Prelude/Redundancy
SCENE BEGINS
(Fade into the restless situation. Within a hotel lobby in New York City, past its busy hours in the late evening. Crossing near and far are people in formal attire. There must be a ball happening somewhere in this particular building. But none of that matters now as the camera tracks in past the receptionist desk and to the wall of ornate phone booths, most of which unoccupied. But within one burgandy velvet alcove, we find a young man with an athletic build sitting under the dim light, a receiver to his ear. Stephen Waltz patiently waits for the ringing to subside on the other end as the camera comes closer to catch the end of the conversation... or rather, the message recording.)
Stephen Waltz
Hey, Charlie, it's Steph. I, uhh... well, I know it's been a while since I've called. I've been trying to get ahold of you a couple times earlier today, but it seems you're out. So, when you get this message, I just want you to know that I haven't forgotten about you over here.
...I love you, Charlotte. Call me later.
(Quietly, he puts the receiver back onto the hook, cueing a brief percussive jangle as the coins come rattling down inside the machine. Stephen's face iss blank, but his eyes are distant. He thinks about something with extreme earnesty... noticably concerned. After a moment's rubbing of his lower lip, he stands up and exits the phone booth, crossing the hotel lobby in his sleek tuxedo and black tie. The double doors to the North Ballroom are open, revealing within the Gala Event taking place, attending by several of professional wrestling's upscale figures and faces.)
(Waltz looks over the crowd for a moment, and spots his manager and trainer, Terry "The Idol" Anderson, hanging with a cluster of laughing friends who happened to be converged around the punch bowl. His protege, Waltz, joins his side as he finishes up a particularly clever joke that merits him a chorus of boisterous laughter from his colleagues.)
Terry "The Idol" Anderson
Hey, kid!
(Anderson grabs him around the nape of the neck to pull him further into the circle, presenting him before his friends. A full smile of pearly white teeth takes up the lower quarter of his aged face.)
Terry "The Idol" Anderson
Oh guys... you know who this is, right?
(A shorter man with short, curly hair around a balding egg-shaped head comes a step closer to Waltz with his hand outreached, smiling politely through a well-trimmed goatee and wire-framed glasses.)
Man
Gabe Goldberg, Sports Columnist for Ring Watchers Magazine. I've done a couple reviews on one or two of your matches...
(Stephen accepts the handshake and returns his own youthful smile, flawlessly hiding any trace of what was seen before during his long-distance call to his recently estranged girlfriend. Within the next couple of moments, the rest of the reporters and agents shake the hand of the young professional wrestler and introduce themselves, with the exception of Gail Martin, whom he already knew as a close friend of Terry's which was all the more obvious by the way his manager holds the strikingly beautiful middle-aged woman around the waist.)
(When all is said and done, the attention of the group has been changed from Terry's exaggerated stories and one-liners to the young man in their presence. A talent scout named Eddie Crighton, a barrel-chested, red-faced man in his forties with a conservative blonde crew cut standing at Stephen's right, pokes one sausage-like pinky into the younger man's chest while wearing a jovial smile.)
Eddie Crighton
I heard that YOU got a spot on the Showcase... is that right?
(Waltz smiles politely again and nods once.)
Stephen Waltz
That's right. Nineteen of professional wrestling's finest and myself all booked on the same card. Promises to be a hell of a show, too. You've got names like Ryan, Rabesque, Suicide, Edmunds, Beast... anybody whose anything in today's industry.
Gabe Goldberg
Well, I bet you're excited!
Stephen Waltz
Yeah, I am. It's a real honor to be on the bill with so many other faces.
Gail Martin
Whose your opponent, hon?
Terry "The Idol" Anderson
Heh... it's that guy from the Lord of the Rings movies! You know, the skinny guy in the loin-cloth?
Gabe Goldberg
Gollum?
Terry "The Idol" Anderson
Yeah! "I wants-uh my preciousss! Give me my presciousss!"
(As he does his impersonation of Tolkien's character, complete with wild, ape-like gesticulations, Waltz looks into the camera for the first time during this televised promo with a million dollar look, somewhere between absolute dumbfoundedness and apology. It's a look that says, "I can't believe that the man who taught me how to wrestle is this freaking stupid.")
Stephen Waltz
Not quite, Terry.
(But of course his manager is rewarded with another round of boisterous laughter, and few odd looks from the other, more sober guests to the evening party. Crighton slaps the young athlete on the shoulder again.)
Eddie Crighton
Well kid, good luck to you. Being on an event like that, you should know that there's nothing but great things for you in the future.
Stephen Waltz
I certainly look forward to it, sir. Thank you.
Terry "The Idol" Anderson
HEY, SKIP! Guys, this here is Skip McGuffrey...
(While Terry flags down yet another one of his friends, Stephen finds the moment's distraction to step away from the crowd around the punch bowl. He blends into the rest of the party-goers and disappears, as we fade...)
INTERMISSION
(We fade back in on an exterior scene, on the balcony adjoined to the ballroom. Waltz stands leaning against the rail, looking out across the cloudy New York skyline, a mosaic of dark blues and blacks against neon sculptures of glass. Behind him, the party continues, but is dulled out to the sound of the wind blowing. Waltz now stands jacketless, his tie undone as he takes a moment to take a break from all the commotion within.)
(And to share a few words with the camera.)
Stephen Waltz
It seems that every now and then, I end up back in the place where this all started. New fans, new talent, new management... not quite a new federation, but one could argue that the Super Showcase hits close to home. Several names from all over the world all gather in one place on one night to pull of what promises to be one of the greatest shows of the year.
And upon reflecting on myself and where I stand in this Showcase, I can't help but notice that it's nothing new to me. I'm among people that don't acknowledge my existence, and I'm up against yet another opponent whom I've never heard of, and has never heard of me.
Nothing new to me... and nothing I know I can't handle.
My professional wrestling career has been molded around the self-motivated concept of proving myself to all the people who look over me... either by choice or by ignorance. When I'm in that ring, I want my game to be so damn good, that other people CAN'T HELP but watch me do my thing. I want to put everything I have inside on the table, just to see the looks on their faces when they see everything I can dish out.
I've been involved in professional wrestling since January 2003... and through dozens of matches, after just as many opponents, I have yet to fail the task of proving myself, no matter what I'm up against.
So when I think of how I'm back in the place where it all started... I can't help but smile. Once again, I'm making my first appearance in front of thousands of wrestling fans who've likely never even heard my name... competing against a man who knows--and thinks--very little of me. He and those fans are just more people to see the evidence with their own eyes. It's a task I've found to be very easy with the right amount of physical and mental preperation.
"Stephen What?!" That's Stephen Waltz. And it won't be forgotten after the Showcase. That's one of the few things I can garuntee.
(A couple comes onto the balcony, taking in most of the urban scenery. Stephen gives them an idle glance, then moves further down the railing to keep his privacy. He looks back to the camera with a boyish half-smile, not quite cocky, though not quite innocent either. You could tell that not long ago, it would have been a naive expression as any kid his age would portray. But something else in the face of this man shows that he has seen and experienced more than many young men his age.)
Stephen Waltz
Moving right along, we come to the subject of my opponent... a man who coins himself "Golem". Suffice to say, that's an odd name, as Jewish folklore would suggest that a being of the same monicker to be an artificial man endowed with life by supernatural means. And considering this particular man looks terribly like nothing of the sort, I'd say that the name was quite inappropriate. But hell, who am I to judge? My last name is WALTZ!
Unfortunately, when it comes to this man... there's not much I can say about him from personal experience or past observations, as I've never heard of him up until the point where I saw his name next to mine on the line-up. I don't know who he is... I don't know where he's from... and, thankfully, I won't bore my fans by trying to establish a mental image of my opponent based on "scouting reports". Unlike some people in this industry, I choose to judge people based on how I know them personally... not from what I've heard.
But from Golem's "promo", it's easy to see that my opponent has a hard time of following suit. You see, rather than delivering a well-planned, thoroughly developed televised promo, he decided to skip past the self-observations of his own personal motives and goals, getting straight to the run-of-the-mill trash talk recycled straight out of any Christian Sands promo. And hey, that's just great; there's a bunch of champions out there who do the same routine every week.
Problem is, however... in order to talk down on your opponent, you must first KNOW your opponent. Golem obviously ran into the problem of having no prior knowledge of my reputation or status in today's professional wrestling world... and therefore, the only thing he was able to talk trash to was a concocted and totally inaccurate visual depiction of who I am and what I stand for.
I mean... come on! Did anybody truly understand what he meant through those five minutes where he compared me to "the guy who greets you at the entrance of Best Buy?" That one was over my head. Personally, I don't see any similarities CAREER-WISE. Personality, on the other hand... that's a different story. Back in Indiana, there was this one guy--Caleb, was his name--who worked there, and everytime you walked through the door, he'd be wearing a big, friendly smile, and every time you had a question, he'd give you the answer. Cool guy, know what I'm saying?
So maybe Golem just misunderstood what the person meant, whoever it was that compared me to someone like Caleb back home. I'm just a nice, open-minded kind of guy. What that has to do with my position in wrestling being "worthless", I don't know.
(He shrugs.)
Stephen Waltz
Golem, buddy... I gotta say, you missed me there.
You talk of how I show the kids that failure can be okay. First and foremost... what failure? Looking back on my year and a half in this biz, I can safely say that I've never failed at reaching my goals. I've lost fewer times than I can count with one hand. If anything, the example I try to set for my peers is that dreams are always fine... but living those dreams is even better. And with the right amount of determination and patience, anything can be accomplished.
It just takes an open mind and a cool way of looking on life... and, a little faith never hurt anything.
But I'm still reeling over this entire "failure" thing. Golem, it's pretty obvious that you've never actually sat down and watched a tape of any past match I've been in. Through all trials, I've perservered... succeeded... flourished. I've done things that many seasoned veterans have not. So before you go making yourself out as a fool in front of the people in this Showcase who DO know who I am... do yourself a favor, and try not to act like you've read the entire book of Stephen Waltz. You aren't fooling anybody...
(Yet another boyish smirk, showing he's fully in control.)
Stephen Waltz
I can understand if you don't think much of me... cause it's like I said at the start of this promo. Every time a begin anew, there's always that first guy... who takes everything about me for granted, and rather than observe and calculate his opponent, he goes right on believing that he'll win beyond a doubt. Case in point, don't you think it's a little early to be calling me "Golem-fodder?"
It's quite ignorant of you... but it doesn't surprise me. As I've said, I've seen it all happen before--even through my little experience. The role of that "first guy" is always played by a different person. Well, different in terms of name and face... but when it comes to ideals and psychology, they're the exact same. You, Golem, just happen to be the man filling the shoes this time around. You're nothing new to me... nothing intimidating. I've gone up against close-minded egomaniacs like yourself numerous times in my short career, and the match always ends up with the ignorant man laid out on the ground and the one with the initials SW standing tall with his hand raised.
...you don't believe me? Watch the tapes, Golem. Other than the name Troy Douglas--a hell of a competitor, by the way--you'll find that there aren't many who hold any bragging rights over yours truly.
But that's not all, oh no... further on, I have to take "advice" from you. You say it would be "logical" for me to just stay at home?
(He throws his head back and laughs for a moment. Not cocky, boisterous laughter... but the kind that shows that he is truly amused by this matter.)
Stephen Waltz
Why don't you listen to your own advice, Golem? Why don't YOU be the "logical" one? Tell me, have you EVER had an opponent that took your "advice?" Was there ever a time in your career when your opponent didn't show up for a match because he was afraid? And if, by some luck, it HAS happened, then how often?
Your idle threats of ending my career fail to phase me, Golem. To tell you the truth, I've heard worse from schoolyard bullies. You could have been original, but instead you copped out with the lamest heel line in the book. Needless to say, I expected MORE from a man who was personally invited to compete at the FWSS.
Let me tell you something, Golem... broken bones don't end careers. You see, the body eventually heals itself, no matter what the damage, so long as it's non-fatal. You can break my arms and legs, but I'll simply wait for the bones to mend... then I'll be back in the gym, and eventually back in the ring, after a brief absence. But careers don't end because of broken bones. They end because of broken hearts.
People pool all of their emotions and dreams together, and it becomes a full-scale mental burden in the ring. When these people lose matches, the shame becomes intolerable... and they promptly leave the sport. Simply put, some people aren't cut out to be full-time wrestlers. Others, rather than carrying this emotion with them, mask it over with a bunch of fake-o charisma and gimmicks. Giving yourself an undoubtedly lame name and trying to act all cool and collective when it's obvious you have no idea what you're talking about is a sure indicator of these kinds of wrestlers.
These people don't find humiliation with losing... rather, they choose to pretend it never happened. At first, it's just a harmless cover-up, meant to make the speaker look better in the lime-light. But eventually, it gets so blown up and out of hand that the liar becomes the believer of his own false story. Leads to misdirection and more close-mindedness... all sorts of bad stuff that can lead a well-talented man's career into the crapper if he doesn't get his sh*t straight in the ring.
Something about you reminds me of this type, Golem.
(Simple shrug.)
Stephen Waltz
Granted, I think you're a talented man... I think, in some ways, you deserve to be on this event more than I do. Hell, in the long run, I might even say that you are in many ways the better athlete. But when it comes to now... THIS match, in THIS event... your promo has it's own proof of what you are...
And whatever it is, it's not ready... not prepared or focused on victory. Too self-absorbed and ignorant to be ready for the rolling boulder of fire and energy coming down on you. And the sad thing is, someone like me... a man who is just passing out of the phase of "relative newcomer," has to show you like it is.
Watching your promo made me proud of myself. I realized that in the short time I've been doing pro wrestling, I've made great strides. Because watching that promo... one done by a seasoned veteran... it becomes quite obvious that the time you spend in the ring doesn't make the better man. It's the soul and mind, and flesh and bones.
I don't promise victory. I only promise that I'll give a good, wholesome fight, and that I'll do anything it takes to win. No matter the outcome, I know I can handle myself; but can you, Golem? You seem to be a single-tracked individual who thinks only of victory and beyond. I hate to break that false reality, but this is going to be no easy task for you. In fact, with my dedication and strength, I will be sure to make it an impossibility.
You and I will be attached by a chain... and like you say, there will be one survivor, and one who is dragged. Problem is, Golem... the latter seems to apply to YOU in more ways. You obviously dragged through much of that promo without getting to much of a point. Furthermore, as detailed in your work at Empire Pro, X-Ecutioner does his share of dragging you through match after match of the federation's tag team circuit.
But when it comes to a linked chain, do you think you can break that motif? Do you think you're strong and skillful enough to outwrestle a man whom you only know in the wrong sense, who has made waves throughout the industry, and has lost to only TWO men in his entire career?
The only hope you have, Golem, is the fact that I perform less than my abilities permit in these special gimmick matches. My training and upbringing were strictly within the standard rules of the ring, set for pinning your opponent for three counts. But something tells me that even that won't be enough for you.
I hope you want this match more than I do... or you might be in for one bad evening.
(No longer smiling that jovial, youthful grin, Waltz turns away from the camera, completely sobered and solemn, and reenters the ballroom where the socializing continues. He walks by the young couple that came out earlier, now locked within a passionate embrance. Quickly, he averts his eyes and disappears into the crowd inside as we fade out.)
SCENE ENDS
