jayshort
Long Live THE KING
Orlando, Florida is and will always be the tourist capital of the world. It has so much to offer the public in terms of live entertainment. The amusement parks ... the family oriented atmostphere generally made visitors want to stay. Orlando was magical.
fade- in:
The scene up somewhere in Orlando, Florida. There were no signs to direct you. ...nothing bright and flashy to tell you your exact location. But, as the camera zoomed in, blurry, at first... it centered on an individual in a wife- beater, black swishy sweats, and wrestling boots. His hair was wet, one would assume from sweat, and he looked borderline exhausted.
He turned his head, slightly, facing the camera. The technician holding the heavy piece of equipment must've been paid a little extra on this night, as he took his time, focusing in on every wrinkly... dimple... and, expression. Finally, after minutes of footage, he panned backwards, as it became clearer as to who it was ... the "Blue- Eyed Badass" ... "Triple X" Sean Stevens.
"I'm not a bullsh#t artist, so I'm not even gonna pretend I know what's going on around here. Let me see if I got this straight," He glanced up at the camera. "I've been in the CSWA for two years, and for two years I've done everything asked of me. I was brought here for a reason, and no matter who they threw in front of me, I did what I've always done better than everybody else. ...and, that's put them down."
He ran his fingers through his long golden, pony-tailed hair.
"I've surpassed the group that came here with me, and I'm on a level that a lot of the people who were here before me wish they could be. ...why? Because I'm the best. And, I'm not shy about proving it. I've taken advantage of close to every opportunity presented to me in this damned promotion, whether it meant, b#tchslapping Gemini and... Gemini... or proving to Mike Plett who the leader of this new generation of CSWA superstars really is."
"I'm the best because I work harder than everybody else. F#ck Evan Aho's delusions of being the only focused wrestler on the roster. I'm the best because I know my craft, to a tee. ...and, to hell with whoever thinks I don't. I'm better than Hornet - and, I proved it. Better than my good friend Eli Flair - and, even though he's too stubborn to admit it, in the back of his mind, he knows I am. Why am I telling you this? It's simple. Last week I wrestled one of the most dominant former CSWA champions of all time, Deacon. ...and, you know what happened? Fair and square, in the center of my ring, I beat that man. No outside interference, no cheap shots, no questions asked..."
"So can somebody explain to me why in the hell I'm not wrestling at "Battle of the Belts"?
He paused, as if he was thinking over his last question. Quite possibly pondering his next. He cracked his neck, as a door - to the left of him - swung open, and a couple of men - older, heavy set, one in a sweated out white t-shirt, the other in grey - walked by. They nodded, he nodded, before returning his attention to the camera.
"Troy Windham will tell me it's because I'm not "Mister CSWA", or some sh#t that the writers had him recite to you. Thing is, if being "Mr. CSWA" means dressing up like some clown, talking nonsense that nobody understands, because I've obviously suffered an identity crisis, then I don't want to be. But, Troy... do the world a favor... look in the mirror..."
"...you're not black."
"Poison Ivy's gave me a truck load of excuses in an effort to keep me calm, but the fact of the matter is... I'm not calm. I'm not some dollar- a- dozen curtain jerker, and I refuse to be whored to this political system we call wrestling."
"I... am... the... best."
"I should be wrestling for somebody's championship belt, but I'm not, because I was overlooked. Well, to hell with that. Merritt, I don't know what they've put in your prescription pills, but clearly, you're insane. After everything that I've done for this fed, I gave you my blood, my sweat, and my tears, and all I ever asked in return was respect. Now... I feel disrespected. Anytime I beat one of your top superstars in the center of the ring, clean, and I'm held off of one of the biggest pay per views of the year... means you don't respect me like you do others."
"So, since the respect card has been thrown out of the window, know this, I'll be at "Battle of the Belts". And, no... I'm not coming there with a microphone in hand, to talk a bunch of sh#t without acting. ...there's only one set of "Intruders" here, and I don't want to be them. I'm coming to make some things right. ...and, you had better rest assured knowing... that when I leave, things will be how they're supposed to be."
"Don't bother calling me, my mind is made up. I'll see you, Merritt... at "Battle of the Belts". If you're a fan of breathing, if I were you, I'd see to it that we didn't bump into each other."
Stevens turned his back to the camera, shaking his head in disagreement, as the camera slowly faded out.
fade- to- black
fade- in:
The scene up somewhere in Orlando, Florida. There were no signs to direct you. ...nothing bright and flashy to tell you your exact location. But, as the camera zoomed in, blurry, at first... it centered on an individual in a wife- beater, black swishy sweats, and wrestling boots. His hair was wet, one would assume from sweat, and he looked borderline exhausted.
He turned his head, slightly, facing the camera. The technician holding the heavy piece of equipment must've been paid a little extra on this night, as he took his time, focusing in on every wrinkly... dimple... and, expression. Finally, after minutes of footage, he panned backwards, as it became clearer as to who it was ... the "Blue- Eyed Badass" ... "Triple X" Sean Stevens.
"I'm not a bullsh#t artist, so I'm not even gonna pretend I know what's going on around here. Let me see if I got this straight," He glanced up at the camera. "I've been in the CSWA for two years, and for two years I've done everything asked of me. I was brought here for a reason, and no matter who they threw in front of me, I did what I've always done better than everybody else. ...and, that's put them down."
He ran his fingers through his long golden, pony-tailed hair.
"I've surpassed the group that came here with me, and I'm on a level that a lot of the people who were here before me wish they could be. ...why? Because I'm the best. And, I'm not shy about proving it. I've taken advantage of close to every opportunity presented to me in this damned promotion, whether it meant, b#tchslapping Gemini and... Gemini... or proving to Mike Plett who the leader of this new generation of CSWA superstars really is."
"I'm the best because I work harder than everybody else. F#ck Evan Aho's delusions of being the only focused wrestler on the roster. I'm the best because I know my craft, to a tee. ...and, to hell with whoever thinks I don't. I'm better than Hornet - and, I proved it. Better than my good friend Eli Flair - and, even though he's too stubborn to admit it, in the back of his mind, he knows I am. Why am I telling you this? It's simple. Last week I wrestled one of the most dominant former CSWA champions of all time, Deacon. ...and, you know what happened? Fair and square, in the center of my ring, I beat that man. No outside interference, no cheap shots, no questions asked..."
"So can somebody explain to me why in the hell I'm not wrestling at "Battle of the Belts"?
He paused, as if he was thinking over his last question. Quite possibly pondering his next. He cracked his neck, as a door - to the left of him - swung open, and a couple of men - older, heavy set, one in a sweated out white t-shirt, the other in grey - walked by. They nodded, he nodded, before returning his attention to the camera.
"Troy Windham will tell me it's because I'm not "Mister CSWA", or some sh#t that the writers had him recite to you. Thing is, if being "Mr. CSWA" means dressing up like some clown, talking nonsense that nobody understands, because I've obviously suffered an identity crisis, then I don't want to be. But, Troy... do the world a favor... look in the mirror..."
"...you're not black."
"Poison Ivy's gave me a truck load of excuses in an effort to keep me calm, but the fact of the matter is... I'm not calm. I'm not some dollar- a- dozen curtain jerker, and I refuse to be whored to this political system we call wrestling."
"I... am... the... best."
"I should be wrestling for somebody's championship belt, but I'm not, because I was overlooked. Well, to hell with that. Merritt, I don't know what they've put in your prescription pills, but clearly, you're insane. After everything that I've done for this fed, I gave you my blood, my sweat, and my tears, and all I ever asked in return was respect. Now... I feel disrespected. Anytime I beat one of your top superstars in the center of the ring, clean, and I'm held off of one of the biggest pay per views of the year... means you don't respect me like you do others."
"So, since the respect card has been thrown out of the window, know this, I'll be at "Battle of the Belts". And, no... I'm not coming there with a microphone in hand, to talk a bunch of sh#t without acting. ...there's only one set of "Intruders" here, and I don't want to be them. I'm coming to make some things right. ...and, you had better rest assured knowing... that when I leave, things will be how they're supposed to be."
"Don't bother calling me, my mind is made up. I'll see you, Merritt... at "Battle of the Belts". If you're a fan of breathing, if I were you, I'd see to it that we didn't bump into each other."
Stevens turned his back to the camera, shaking his head in disagreement, as the camera slowly faded out.
fade- to- black