Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
(CUE UP: “Trilobite” by Mastodon. Yes, hard to imagine, I know, but they actually were a sludge metal band at one point.)
(Our scene opens up in the evening. We’re out in the middle of the painted desert again, sometime near sunset. REZIN sits on top of the production van serving as his wheels to the next Aggression taking place in Arizona. The setting sun can be seen prominently in the reflection of his sunglasses, until he turns his attention over to the camera.)
Rezin
“Big mistake?”
Do you think you just dealt me some heavy emotional blow by saying all that? Am I supposed to curl up into a ball and cry like a baby, unable to come to face with some soul-crushing truth delvered by your verbal beat-down?
(Rezin checks himself and looks around... seemingly confused at the complete lack of a pay-off. Shrugging, he shakes his head to the camera.)
Rezin
Sorry, Jo-Jo... but if that’s your idea of following through on your threats, then I’m not sure I have much to worry about when you say you’re going to just slam me down like Lebron and move on without a second thought.
No pun intended here, but what’s with all the aggression? I mean, first you dare me not to look past you... so I double dared you, and asked you to just give me one fucking reason NOT to look past you. Because let’s face it...
you aren’t telling me anything I haven’t heard before. I don’t understand how you can be THAT fucking stupid that you just can’t grasp that concept.
You think you’re the first person who’s come out and called me a waste of potential? My own mother had you beat in that honor over twenty years ago...
And then I’ve heard it from Boogie... I’ve heard it from Trip... and I’ve heard it from so many others before them. Guys you’ve probably never heard of... guys who probably had similar ideas of “greatness” as you do. Guys who won titles... lost titles... and LEFT.
Some of those guys found ways to beat me in the ring. Others weren’t so lucky. So which one are you, Malcolm? Because if you’re going to sit there and rehash things I’ve been hearing from my opponents over the better part of the past couple years, then you’re not really accomplishing anything other than wasting my time until that bell rings.
Bottom line... while a lot of what you and everybody else tells me may just as well be true... it doesn’t really matter to me. I understand that once that bell rings, Jo-Jo, all bets are off. I have nothing to lose and everything to prove once that cage door is locked shut behind us. If you want to see me as lazy... weak... cowardly... then go ahead.
I dare
you to go that route. Go ahead, and willingly underestimate one of the most dangerous and dastardly men in this sport... the goat bastard that pisses on every parade.
Because I’ll tell you right now, Jo-Jo... if it turns out that all your pomp and prick-measuring isn’t enough to handle the cunning and craftiness of the Escape Artist, then YOU’D be the only one making a big mistake.
(He sits up and pulls himself off of the roof of the van, dropping down to the sandy ground below him. He starts walking west, chasing the sunset, which is now a glowing orb sinking slowly into the horizon. On his bared chest, the words “REZINSTRONG” are scrawled in black, over what looks to be a blasphemous depiction of a ribbon and an upside down cross.)
Rezin
Honestly, I’ve been in this conversation too many times before... and I’m exhausted, trying to explain it to morons like you time and time again, just so you can say I’m making excuses to hide the fact that I’m not a “great” wrestler.
I KNOW I’m not a “great” wrestler... and I’ve always been pretty upfront about that, so I don’t understand why guys like you think you’re dealing me some heavy realization every time you come out say that I “never had what it takes”, or some macho crap like that.
I also don’t understand why “greatness” has to be the end-all, be-all of existence for a professional wrestler. Fuck “greatness”, Malcolm. It’s overrated. It’s fleeting. It always has been. You think I’m bitter because I haven’t accomplished anything of worth in my career? No... the truth is, unlike you, I actually have the luxury of having been in one of the greatest professional wrestling companies on the planet for a long while.
And when I say that winning titles isn’t important to me, it’s because I understand that even champions can be forgotten. I’ve seen plenty of them come and go... some even put these shoulders to the mat... but even if I started listing off names right now, there would be few you would recognize as your idea of “great” wrestlers... because the TRUE great wrestlers in this sport stick around longer than a few months.
In MY experience in competitive sports, there are two types of people who actually DO care about gold. Some of them want to define that gold by being exemplary athletes and making an impact. My partner is of this kind of champion.
The other kind of gold-digger, however, expect the gold to define THEM... as if the only possible way they could validate their miserable existence is by proving they can beat a guy who’s one real claim to fame is that he beat some other guy before him.
This is where I see YOU as weak, Malcolm. You HAVE to be a champion... because otherwise, you are a failure by your own logic.
(He drops his shades, turning his attention from the setting sun to the camera to give the viewer a good look at the unhinged vice deep in his bloodshot eyes.)
Rezin
But if “gold equals status” is your thing, Jo-Jo, then fine... live by it, and see where it takes you. But don’t sit there and feed me this bullshit about how I “insult” you just because I was satisfied just getting a paycheck over these past eight years since my stint as this company’s first Tag Team Champion.
Excuse my ass to pieces if the fact that my low self-standards offend you, or whatever...but you seem to forget that not everybody in the world can be born with “great” genes... they can’t be trained in “great” facilities by “great” mentors. Poor little guys like me had to
scrape by through this business for years just to makes ends meet. Sure, Malcolm... I’m not great. But it’s a great job, and I always show up and do my fucking job. And despite the fact that I often look like a bitch week in and week out, I keep going out there... and trying.
I keep trying... just to prove arrogant assholes like you wrong.
You can call me lazy... but if that were really true, then I would have just quit this shit years ago, and spent the rest of my years working in a lousy taco shop off an interstate exit.
(He looks off into the distance again as the sun sinks the rest of the way, and darkness sets in. For whatever reason, he puts the shades back on, before kneeling lower to the earth. He picks up a handful of dust and lets it drift out of his fingers as the wind breezes by. Its passage brings an amused smile on his face.)
Rezin
I don’t want greatness, Malcolm. There’s nothing for me to gain from it. The only thing I really want... is the destruction...
The destruction of your PRIDE... your EGO... your sickeningly over-inflated sense of value to this sport...
I take delight in watching the paper-thin confidence of weaker-minded men collapse when they encounter something they could never account for. Plainly speaking, I want to derail the Malcolm Joseph-Jones train before it ever leaves the station. I want you to choke on your own words. I want to HAUNT YOUR DREAMS for weeks on end following this match.
Believe me, Jo-Jo... once you’ve tasted the Cottonmouth, it’ll be a MONTH before you can live a day without that nagging urge to look over your back and make sure I’m not there, ready to drag you down into a sludge-soaked doom.
And why? Because like I said in the beginning... people like you have been putting me under their feet my entire life. And I’m tired of being walked on.
You can call me a coward... but the fact of the matter is, I boldly challenged one of this company’s Hall of Famers and undisputed legends... TWICE. I did it to prove that your entire macho idea of “greatness” is nothing but a myth... and I would have done it, by letting the fans see the Empire’s self-proclaimed King being taken down by the lowly goat bastard.
I tried... but I didn’t have enough. I don’t have any explanations or excuses for it, Malcolm... it just wasn’t my time and place. Next time, I’ll just have to try HARDER, I suppose.
(His attention turns up to the camera again.)
Rezin
Eight years ago, I willingly let go of the EPW Tag Team Titles... and ever since that moment, you could say my entire life has been cursed. But maybe that’s the penance I have to pay, for the walking away from the first great opportunity of my professional career.
And that’s where I am right now... in the King of the Cage tournament. All those title opportunities I’ve supposedly squandered in all the years prior to this moment... none of those matter any more. All of those lost chances were simply building blocks to THIS time and THIS place...
In winning this tournament, I’m going to break that curse, Malcolm... I’m going to retake those Tag Titles... and when I do, you can bet your ass I won’t be walking away. But in order to do that, I realize that ‘Nark and I have to get through you and the Jones kid first.
You think that kid is the weak link of your team... but you’re actually wrong about that. YOU are the weak link. If Jones goes down, you can still carry your team on your own. You seem to think you do, anyway. But if you go down? Well... I’d hate to be that kid, on his own against the two of us.
Nobody can predict who will move on to the next round in the Bracket of Death... but when we finally come face to face in the cage, Malcolm... but if there’s one thing I can
promise you, it’s that things are NOT going to go the way you expect them to.
(The light continues to wane... we’re slowly fading to black, but we can still see Rezin’s evil smile through the shadows.)
Rezin
In order to survive this tournament, you’re going to have to get the taste of sludge in your mouth at some point... and when the black clouds of doubt, dread, and CHAOS overwhelms your mind... we’ll see how well you manage at swallowing the swollen rot of your own ego.
(With his dry chuckle echoing in the background, or shot goes to complete black.)