jayshort
Long Live THE KING
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Sep-09-02 AT 12:54 PM (EDT)]"When I said that you've never seen anything like me, and, that you never would again... I wasn't speaking for my health. Do us all a favor – and, in US I mean everybody, the wrestler's backstage, front office officials, our fans, and even the popcorn venders, and ringcrew – don't play on our intelligence. Just because Mark Windham says something doesn't necessarily make it any more valid than what Joe Blow standing on the corner of 'insanity boulevard', with an empty 'Jack Daniels' bottle in his hand, said just moments earlier. You don't know me... and, no... you didn't lie... you don't give a damn about me either. If I died tomorrow, you'd probably shake your head and say: 'Too Bad', but that'd be the extent of it. Don't throw me in the same crowd as this man, or that man, or what you've seen in all your years in this business."
fade- in:
[small]Sean Stevens leaned back against the fence, directly in front of the house, behind him. His location was unclear, but one would assume, he was in his hometown, Orlando, Florida… with Primetime being around the corner. He was clad in a long sleeved, crew neck, black fitted shirt, black sweatpants, with grey stripes down the side, and black quarter cut, boots. His hair was hanging just above his shoulders, and he was sporting a week old, bit of peach fuzz under his chin. He looked down, for moment, collecting his thoughts, before re- focusing his attention to the camera, that had never left his presense.[/small]
"I am Michael Jordan. Muhammad Ali. Wayne Gretzky. Jerry Rice... and Babe Ruth."
[small]He paused again, before grinning ear- to- ear.[/small]
"Well... not exactly, but I think you catch my drift. I pride myself on being the very best this industry has to offer, and if I'm not there yet, I'm damned close. A couple of years ago, I was nothing important here, and while your brother Troy, and Hornet may not have seen anything in me, I saw all that I needed to see in myself. Some people are a dime a dozen... not me. I'm special... one of the ones God put his hand on. ...and, in being special, and in being bold enough to tag myself as the future of this industry, and the very best there is, I fully intend on surpassing any and every accomplishment YOU made here. And, you're right... the CSWA World Heavyweight Championship won't MAKE people look at me the way I intend on being looked at, but it works both ways, because if I NEVER win it, I won't get the attention that I need to get, to prove what I've set out to prove. In your eyes, I'm damned if I do... in mine, I'm even more damned if I don't.
"Unless that kid never had an imagination, it's pretty much safe to say, every kid envisioned themselves being somebody else. You probably idolized Bob Backlund, or Pedro Martinez just as much as I wanted to be the 'Greatest American Hero'. But, one thing's for sure, Mark... you can't judge me now, by how I acted and reacted then. When I was a child I thought like one, reacted to situations like one, and did things children do. When, I became a man...
"...I became what you see before you. ...triple- X."
[small]Sean stuck his hand inside his pocket, and pulled out a cough drop… unwrapping it, he stuck it in his mouth.[/small]
"And, Triple X doesn't want to BE anybody but Triple X. I'm not infatuated with the idea of living the life of another man, and if I were ever presented with the opportunity and choice to either have CSWA's promotional machine stand behind me, and shove me down the throats of America, and be like Hornet, or be Hornet's opponent, my choice would be the latter.
"I'm not coming to Charleston to stand and stare, in awe of you... I'm coming to make you bleed. I'm not wrestling you to add another legend's name to my resume, or to have someone tell me afterwards: 'Nice try... maybe next time'. I'm wrestling you to take your f#ck#ng CSWA World Title. Regardless of which Mark Windham shows up to Charleston – the focused one, or the focused on TROY one – I plan on winning. Why? Because I honestly don't think you can handle me. I don't think an amped, psyched Mark Windham can beat me on my worst day, even though I realize things sometimes have a way of... happening. I *know* you can multi- task. But, I also know something you either are too stupid to know... or deliberately choose not to know... something I've been trying to tell you for weeks now, that you obviously refuse to insert into your thick skull – I am not like anything you've ever seen.
"And, if you want to bow out gracefully, atleast putting up a decent fight. I suggest you forget Troy ever existed for a day. But, who am I? I'm just a kid, right? I'm not Hornet... and, don't have a famous last name... fine. I accept that. But, after I beat you, one- two- three, and you're looking up at the lights, wondering how your long, dramatic, comeback campaign to the title ended on such a sour note...
"...don't say I didn't warn you...
"Oh, and Deacon... this is my title shot."
[small]He smirked.[/small]
If you... not mind... Stay out of my business."
[small]Sean stood where he was for a couple of seconds, before turning his back on the camera, as it recorded his final steps, before fading to an “ON TIME” promo, before finally fading out.[/small]
fade- to- black
fade- in:
[small]Sean Stevens leaned back against the fence, directly in front of the house, behind him. His location was unclear, but one would assume, he was in his hometown, Orlando, Florida… with Primetime being around the corner. He was clad in a long sleeved, crew neck, black fitted shirt, black sweatpants, with grey stripes down the side, and black quarter cut, boots. His hair was hanging just above his shoulders, and he was sporting a week old, bit of peach fuzz under his chin. He looked down, for moment, collecting his thoughts, before re- focusing his attention to the camera, that had never left his presense.[/small]
"I am Michael Jordan. Muhammad Ali. Wayne Gretzky. Jerry Rice... and Babe Ruth."
[small]He paused again, before grinning ear- to- ear.[/small]
"Well... not exactly, but I think you catch my drift. I pride myself on being the very best this industry has to offer, and if I'm not there yet, I'm damned close. A couple of years ago, I was nothing important here, and while your brother Troy, and Hornet may not have seen anything in me, I saw all that I needed to see in myself. Some people are a dime a dozen... not me. I'm special... one of the ones God put his hand on. ...and, in being special, and in being bold enough to tag myself as the future of this industry, and the very best there is, I fully intend on surpassing any and every accomplishment YOU made here. And, you're right... the CSWA World Heavyweight Championship won't MAKE people look at me the way I intend on being looked at, but it works both ways, because if I NEVER win it, I won't get the attention that I need to get, to prove what I've set out to prove. In your eyes, I'm damned if I do... in mine, I'm even more damned if I don't.
"Unless that kid never had an imagination, it's pretty much safe to say, every kid envisioned themselves being somebody else. You probably idolized Bob Backlund, or Pedro Martinez just as much as I wanted to be the 'Greatest American Hero'. But, one thing's for sure, Mark... you can't judge me now, by how I acted and reacted then. When I was a child I thought like one, reacted to situations like one, and did things children do. When, I became a man...
"...I became what you see before you. ...triple- X."
[small]Sean stuck his hand inside his pocket, and pulled out a cough drop… unwrapping it, he stuck it in his mouth.[/small]
"And, Triple X doesn't want to BE anybody but Triple X. I'm not infatuated with the idea of living the life of another man, and if I were ever presented with the opportunity and choice to either have CSWA's promotional machine stand behind me, and shove me down the throats of America, and be like Hornet, or be Hornet's opponent, my choice would be the latter.
"I'm not coming to Charleston to stand and stare, in awe of you... I'm coming to make you bleed. I'm not wrestling you to add another legend's name to my resume, or to have someone tell me afterwards: 'Nice try... maybe next time'. I'm wrestling you to take your f#ck#ng CSWA World Title. Regardless of which Mark Windham shows up to Charleston – the focused one, or the focused on TROY one – I plan on winning. Why? Because I honestly don't think you can handle me. I don't think an amped, psyched Mark Windham can beat me on my worst day, even though I realize things sometimes have a way of... happening. I *know* you can multi- task. But, I also know something you either are too stupid to know... or deliberately choose not to know... something I've been trying to tell you for weeks now, that you obviously refuse to insert into your thick skull – I am not like anything you've ever seen.
"And, if you want to bow out gracefully, atleast putting up a decent fight. I suggest you forget Troy ever existed for a day. But, who am I? I'm just a kid, right? I'm not Hornet... and, don't have a famous last name... fine. I accept that. But, after I beat you, one- two- three, and you're looking up at the lights, wondering how your long, dramatic, comeback campaign to the title ended on such a sour note...
"...don't say I didn't warn you...
"Oh, and Deacon... this is my title shot."
[small]He smirked.[/small]
If you... not mind... Stay out of my business."
[small]Sean stood where he was for a couple of seconds, before turning his back on the camera, as it recorded his final steps, before fading to an “ON TIME” promo, before finally fading out.[/small]
fade- to- black