Talent Booked By...

[TWhitefield]

(Fadein to a small gymnasium. We see Raw Deal sitting at a table watching a video monitor watching footage of a match... inside the ring, we see Tom Adler sparring with Nathan Storm. After Storm executes a move, the pause to discuss the sequence. Just as they are about to begin again...)

WJ Mills: Hey Tom... the camera man's here. Sound byte time, my man.

Adler: (Rolling his eys) Ok... take five. (Motioning to the cameraman, as Storm rolls over the top rope down to the floor with Raw Deal) OK, come on... let's get this over with. We've got stuff to do. (The camera man comes over toward the ring... Adler stand with one foot on the bottom rope... his arms draped over the top slightly) Ya know... over the last month, I must have had every so called "smart" (said as sarcastically as possible) fan on the planet come up to me... each asking about the latest One Dot Bob, Larriet, Turnbuckle, As I See It column of the moment... each one coming up with another insider claimin' to know why you and I just can't seem to get along. And, each one more full of <bleep> than the next.

Well, Eddie, you and I could stand out here and tease the marks for hours that it has to do with Mystic... The AAWC... or some other piece of fluff. But, when it's all said and done, you and I both know that it all comes down to two little words... God Booking.

(With a mocked up scared look on his face) Oooh, that word's a no no in this business, isn't it. Wouldn't wanna come out here and break some rule that's been broken a million times since Nate raised it to an art form, would we? Well, Eddie... you and I have been around long enough to know that I say what's on my mind. Sometimes it gets me into some heat... sometimes it doesn't. But, frankly, I have better things to do than read from a script just to humor a couple of wanna be sports writers who are lucky to spend their dateless Saturday nights on public access TV claiming to know why I do what I do. And, let's be honest, Eddie... if what I just said weren't right, you and I wouldn't be here talking about it. I'd be doing whatever... probably deciding whether or not I really felt like doing this... and you'd be off with Miles making yourself commissioner for the day in the fed down the street. Or, if you did decide to grace the CSWA rings with your presence, you'd be going after Eddie Love or somebody else who's headline on PWI would actually mean something at the moment. But no... you're here f<bleep>ing with me. Why? What's that magic phrase again? God-Booking. Or rather... the lack of it on the part of the four men in this room.

And, just so the slow among us can get caught up... what do I call God Booking? No... I'm not talking about wins and losses here... 'cuz we all know that's on the up and up, right? No.. I'm talking about play. You see... God Booking is when a man like Ric Flair dances around a nut house with a muscled up nurse claiming to be the president. God Booking is when Ricky Steamboat dresses up in a pair of tights and fights off fake Ninja on a Karate Kid set reject. God Booking is pretty much ANYTHING that involves somebody taking a back seat to Hulk Hogan. And, yeah... God Booking is what makes Owen Hart kill himself just getting to the ring. In short... God Booking is what makes great men do STUPID things... all because somebody behind a desk thought it would make for... exciting TV. Who knows... maybe that's why you come out here sounding like somebody who isn't quite sure whether he should be stepping into a wrestling ring or being drawn next to Riley Freeman. Truth be told, I don't care.

And you know, Eddie... truthfully, I would think that you and I would be on the same side of this issue. You and I, Eddie... I woulda thought we came from the same stock. Someone who didn't get into this business because somebody saw him in a gym one day and thought they could slap a costume and a clever nickname one day and sell him to the marks. Someone who did it because HE knew that we could make HIMSELF better than anybody else. And we didn't stop until we made it happen. Nobody GOD BOOKED me to greatness, Eddie. I got there because I busted my ass. And I deserved far better than to be told I wasn't wanted because they wanted to book somebody else into importance and couldn't do it with somebody like me around.

Now... as for those guys sitting over there (motioning to Storm and Raw Deal)? Maybe a little too much of me did rub off onto 'em. Maybe being associated with me WASN'T enough to make them think they would be different. But they're not here because I need help. They're here because all they ever wanted was the same chance that YOU want every time you step into that ring... to do nothing more than show that they can make something of themselves... they may win... they may lose... but it happened because THEY did it THEIR way. Not because they couldn't carry a ball that they never wanted to carry to begin with.

Storm stood up for himself... and he was shown the door. Now, every worker in the business stands in front of a mic and PRETENDS to do the same "sub par" mic spots because fans mark out over 'em and sheet writers go ga ga trying to figure out whether it was a shoot or not.

Well, Eddie... that's the man you have to contend with in St. Louis. No puppet strings. No moonboots. Just a Trouble-Shooter who's out to break everything BUT kayfabe.

(Adler slides out of the ring and heads to the table as the camera fades to black)

 

[EastPrez]

"Mr. Forget Me Not" Tom Adler

(FADEIN: To 'Hot Property' EDDIE MAYFIELD, standing profile, leaning on a poorly painted wall. He's wearing the same deal he had on last promo, sans jacket. MAYFIELD sparks a Camel, takes a long drag off of it, and blows a jet of smoke out the corner of his mouth, looking at the floor as he talks)

MAYFIELD: "Tommy ... I can see that you're upset. I can see that you're tired. I can also see that Nate Storm is a dumb mute. (Smirks) Because as you say, we could sit here and go tit-for-tat about whos' what and why so-and-so didn't get this or that. But I'm not here for that now. I'm sure you are, but I'm not on that page.

Yeah, God-Booking is a bitter, bitter pill - but I ain't swallowing that here, and lord knows you ain't either - even though by the history of this God-Awful league, they seem to dig doing stuff like that. I mean damn, how many midgets do they got around here, anyways? The point is this: You and your platoon of mute goons showed up and put my boy Craig Miles in the hospital. We were on our path to grab some tagteam gold off of the lackluster 'champions' here, and you came in and diverted us from that, if only temporarily. What EYE need to do to get back on that track, is clear the Tom Adler gauntlet so I can look at you across the ring from me, and slap that gum out of your mouth, and that stupid cocky grin off your face once and for all. Yasee Tom, for someone who loves revisionist history more than anybody else, you seem to miss the fact that, for someone who claims to be the 'best EVVVVVVVVVVAR', you sure whine a hell of a lot. (Rolls eyes) Yeah Tom, you had the wrestling world wrapped around your finger for damn near a decade - but dood, you're a footnote now. And Eddie Mayfield is still in the mix. And Tom Adler, you whine that your still not the man because of people screwing you and your 'visions'. Well, those wet-dreams you call visions are as black and white as an indy comic book. The reality is this: You just can't adapt. Wrestling has moved on, and you haven't. Look at me, Hot Property Eddie Mayfield: (points at self) Always fresh, ALWAYS new, and ALWAYS invigorating, PLUS the peoples' choice. See, when you're the Greatest Show on Earth, When you're MUST SEE TV, When you're Hot Property, you don't need to cry over spilt milk, my man. You take a loss, and you get up and keep going. I guess when you were 13 getting your second bachelors' degree, you missed that lesson in 'hard knocks 101'. See, being a child prodigy ain't all that it's cracked up to be. You excelled at a few things, but those kids are always piss-poor in something else. I gather with you, it was social interaction and common sense. (Smiles)

So listen, man - Why don't you go pop the stitches on Nates face and shove him in front of a camera so I can hear the voice of the man I'm gonna pummel into submission in a few days time. It's only the right thing to do. I got a few receipts to collect from your boy, then I'm gonna take it outta you. If you werent' listening, and I NEVER stutter - my name is Eddie Mayfield - Bonnie Mayfield's only son. And one thing that my momma always said to me was this: "Eddie, sometimes' you just gotta slap a b*tch when they get outta line", and that's just what I'm gonna do to your boy at Prime Time, Adler. And soon enough - it'll be YOUR TURN."

(FADEOUT: as MAYFIELD takes another drag, and flicks the cigarette off screen, billowing smoke out of his nose like a dragon.)

 

[TWhitefield]

Fresh as a week old Donut

Upset? Hmmm.. ok... maybe I'll give ya that one for about half a second. But, I've kinda moved beyond being pissed at you, Eddie.

Truth be told, I had pretty much moved beyond you totally. Believe it or not, Eddie, I don't sit up late at night, clenching my pillow rocking back and forth seething over your little grandstand play that it took me all of about 30 seconds to upstage.

The fact is, Eddie, I've gotten what I pretty much everything I've wanted out of this sport. I've won more titles than most men have had title matches. I've beaten virtually everybody that I ever felt was worth my time... with a few notable exceptions, of course. And, the way I see it... I looked far better on the final day of that "No Legends Allowed" league than that league did. So, I really don't have a whole hell of a lot left to prove.

And, in case you've missed it, I haven't spent a great deal of time worrying about my record as of late, either. There are only so many rungs at the top... and they all look to be filled at the moment by men who don't seem to have a great deal of time for anybody but the men on those rungs.

And that's fine too. The simple fact of the matter is, Eddie, that I could walk away from this sport tomorrow and still be a bigger name ten years from now than most of the people in it. And maybe knowing that has led me to the point where I am today. Who knows.

But, it seems to me that you're about as fresh, about as new, and about as invigorating as you were 5 years ago when you first got it stuck in your head that you needed Tom Adler to get somewhere in this industry. Or rather... you needed his reputation. You never saw fit to come for the man himself until now... when you think I'm an easy mark.

Well, Eddie... you've been praying to God for five years that somebody would come along and actually believe that you're better than me... or that somebody would come along who could book you into a position to claim it.

Well, Mrs. Mayfield's little boy is finally gonna get his wish. Congratulations, Eddie. You've just been God Booked.

[fade out]

 

[EastPrez]

Wrestling with Shadows

(FADEIN: To 'Hot Property' EDDIE MAYFIELD, same deal, now sitting on a stoop, rolling the hardpack of Camels around in one hand, a burning cigarette in the other, trailing smoke as he speaks.)

MAYFIELD: "Yippee Skippy, Tommy - I'm glad you've now made me aware that you could possibly be the biggest stepping stone in the biz today. I mean, if you still mattered that much in the scheme of things. (Flicks cigarette away) The reason your record doesn't matter that much anymore is that truthly, YOU don't matter much anymore. Then why am I out here wasting videotape with you? Heh, because you've got some unfinished business with me. Did I make you a mountain to climb? Hell, sure. Why not? But you haven't stayed still long enough to climb, Tom, because you keep running. Yeah, the man with the moves, the grace, and the backstage mouth was too busy faking his death and other movie channel BS to stay up front and center to knock Lil' ol' Eddie outta the box... To shut Eddie Mayfield the HELL UP. (Smiles) But I'm not gonna dis ya, Tom. Nobody has ever mistaken you for not being The Man for years, Tommy, and hell, I can't discredit what you've done, or who bent over for you for years. But what I DO know now - is that Eddie Mayfield DOES keep you up at night - or you wouldn't be back out here with Inky Binky and Clyde trying to rub me out before I got to my ghost pellets. You say you upstaged my deal? (Shrugs) Hey - you got me. It took two pumped up PVC-wearing test-tube babies and a mute, gymnastic bomber to put Craig Miles in the hospital and knock the cherry off of my sundae. Golf claps for all involved, Tom. (Smirks) But one thing we do have in common, and I know this one for a fact: If anybody in this promotion is worth my time, it just may be you, pal. Now if anybody cares besides me is one thing, but when MUST SEE TV is on the air, I'll get you over again just by association. See Tom, you should really come out here and tell these people why you really wanna roll - not because I can give you a fight. That's a given. Not because you know in the back of your mind that I'm the only man alive that can outsmart the wrestling Doogie Howser, Tom Adler. THAT'S a given. It's because you know that you can't just dry up and blow away like you SHOULD - naw, bro. You need Eddie Mayfield to put you over. To make you hot again. The Professionals are hotter then the thought of Jennifer Lopez doing Bukakke films, and Eddie Mayfield and Craig Miles are the shining light in this hellhole federation, with sub-par champions and mind-numbing (Coughs) 'talent'.

So If God answered my prayers, then yeah, it'll be sweet to carry your ass to a 5-star asskicking that you so rightly deserve, and may have never seen - because Lawd knows I don't see many 'Best of' tapes of yours on eBay, when I have a fleet of traders getting wet over being in possession of one of my micspot compilations. I'm not gonna put you down, Tom - no, you deserve better than that - I'm gonna put you OUT. But that's later - because at Prime Time in St. Louis, Missouri, I'm gonna seperate the lips of Nate Storm that are firmly attached to your a**, and I'm gonna shove my boot past them and right down his throat. So when you finish putting fresh batteries in your little robot, flip the switch to 'talk', because I wanna hear what bile he has to spew to me... Unless you gotta program that into him first. 5000, Tommy."

(FADEOUT as MAYFIELD kisses two fingers and throws out a peace sign, smirking slyly)

 

[TWhitefield]

Revisionist? Indeed

You know, Eddie, for somebody who whines about people who revise history, you sure do a lot of it.

For anybody with an IQ bigger than your ring size (holding up his pinky), it's pretty clear to see that you've never been one to try to do ANYTHING with respect to me too hard except ride my coat tails.

I've been here over a year, Eddie. Where have you been? Playing games with rejects from Tough Enough in AAWC 2099 tryin' to get a cheap pop.

But then, the League with No F'n Wrestlers coulda had that pop. But they were more concerned with self promoting and finding somebody to carry their ball.

No, Eddie, I am putting just about as much effort into dealing with you as you have put into me.

And, besides... I figure this is good experience for me. Some leagues didn't think I had any kind of future left in this industry... except maybe as the Use to be a legend mic jockey who gets the honor to put over scrubs... or as a manager.

Well, sorry... I really don't feel like putting anybody over today. So, at least on the mic, I'll play the latter.

You wanna hear Nate speak? Go dig up a couple of UWA Highlight reels. Or, better yet, drag out Mick Foley's resignation speach. I hear he did a pretty good job of immitating the classic Nathan Storm mic spot.

You see... I'm not real worried about whether anybody likes what I have to say. In case you haven't heard, I'm a Self-Absorbed God Complexed Whining Crying Jesus Christ on an Ego Trip. And I don't play well with others.

Adler

(Fade Out)