Roleplay period starts on Wednesday, April 25 and ends Tuesday, May 1. 2 roleplay max in this round.
Round 1: Deacon vs. Rezin
- Thread starter Chad
- Start date
Deacon
Member
(Chris Shepherd sits on a rock. Across his lap he holds, not his normal Shepherd Staff, but a walking stick as plain as the ground around it. All around him, rust-colored, stony desert spread across the vista with no more vegetation than a few scattered spurts reaching up for life, but a good deal more already given up, dead. With khaki shorts that seem to match the surroundings, the only color is found on his white t-shirt, nearly as blinding as the sun. It lacks any sort of decoration. If it were possible, Chris’ face looked much the same, as barren as this location. )
When Deacon wants to get away, to consider things, he goes home to the Appalachian Mountains. For him, it’s a refreshing breath of life in an otherwise crazy world. And after growing up in Egypt, I’d bet it’s more than a little due to the fact green life surrounds him there. When I need to get away, when I need to spend time alone with God, I come here where the only thing to distract you is you. No life. Not even an insect can be found. It speaks volumes about the differences between he and I. Normally, when I speak, it is for us. Please don’t think me arrogant when I say - this time, it will begin with me.
(Chris puts his staff into the ground and pushes up. Sweat rings his armpits and forces his long blond hair to stick to his face.
He stands there for a moment, collecting his thoughts or building his strength. Or both. And then turns back to the camera.)
As I sat down to prepare these words, I was a bit lost. I searched the internet for the “angle”. I considered how odd the return of such a tournament mirrored our own plans in NFW with the Triple Crown championship. I read books and found quotes. I prayed, or like to think I prayed. And I came up with an idea playing off of the concept of 40 days, even using this arid environment all around me. It held promise, with connections to Deacon’s own journey in this tournament, of the trials he will face and the ending for which he hopes. It sounded good to my ears in that format. But not to my soul.
(With the end of his staff, Chris begins to pry at a small rock formation, knocking the top rock loose and letting it tumble down a sharp embankment.)
I buried those troubling thoughts as I listened to the Ultratitle Tournament experts tell the world that the 4th bracket was the toughest bracket and those same experts say that Deacon versus Rezin would be the toughest 1st round matchup of that toughest bracket. Seeing the man he would face in action, I knew it would be a battle like few others Deacon had faced, and it excited me. But it didn’t excite my soul.
(Chris begins to walk, using the staff but not needing to lean on it. Not yet.)
I buried those troubling thoughts as well, hiding them from myself and from Deacon, until I got an invite to speak as part of a Christian event. I went and did my time – smiling, telling a few jokes, doing a bit of sleight of hand before leading people to the inevitable finish of “Faith is the Evidence.” It was well received by all. But not to my soul.
(He begins a steep decline. Each step, he slows to check his footing before moving on down the barely perceptible trail.)
I smiled and accepted the admiration of others as a band performed. They were good, but I’d seen better concerts. The lead singer was static with a decent voice. The performers were excellent on their instruments, but the music itself didn’t inspire. I relaxed and stared at my cell phone until he spoke. Now, I’ve done this schtick for a lot of years, more than I care to remember, but I always pause to see if I can pick up any new tricks – discern how the speaker works a crowd to garner their reaction, much like a magician seeing a new illusion and analyzing how it’s done.
(Chris’ footing slips causing him to go down to one knee. With his staff, he pushes himself back to a standing position. He stands there, resets his footing, and then continues.)
His story was one of abuse and a broken home, drugs and depression, loneliness and despair. It ended in reconciliation and forgiveness, not just for him, but for both of his parents in a most surprising way. As I watched this performer finish his speech, one thing struck me. Not the eloquence of his words, for I could’ve done better with a head cold. I was struck by his honesty. And as he expressed how he’d failed as a husband, I was struck by his openness. And as he challenged the crowd to go deeper, I was struck by his simplicity. And as he spoke, I was convicted of my own failings – of leading Deacon into this tournament for nothing more than my vainglory, for my pompous attitude in my abilities to illustrate the greater meanings of faith, and for my inability to be, above all, honest. As this performer had always done, he offered a place to pray for those seeking a closer relationship with God through this Jesus.
(In the bottom of the small ravine, Chris leans against his staff staring ahead, as if sizing up his next part in the journey.)
Now, I’d heard countless such “altar calls” before, felt similar convictions as now, and sought God from my chair. God would answer my prayer regardless of where I was, and besides, I knew those around me would wonder, question why one so “strong in the faith” and so well-versed in its teachings, would do this most basic of actions; I could injure their walk with Christ. But on this night for the first time in years, I ran to this offered spot like it was the only place God would ever meet me. It wasn’t because God was only in that spot; it was because if I stayed in the back with my air of self-worth, God could do nothing with me, and that scared me more than any of the eyes that would stare as I – the man who’d just spoke, the man who’d just taught – dropped to his knees in the mud. I wasn’t there to lead others toward this Jesus. I was there to crawl just a little bit closer toward a real, honest relationship with my God.
(Chris begins to walk again, at least until the incline steepens, not quite requiring a repel cord, but certainly requiring a more concerted effort from the climber.)
From some, just as I’d feared, the eyes were there, whether judging my actions or questioning them, I didn’t know. My eyes were there too, seeing me for who I was, but more importantly, seeing this Savior for who He was. And as I prayed, I realized the eyes of God were there, seeing beyond my actions to the intentions of my heart. And accepting and loving me anyways.
(Chris takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and then begins to push forward, or upward as the case may be.)
I knew I had to tell Deacon, to apologize for my influencing his career, to beg his forgiveness for not being the man he thought I was. Do you know what that big, mute freak said? (On corner of Chris’ lips turned up in a lopsided grin as he shook his head.) In his unmistakable way, he said he knew who I was all along – a fellow traveler. He said God was in control of his career, that if he won or lost, it had nothing to do with me. If Deacon overwhelmed this Rezin or was sent out in round one, two or seven, it wouldn’t change who either of us were and regardless of it being in the later rounds or not, the message would go forth. The Deacon reminded me that…
(Burnt out brush appears on the right side encapsulating the entire panorama.)
To live is Christ. To die is gain. Not the wrestling move, but the life lived.
(The camera cuts in close to Chris, so close you can see the sweat flowing, even if you don’t have HD.)
Before, I’d told Deacon of how this Ultratitle tournament would give us an opportunity to spread the message. Now, Deacon told me that he believed, when we fall at God’s throne and he opens the shutters of our mind to see all that we missed while on earth, we will find that God had appointed the words spoken by this singer and the resulting honesty in which I dealt with Deacon. The words I now shared with you. And that we’d find that God orchestrated the impact on me to allow these words now.
(For the first time, Chris smiles, leaving the trail and walking along the mountainside, using his cane in spots and his hand against the rocks in others.)
And when Deacon was done, I remembered some core truths. This isn’t about a match, because Deacon at his core isn’t just a wrestler. This isn’t about a tournament, because our faith at its core will never be eliminated. This isn’t about a championship, because the title we seek can never be given by man alone. Rezin will be there, doing what he does best. Deacon will be there, and I pray will be as dominating as he can. And the 2nd round will be there for the one who puts the other down for three seconds. But however long Deacon allows me, I will be there as a man, more honest than I started and more hopeful in the simple fact that I listened to the voice of God, at least in ignoring what others thought on one night. And in the end, I pray my suggestion to the Deacon to even undertake such a thing as the Ultratitle, selfish as it was, will be used by God in ways I can’t fathom. Deacon believes it will, and honestly, I’m TRYING to believe it will too. This time, I have no evidence save one – the faith I find in Deacon’s eyes, the faith I’ve seen triumph in greater battles than anything this Ultratitle can give, and the faith that will be on display against Rezin.
(For the first time, we can see Chris’ destination. Though technically a cave, it’s not much deeper than a shack, but it provides shelter from the sun. Chris steps into the shade and pulls his shirt away from his skin as he looks at the camera with a nod.)
Because that’s who Deacon is. And honestly, that’s undeniably good to my soul.
(CUT)
When Deacon wants to get away, to consider things, he goes home to the Appalachian Mountains. For him, it’s a refreshing breath of life in an otherwise crazy world. And after growing up in Egypt, I’d bet it’s more than a little due to the fact green life surrounds him there. When I need to get away, when I need to spend time alone with God, I come here where the only thing to distract you is you. No life. Not even an insect can be found. It speaks volumes about the differences between he and I. Normally, when I speak, it is for us. Please don’t think me arrogant when I say - this time, it will begin with me.
(Chris puts his staff into the ground and pushes up. Sweat rings his armpits and forces his long blond hair to stick to his face.
He stands there for a moment, collecting his thoughts or building his strength. Or both. And then turns back to the camera.)
As I sat down to prepare these words, I was a bit lost. I searched the internet for the “angle”. I considered how odd the return of such a tournament mirrored our own plans in NFW with the Triple Crown championship. I read books and found quotes. I prayed, or like to think I prayed. And I came up with an idea playing off of the concept of 40 days, even using this arid environment all around me. It held promise, with connections to Deacon’s own journey in this tournament, of the trials he will face and the ending for which he hopes. It sounded good to my ears in that format. But not to my soul.
(With the end of his staff, Chris begins to pry at a small rock formation, knocking the top rock loose and letting it tumble down a sharp embankment.)
I buried those troubling thoughts as I listened to the Ultratitle Tournament experts tell the world that the 4th bracket was the toughest bracket and those same experts say that Deacon versus Rezin would be the toughest 1st round matchup of that toughest bracket. Seeing the man he would face in action, I knew it would be a battle like few others Deacon had faced, and it excited me. But it didn’t excite my soul.
(Chris begins to walk, using the staff but not needing to lean on it. Not yet.)
I buried those troubling thoughts as well, hiding them from myself and from Deacon, until I got an invite to speak as part of a Christian event. I went and did my time – smiling, telling a few jokes, doing a bit of sleight of hand before leading people to the inevitable finish of “Faith is the Evidence.” It was well received by all. But not to my soul.
(He begins a steep decline. Each step, he slows to check his footing before moving on down the barely perceptible trail.)
I smiled and accepted the admiration of others as a band performed. They were good, but I’d seen better concerts. The lead singer was static with a decent voice. The performers were excellent on their instruments, but the music itself didn’t inspire. I relaxed and stared at my cell phone until he spoke. Now, I’ve done this schtick for a lot of years, more than I care to remember, but I always pause to see if I can pick up any new tricks – discern how the speaker works a crowd to garner their reaction, much like a magician seeing a new illusion and analyzing how it’s done.
(Chris’ footing slips causing him to go down to one knee. With his staff, he pushes himself back to a standing position. He stands there, resets his footing, and then continues.)
His story was one of abuse and a broken home, drugs and depression, loneliness and despair. It ended in reconciliation and forgiveness, not just for him, but for both of his parents in a most surprising way. As I watched this performer finish his speech, one thing struck me. Not the eloquence of his words, for I could’ve done better with a head cold. I was struck by his honesty. And as he expressed how he’d failed as a husband, I was struck by his openness. And as he challenged the crowd to go deeper, I was struck by his simplicity. And as he spoke, I was convicted of my own failings – of leading Deacon into this tournament for nothing more than my vainglory, for my pompous attitude in my abilities to illustrate the greater meanings of faith, and for my inability to be, above all, honest. As this performer had always done, he offered a place to pray for those seeking a closer relationship with God through this Jesus.
(In the bottom of the small ravine, Chris leans against his staff staring ahead, as if sizing up his next part in the journey.)
Now, I’d heard countless such “altar calls” before, felt similar convictions as now, and sought God from my chair. God would answer my prayer regardless of where I was, and besides, I knew those around me would wonder, question why one so “strong in the faith” and so well-versed in its teachings, would do this most basic of actions; I could injure their walk with Christ. But on this night for the first time in years, I ran to this offered spot like it was the only place God would ever meet me. It wasn’t because God was only in that spot; it was because if I stayed in the back with my air of self-worth, God could do nothing with me, and that scared me more than any of the eyes that would stare as I – the man who’d just spoke, the man who’d just taught – dropped to his knees in the mud. I wasn’t there to lead others toward this Jesus. I was there to crawl just a little bit closer toward a real, honest relationship with my God.
(Chris begins to walk again, at least until the incline steepens, not quite requiring a repel cord, but certainly requiring a more concerted effort from the climber.)
From some, just as I’d feared, the eyes were there, whether judging my actions or questioning them, I didn’t know. My eyes were there too, seeing me for who I was, but more importantly, seeing this Savior for who He was. And as I prayed, I realized the eyes of God were there, seeing beyond my actions to the intentions of my heart. And accepting and loving me anyways.
(Chris takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and then begins to push forward, or upward as the case may be.)
I knew I had to tell Deacon, to apologize for my influencing his career, to beg his forgiveness for not being the man he thought I was. Do you know what that big, mute freak said? (On corner of Chris’ lips turned up in a lopsided grin as he shook his head.) In his unmistakable way, he said he knew who I was all along – a fellow traveler. He said God was in control of his career, that if he won or lost, it had nothing to do with me. If Deacon overwhelmed this Rezin or was sent out in round one, two or seven, it wouldn’t change who either of us were and regardless of it being in the later rounds or not, the message would go forth. The Deacon reminded me that…
(Burnt out brush appears on the right side encapsulating the entire panorama.)
To live is Christ. To die is gain. Not the wrestling move, but the life lived.
(The camera cuts in close to Chris, so close you can see the sweat flowing, even if you don’t have HD.)
Before, I’d told Deacon of how this Ultratitle tournament would give us an opportunity to spread the message. Now, Deacon told me that he believed, when we fall at God’s throne and he opens the shutters of our mind to see all that we missed while on earth, we will find that God had appointed the words spoken by this singer and the resulting honesty in which I dealt with Deacon. The words I now shared with you. And that we’d find that God orchestrated the impact on me to allow these words now.
(For the first time, Chris smiles, leaving the trail and walking along the mountainside, using his cane in spots and his hand against the rocks in others.)
And when Deacon was done, I remembered some core truths. This isn’t about a match, because Deacon at his core isn’t just a wrestler. This isn’t about a tournament, because our faith at its core will never be eliminated. This isn’t about a championship, because the title we seek can never be given by man alone. Rezin will be there, doing what he does best. Deacon will be there, and I pray will be as dominating as he can. And the 2nd round will be there for the one who puts the other down for three seconds. But however long Deacon allows me, I will be there as a man, more honest than I started and more hopeful in the simple fact that I listened to the voice of God, at least in ignoring what others thought on one night. And in the end, I pray my suggestion to the Deacon to even undertake such a thing as the Ultratitle, selfish as it was, will be used by God in ways I can’t fathom. Deacon believes it will, and honestly, I’m TRYING to believe it will too. This time, I have no evidence save one – the faith I find in Deacon’s eyes, the faith I’ve seen triumph in greater battles than anything this Ultratitle can give, and the faith that will be on display against Rezin.
(For the first time, we can see Chris’ destination. Though technically a cave, it’s not much deeper than a shack, but it provides shelter from the sun. Chris steps into the shade and pulls his shirt away from his skin as he looks at the camera with a nod.)
Because that’s who Deacon is. And honestly, that’s undeniably good to my soul.
(CUT)
Deacon
Member
Backstage of the arena, Chris Shepherd pulled his bags through the door. He’d packed light, he was sure of it, but somehow they still felt like he’d packed enough weights for Deacon to carry on a full workout. He scanned the area looking for the trail of wrestlers and “personalities” that would inevitably lead to the dressing room. His schedule’d been hectic, increasingly complicated by the UltraTitle tournament, but that was as it should be – something this big should never come easy, not for him anymore than Deacon. So, to carry his end he’d taken on an increase in publicity, both for Deacon’s bracket as well as others, staying up late to do a TV spot and getting up early to be interviewed by radio shows. It was a result of a reality he’d come to understand years ago – Deacon reached a crowd no one could even touch. If all of this work was for someone else, he might’ve said no. But it was Merritt, and more importantly, in spite of his own misgivings, he still held hope that God would use this as a way to spread the message as never before. And if nothing else, he’d have a solid example for the next time someone asked how Christ’s strength could be evident in our weakness. Right now, weakness seemed to be all Chris had.
“Mr. Shepherd,” the shout came from a young man. Chris smiled at the thought, realizing that to him, mid-thirties was now, officially called young. He’d seen the kid around the backstage working various jobs with ESEN, but he’d never learned his name. Chris felt that prick in his chest. He’d had ample opportunity, but he’d never taken the time to even learn it.
“Call me Chris,” Shepherd said.
The kid smiled and gave a curt nod. “I need an answer.”
“To be clichéd, I could tell you how Jesus is the answer but I’d best wait for the question. Hate to find out Jesus is the answer to who parked in the fire zone.”
“If Jesus did, I’m sure Merritt would still have him towed. Damn the consequences, in this case an eternal fire zone.”
Chris laughed, partly because it was the obvious response and partly because it was true. “What do you need, Mister…” Chris paused giving the kid a chance to respond. If Chris was anything, it was quick to fix his mistakes. At least today.
“Eugene. But most everyone back here calls me Gene.”
Most everyone. Meaning, everyone who bothered to learn it. “Great,” Chris said giving his best handshake. “Now what’s the question?”
“We’re filming some last second promo material to entertain the fans. We were wondering if you wanted to use one of the many you already did or to do one now?”
Chris glanced around. “Like right now?”
“Well, when you’re ready,” Eugene said as he glanced at his cell phone.
That didn’t sound as bad. “Sure. Let me get settled. I can be back and prepared in around, say, an hour?”
Eugene glanced down.
“Un,” Chris began, “less you need it sooner.”
“How about,” Eugene said as he glanced at his cell phone, “ten minutes?”
Chris nodded. It wasn’t so much the need to adapt that concerned him - it was the need to put something worthwhile together in such short time. And given he’d not seen anything new from Rezin, it meant he still lacked anything to go off of, always a daunting challenge when trying not to bore people to tears.
Phone still in hand, Eugene glaring at it like it’d just stole his candy, he thanked Chris and rushed away, putting the phone to his ear. Chris sat down his bags and racked his brain for a theme, a hook to open with. And when nothing came, he did something revolutionary - Chris prayed. It was somewhere in the midst of the prayer that a scripture came to him.
Do not worry about what to say our how to say it. The Holy Spirit will give you what to say.
He tried not to worry, lest of all about his time in front of the camera, but he preferred the Spirit to move a few hours earlier so he could make some notes!
“We’re ready for you,” Eugene shouted from in front of an Ultratitle banner.
Here goes nothing, Chris thought as he walked toward Eugene and then chided himself. He can’t think that way. As Chris walked, he whispered, “No, here comes something.”
=====
(FADE IN)
(Chris Shepherd stands in front of the Ultratitle logo. His hair isn’t slicked and his eyes seem a bit more sunken than usual, but he’s smiling just the same.)
CHRIS SHEPHERD: Last time I was on ESEN TV, I spoke about me, and I pray I tied it neatly into what Deacon and I hope to do during this tournament. This time, I don’t want this to be about me. In fact, Deacon doesn’t want it to be about him. This has to be about the business.
In 1998, Deacon entered the CSWA. It was his first real opportunity, and happened during one of wrestling’s many boom periods. Deacon entered and dominated straight out of the gate. He carried that momentum to an eventual World Title run, and many, myself included, felt it was a man reaching his destiny. And though he left in difficult circumstances, if you ask around, he left the CSWA in better shape than when he found it.
Then he went to the fWo. There, he was introduced to a new way of doing business, one that was constant, energetic, and required everything he had on a weekly basis. And at some point, people decided he wasn’t their hero. The cheers turned to jeers. You want to know what Deacon did? Same thing he’d always done and somehow, he won those people again, and that, like other times, led to another World title run. The Deacon main evented the fWo’s last two Cyberslams – once against Eli Flair and once against Jack Harmen and Vince Jacobs. It was, for all intents and purposes, the way to go out, and so Deacon did.
At least until he got a call from NFW, and shown a tape of how someone was perverting the same message Deacon had preached for years – that of a Jesus who rescues us from ourselves. It’d been replaced by a religion, worshipping not the son of God, but a wrestling family, using Christ as little more than a prop. Through the CSWA. Through the fWo. Deacon had done all to stop that, and this horrendous teaching gave him the drive to get in the ring again. But once there, his mere presence stopped this enemy, at least to any great effect, and so Deacon looked at going home or going on. Somehow, he felt he wasn’t done – he needed to go on.
At the same time, two NFW titles were languishing, or so that was what the powers that be felt. They needed to do something different, and so they took two belts to make one. When Deacon seen this, it perked his interest, not because he needed another title, but because the business needed something different – something innovative. And, Deacon felt, who better than a guy who took the message of Christ to a world who largely didn’t believe in it and left them chanting, “I Believe!” If anyone could do it, if anyone could take this belt and make it into something unique, Deacon could. Or Deacon would go home trying.
You want to know what Deacon wanted to do? You want to know what he felt the NFW was missing? Deacon wanted to make the title not a belt you carry, but a title earned in a way unseen on American television, a trophy to be grasped at the end of the battle and not one carried TO the battle. The Deacon wanted to turn this belt into nothing less than an updated version of the Ultratitle.
And wouldn’t you know it – as Deacon nears that possible goal, he learned the Ultratitle returned. I have to admit I got a bit excited, probably too much. But over these past few days as I’ve talked to Deacon, I’ve gotten excited again, this time in a different way.
Some may disagree, but I cannot see this timeline as a coincidence. What Deacon has been preparing for, fighting to become a part of, now this opportunity arrives. When we were making our run at the CSWA World Title, it was about achieving destiny.
When we were making our run for the fWo World Title, it was about solidifying who we are, but more importantly, what someone can do with Christ as their focus. And now, even as we prepared for a smaller version of this VERY TOURNAMENT, this is about both.
This is our destiny. It will label Deacon, not as a former World champion, but the 2012 Ultratitle champion. Until the man called Deacon lays that down at the feet of Christ, it will never go away. He’ll do it, not with drugs, alcohol, cheap talk or cheaper moves – he’ll do it with the same faith that has driven people for 2000 years to do miraculous things. The same Faith that has been, and will be the Evidence.
(Still in front of the banner, Chris stops and glances from the camera to where Gene had been, had being the operative word. Chris glances around and then walks off camera.)
=====
“Hey Gene,” Chris said as he walked behind him.
“I can’t deal with this,” Gene said, “not now. I’m at work.”
Can’t deal with what? Ending my promo? Chris’ question, and then realized Gene was on his cell phone.
“It’ll be alright, hon. I’ll be home soon and I’ll talk with him. Yes,” Gene said, his voice clearly exasperated, “I love you too.” But the words didn’t fit the sound. He pulled the phone from his ear, sticking it in his pocket, and then put his hands up, leaning against the wall.
He needs your answer, an urging spoke to Chris.
What was he supposed to say? He’d not known this guy’s name just moments before.
Do you so soon forget? The urging continued.
But Chris hadn’t forgotten anything, had he?
Do not worry what you will say. This time it wasn’t an urging.
Chris took a deep breath and said, “Gene.”
“I’m sorry,” Gene said, his face looking at his feet, “I’ll be right over to finish up.”
Chris could leave it alone. He could. No person would expect anymore.
“I’m not concerned about any of that,” Chris said. “I am concerned with what troubles you.”
But Chris’ expectations were not built from a person.
“Mr. Shepherd,” the shout came from a young man. Chris smiled at the thought, realizing that to him, mid-thirties was now, officially called young. He’d seen the kid around the backstage working various jobs with ESEN, but he’d never learned his name. Chris felt that prick in his chest. He’d had ample opportunity, but he’d never taken the time to even learn it.
“Call me Chris,” Shepherd said.
The kid smiled and gave a curt nod. “I need an answer.”
“To be clichéd, I could tell you how Jesus is the answer but I’d best wait for the question. Hate to find out Jesus is the answer to who parked in the fire zone.”
“If Jesus did, I’m sure Merritt would still have him towed. Damn the consequences, in this case an eternal fire zone.”
Chris laughed, partly because it was the obvious response and partly because it was true. “What do you need, Mister…” Chris paused giving the kid a chance to respond. If Chris was anything, it was quick to fix his mistakes. At least today.
“Eugene. But most everyone back here calls me Gene.”
Most everyone. Meaning, everyone who bothered to learn it. “Great,” Chris said giving his best handshake. “Now what’s the question?”
“We’re filming some last second promo material to entertain the fans. We were wondering if you wanted to use one of the many you already did or to do one now?”
Chris glanced around. “Like right now?”
“Well, when you’re ready,” Eugene said as he glanced at his cell phone.
That didn’t sound as bad. “Sure. Let me get settled. I can be back and prepared in around, say, an hour?”
Eugene glanced down.
“Un,” Chris began, “less you need it sooner.”
“How about,” Eugene said as he glanced at his cell phone, “ten minutes?”
Chris nodded. It wasn’t so much the need to adapt that concerned him - it was the need to put something worthwhile together in such short time. And given he’d not seen anything new from Rezin, it meant he still lacked anything to go off of, always a daunting challenge when trying not to bore people to tears.
Phone still in hand, Eugene glaring at it like it’d just stole his candy, he thanked Chris and rushed away, putting the phone to his ear. Chris sat down his bags and racked his brain for a theme, a hook to open with. And when nothing came, he did something revolutionary - Chris prayed. It was somewhere in the midst of the prayer that a scripture came to him.
Do not worry about what to say our how to say it. The Holy Spirit will give you what to say.
He tried not to worry, lest of all about his time in front of the camera, but he preferred the Spirit to move a few hours earlier so he could make some notes!
“We’re ready for you,” Eugene shouted from in front of an Ultratitle banner.
Here goes nothing, Chris thought as he walked toward Eugene and then chided himself. He can’t think that way. As Chris walked, he whispered, “No, here comes something.”
=====
(FADE IN)
(Chris Shepherd stands in front of the Ultratitle logo. His hair isn’t slicked and his eyes seem a bit more sunken than usual, but he’s smiling just the same.)
CHRIS SHEPHERD: Last time I was on ESEN TV, I spoke about me, and I pray I tied it neatly into what Deacon and I hope to do during this tournament. This time, I don’t want this to be about me. In fact, Deacon doesn’t want it to be about him. This has to be about the business.
In 1998, Deacon entered the CSWA. It was his first real opportunity, and happened during one of wrestling’s many boom periods. Deacon entered and dominated straight out of the gate. He carried that momentum to an eventual World Title run, and many, myself included, felt it was a man reaching his destiny. And though he left in difficult circumstances, if you ask around, he left the CSWA in better shape than when he found it.
Then he went to the fWo. There, he was introduced to a new way of doing business, one that was constant, energetic, and required everything he had on a weekly basis. And at some point, people decided he wasn’t their hero. The cheers turned to jeers. You want to know what Deacon did? Same thing he’d always done and somehow, he won those people again, and that, like other times, led to another World title run. The Deacon main evented the fWo’s last two Cyberslams – once against Eli Flair and once against Jack Harmen and Vince Jacobs. It was, for all intents and purposes, the way to go out, and so Deacon did.
At least until he got a call from NFW, and shown a tape of how someone was perverting the same message Deacon had preached for years – that of a Jesus who rescues us from ourselves. It’d been replaced by a religion, worshipping not the son of God, but a wrestling family, using Christ as little more than a prop. Through the CSWA. Through the fWo. Deacon had done all to stop that, and this horrendous teaching gave him the drive to get in the ring again. But once there, his mere presence stopped this enemy, at least to any great effect, and so Deacon looked at going home or going on. Somehow, he felt he wasn’t done – he needed to go on.
At the same time, two NFW titles were languishing, or so that was what the powers that be felt. They needed to do something different, and so they took two belts to make one. When Deacon seen this, it perked his interest, not because he needed another title, but because the business needed something different – something innovative. And, Deacon felt, who better than a guy who took the message of Christ to a world who largely didn’t believe in it and left them chanting, “I Believe!” If anyone could do it, if anyone could take this belt and make it into something unique, Deacon could. Or Deacon would go home trying.
You want to know what Deacon wanted to do? You want to know what he felt the NFW was missing? Deacon wanted to make the title not a belt you carry, but a title earned in a way unseen on American television, a trophy to be grasped at the end of the battle and not one carried TO the battle. The Deacon wanted to turn this belt into nothing less than an updated version of the Ultratitle.
And wouldn’t you know it – as Deacon nears that possible goal, he learned the Ultratitle returned. I have to admit I got a bit excited, probably too much. But over these past few days as I’ve talked to Deacon, I’ve gotten excited again, this time in a different way.
Some may disagree, but I cannot see this timeline as a coincidence. What Deacon has been preparing for, fighting to become a part of, now this opportunity arrives. When we were making our run at the CSWA World Title, it was about achieving destiny.
When we were making our run for the fWo World Title, it was about solidifying who we are, but more importantly, what someone can do with Christ as their focus. And now, even as we prepared for a smaller version of this VERY TOURNAMENT, this is about both.
This is our destiny. It will label Deacon, not as a former World champion, but the 2012 Ultratitle champion. Until the man called Deacon lays that down at the feet of Christ, it will never go away. He’ll do it, not with drugs, alcohol, cheap talk or cheaper moves – he’ll do it with the same faith that has driven people for 2000 years to do miraculous things. The same Faith that has been, and will be the Evidence.
(Still in front of the banner, Chris stops and glances from the camera to where Gene had been, had being the operative word. Chris glances around and then walks off camera.)
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“Hey Gene,” Chris said as he walked behind him.
“I can’t deal with this,” Gene said, “not now. I’m at work.”
Can’t deal with what? Ending my promo? Chris’ question, and then realized Gene was on his cell phone.
“It’ll be alright, hon. I’ll be home soon and I’ll talk with him. Yes,” Gene said, his voice clearly exasperated, “I love you too.” But the words didn’t fit the sound. He pulled the phone from his ear, sticking it in his pocket, and then put his hands up, leaning against the wall.
He needs your answer, an urging spoke to Chris.
What was he supposed to say? He’d not known this guy’s name just moments before.
Do you so soon forget? The urging continued.
But Chris hadn’t forgotten anything, had he?
Do not worry what you will say. This time it wasn’t an urging.
Chris took a deep breath and said, “Gene.”
“I’m sorry,” Gene said, his face looking at his feet, “I’ll be right over to finish up.”
Chris could leave it alone. He could. No person would expect anymore.
“I’m not concerned about any of that,” Chris said. “I am concerned with what troubles you.”
But Chris’ expectations were not built from a person.