap outta me seven days a week and the bloodier the better. THAT’S what I made a career out of.”
(He points a finger off into the distance through time and history itself to the point he was an asshole.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “For the first time in my life I find myself on the other end of the spectrum. For the first time in my whole damn career, in the twelve years this s(censored)t has spanned over, I heard the fans cheer for me when my wrist was raised high above my head. It’s the first time they ever got behind me and rallied for me and gave a damn that I won.
“It’s the first time they cared.”
(A proud grin begins to form across his face as his own words resonate with him.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “And it won’t be the last.
“True to my word, I upheld the rules of this business. I stayed between the lines and proved to everybody I’ve got the heart and the soul to take a beating and keep on kicking. Mark Maverick is a raging bull that gores through opponents like tomorrow will never come and for many of them... it probably wouldn’t. But I stood up to him. I stood up to that man mountain and I drove him into the canvas with the vDriver II for a CLEAN pinfall victory that the wrestling gods could take pride in.
“I kept my word. I stayed true to what I set out to achieve and you know what, Jeff? I did it. I did it the right way and the difference between round 1 and round 2? The only difference...” (he points down the barrel of the camera at Andrews) “...is you.”
(Puffing his chest, Voss becomes more animated as the words spill from his mouth.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “ONCE AGAIN... I will go into this contest to face a man who’s proven his mettle for years on end.
(He raises a solitary finger in point) “ONCE AGAIN... I’m going into a contest with a man whose been there and done that.
(He raises that solitary finger a little higher) “ONCE AGAIN... I go into an ULTRATITLE match... and face an opponent who doesn’t even know why he’s here.”
(Shrug. The pride on his face is replaced with disdain as he eyeballs the camera like he’d been disrespected.)
JUSTIN VOSS: (voice laced with curiosity) “Why did you sign up, Jeff? Seemed like a good idea at the time? Eric Dane told you if you wanted your Christmas bonus you better sign up for ULTRATITLE and shill Defiance? Hmmmm? Put that s(censored)t on the map? I mean, there’s a lot of guys in Defiance in this tournament, and that’s one heck of a wrestling promotion, but the difference between you and them other guys from down that way is they’ve staked their claim whereas you don’t give a s(censored)t to being here.
“You couldn’t give a damn whether you’ve made it to round two or you made it to the final. Your complete disregard for giving a damn is the same reason you’re gonna get your ass kicked all over the wrestling ring in round two.
“The same reason you’re gonna have yourself folded up like a concertina and driven into the canvas with the vDriver II, just like Mark Maverick.”
(Voss points down the barrel of the camera with vigour.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “The same reason you’re gonna be sent packing..” (thumbs over his shoulder like Andrews lived somewhere behind the building) “...and heading home. Coz you don’t give a damn.”
(Voss snarls as he speaks, passion rising in his voice and the speed picking up.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “I’m in this tournament for a reason. I’m in this tournament to prove to the world...” (points and runs his hand over the horizon like he was pointing out every fan watching the broadcast) “...that I’m not the asshole I used to be. I’m in this tournament to prove that I am a man of valour and a man of respect. I respect this God damn ULTRATITLE tournament enough to give a damn.
“I respect the ULTRATITLE enough to give it my heart.” (pounds his heart)
“I respect the ULTRATITLE to give it my soul.” (grabs his shirt with both hands and pulls it away from his body)
“I’ll bleed for this s(censored)t, Jeff. I’ll give it everything I got, dig down deeper and give it SOME MORE!”
(The passion seemingly getting to him, Voss stands there huffing and puffing like he might blow the house down. His face is red and eyes wild. He softens his tone and snarls at the camera.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “It’s not enough to get in the ring and work your ass off for a victory, Jeff. It’s not enough to compete for the sakes of competing.
“Giving 110% of sweet f(censored)k all is still sweet f(censored)k all, Jeff.
(pointing an accusing finger) “You’re just another guy who saw a pay day. Just another guy whose doing it coz all the cool kids are doing it.
(shaking his head) “There ain’t nothin' cool about you, man.
“You’re just another snivelling band geek who doesn’t have the balls to commit to this. You brush it off as being lazy. Throw it aside telling people that you’re burnt out turning the cogs at Defiance.
“Because if you’re unable to pursue an active interest in the ULTRATITLE you best leave your sorry ass back to Defiance and snivel up to Dane about cutting you some slack on that Christmas bonus coz your ULTRATITLE meal ticket is just about to come crashing down around your feet, Jeff.
“When we’re done you can head on back to 2005 and find some resolve in your nostalgia.”
(Voss snickers, stepping closer to the camera forcing an EXTREME CLOSE-UP as he does so.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Coz I can tell you now... ya future looks bleak.”
(Spinning on his heel, Voss turns his back to the camera and takes a step toward the INFINITE Wrestling banner before turning back and winking at the camera, seemingly having gathered his composure enough to walk off the set.)
(FTB)
(Standing before the banner is JUSTIN VOSS. Hands on hips, proudly standing before the camera with a grin from one ear to the other. He runs a hand through his hair and rubs them together, as if he were warming up for something.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “God damn. There’s an electricity runnin’ through me like I was convicted of capital murder in Virginia. It’s coursing through my veins, man, at one hundred mile an hour and I gotta tell ya somethin’...
“IT FEELS GOOOOOOOOD TO BE ALIIIIIIIVE!
(Throwing his head back) “HOOOOOOOOO!”
(Voss bounces from foot-to-foot for a few seconds before straightening himself out.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Goin’ one-on-one against Maverick in front of all those fans I took the bull by the horns and drove him into the ground. I took that tough sonofab(censored)ch and pulverised him for the 1-2-3 and I ADVANCED through to the next round of the ULTRATITLE.
“God dammit.” (Voss thumbs himself in the chest on each of the next four words) “ DO I FEEL ALIVE!”
“I gotta hand it to you, Mark. Me and you collided in one Helluva a contest and no matter what the outcome was the winner was them fans. You can mark my words, if we ever hit that ring again in combat I know for a fact you’d have an axe to grind with me and I welcome that day should it ever come.”
(Pointing off into the future, Voss nods his head in exclamation to the challenge.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “But there’s no point me standing here before you dwelling on my victory. Men who live in the past often find themselves sittin’ on their porches sippin’ bourbon wonderin’ about shoulda-coulda-woulda’s when I’ve got a GONNA on my hands here. I’ve advanced to round 2 after one HELL of an ULTRATITLE display to face the man who defeated Doctor Curiosity.
“Jeff Andrews.”
(Nodding his head, Voss’s emotion begins to get all matter of fact as he shifts feet and his hands become more animated through the banter.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Me and Jeff have got a lot of things in common. He’s held Championship belts and I’ve done the same. The distance between now and holdin’ onto the big one, the World Championship, is probably about the same. He’s spent his time mentoring people to success, plying his trade on them and yeah... I been there, done that, too.
“S(censored)t, one of my favourite students went down to Cameron Cruise in my bracket. Ikan Jobtayoo. And I gotta say there ain’t a man with a bigger heart than the old Prince of Pinfall and I wish him every success he could ever have.”
(Pounding his chest, Voss raises a fist above his head as if to give power to his brother.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Yeah, Jeff. You and I ain’t so different. Sure, you’ve probably got a couple more years under your belt than me... Father Time’s clock’s got a few more ticks on you but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve wrestled far older and far hungrier than you before so when we collide it’s not gonna be any different.
“Your body is testing you. You’ve got aches in places you probably never thought you’d have when you were a kid. You started using the word ointment and get anal about following the instructions so those aches don’t go on for days. You stink like muscle rub and instead of a post-match beer you’re thinking about that hot shower to soak out the knife-edge chops. Me? My right knee clicks when I walk and I’m developing shin splints. I dislocated my shoulder a couple years back wrestlin’ Spike Saunders and it’s never been the same since.”
(Subconsciously, Voss begins to rub his right shoulder and roll it in its socket.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “We ain’t so different you and I.
“Two guys with enough ring experience to understand that all this jibber-jabber and gum flappin’ don’t mean a damn when it comes to colliding in the ring. Two wrestlers who’ve lived this industry be it inside the ring or backstage behind a camera.
“But that’s where there similarities end.”
(He sweeps both arms across his body from one side to the other, as if cutting that conversation where it lies.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “See the REAL difference between you and I is after a long time of not giving a damn about the cause and effect of my actions inside a wrestling ring I’ve seen a need to change. I never fully comprehended the butterfly effect me getting on a stick and making myself one of the most hated men in this industry would have on my family.
“Professional Wrestling isn’t just about standing inside that ring and being technically efficient. There’s nothing doing about being the most pure wrestler that competed. It don’t matter if you got a move set of one hundred holds or seven. To get OVER in this industry is about making those fans care about one of two things:
(Holds up one finger.) “They either wanna see you kick someone’s ass...
(Holds up a second finger.) “...Or get your ass kicked.”
(Shrugging his shoulders as if to say What can I say, it’s true! Voss carries on.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “I made a life out of being that guy that put asses in seats simply because they wanted to see that s(censored)t-eating grin wiped off my face. They wanted to see somebody... ANYBODY... beat the living crap outta me seven days a week and the bloodier the better. THAT’S what I made a career out of.”
(He points a finger off into the distance through time and history itself to the point he was an asshole.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “For the first time in my life I find myself on the other end of the spectrum. For the first time in my whole damn career, in the twelve years this s(censored)t has spanned over, I heard the fans cheer for me when my wrist was raised high above my head. It’s the first time they ever got behind me and rallied for me and gave a damn that I won.
“It’s the first time they cared.”
(A proud grin begins to form across his face as his own words resonate with him.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “And it won’t be the last.
“True to my word, I upheld the rules of this business. I stayed between the lines and proved to everybody I’ve got the heart and the soul to take a beating and keep on kicking. Mark Maverick is a raging bull that gores through opponents like tomorrow will never come and for many of them... it probably wouldn’t. But I stood up to him. I stood up to that man mountain and I drove him into the canvas with the vDriver II for a CLEAN pinfall victory that the wrestling gods could take pride in.
“I kept my word. I stayed true to what I set out to achieve and you know what, Jeff? I did it. I did it the right way and the difference between round 1 and round 2? The only difference...” (he points down the barrel of the camera at Andrews) “...is you.”
(Puffing his chest, Voss becomes more animated as the words spill from his mouth.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “ONCE AGAIN... I will go into this contest to face a man who’s proven his mettle for years on end.
(He raises a solitary finger in point) “ONCE AGAIN... I’m going into a contest with a man whose been there and done that.
(He raises that solitary finger a little higher) “ONCE AGAIN... I go into an ULTRATITLE match... and face an opponent who doesn’t even know why he’s here.”
(Shrug. The pride on his face is replaced with disdain as he eyeballs the camera like he’d been disrespected.)
JUSTIN VOSS: (voice laced with curiosity) “Why did you sign up, Jeff? Seemed like a good idea at the time? Eric Dane told you if you wanted your Christmas bonus you better sign up for ULTRATITLE and shill Defiance? Hmmmm? Put that s(censored)t on the map? I mean, there’s a lot of guys in Defiance in this tournament, and that’s one heck of a wrestling promotion, but the difference between you and them other guys from down that way is they’ve staked their claim whereas you don’t give a s(censored)t to being here.
“You couldn’t give a damn whether you’ve made it to round two or you made it to the final. Your complete disregard for giving a damn is the same reason you’re gonna get your ass kicked all over the wrestling ring in round two.
“The same reason you’re gonna have yourself folded up like a concertina and driven into the canvas with the vDriver II, just like Mark Maverick.”
(Voss points down the barrel of the camera with vigour.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “The same reason you’re gonna be sent packing..” (thumbs over his shoulder like Andrews lived somewhere behind the building) “...and heading home. Coz you don’t give a damn.”
(Voss snarls as he speaks, passion rising in his voice and the speed picking up.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “I’m in this tournament for a reason. I’m in this tournament to prove to the world...” (points and runs his hand over the horizon like he was pointing out every fan watching the broadcast) “...that I’m not the asshole I used to be. I’m in this tournament to prove that I am a man of valour and a man of respect. I respect this God damn ULTRATITLE tournament enough to give a damn.
“I respect the ULTRATITLE enough to give it my heart.” (pounds his heart)
“I respect the ULTRATITLE to give it my soul.” (grabs his shirt with both hands and pulls it away from his body)
“I’ll bleed for this s(censored)t, Jeff. I’ll give it everything I got, dig down deeper and give it SOME MORE!”
(The passion seemingly getting to him, Voss stands there huffing and puffing like he might blow the house down. His face is red and eyes wild. He softens his tone and snarls at the camera.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “It’s not enough to get in the ring and work your ass off for a victory, Jeff. It’s not enough to compete for the sakes of competing.
“Giving 110% of sweet f(censored)k all is still sweet f(censored)k all, Jeff.
(pointing an accusing finger) “You’re just another guy who saw a pay day. Just another guy whose doing it coz all the cool kids are doing it.
(shaking his head) “There ain’t nothin' cool about you, man.
“You’re just another snivelling band geek who doesn’t have the balls to commit to this. You brush it off as being lazy. Throw it aside telling people that you’re burnt out turning the cogs at Defiance.
“Because if you’re unable to pursue an active interest in the ULTRATITLE you best leave your sorry ass back to Defiance and snivel up to Dane about cutting you some slack on that Christmas bonus coz your ULTRATITLE meal ticket is just about to come crashing down around your feet, Jeff.
“When we’re done you can head on back to 2005 and find some resolve in your nostalgia.”
(Voss snickers, stepping closer to the camera forcing an EXTREME CLOSE-UP as he does so.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Coz I can tell you now... ya future looks bleak.”
(Spinning on his heel, Voss turns his back to the camera and takes a step toward the INFINITE Wrestling banner before turning back and winking at the camera, seemingly having gathered his composure enough to walk off the set.)
(FTB)
JeffOLW
League Member
“I know a thing or two about redemption.”
“Or at least, I’ve been down that road before. And I... eh....”
“Lord almighty I don’t even know where to start.”
Jeff Andrews is seated in his customary armchair, that ever-present green and yellow mesh John Deere trucker’s cap perched lopsided on his head and a glass of amber liquid cradled in his right hand. Russell’s Reserve Rye Whiskey, most likely.
“I mean, there’s the whole accusing me of not caring about the Ultratitle thing - that’s some straight up bullshit there man. And there’s the part where you compared us, and truth is it’s pretty obvious that there’s a lot of similarities there. I was thinkin’, before the brackets and the lineup got announced all official like, you were the kind of dude I could see eye to eye with. Maybe one of the few who’d actually understand who I am, and why I do what I do, and not make that same damn mistake that so many people do.”
“You know the one I mean. Mistaking weariness for disinterest, mistaking haste for stupidity, lookin at the Jeffman and assuming that, cos he’s wearin a trucker’s cap and can’t always be bothered to wrestle, he must be a lazy retarded hick not fit to tote bales and squish spiders for the woman he loves… oh yeah, there’s another one of them similarity things.”
Andrews tilts his head back, looks off into the distance.
“I guess guys like us, Voss, we tend to go headfirst into things without really thinkin’ about the future too much. Whether it be coming out with the express intent of making the fans hate you so much they legitimately want to see you ended, or whether it’s proceeding through your wrestling career with the intent to piss off as many of the ‘boys’ as you can manage, when people are yellin at you, it feels like success, it really does.”
“Seein’ as though a whole lot of people don’t know me and can’t really think of anything I’ve done to call me out on, I’m gonna tell you a story. It’s about me...”
Andrews points at himself.
“And my good friend the Demon Drink.”
Andrews lifts the glass of whiskey, gently swirls it and takes a long slow sip.
“It was... 2007, I do believe. WWA Summer Games. They numbered the things numerically, I never could get the numericals straight, I just call it SG07. Anyway. I was representing a fed called Wrestlecoast Cascadia, but I was more interested in being a loose cannon. Or THE Loose Cannon, really. As long as people were talkin and saying ‘what the hell’, I was happy.”
“So I buy myself a couple foties. Jamaican red stripe, I do believe. And by the time my match, and it was a survivor series kinda thing happened, I was drunk as holy dumb fuck. I miss the curtain call. Team Cascadia, they’re doing just fine without me, the other team had one good wrestler on it and one decent one, and the decent one was a chick. And Noah Hanson. I dunno if you know that guy, but he’s an idiot, makes an idiot of himself everywhere he goes.”
“I hear the fans booing, and I realize it must be Team Cascadia out in the ring, so I grab my bottles and I go running out. I see this one dude who I didn’t like, and I busted the bottle over top his head, then I charged the ring. I superkicked Noah Hanson in his dumb fucking face, but I fell down doing it, because, y’know, I wasn’t real coordinated. And the chick puts me in a bodyscissor while I’m lying there too dizzy to get back up.”
Andrews laughs, takes another drink of whiskey.
“I know what you’re thinkin, that might as well be a vacation. But when you’re that messed up, having your stomach compressed is not a good thing. She locks the scissor on, and someone dials Ralph, if you know what I’m saying. So I want to get out of the ring, straight, and I bang on the mat and she lets me go, and I just barely make it. I puke all over ringside. And the ref calls it a submission. That was the first time I’d tapped out since the year 2000.”
“And I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘why on earth would that stupid hick tell me that story, doesn’t he realize it makes him look like an idiot’?”
Tipping the brim of his hat back with one finger, Andrews smiles broadly.
“Because if you wanna go on about seeking redemption, you’ve got to have something you’re trying to redeem. Bad choices, my friend. But that was a while ago, and since then I got to thinking.”
“You ever heard the name Jane Lora Katze?”
“Of course not. First person to make Jeff Andrews tap in a decade and she couldn’t do anything with it.”
“Did it stop me from succeeding at wrestling when I put the effort in? Well gee, uh, I don’t know, why don’t you ask Dr. Curiosity?”
“And besides... I’ll put it this way maybe. One of my old theme songs, ‘Catarax’ by Reveille, they had a lyric that went ‘but I’d rather be hated than forgotten’. And you know... it works. Jane’s forgotten. Aaron Vasquez is practically forgotten, and he was the Inaugural Defiance World Champ. Dan Easton? Forgotten. Caleb Wallace, Dusty Griffith, Johnny Lightning, all forgotten. Jeff Andrews?”
“Remembered.”
“Redemption, Voss... it has a way of tricking you, you see.”
Andrews lifts the glass of whiskey again, but instead of drinking it, holds it up to the light. The light streaming in the window behind him lights up the amber liquid, casting a glow on his hand and the floor in front of him.
“Too many of my redemption runs ended the same way, with me in thrall, once again, to the Demon Drink. It’s like... I dried myself out, and it was like I defeated the demon. Only thing left to do was prove my mastery of it. I could have a drink if I wanted, and somehow, that turned into I could drink whenever I wanted, and I got myself fired from a little fed up in Canada called International Influence. Too bad too, I liked that place. But, here’s the real funny thing. The person who negotiated my release was my girlfriend. The one who became one of the first women ever to hold a World Title in an interfed, the one I’d been begging to start wrestling again ever since she quit in ‘05.”
“And that little incident lead to us reuniting in the ring, and from there to me turning on the WfWA and helping make sure that Defiance won that battle.”
“And after all that, hell if I know what redemption had to do with that.”
“Point is...”
Andrews upends the whiskey glass again, but instead of drinking, fishes out an icecube.
“If this is all about redemption to you, Voss, if it’s about redemption and winning, and redeeming yourself through winning... well, like you said, I’m a little older, I’ve had a little more experience, and unlike you I have, on a few occasions, been the one everyone was routing for. And so I can tell you from first hand experience that redemption isn’t really about winning matches. I’m not entirely sure they help.”
He shrugs, and spits the ice cube back into the glass.
“And another thing. I’m not tryin’ to take a thing away from your win over Mark Maverick. But before you go talkin’ about redemption and how it’s what means everything to you, I wanna see what happens when it comes down to the wire and you can take that shortcut, do that despicable deed, and if you don’t it’s probably gonna cost you the match.”
“It’ll happen man, sooner or later. If I can’t get up to speed in time and you walk over top of me, you’ll end up staring down someone that good. You always do. Maybe it’ll be Triple X next round. Or Joey Melton, that guy’s got some hype behind him. Whoever. When that happens, and the old J. Leslie Voss starts scratching at the walls of your brain, and not only that but you know he’s got a damn good point...”
“You tell him to shut up, and then you come talk to me about Redemption.”
Andrews slams back the last of his whiskey, then lowers his brim.
“And when you do that, I want you to do me a favor, and apologize for accusing me of having no guts and no heart. That... well, man, it really kinda pisses me off. It’s god damn disrespectful, and it proves that either you didn’t listen to what I told the good Doctor last round, which is bad, or you listened but you didn’t get it, which is worse.”
“Don’t confuse two things that aren’t the same, man. Don’t confuse me tryin’ to get the old rusty motor that is my drive to succeed in the ring started, as me takin’ the whole tournament too easy. Or failing to respect it.”
“Man, last card I went in, and beat a guy who’s made a career out of winning tournaments. I beat a guy that people were predicting to make the elite eight, that a few thought was gonna win the entire damn thing! Maybe you made the same mistake Dr. C made, thought that looking down on someone was the same as looking past them.”
Jeff Andrews doesn’t always roar and bellow when he’s angry. I mean, sometimes he does, but that’s more effective in the actual ring when you’re dressed and ready to wrestle. But his voice does get rougher, and he digs his fingers into the armrest of his chair.
“You call me out... no, you don’t just call me out, you berate me, for what seems like a god damn hour, on some bullshit point about me not respecting the tournament? About me not wanting to work?”
“Fool, if I don’t want to work, I DON’T. FUCKING. WORK!”
“The fact that I am here in the first place should’ve been more than enough proof that I want to be here, and then I go and put one of the favorites, guy who’s supposed to crush me, flat on his back? I do all that, and you question my drive? You think I, and I quote, don’t give a damn?”
“You stupid son of a bitch.”
“Or at least, I’ve been down that road before. And I... eh....”
“Lord almighty I don’t even know where to start.”
Jeff Andrews is seated in his customary armchair, that ever-present green and yellow mesh John Deere trucker’s cap perched lopsided on his head and a glass of amber liquid cradled in his right hand. Russell’s Reserve Rye Whiskey, most likely.
“I mean, there’s the whole accusing me of not caring about the Ultratitle thing - that’s some straight up bullshit there man. And there’s the part where you compared us, and truth is it’s pretty obvious that there’s a lot of similarities there. I was thinkin’, before the brackets and the lineup got announced all official like, you were the kind of dude I could see eye to eye with. Maybe one of the few who’d actually understand who I am, and why I do what I do, and not make that same damn mistake that so many people do.”
“You know the one I mean. Mistaking weariness for disinterest, mistaking haste for stupidity, lookin at the Jeffman and assuming that, cos he’s wearin a trucker’s cap and can’t always be bothered to wrestle, he must be a lazy retarded hick not fit to tote bales and squish spiders for the woman he loves… oh yeah, there’s another one of them similarity things.”
Andrews tilts his head back, looks off into the distance.
“I guess guys like us, Voss, we tend to go headfirst into things without really thinkin’ about the future too much. Whether it be coming out with the express intent of making the fans hate you so much they legitimately want to see you ended, or whether it’s proceeding through your wrestling career with the intent to piss off as many of the ‘boys’ as you can manage, when people are yellin at you, it feels like success, it really does.”
“Seein’ as though a whole lot of people don’t know me and can’t really think of anything I’ve done to call me out on, I’m gonna tell you a story. It’s about me...”
Andrews points at himself.
“And my good friend the Demon Drink.”
Andrews lifts the glass of whiskey, gently swirls it and takes a long slow sip.
“It was... 2007, I do believe. WWA Summer Games. They numbered the things numerically, I never could get the numericals straight, I just call it SG07. Anyway. I was representing a fed called Wrestlecoast Cascadia, but I was more interested in being a loose cannon. Or THE Loose Cannon, really. As long as people were talkin and saying ‘what the hell’, I was happy.”
“So I buy myself a couple foties. Jamaican red stripe, I do believe. And by the time my match, and it was a survivor series kinda thing happened, I was drunk as holy dumb fuck. I miss the curtain call. Team Cascadia, they’re doing just fine without me, the other team had one good wrestler on it and one decent one, and the decent one was a chick. And Noah Hanson. I dunno if you know that guy, but he’s an idiot, makes an idiot of himself everywhere he goes.”
“I hear the fans booing, and I realize it must be Team Cascadia out in the ring, so I grab my bottles and I go running out. I see this one dude who I didn’t like, and I busted the bottle over top his head, then I charged the ring. I superkicked Noah Hanson in his dumb fucking face, but I fell down doing it, because, y’know, I wasn’t real coordinated. And the chick puts me in a bodyscissor while I’m lying there too dizzy to get back up.”
Andrews laughs, takes another drink of whiskey.
“I know what you’re thinkin, that might as well be a vacation. But when you’re that messed up, having your stomach compressed is not a good thing. She locks the scissor on, and someone dials Ralph, if you know what I’m saying. So I want to get out of the ring, straight, and I bang on the mat and she lets me go, and I just barely make it. I puke all over ringside. And the ref calls it a submission. That was the first time I’d tapped out since the year 2000.”
“And I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘why on earth would that stupid hick tell me that story, doesn’t he realize it makes him look like an idiot’?”
Tipping the brim of his hat back with one finger, Andrews smiles broadly.
“Because if you wanna go on about seeking redemption, you’ve got to have something you’re trying to redeem. Bad choices, my friend. But that was a while ago, and since then I got to thinking.”
“You ever heard the name Jane Lora Katze?”
“Of course not. First person to make Jeff Andrews tap in a decade and she couldn’t do anything with it.”
“Did it stop me from succeeding at wrestling when I put the effort in? Well gee, uh, I don’t know, why don’t you ask Dr. Curiosity?”
“And besides... I’ll put it this way maybe. One of my old theme songs, ‘Catarax’ by Reveille, they had a lyric that went ‘but I’d rather be hated than forgotten’. And you know... it works. Jane’s forgotten. Aaron Vasquez is practically forgotten, and he was the Inaugural Defiance World Champ. Dan Easton? Forgotten. Caleb Wallace, Dusty Griffith, Johnny Lightning, all forgotten. Jeff Andrews?”
“Remembered.”
“Redemption, Voss... it has a way of tricking you, you see.”
Andrews lifts the glass of whiskey again, but instead of drinking it, holds it up to the light. The light streaming in the window behind him lights up the amber liquid, casting a glow on his hand and the floor in front of him.
“Too many of my redemption runs ended the same way, with me in thrall, once again, to the Demon Drink. It’s like... I dried myself out, and it was like I defeated the demon. Only thing left to do was prove my mastery of it. I could have a drink if I wanted, and somehow, that turned into I could drink whenever I wanted, and I got myself fired from a little fed up in Canada called International Influence. Too bad too, I liked that place. But, here’s the real funny thing. The person who negotiated my release was my girlfriend. The one who became one of the first women ever to hold a World Title in an interfed, the one I’d been begging to start wrestling again ever since she quit in ‘05.”
“And that little incident lead to us reuniting in the ring, and from there to me turning on the WfWA and helping make sure that Defiance won that battle.”
“And after all that, hell if I know what redemption had to do with that.”
“Point is...”
Andrews upends the whiskey glass again, but instead of drinking, fishes out an icecube.
“If this is all about redemption to you, Voss, if it’s about redemption and winning, and redeeming yourself through winning... well, like you said, I’m a little older, I’ve had a little more experience, and unlike you I have, on a few occasions, been the one everyone was routing for. And so I can tell you from first hand experience that redemption isn’t really about winning matches. I’m not entirely sure they help.”
He shrugs, and spits the ice cube back into the glass.
“And another thing. I’m not tryin’ to take a thing away from your win over Mark Maverick. But before you go talkin’ about redemption and how it’s what means everything to you, I wanna see what happens when it comes down to the wire and you can take that shortcut, do that despicable deed, and if you don’t it’s probably gonna cost you the match.”
“It’ll happen man, sooner or later. If I can’t get up to speed in time and you walk over top of me, you’ll end up staring down someone that good. You always do. Maybe it’ll be Triple X next round. Or Joey Melton, that guy’s got some hype behind him. Whoever. When that happens, and the old J. Leslie Voss starts scratching at the walls of your brain, and not only that but you know he’s got a damn good point...”
“You tell him to shut up, and then you come talk to me about Redemption.”
Andrews slams back the last of his whiskey, then lowers his brim.
“And when you do that, I want you to do me a favor, and apologize for accusing me of having no guts and no heart. That... well, man, it really kinda pisses me off. It’s god damn disrespectful, and it proves that either you didn’t listen to what I told the good Doctor last round, which is bad, or you listened but you didn’t get it, which is worse.”
“Don’t confuse two things that aren’t the same, man. Don’t confuse me tryin’ to get the old rusty motor that is my drive to succeed in the ring started, as me takin’ the whole tournament too easy. Or failing to respect it.”
“Man, last card I went in, and beat a guy who’s made a career out of winning tournaments. I beat a guy that people were predicting to make the elite eight, that a few thought was gonna win the entire damn thing! Maybe you made the same mistake Dr. C made, thought that looking down on someone was the same as looking past them.”
Jeff Andrews doesn’t always roar and bellow when he’s angry. I mean, sometimes he does, but that’s more effective in the actual ring when you’re dressed and ready to wrestle. But his voice does get rougher, and he digs his fingers into the armrest of his chair.
“You call me out... no, you don’t just call me out, you berate me, for what seems like a god damn hour, on some bullshit point about me not respecting the tournament? About me not wanting to work?”
“Fool, if I don’t want to work, I DON’T. FUCKING. WORK!”
“The fact that I am here in the first place should’ve been more than enough proof that I want to be here, and then I go and put one of the favorites, guy who’s supposed to crush me, flat on his back? I do all that, and you question my drive? You think I, and I quote, don’t give a damn?”
“You stupid son of a bitch.”
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fugginVOSS
The REAL Funk U. T-shirt
(FADE IN: on JUSTIN VOSS with his back to the camera watching the ending of Jeff Andrews' video package. One arm folded across his chest, the other resting on it holding up his chin. He’s deep in thought as he contemplates what he just watched.)
(Taking a moment to gather himself, Voss turns to the camera. A slight grin is stretched across his face as his mind mulls over what he’s witnessed.)
JUSTIN VOSS: (melodramatically – he thumbs over his shoulder at the monitor) “Oh, I see what you did there.
“You took what I said about YOU being disrespectful and ignorant and then told ME a story from 2007 about how YOU were booked for a tournament you can’t remember the NAME OF and how you turned up DRUNK and tapped out via vomit.”
(He stares down the barrel of the camera, face twisted with contempt.)
JUSTIN VOSS: (sarcastically) “Yeah. I can completely see where you’re going with that. You’re out to prove a point, right?
(Thumbing his own chest) “MY point.
“You sit in your comfy chair...” (Pointing at the camera as if he could see Jeff’s armchair) “...stare down the barrel of the camera and profess to me you care or you DON’T-TURN-UP!
“Pffffft. I’m sorry, Jeff... but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy one pound of the crap you’re peddlin’, man. So pack up your cart and head on back to Defiance, Jeff, coz Eric Dane’s buyin’ your crap by the truckload and I don’t got a dollar for you, man.”
(Voss shakes his head, almost guffawing at what he’s responding to.)
JUSTIN VOSS: (hand on his own chest) “I upset you? I disrespected you?
“ I thought we were more alike but the more you flap your gums about spewin’ your guts up over some girl you never had the damn respect to wrestle sober the more I realise the similarities ended at the fact we’re both wrestlers and vying for the ULTRATITLE.”
(Voss pauses, just letting the statement sink in and gather his own thoughts for a moment. One of those thoughts seems to resonate within his head and a wry smile forms on his lips. He raises a finger as he raises his point.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “See, Jeff, A LOT of people have been asking me the same thing you’re asking me. What happens when you’re sitting on knife’s edge and you gotta go one way or the other to get that win?
“Do ya take the high road or the low road?
“What happens to you when you gotta make that choice, Voss?”
(He holds his arms out away from his body, as if giving up on coming up with an answer.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “That’s a really good question.
“People always ask the rhetorical about what you’d do if someone held a gun to your head.” (Voss makes a gun shape with his right hand and presses it to his own head.) “What would you do, Jeff? Would you drop to your knees and beg for mercy? Huh? Would you swing an elbow and hope to God it doesn’t make ‘em squeeze the trigger and blow ya brains out? Do you take another swig from that bottle, shrug your shoulders and close your eyes? Ask for five more minutes to call ya wife and kids and say your goodbyes?”
(He shrugs.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “When you’re standing there on the knife’s edge there’s no doubt your fight or flight instincts take over.
“I will stand here and tell you 100%, hand-on-heart...” (He puts his hand on his heart) “... when it comes down to staring into the abyss of winning and losing and one split decision will turn the course of fate that I hope to God I can make the right choice.
“I hope to God I can do the right thing the whole way down the line. I wish I could tell you whole-heartedly that I will but I can’t, Jeff. I can’t do that.
“Coz I don’t know.
“When I’m looking that monster in the eye...” (Points to fingers into his own eye) “...and if it comes down to YOU or ME... I hope to God I do the right thing and beat you by the book. I hope to God, Jeff. I really do. But I am just a man after all, right? I’m just a sack of meat. Blood and bone. I’m no Immaculate Conception or bastard son of some Greek god. I’m a mere mortal that has to deal with their own demons just like everybody else.”
(He points off into his past as he continues ranting.)
JUST IN VOSS: “I was a greedy, gluttonous, wrathful sonofab(censored)h who needed to take a big damn mouthful of humble pie and shut his big vainglorious mouth, Jeff. I was a pig of a human being and I’m gonna do everything I can to turn all that around.” (He points to the spot he’s standing on) “ I’ve stood on this pedestal and preached my intents devoutly for the last few weeks.
“I’m like a broken damn record that nobody will turn the Hell off.”
(A cheeky smile spreads across his face as he eyeballs the camera’s barrel.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “So why don’t you try? Why don’t you come on down to the ring and shut me up, Jeff? You did well to beat, Dr. Curiosity. I’m sorry for you that nobody thinks you could even make it this far, Jeff. But ya did.
“And you’re here. Going to toe-to-toe with me...” (Fist pounds his chest) “...in Round Two of the ULTRATITLE tournament and it’s something to be proud of. Something you can talk about in five years time when you’re bustin’ your ass in high school gyms and peddlin’ ya memories since Eric Dane’s turned his back on you coz you just don’t bring in that coin he loves so much anymore. Signing autographs and lookin’ in people’s eyes for that twinkle of recognition.
“Or even pity.
(Hand on heart) “Coz I feel sorry for you, Jeff.
“I’m sorry that everything good that ever happened to you...” (Points off into Andrews’ history) “...happened five or six years ago.
“I’m sorry you think turning up is enough.
“I’m sorry you think being one..” (Holds one finger up to the camera) “...of the forty underdogs sneaking through to round two is enough.
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I’m sorry you’re gonna head out of this match with ya tail between your legs and a size thirteen shoe print bruise on your ass.” (Kicks the air) “ I want you to get riled up. I want you to take this s(censored)t seriously.” (Voss’ voice begins to quicken in pace along with his breathing) “ I want you upset at me coz I want you on your game, Jeff. I want everything you got, man. I WANT you to feel disrespected.
“Start that engine. Get that rusty old V8 rumbling along ready for a war...” (Raises a fist into the air) “...because that’s what I hope you bring me. I HOPE you bring me that test. I HOPE you put me on the knife’s edge where I need to test my moral fortitude.”
(Voss’ passion has taken control and he’s almost erratic as he speaks. He slams an open hand against his chest again and again.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “I WANT THAT, JEFF! I F(censored)KING WANT IT!
“I wanna be pushed to the brink. Pushed to my limit. CAN... you give me that? Can your old engine run for near on twenty minutes trading blows and suplexes and God knows what else this match can bring? HUH?”
(Eyes wide. Face starkly serious. All of Voss’ body and voice is challenging Jeff Andrews as he speaks. He points down the camera’s barrel as he address Andrews.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Coz if the only thing that’s fuellin’ that big ol’ engine in ya chest Jeff is the fact you beat some guy whose s’posed to be a tournament expert then leave the vehicle parked in that handicapped space.
“If you CAN push me to the very limit... TAKE me to that brink of no return, Jeff... and I pass the test or die tryin’... I’ll be a damn sight more impressed then than I am right now. Coz lookin’ in from outside at you wallowing in your own history I’m not impressed.”
(Waggles a finger at the camera and shakes his head.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “When we collide in ULTRATITLE Round Two, Jeff Andrews... when we go head-to-head... I PRAY you push me to my limits and challenge me to make the right choice.
(Puts his hands together as if in prayer) “I YEEEEAAAARRRRN for it.
(Double fists shaking with passion) “I NEED it.
“And when I make the right choice, and smash you to smithereens in the middle of the ring with my vDriver II, and those fans...” (He shuts his eyes as if he can picture it) “...start chanting my name and roaring their approval...” (Opens them again and steps closer to the camera, as if he were getting in Andrews’ face) “...and you’re lookin’ up outta big ol’ wide eyes wonderin’ what the f(censored)k kinda truck just hit you...
“THEN... I’ll look down my nose at you from up here on my moral high ground.”
(Nods matter-of-factly before stepping back from the camera to his original spot.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “While I can’t tell you I’ll make the right choice, Jeff... while I can’t promise I WON’T take that left at Albuquerque... I CAN promise you that I’ll try.”
(He shrugs at the camera before pointing down the barrel again.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “See ya in the ring, man. Hope you can get that engine started to PROVE to me you give a damn.
“And we’ll see who really does when we find out who’s standing on the other side.”
(Voss remains, eyeballing the camera as it slowly fades to black.)
(Taking a moment to gather himself, Voss turns to the camera. A slight grin is stretched across his face as his mind mulls over what he’s witnessed.)
JUSTIN VOSS: (melodramatically – he thumbs over his shoulder at the monitor) “Oh, I see what you did there.
“You took what I said about YOU being disrespectful and ignorant and then told ME a story from 2007 about how YOU were booked for a tournament you can’t remember the NAME OF and how you turned up DRUNK and tapped out via vomit.”
(He stares down the barrel of the camera, face twisted with contempt.)
JUSTIN VOSS: (sarcastically) “Yeah. I can completely see where you’re going with that. You’re out to prove a point, right?
(Thumbing his own chest) “MY point.
“You sit in your comfy chair...” (Pointing at the camera as if he could see Jeff’s armchair) “...stare down the barrel of the camera and profess to me you care or you DON’T-TURN-UP!
“Pffffft. I’m sorry, Jeff... but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy one pound of the crap you’re peddlin’, man. So pack up your cart and head on back to Defiance, Jeff, coz Eric Dane’s buyin’ your crap by the truckload and I don’t got a dollar for you, man.”
(Voss shakes his head, almost guffawing at what he’s responding to.)
JUSTIN VOSS: (hand on his own chest) “I upset you? I disrespected you?
“ I thought we were more alike but the more you flap your gums about spewin’ your guts up over some girl you never had the damn respect to wrestle sober the more I realise the similarities ended at the fact we’re both wrestlers and vying for the ULTRATITLE.”
(Voss pauses, just letting the statement sink in and gather his own thoughts for a moment. One of those thoughts seems to resonate within his head and a wry smile forms on his lips. He raises a finger as he raises his point.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “See, Jeff, A LOT of people have been asking me the same thing you’re asking me. What happens when you’re sitting on knife’s edge and you gotta go one way or the other to get that win?
“Do ya take the high road or the low road?
“What happens to you when you gotta make that choice, Voss?”
(He holds his arms out away from his body, as if giving up on coming up with an answer.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “That’s a really good question.
“People always ask the rhetorical about what you’d do if someone held a gun to your head.” (Voss makes a gun shape with his right hand and presses it to his own head.) “What would you do, Jeff? Would you drop to your knees and beg for mercy? Huh? Would you swing an elbow and hope to God it doesn’t make ‘em squeeze the trigger and blow ya brains out? Do you take another swig from that bottle, shrug your shoulders and close your eyes? Ask for five more minutes to call ya wife and kids and say your goodbyes?”
(He shrugs.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “When you’re standing there on the knife’s edge there’s no doubt your fight or flight instincts take over.
“I will stand here and tell you 100%, hand-on-heart...” (He puts his hand on his heart) “... when it comes down to staring into the abyss of winning and losing and one split decision will turn the course of fate that I hope to God I can make the right choice.
“I hope to God I can do the right thing the whole way down the line. I wish I could tell you whole-heartedly that I will but I can’t, Jeff. I can’t do that.
“Coz I don’t know.
“When I’m looking that monster in the eye...” (Points to fingers into his own eye) “...and if it comes down to YOU or ME... I hope to God I do the right thing and beat you by the book. I hope to God, Jeff. I really do. But I am just a man after all, right? I’m just a sack of meat. Blood and bone. I’m no Immaculate Conception or bastard son of some Greek god. I’m a mere mortal that has to deal with their own demons just like everybody else.”
(He points off into his past as he continues ranting.)
JUST IN VOSS: “I was a greedy, gluttonous, wrathful sonofab(censored)h who needed to take a big damn mouthful of humble pie and shut his big vainglorious mouth, Jeff. I was a pig of a human being and I’m gonna do everything I can to turn all that around.” (He points to the spot he’s standing on) “ I’ve stood on this pedestal and preached my intents devoutly for the last few weeks.
“I’m like a broken damn record that nobody will turn the Hell off.”
(A cheeky smile spreads across his face as he eyeballs the camera’s barrel.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “So why don’t you try? Why don’t you come on down to the ring and shut me up, Jeff? You did well to beat, Dr. Curiosity. I’m sorry for you that nobody thinks you could even make it this far, Jeff. But ya did.
“And you’re here. Going to toe-to-toe with me...” (Fist pounds his chest) “...in Round Two of the ULTRATITLE tournament and it’s something to be proud of. Something you can talk about in five years time when you’re bustin’ your ass in high school gyms and peddlin’ ya memories since Eric Dane’s turned his back on you coz you just don’t bring in that coin he loves so much anymore. Signing autographs and lookin’ in people’s eyes for that twinkle of recognition.
“Or even pity.
(Hand on heart) “Coz I feel sorry for you, Jeff.
“I’m sorry that everything good that ever happened to you...” (Points off into Andrews’ history) “...happened five or six years ago.
“I’m sorry you think turning up is enough.
“I’m sorry you think being one..” (Holds one finger up to the camera) “...of the forty underdogs sneaking through to round two is enough.
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I’m sorry you’re gonna head out of this match with ya tail between your legs and a size thirteen shoe print bruise on your ass.” (Kicks the air) “ I want you to get riled up. I want you to take this s(censored)t seriously.” (Voss’ voice begins to quicken in pace along with his breathing) “ I want you upset at me coz I want you on your game, Jeff. I want everything you got, man. I WANT you to feel disrespected.
“Start that engine. Get that rusty old V8 rumbling along ready for a war...” (Raises a fist into the air) “...because that’s what I hope you bring me. I HOPE you bring me that test. I HOPE you put me on the knife’s edge where I need to test my moral fortitude.”
(Voss’ passion has taken control and he’s almost erratic as he speaks. He slams an open hand against his chest again and again.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “I WANT THAT, JEFF! I F(censored)KING WANT IT!
“I wanna be pushed to the brink. Pushed to my limit. CAN... you give me that? Can your old engine run for near on twenty minutes trading blows and suplexes and God knows what else this match can bring? HUH?”
(Eyes wide. Face starkly serious. All of Voss’ body and voice is challenging Jeff Andrews as he speaks. He points down the camera’s barrel as he address Andrews.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “Coz if the only thing that’s fuellin’ that big ol’ engine in ya chest Jeff is the fact you beat some guy whose s’posed to be a tournament expert then leave the vehicle parked in that handicapped space.
“If you CAN push me to the very limit... TAKE me to that brink of no return, Jeff... and I pass the test or die tryin’... I’ll be a damn sight more impressed then than I am right now. Coz lookin’ in from outside at you wallowing in your own history I’m not impressed.”
(Waggles a finger at the camera and shakes his head.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “When we collide in ULTRATITLE Round Two, Jeff Andrews... when we go head-to-head... I PRAY you push me to my limits and challenge me to make the right choice.
(Puts his hands together as if in prayer) “I YEEEEAAAARRRRN for it.
(Double fists shaking with passion) “I NEED it.
“And when I make the right choice, and smash you to smithereens in the middle of the ring with my vDriver II, and those fans...” (He shuts his eyes as if he can picture it) “...start chanting my name and roaring their approval...” (Opens them again and steps closer to the camera, as if he were getting in Andrews’ face) “...and you’re lookin’ up outta big ol’ wide eyes wonderin’ what the f(censored)k kinda truck just hit you...
“THEN... I’ll look down my nose at you from up here on my moral high ground.”
(Nods matter-of-factly before stepping back from the camera to his original spot.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “While I can’t tell you I’ll make the right choice, Jeff... while I can’t promise I WON’T take that left at Albuquerque... I CAN promise you that I’ll try.”
(He shrugs at the camera before pointing down the barrel again.)
JUSTIN VOSS: “See ya in the ring, man. Hope you can get that engine started to PROVE to me you give a damn.
“And we’ll see who really does when we find out who’s standing on the other side.”
(Voss remains, eyeballing the camera as it slowly fades to black.)
JeffOLW
League Member
“He doesn’t get it.”
Mirthless laughter rolls out like crackles of lightning.
“I explained it as clearly as I could, just like he was a man of reason, but he didn’t get it.”
Another rough peal of laughter, and an arm slaps the armrest of a familiar brown leather chair.
“He just DOESN’T. FUCKING. GET IT!”
*SIGH*
Jeff Andrews leans forward. The top of his head has just enough stubble left on it that it doesn’t reflect the light well. His arms are on his knees, his head down. The important green and yellow mesh John Deere trucker’s cap sits in front of him, on a coffee table.
“I was... y’know, I was hoping for more. Because, honestly, how complicated is it when I say ‘the fact that I’m here is all the proof you need that I care’? It’s - not - hard. It’s really not.”
“But he just keeps saying that I think showing up is enough, and I can yell til I’m blue in the face but I don’t think he’s gonna get it. I’ll have to beat it into his fool head and maybe even then, who knows if he’ll get it.”
He runs his hands over his head, smoothing back the hair he doesn’t have any more, then sits up, looks directly at the camera.
“So, sup Vossman.”
“I was just sittin’ here, in my comfortable armchair, making my frustrations known to those who care.”
“But, who am I kiddin’. This is about you, man, you and me. But mostly you. And just like I was tellin everyone for a minute there, you just don’t get it. And so I’monna explain a few things all calm and careful like, disregarding the fact that if you were lookin to piss me off, you did a fair job of succeedin.”
“Now you keep making cracks about me being Eric Dane’s lapdog or something, and I’m not up for spending a whole lot of time on that subject, cos god willing it’ll be me and Dane face to face in the finals and then we can discuss the intricate ramifications of the Eric Dane/Jeff Andrews relationship. Until then, lemme just say this - my position is not to beg for Christmas bonuses. I hand them out to people who beg me for them.”
“But enough of that now.”
And, as per the usual, Andrews reclines back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head.
“Let’s start with this, get started properly and all. Summer Games 2007 - see, I just told you what the thing was called, you yet again accuse me of stupid bullshit that I never even said - if Summer Games 2007 was a high point in my career, it was a very, very ironic one. The thing about that, it wasn’t a tournament anyway either it was a survivor series, get it right, the thing about that was the chain of events took me to the destination I wanted anyway.”
“And the point of all that, was to try and explain the failed logistics of your little spiel about redemption. You don’t know how to go about it, man, and I’m tryin’ to tell you.”
“Me, I’ve tried to be the hero, and I’ve tried to be the villain, and after a while, I came to a conclusion.”
“I don’t need to force myself into a white hat or a black hat. My green and yellow trucker’s cap is all the hat I need. All I have to do, is go out there and be Jeff Andrews, let the chips fall where they will, and just concentrate on that. On being me.”
With a smile, Andrews leans forward, seizes the hat and dons it, tipping the brim back.
“No matter what you think, no matter how many false points you glean from my words and throw back at me, the one thing I’ve never suffered from is a lack of love for wrestling. Frustration, and burnout, they both happen, but there’s a difference between stepping aside to work on something else for a while, and just not having the heart to show up. And there’s a difference between not having the heart, and knowing when to pick your battles.”
“So you can scoff at me all you want when I say I don’t work if I don’t want to, but maybe if you’d been a little more like me, and picked your battles instead of being a deliberately indiscriminate raging maniacal asshole, your family wouldn’t be receiving death threats, and you wouldn’t be in the position to need a desperate scramble to the top at the ripe old age of 30.”
“Seriously, I looked it up. So many kids in the business and I’m used to being able to throw out the Get Offa My Lawn routine when I need to, but in this tournament, I’m middle aged at best, and you’re downright young.”
Andrews pauses here, as though he lost his train of thought. He looks up, rubs at the stubblefield that is his chin.
“I’m, honestly, still used to only thinking of interfed belts as World Titles. But you wanna be technical, Defiance promotes its belts as World Titles, and I was one half of the most successful Defiance World Tag Team Champions, just a year or so ago. Three defenses. Me and my girl, Heidi Christenson. Cancer Jiles knows all about how that happened, cos I squished him with the Ultraglide.”
“HE REMEMBERS THAT.”
As though he has to raise his voice to get Cancer Jiles’ attention, or as though Jiles doesn’t remember it, and loathe the moment, every day.
“But I’ll have many a chance to deal with Cancer Jiles, won’t I? I’ve only got this one shot to straighten your shit out, Justin Voss. And you?”
“You want me to be the bad guy.”
And with that, Jeff Andrews stands up.
“You want me to back you straight up to that ledge and give you that fateful push that sends you spinning down, down, down, ever so far down, to a dark oblivion, or to shining glory if you can will yourself to reject the darkness in your last hour.”
“And I’ll do that for you.”
His eyes wide, Jeff pounds his chest with one finger.
“I’m pretty good at pushing people over the ledge, y’know. I’ve made a career, Voss, out of infuriating the stoic, and bringing wrath to the placid. If that’s what you want, man, I can do that for you. I’ll be your angel and your jinn, brother. But there’s just one thing that it seems you didn’t plan for, my main man.”
And now he smiles, his eyes wide, a little too wide.
“If I push your ass off a wall, you’re the one who gets to climb back up. And if Oblivion claims you, and it’s J. Leslie Voss I see coming back up that proverbial wall, staring up at me, that just means the gloves are off. There is nothing, man, NOTHING he could do to surprise me. And there is nothing that I could do to him that I’d feel bad for. I curbstomped my own girlfriend’s face into a turnbuckle bolt, I helped Kai Scott destroy the CAL and Eric Dane destroy the WfWA. I’ve smashed bottles over people’s heads, spat in the face of promoters, dived headfirst into a pack of fans just because I love the feeling of my body flying through the air, wiping out some poor shit who got matched up against me.”
“They called me the King of the Bittermen, cos I was the surliest, angriest, toughest man in the ring. They called me the Cross-Wired Time Bomb, because I wasn’t just primed to go off, but I could go off over absolutely anything, or even nothing. I got no fear of J Leslie Voss, he couldn’t show me a damn thing.”
Andrews’ breath hisses between his teeth in a long, drawn out sigh.
“But that’s not what you want, is it? You wanna go the holyman route with me. Try to take my worst, suffer through it, and come out with your win in hand and your redemption still in sight. Well shit man, you still just had me push you off a wall, and that means I’ll still be standing atop that wall, grinding my boot into your fingers...”
And he stomps his boot-clad foot down on the floor in front of him, twisting it, his teeth bared in a smile that’s not a smile at all.
“...nd laughing in your dumb fucking face! You self righteous, sanctimonious, phony cocksucker!”
Looking down at his clenched fists, Andrews slowly relaxes, but the fire doesn’t fade from his eyes.
“Redemption is not easy. Redemption is not something you’re going to get by asking me to do the stuff I’d... scaled back. Redemption isn’t something you’ll know you’ve found until later, Voss, maybe years later. And the funny thing? From personal experience I speak...”
“If it’s redemption you want, you’re better off losing.”
“Redemption is not generally found in wrath.”
“Redemption is not generally found in self righteousness.”
“And redemption is certainly not found in provoking the King of the Bittermen into beating the absolute fucking hell out of you.”
“I repeat.”
“Redemption is not found provoking me into the hell out of you, you stupid son of a bitch.”
“You getting bounced out of the Ultratitle Tournament in Round 2 is the only thing that’s found in that.”
Mirthless laughter rolls out like crackles of lightning.
“I explained it as clearly as I could, just like he was a man of reason, but he didn’t get it.”
Another rough peal of laughter, and an arm slaps the armrest of a familiar brown leather chair.
“He just DOESN’T. FUCKING. GET IT!”
*SIGH*
Jeff Andrews leans forward. The top of his head has just enough stubble left on it that it doesn’t reflect the light well. His arms are on his knees, his head down. The important green and yellow mesh John Deere trucker’s cap sits in front of him, on a coffee table.
“I was... y’know, I was hoping for more. Because, honestly, how complicated is it when I say ‘the fact that I’m here is all the proof you need that I care’? It’s - not - hard. It’s really not.”
“But he just keeps saying that I think showing up is enough, and I can yell til I’m blue in the face but I don’t think he’s gonna get it. I’ll have to beat it into his fool head and maybe even then, who knows if he’ll get it.”
He runs his hands over his head, smoothing back the hair he doesn’t have any more, then sits up, looks directly at the camera.
“So, sup Vossman.”
“I was just sittin’ here, in my comfortable armchair, making my frustrations known to those who care.”
“But, who am I kiddin’. This is about you, man, you and me. But mostly you. And just like I was tellin everyone for a minute there, you just don’t get it. And so I’monna explain a few things all calm and careful like, disregarding the fact that if you were lookin to piss me off, you did a fair job of succeedin.”
“Now you keep making cracks about me being Eric Dane’s lapdog or something, and I’m not up for spending a whole lot of time on that subject, cos god willing it’ll be me and Dane face to face in the finals and then we can discuss the intricate ramifications of the Eric Dane/Jeff Andrews relationship. Until then, lemme just say this - my position is not to beg for Christmas bonuses. I hand them out to people who beg me for them.”
“But enough of that now.”
And, as per the usual, Andrews reclines back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head.
“Let’s start with this, get started properly and all. Summer Games 2007 - see, I just told you what the thing was called, you yet again accuse me of stupid bullshit that I never even said - if Summer Games 2007 was a high point in my career, it was a very, very ironic one. The thing about that, it wasn’t a tournament anyway either it was a survivor series, get it right, the thing about that was the chain of events took me to the destination I wanted anyway.”
“And the point of all that, was to try and explain the failed logistics of your little spiel about redemption. You don’t know how to go about it, man, and I’m tryin’ to tell you.”
“Me, I’ve tried to be the hero, and I’ve tried to be the villain, and after a while, I came to a conclusion.”
“I don’t need to force myself into a white hat or a black hat. My green and yellow trucker’s cap is all the hat I need. All I have to do, is go out there and be Jeff Andrews, let the chips fall where they will, and just concentrate on that. On being me.”
With a smile, Andrews leans forward, seizes the hat and dons it, tipping the brim back.
“No matter what you think, no matter how many false points you glean from my words and throw back at me, the one thing I’ve never suffered from is a lack of love for wrestling. Frustration, and burnout, they both happen, but there’s a difference between stepping aside to work on something else for a while, and just not having the heart to show up. And there’s a difference between not having the heart, and knowing when to pick your battles.”
“So you can scoff at me all you want when I say I don’t work if I don’t want to, but maybe if you’d been a little more like me, and picked your battles instead of being a deliberately indiscriminate raging maniacal asshole, your family wouldn’t be receiving death threats, and you wouldn’t be in the position to need a desperate scramble to the top at the ripe old age of 30.”
“Seriously, I looked it up. So many kids in the business and I’m used to being able to throw out the Get Offa My Lawn routine when I need to, but in this tournament, I’m middle aged at best, and you’re downright young.”
Andrews pauses here, as though he lost his train of thought. He looks up, rubs at the stubblefield that is his chin.
“I’m, honestly, still used to only thinking of interfed belts as World Titles. But you wanna be technical, Defiance promotes its belts as World Titles, and I was one half of the most successful Defiance World Tag Team Champions, just a year or so ago. Three defenses. Me and my girl, Heidi Christenson. Cancer Jiles knows all about how that happened, cos I squished him with the Ultraglide.”
“HE REMEMBERS THAT.”
As though he has to raise his voice to get Cancer Jiles’ attention, or as though Jiles doesn’t remember it, and loathe the moment, every day.
“But I’ll have many a chance to deal with Cancer Jiles, won’t I? I’ve only got this one shot to straighten your shit out, Justin Voss. And you?”
“You want me to be the bad guy.”
And with that, Jeff Andrews stands up.
“You want me to back you straight up to that ledge and give you that fateful push that sends you spinning down, down, down, ever so far down, to a dark oblivion, or to shining glory if you can will yourself to reject the darkness in your last hour.”
“And I’ll do that for you.”
His eyes wide, Jeff pounds his chest with one finger.
“I’m pretty good at pushing people over the ledge, y’know. I’ve made a career, Voss, out of infuriating the stoic, and bringing wrath to the placid. If that’s what you want, man, I can do that for you. I’ll be your angel and your jinn, brother. But there’s just one thing that it seems you didn’t plan for, my main man.”
And now he smiles, his eyes wide, a little too wide.
“If I push your ass off a wall, you’re the one who gets to climb back up. And if Oblivion claims you, and it’s J. Leslie Voss I see coming back up that proverbial wall, staring up at me, that just means the gloves are off. There is nothing, man, NOTHING he could do to surprise me. And there is nothing that I could do to him that I’d feel bad for. I curbstomped my own girlfriend’s face into a turnbuckle bolt, I helped Kai Scott destroy the CAL and Eric Dane destroy the WfWA. I’ve smashed bottles over people’s heads, spat in the face of promoters, dived headfirst into a pack of fans just because I love the feeling of my body flying through the air, wiping out some poor shit who got matched up against me.”
“They called me the King of the Bittermen, cos I was the surliest, angriest, toughest man in the ring. They called me the Cross-Wired Time Bomb, because I wasn’t just primed to go off, but I could go off over absolutely anything, or even nothing. I got no fear of J Leslie Voss, he couldn’t show me a damn thing.”
Andrews’ breath hisses between his teeth in a long, drawn out sigh.
“But that’s not what you want, is it? You wanna go the holyman route with me. Try to take my worst, suffer through it, and come out with your win in hand and your redemption still in sight. Well shit man, you still just had me push you off a wall, and that means I’ll still be standing atop that wall, grinding my boot into your fingers...”
And he stomps his boot-clad foot down on the floor in front of him, twisting it, his teeth bared in a smile that’s not a smile at all.
“...nd laughing in your dumb fucking face! You self righteous, sanctimonious, phony cocksucker!”
Looking down at his clenched fists, Andrews slowly relaxes, but the fire doesn’t fade from his eyes.
“Redemption is not easy. Redemption is not something you’re going to get by asking me to do the stuff I’d... scaled back. Redemption isn’t something you’ll know you’ve found until later, Voss, maybe years later. And the funny thing? From personal experience I speak...”
“If it’s redemption you want, you’re better off losing.”
“Redemption is not generally found in wrath.”
“Redemption is not generally found in self righteousness.”
“And redemption is certainly not found in provoking the King of the Bittermen into beating the absolute fucking hell out of you.”
“I repeat.”
“Redemption is not found provoking me into the hell out of you, you stupid son of a bitch.”
“You getting bounced out of the Ultratitle Tournament in Round 2 is the only thing that’s found in that.”
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