Roleplay runs from Tuesday, May 15 to Tuesday, May 22. 2 RP minimum this round. SHOW UP! 
Round 2: Troy Windham vs. Kevin Watson
- Thread starter Chad
- Start date
GreggG
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- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
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Wrestling Spotlight
ByDave Alvarez
What’s happened to Troy Windham?
I’ve been a fan of Troy Windham through all his incarnations. The fresh-faced wildchild who wanted to piss on the traditions set by his cousin – err, brother – Mark and Hornet and the rest of the CSWA’S Golden Generation. The drug-addled party boy who teamed with Shawn Matthews to form Generation X. The King of All Media who hijacked the UWA unto Quentin Sullivan signed him to a controversial ten figure contract in public. The CSWA’s saviour who knocked off GUNS to win the title and bring it back into the fold. The man who parlayed his wrestling fame into real world stardom – albeit stardom not on the level he quite believes. Mr. CSWA, there to defend the promotion, along with fellow Playboy “Hurricane” Eddy Love against the ClaimStakers. The Troy Windham who had five five-star matches in one calendar year, arguably the greatest stretch run any single wrestler alive ever had. The Troy Windham who hijacked Battleground Britain. The Troy Windham who married Lindsay Troy against her will. The Troy Windham who cut over 200 promos in the CSWA’s Gold Rush, which was used to relaunch the promotion for the umpteenth time. The Troy Windham who recently led an invasion and takeover of New Frontier Wrestling.
The Troy Windham who is the greatest promo guy in the history of wrestling. The greatest trash talker. The Troy Windham many – and I may be one of them – have hailed as the greatest of all-time.
I won’t elaborate more on the innerworkings of The Windham Clan in New Frontier Wrestling, because the Troy/Randalls matchup deserves its own build and JJ DeVille has become one of the hottest heels we’ve seen in years. But Ultratitle Troy – what the hell was that? We get a interviews done in the 24/7 film society style he’s long hated, where he talks about his injuries and – gasp – puts his opponent over? No offense to Eugene Dewey, who I’ve been touting for months and is a total scene stealer… but the Troy Windham we all know – The Troy Windham who made millions of dollars and sold out arenas and is one of the biggest names in the history of the industry -- would have decimated him.
The Troy Windham we’ve seen since 1994 has always wanted the spotlight, grabbed the spotlight and delivered under the spotlight. Dare I say that the Troy Windham we saw against Eugene Dewey shied away from the spotlight?
***
(CUT TO: Troy Windham, in the back of a stretch 2012 Cadillac Escalade. The seats are a grey charcoal color, with white interior trim lighting surrounding the sides and roof of the car. In the very back seat sits Troy Windham. His blonde hair has recently been frosted, cut into a George Clooney-esque Caesar cut. He’s wearing the “Sweet Stache” T-Shirt debuted at the recent FUN. world tour – a purple color with the likenesses of the members with faux mustaches. Over the jacket is a navy blue Gucci suit jacket and his customary khaki slacks. He’s also reading a copy of the recent Wrestling Spotlight newsletter.)
TROY: “It’s been a while since I read this rag. I get my name in Variety. I get my name in GQ. I get my name in Vanity Fair. I get my name in actual publications that important people – rich, famous people – read. I don’t care about the wrestling trades. I don’t care what the smart-mark industry sources are talking about. But one of my many, many agents from the William Morris Agency got in touch with me and INSISTED that I read what the critics are saying. I listen to this man, because the last time he insisted anything to me is when he landed me a guest starring role in Entourage, hanging out with my man Kevin Dillon when I made a walk-on Five Towns, the show within a show. And he said that the wrestling press is saying that I… that I have *LOST* it.”
(Troy shakes his head.)
TROY: “Well, for years, all I’ve heard about is how that the old-school types like me are dinosaurs. How guys like me – guys who became international superstars by getting in front of a camera and speaking – were in the past. That the cutting edge guys were the ones who let you inside. The guys who showed ‘humanity’ by having the cameras run 24/7 reality-TV style. The guys who did voiceover work narrating their thoughts. These were the guys, I was told, who were going to STAR in this Ultratitle. These were the guys, I was told, who were going to get the push. The guys who were going to get the media attention. That’s not a style I like watching. Because it’s just needless frills. Guys without a shred of the talent I have on the microphone get over with the morons at home who don’t know any better.It’s style over substance. And while Troy Windham certainly has style… every last word I’ve ever uttered has become GOSPEL. But I’ll be damned if anyone else gets the media attention. I’ll be DAMNED if anyone else gets a shred of the spotlight I have commanded since the first day I uttered a word in front of a camera. So, I decided to do it THEIR way. I decided to let everyone inside for the first time. Quite frankly, I did it better than any of the art school dropouts ever have. I told ya’ll about my neck pain. I told ya’ll about why I act the way I do. I told ya’ll about the in-ring benefits of being the best at the microphone. But to the wrestling press… that wasn’t what they wanted.”
(Troy holds up the copy of Wrestling Spotlight.)
TROY: “They want Troy Windham to be Troy Windham.”
(Troy puts down the newsletter and reaches down. He pulls out a $750 pair of brown tinted Armani sunglasses and puts them on his face. He then smirks… and rips up the newspaper.)
TROY: “Well, you got him.”
(Troy’s smirk leaves.)
TROY: “I barely got by my first-round opponent whose name I don’t even remember. This was MY fault. This was a guy I should have put away in a matter of seconds. But I showed him a modicrum of respect and that fat pig got some self-confidence and almost put me away. I should have pissed all over him. I should have told him that he’s nothing more than some fat slob who doesn’t belong in this industry. I should have told him that he’s some cute sideshow act in a freak show of a promotion whose name will barely register in the annals of this sport while my name registers in the moans in the many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many women I have banged. All the women who, when they f*ck their husbands, the only way they get off is by thinking of rubbing my tan skin while I make them bend over and lick things they never thought could be licked. I should have told him all of that and he would have quit on the spot, hoping beyond hope that his career still remains intact.”
(Troy smirks.)
TROY: “But that’s YESTERDAY’S news, as you can tell by the ripped up ashes of the birdcage liner I just read. Now I go on to tomorrow. Kevin Watson. Kevin ‘K-9’ Watson. I have to say that I don’t know who you are. When I saw your name on the brackets, I thought you were one of the guys who had a ‘j’ in your name listed in between a pair of paranthesis. I thought you were a jobber. Then one of my many, many agents at the William Morris Agency – a different guy from the one above, he handles my press clippings, this guy handles my toothpaste commercials but also watches wrestling – informed me that you and I once shared a locker room together. Well, that’s not necessarily true – I’ve had my own private locker rooms, complete with the crudite plates and aged cheeses I’s had in my contract rider since Day 1 while you had to change into your gear in your leased Saturn. But I’ve been told that you and I were both in the CSWA at the same time. That you were a Greensboro Championship. Well, let me applaud you on that accolade, holding on to a title that I was pretty much handed when I made my debut and forgot about as soon as I had it.”
(Troy stares at the camera.)
TROY: “K-9… oh, may I call you K-9? I got prepared to face some fat, acne-scarred World of Whatever reject. I watched his tapes and scouted him. But you? I’m not going to do that. And why is that? Because you don’t have ONE CHANCE IN HELL of beating me. That Ultratitle means more to me than anything in this sport. It’s the one belt of importance that I haven’t held. And I *NEED* to win it. And it’s not just to fulfill my own legacy, where a victory will mean that I have lapped the field three times, as I am already without question the greatest who has ever lived. It’s to *SAVE* The Ultratitle. Because it needs just that. You see, over 100 guys are in this thing and let me assure you there are nowhere near 100 guys who should dream of holding this thing. There’s me and about two or three other guys who might be able to formulate a complete sentence. You? A grown man who calls himself K-9? You are not even close to being one of those guys… let alone me. To take from the no-name you just beat… You’re not over. You’re really, really not over.”
(Troy smirks.)
TROY: “Now, I’ve been around this industry for decades. I know that things can happen. And I’ve made a lot of enemies. All it will take is some ref I bumped three years ago who holds a grudge to make a fast count. All it will take is some goof to want to make a name at my expense and come out when no one is looking and take me out with an ether rag. Because that’s the only way I’m going to lose – because someone has a grudge against me. Because there is no way I am losing if things are equal. There is no way that anyone – let alone a man named K-9 – will beat me legit. Because I am the absolute BEST who has ever stepped foot in a squared circle. But in case someone does crane me with some stashed away brass knuckles… that means someone other than myself could win The Ultratitle. And if I don’t win The Ultratitle… than that means the title’s in the hands of some lesser. It’s in the hands of an undesirable. It’s in the hands of some piece of garbage who doesn’t even deserve to enter this tournament. But when I win the Ultratitle – and, rest assured, I *WILL* win The Ultratitle – it means that the BEST has won it. It means that the man who made this industry what it is today has won the Ultratitle. It means that the ONLY WRESTLER WHO MATTERS holds THE ONLY TITLE THAT MATTERS. And if I don’t win it… that means the belt is worth less than Greek bank notes. And I know what those are, unlike every idiot in this tournament and 99.9999% of you d*ckweeds at home, because on top of being the best wrestler and on top of being so incredibly virile… I’m also rich.”
(Troy smirks one more time.)
TROY: “So, K-9… I don’t care ONE BIT what you have to say about things. In fact, I’d prefer it you’d just save us all the trouble and no-showed your scheduled interview appearances, even though they could help insomniacs worldwide. You can say whatever you want about whatever it is you talk about… AND NO ONE WILL CARE. But me? People’s lives practically depend on what comes out of my mouth. And people’s lives literally depend on what I do in the squared circle. And I do it better than anyone who has ever lived. The Ultratitle NEEDS me to win… and I’m going to just that. There’s some Gold on the Ceiling… and it’s mine-oh-mine.”
(FTB)
ByDave Alvarez
What’s happened to Troy Windham?
I’ve been a fan of Troy Windham through all his incarnations. The fresh-faced wildchild who wanted to piss on the traditions set by his cousin – err, brother – Mark and Hornet and the rest of the CSWA’S Golden Generation. The drug-addled party boy who teamed with Shawn Matthews to form Generation X. The King of All Media who hijacked the UWA unto Quentin Sullivan signed him to a controversial ten figure contract in public. The CSWA’s saviour who knocked off GUNS to win the title and bring it back into the fold. The man who parlayed his wrestling fame into real world stardom – albeit stardom not on the level he quite believes. Mr. CSWA, there to defend the promotion, along with fellow Playboy “Hurricane” Eddy Love against the ClaimStakers. The Troy Windham who had five five-star matches in one calendar year, arguably the greatest stretch run any single wrestler alive ever had. The Troy Windham who hijacked Battleground Britain. The Troy Windham who married Lindsay Troy against her will. The Troy Windham who cut over 200 promos in the CSWA’s Gold Rush, which was used to relaunch the promotion for the umpteenth time. The Troy Windham who recently led an invasion and takeover of New Frontier Wrestling.
The Troy Windham who is the greatest promo guy in the history of wrestling. The greatest trash talker. The Troy Windham many – and I may be one of them – have hailed as the greatest of all-time.
I won’t elaborate more on the innerworkings of The Windham Clan in New Frontier Wrestling, because the Troy/Randalls matchup deserves its own build and JJ DeVille has become one of the hottest heels we’ve seen in years. But Ultratitle Troy – what the hell was that? We get a interviews done in the 24/7 film society style he’s long hated, where he talks about his injuries and – gasp – puts his opponent over? No offense to Eugene Dewey, who I’ve been touting for months and is a total scene stealer… but the Troy Windham we all know – The Troy Windham who made millions of dollars and sold out arenas and is one of the biggest names in the history of the industry -- would have decimated him.
The Troy Windham we’ve seen since 1994 has always wanted the spotlight, grabbed the spotlight and delivered under the spotlight. Dare I say that the Troy Windham we saw against Eugene Dewey shied away from the spotlight?
***
(CUT TO: Troy Windham, in the back of a stretch 2012 Cadillac Escalade. The seats are a grey charcoal color, with white interior trim lighting surrounding the sides and roof of the car. In the very back seat sits Troy Windham. His blonde hair has recently been frosted, cut into a George Clooney-esque Caesar cut. He’s wearing the “Sweet Stache” T-Shirt debuted at the recent FUN. world tour – a purple color with the likenesses of the members with faux mustaches. Over the jacket is a navy blue Gucci suit jacket and his customary khaki slacks. He’s also reading a copy of the recent Wrestling Spotlight newsletter.)
TROY: “It’s been a while since I read this rag. I get my name in Variety. I get my name in GQ. I get my name in Vanity Fair. I get my name in actual publications that important people – rich, famous people – read. I don’t care about the wrestling trades. I don’t care what the smart-mark industry sources are talking about. But one of my many, many agents from the William Morris Agency got in touch with me and INSISTED that I read what the critics are saying. I listen to this man, because the last time he insisted anything to me is when he landed me a guest starring role in Entourage, hanging out with my man Kevin Dillon when I made a walk-on Five Towns, the show within a show. And he said that the wrestling press is saying that I… that I have *LOST* it.”
(Troy shakes his head.)
TROY: “Well, for years, all I’ve heard about is how that the old-school types like me are dinosaurs. How guys like me – guys who became international superstars by getting in front of a camera and speaking – were in the past. That the cutting edge guys were the ones who let you inside. The guys who showed ‘humanity’ by having the cameras run 24/7 reality-TV style. The guys who did voiceover work narrating their thoughts. These were the guys, I was told, who were going to STAR in this Ultratitle. These were the guys, I was told, who were going to get the push. The guys who were going to get the media attention. That’s not a style I like watching. Because it’s just needless frills. Guys without a shred of the talent I have on the microphone get over with the morons at home who don’t know any better.It’s style over substance. And while Troy Windham certainly has style… every last word I’ve ever uttered has become GOSPEL. But I’ll be damned if anyone else gets the media attention. I’ll be DAMNED if anyone else gets a shred of the spotlight I have commanded since the first day I uttered a word in front of a camera. So, I decided to do it THEIR way. I decided to let everyone inside for the first time. Quite frankly, I did it better than any of the art school dropouts ever have. I told ya’ll about my neck pain. I told ya’ll about why I act the way I do. I told ya’ll about the in-ring benefits of being the best at the microphone. But to the wrestling press… that wasn’t what they wanted.”
(Troy holds up the copy of Wrestling Spotlight.)
TROY: “They want Troy Windham to be Troy Windham.”
(Troy puts down the newsletter and reaches down. He pulls out a $750 pair of brown tinted Armani sunglasses and puts them on his face. He then smirks… and rips up the newspaper.)
TROY: “Well, you got him.”
(Troy’s smirk leaves.)
TROY: “I barely got by my first-round opponent whose name I don’t even remember. This was MY fault. This was a guy I should have put away in a matter of seconds. But I showed him a modicrum of respect and that fat pig got some self-confidence and almost put me away. I should have pissed all over him. I should have told him that he’s nothing more than some fat slob who doesn’t belong in this industry. I should have told him that he’s some cute sideshow act in a freak show of a promotion whose name will barely register in the annals of this sport while my name registers in the moans in the many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many women I have banged. All the women who, when they f*ck their husbands, the only way they get off is by thinking of rubbing my tan skin while I make them bend over and lick things they never thought could be licked. I should have told him all of that and he would have quit on the spot, hoping beyond hope that his career still remains intact.”
(Troy smirks.)
TROY: “But that’s YESTERDAY’S news, as you can tell by the ripped up ashes of the birdcage liner I just read. Now I go on to tomorrow. Kevin Watson. Kevin ‘K-9’ Watson. I have to say that I don’t know who you are. When I saw your name on the brackets, I thought you were one of the guys who had a ‘j’ in your name listed in between a pair of paranthesis. I thought you were a jobber. Then one of my many, many agents at the William Morris Agency – a different guy from the one above, he handles my press clippings, this guy handles my toothpaste commercials but also watches wrestling – informed me that you and I once shared a locker room together. Well, that’s not necessarily true – I’ve had my own private locker rooms, complete with the crudite plates and aged cheeses I’s had in my contract rider since Day 1 while you had to change into your gear in your leased Saturn. But I’ve been told that you and I were both in the CSWA at the same time. That you were a Greensboro Championship. Well, let me applaud you on that accolade, holding on to a title that I was pretty much handed when I made my debut and forgot about as soon as I had it.”
(Troy stares at the camera.)
TROY: “K-9… oh, may I call you K-9? I got prepared to face some fat, acne-scarred World of Whatever reject. I watched his tapes and scouted him. But you? I’m not going to do that. And why is that? Because you don’t have ONE CHANCE IN HELL of beating me. That Ultratitle means more to me than anything in this sport. It’s the one belt of importance that I haven’t held. And I *NEED* to win it. And it’s not just to fulfill my own legacy, where a victory will mean that I have lapped the field three times, as I am already without question the greatest who has ever lived. It’s to *SAVE* The Ultratitle. Because it needs just that. You see, over 100 guys are in this thing and let me assure you there are nowhere near 100 guys who should dream of holding this thing. There’s me and about two or three other guys who might be able to formulate a complete sentence. You? A grown man who calls himself K-9? You are not even close to being one of those guys… let alone me. To take from the no-name you just beat… You’re not over. You’re really, really not over.”
(Troy smirks.)
TROY: “Now, I’ve been around this industry for decades. I know that things can happen. And I’ve made a lot of enemies. All it will take is some ref I bumped three years ago who holds a grudge to make a fast count. All it will take is some goof to want to make a name at my expense and come out when no one is looking and take me out with an ether rag. Because that’s the only way I’m going to lose – because someone has a grudge against me. Because there is no way I am losing if things are equal. There is no way that anyone – let alone a man named K-9 – will beat me legit. Because I am the absolute BEST who has ever stepped foot in a squared circle. But in case someone does crane me with some stashed away brass knuckles… that means someone other than myself could win The Ultratitle. And if I don’t win The Ultratitle… than that means the title’s in the hands of some lesser. It’s in the hands of an undesirable. It’s in the hands of some piece of garbage who doesn’t even deserve to enter this tournament. But when I win the Ultratitle – and, rest assured, I *WILL* win The Ultratitle – it means that the BEST has won it. It means that the man who made this industry what it is today has won the Ultratitle. It means that the ONLY WRESTLER WHO MATTERS holds THE ONLY TITLE THAT MATTERS. And if I don’t win it… that means the belt is worth less than Greek bank notes. And I know what those are, unlike every idiot in this tournament and 99.9999% of you d*ckweeds at home, because on top of being the best wrestler and on top of being so incredibly virile… I’m also rich.”
(Troy smirks one more time.)
TROY: “So, K-9… I don’t care ONE BIT what you have to say about things. In fact, I’d prefer it you’d just save us all the trouble and no-showed your scheduled interview appearances, even though they could help insomniacs worldwide. You can say whatever you want about whatever it is you talk about… AND NO ONE WILL CARE. But me? People’s lives practically depend on what comes out of my mouth. And people’s lives literally depend on what I do in the squared circle. And I do it better than anyone who has ever lived. The Ultratitle NEEDS me to win… and I’m going to just that. There’s some Gold on the Ceiling… and it’s mine-oh-mine.”
(FTB)
BWade
Grandma Took Me Home
Reluctance & Retirement, Part V (Dog Day Afternoon)
Kevin Watson, at a time, was a man of few words and many habits. In the earlier days, Kevin's half brother, Nemesis and even for a short stint at the cusp of the millennium ... Apocalypse, spoke for the man formerly known as K-9. As the years past and career opportunities dwindled the mouth pieces of yesterday faded away.
Given the nature of the business and Kevin's fairly successful Gold Rush experience, coupled with his latest ULTRATitle press work, Kevin seems to be slowly learning to live within the law of the land. So to speak.
Or, Perhaps ... his new found zeal brought forth by a life of missed opportunity, stolen chances, and poorly handled situations have given way to a new and improved, more calm, collected and cathartic grappler. One who doesn't mind spending a few hours stringing together a promotional spot to hype a forthcoming match. Especially if it means raising his guarantee and draw.
Assuming, he has one ... beyond billing himself in hole in the wall promotions as the “CSWA’s LAST Greensboro Champion."
Or. It's all an apathetic coping mechanism to mask his distain, distrust and damaged idea of what the business has become in the last decade or so.
Never the less; Kevin was still is a worker in the truest since of the occupation specific adopted meaning. Every night, no matter the circumstance, he hits the ring and gives the crowd everything he has ... or ever will have. Sometimes it’s just enough and others he falls short but leaves everything in the ring.
This was no mission of redemption nor an attempt to affirm his legacy. This was simply another step along the way. The ULTRATitle was the next step ... that ultimately would lead to another and again to another. There, truly, is no rest for the weary and Kevin's illusions of grandeur had long ago fallen by the way side. All he sought was to carry out how ever many years he had left in him to give to what was left of the business that had given him so much
Win or lose, Kevin wrestled tomorrow. And then again the next day, until his knee's or his back finally gave out and demanded his retirement. And even then, he'd go one more time in any bingo hall, dive bar or arena that would have him. This is all he knew, and all he had ever wanted…
… and retirement would come at a reluctant pace
.
A banged and batter door hinged to an aging center block building swings open wide with a shrill creak. Kevin Watson emerges from the newly created void and crosses over the thresh hold into the fading afternoon sun. He plows his hand into his weathered jean pocket and retrieves a half crushed and all but empty pack of cigarettes.
With his eyes squinting in the orange glare, Kevin, lights a cigarette and draws in the chemical dependence based relaxation accompanied by the toxins and tars. The stress of the day, or at least the last hour, escapes from his body with the carbon monoxide and left over smoke.
He raised his free hand and rubbed his eyes. His hand slowly dragged down his face and landed squarely on his scruffy beard leaving his rough and callused fingers to relieve the itch of a matted beard. With a look of contemplation or at least confusion Kevin launches in to a monologue.
"In an industry that has spent nearly two decades placating and putting up with Troy Windham's tired shtick... I hate to be the one that has to disappoint but against the urgings of the 'The Epitome' himself; I showed up." Kevin announces as smoke bellows from his lungs.
Kevin lifts the cigarette a little bit higher, assesses the effects of the first drag and flicks the ashes for safe measure. Feeling comfortable with its current state he continues.
"And even if Troy, wants to continually numb us all with the same trite and cliché diatribe that any wrestler or wrestling fan has grown well accustom to and in turn, for effect of course, pretend he has no idea or even a small inclination as to who I am ...
I'll gladly play the opposing opposite and be forthright in the absence of Troy's ability to speak in terms beyond his tried and true gimmick.
…and much to his chagrin, I'm sure, openly admit; I know who he is."
Kevin flicks his ash again before drawing from his, eventual yet ever so, certain death. His exhale twists and turns into the outside air and he cringes at the thought of his next omission.
"Hell, we ALL ... know who he is. Whether, we like it or not."
With a slight twitch that inadvertently results in a few popping vertebrae, Kevin tries to shake off the sting of the last comment.
"Being that as it may ... " Kevin pauses and draws again from his nearly finished cigarette. " ... with out the help of an estate draining agency, an agent or even my, less than trusty, attorney … " Kevin pause abruptly to exhale and lets out a slight cough.
"... Jackson Klein, I could probably fill everyone in on Troy's favorite subject, just incase he can't find the time amongst the stretch limo’ riding, jet flying, iPod updating and lady of night paying lifestyle; to properly introduce himself to anyone who may be unfamiliar with his royal Epitomness. Or subsequently has taken up residence under a rock for the past ten years or so."
Kevin checks what is left of his costly habit and flicks the butt causing the ash to break loose a float to the ground. He pulls from the speckled yellow filter once again and continues his own diatribe as the remainder of the smoke escapes his tainted lungs.
"Troy has practically done it all. That is, of course, aside from actually being or portraying anything more than the slacker/business impresario ..." Kevin pauses, with a deliberate facial expression denoting sarcastic confusion. " ... he's beamed into your television sets for the better part of twenty years. Troy is rich and successful, if he hasn't found time in his busy acting schedule to mention that.
Troy is powerful and amazingly trendy for a thirty eight year old man, I might add. Oh, and incase you've only recently tuned into the ULTRATitle tournament and all its prestigious glory ... his tips are forever ... freshly ... frosted."
The man once billed as “The Innovator of Insanity” again jars the extended ash from his cigarette just before raising it to his lips to finish it off. Green means go, and as the white departs from this physical world, the last flick of the butt is the one that sends the smoldering fiberglass to its final resting place upon the ground.
"It bares to mention; Troy is a pillar of the screen actors community, why - with his roles on episodic television on the envelope pushing USA network and -- lets not forget; a Cable Ace award winning performance in a made for television melodrama aired exclusively on the emerging auctorial hotbed that is the Lifetime channel.
Although, I can not attest to the claim, being I don't have the need, nor want ... or hell, full disclosure, disposable income ... to read these publications ... but I hear Troy "Generation X" Windham is commonly featured in GQ, Variety, and even Vanity Fair.
Which, and don't get me wrong ... Troy is amazingly vain ... but I had no idea that a magazine held in such high, yet ridiculous, esteem featured B or even in this case, possibly C List made for television movie stars... or professional wrestlers. But again, what would I know ... I don't read these particular publications."
Kevin stokes his facial hair with his nicotine stained fingers.
"What else?" Kevin acts as if he is in deep thought momentarily, "Troy is apart of, quite possibly, the largest clan or ever-sprawling family in the history of the wrestling business. Who seem to have a inextinguishable amount of twenty to thirty something year old goons that will follow someone as scatter brained as Troy.
He appears to have a thing for midgets, but hell what fan of the CSWA doesn't have a bit of a soft spot for the vertically challenged.
Troy also loves to talk in circles, repeating himself each time in a slightly different way. Maybe just to get his point across or simply to hear the sound of his own voice.
Also, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that 'The Epitome' is a big fan of repeating himself. I'd guess mainly just give his loyal fan base a double dose of his 'tome.'"
Kevin takes a moment to reposition, while enjoying his own lackluster attempt at a humor.
"Speaking of "The Epitome" for those who may not be hip to the vernacular ... the moniker within it self is truly a testament to Troy's never expanding and William Morris Agency scripted wit.
Epitome is the embodiment or exemplification of a person or thing. The model or quintessential archetype, if you will, and I think everyone can agree, whole heartedly, that Troy Windham is ... in fact ... the person or thing that is typical of or possesses all the traits of ... well; Troy Windham.
Really? Who else would ever dare to be quite that pompous and utterly absurd, save: Dan Ryan maybe.
I know I'm missing something else, something ... at least to Troy, that is of grand importance. But then again, when it comes to the subject of Troy, what isn't of grand importance to ... Troy?" Kevin says as he raises his hands to express a sarcastic bewilderment.
"Of course... How Windham of me ... Gold Rush! The night that "The Gold Standard" single handedly drained the remaining funds on the CSWA's official books with his private locker rooms, crudités plates and aged ... cheesy banter.
But as history will correctly denote, that is not the only amazing feat to come out of the night for; your favorite wrestlers least favorite wrestler ... also managed to stand in ring and run his mouth for the whole of an event while he watched fifty nine other combatants actually give a damn."
"I know, you saying to yourself ... that’s impossible. Believe you me ... I was there, and saw it with my own two eyes. After being regaled with the most quaint video package of himself reclaiming his title short months, or long years before ... I forget the time frame; Troy laced up, frosted his ever so frosty blonde tips and sashayed his swollen swagger down to the ring and gave an unruly microphone a tongue lashing like no women has ever seen from "The Crown Jewel" with out clarifying the going price first.
Everyone's favorite clansmen even took time to single out yours truly as we awaited are soon to be opponents to stake their claim in the multi-ring event. He amused the crowd with a rousing report of a prank he once pulled on a younger and much brasher version of you current orator.
Struck me odd at the time being that Troy had previously acted as if he didn't know me and well, we know what has gone on before. So, business as usual I suppose. Some things just refuse to change… like Troy.
Actually now that I think of it ... Troy was the FIRST to introduce me to the world as the NEW Greensboro Champion. Who knew I'd be the last, right? Or ever one at all. Life's a strange beast."
Kevin reaches for another cigarette from the depleted pack but he doesn't light this one right away. Instead he just holds it between his index and ring finger as if it were lit. Sometime just the ritual is enough.
"And even then, Troy wasn't done. Oh, no ... not by a LONG shot!
That microphone had apparently slapped the taste from some Windham's mouth at some point and 'Boy Troy' wouldn't rest until he made it square or at least retrieved said spit.
He really went in. I hear he; found the next American Idol and even took a call from JK Rowling. I heard him ramble off something about Harry Potter, and best I could tell amidst securing my spot in the final ring and the Greensboro title that he even managed to cure celebrity onset anorexia.
It was ... quite a night. The gift of gab was certainly his that night, if not ... every night. Given that he says the same **** every night, in every town ... no matter the event or stakes.
So, as the smoke cleared, and all rings divulged into on singular battle ground comprised of mostly newly crowned champions, ex-champions, and runner ups ... Troy went on to give the performance of a Lifetime ... movie."
Kevin pauses, mostly for effect, while he takes the chance to light his second cigarette. With it effectively burning and the first sweet drag inhaled and released back into the lower atmosphere he continued his speech.
"Troy "Mark's Brother" Windham managed to toss FIVE of his opposing eight.
You were close Troy!" Kevin remarks snidely while pointing toward the camera, "Sixty is kind of close to eight, give or take fifty some odd participants.
The stars aligned for this Sweetwater, Texas star that night, folks! JA's upper body, a chronic masturbatory grip and a traditionally placed commentary desk would ultimately be 'his Grace's' ... saving grace.
Eron snuck Flair ... I bought into my own hype momentarily, made a mistake and crashed through said commentary table. Eron got dumped as "The Boy Troy" played Superman and made it safely back in for the forth or maybe even fifth time without actually touching the floor; taking home the Gold Rush and retaining the CSWA World Unified title.
Standard ... Gold confetti was then had by all. Marks marked and Windhams world wide were elated.
And all was right in Sweetwater."
Kevin drags from his cigarette again.
"It's a cute story. I know.
I'll leave out the ending... I don't want to spoil it for Troy’s fan base who hasn't yet found a trust worthy tape trader, or figured out how to work a torrent to get a hold of what would become a legacy's last leap."
Kevin coughs in a obviously deliberate fashion and blends in a muffled, "Dan Ryan."
"But that was five years ago, and while Troy Windham, with the help of his clan and the incessant, nerve racking, screeches that emerge from JJ Deville's mouth ... who by the way went to college, and will in fact NOT believe your name to be ... your real name, took over New Frontier Wrestling or took a humiliating post bender dump in a non-functional bathroom on the Men of a Certain Age set...
I vanished only to find myself trapped in my own past and left in obscurity to scratch and clawed my way across the United States, trying to put right what once went wrong, strive to stay true to the craft, and live the life of so many greats that came before me and most certainly before Troy ... all out the back of a RENTED Saturn, I might add.
... sometimes a Ford Focus.
Kevin catches himself rambling aimlessly and stops for another pull from his cigarette. He reaches around to his back pocket and produces a small tin flask and with a twist of the cap he tilts the cold cheaply forged metal to his lips and indulges in his favorite vice of them all.
"Sorry, I know Windham fans, especially, lack any semblance of an attention span; unless of course you can repeat yourself several times in a row to really drive it in to there thick skulls.
For those who do not suffer from the same affliction, give me just a moment to draw back in the lesser of the human species."
Kevin clears his throat, swigs, and begins speaking again mocking his previous comments in a restated form.
"Gold Rush. The Boy Troy pulled a Boy Toy and then lost his strap, and I imagine his smile to Texas' other resident stereotype ... Dan Ryan. Everyone with me?"
Another swig flushes down Kevin’s drying throat.
"This time Troy, you won’t have the luxury of sitting back and playing Bill Buckley while you would be victor has to clear an entire ring before getting anywhere near Mr. CSWA.”
And another for good measure.
“This time the risk is too high, even for you. No more pranks and no more bull****. One on one ... center of the ring, and all other applicable jargon.
I’ve got nothing to loose here and everything to gain. You said it yourself, surprisingly only once … The highest I ever reached in this profession is a title you were ‘handed’ upon your debut.
Kevin Watson, the ULTRATitle champion? That doesn't even have a ring to it.
I’m here, simply, to keep doing what I do and every step closer to the finish is another ass in another seat once I get back to the independent circuit.
Yourself, on the other hand, this may be your last shot at roping the sun and riding it into another straight to DVD film.”
Another tip of the flask.
“Win the ULTRATitle? We’ll see … Knock Troy Windham off his high horse and crush his last shot at eternal glory? That’s something I'm game for!”
A final attempt proves fruitless as the flask is tapped, producing only mere drops of liquid. Kevin reapplies the cap and slips it back into his pocket.
“So Troy, how about you save us all the trouble and no-show your next scheduled interview appearance, even though they’d benefit obsessive compulsive's worldwide.
That is of course … unless you have something new to say after eighteen arduous years in front of the camera cutting your old school international superstar promos?”
Kevin realizes he let his cigarette go out and drops it to the concrete.
“Remember, even the sun shines on a dog’s ass once in a while. Fade to black, Troy.”
Kevin surveys his surroundings for a second longer before turning around and walking into the back lit darkness of the door way from which he emerged.
Kevin Watson, at a time, was a man of few words and many habits. In the earlier days, Kevin's half brother, Nemesis and even for a short stint at the cusp of the millennium ... Apocalypse, spoke for the man formerly known as K-9. As the years past and career opportunities dwindled the mouth pieces of yesterday faded away.
Given the nature of the business and Kevin's fairly successful Gold Rush experience, coupled with his latest ULTRATitle press work, Kevin seems to be slowly learning to live within the law of the land. So to speak.
Or, Perhaps ... his new found zeal brought forth by a life of missed opportunity, stolen chances, and poorly handled situations have given way to a new and improved, more calm, collected and cathartic grappler. One who doesn't mind spending a few hours stringing together a promotional spot to hype a forthcoming match. Especially if it means raising his guarantee and draw.
Assuming, he has one ... beyond billing himself in hole in the wall promotions as the “CSWA’s LAST Greensboro Champion."
Or. It's all an apathetic coping mechanism to mask his distain, distrust and damaged idea of what the business has become in the last decade or so.
Never the less; Kevin was still is a worker in the truest since of the occupation specific adopted meaning. Every night, no matter the circumstance, he hits the ring and gives the crowd everything he has ... or ever will have. Sometimes it’s just enough and others he falls short but leaves everything in the ring.
This was no mission of redemption nor an attempt to affirm his legacy. This was simply another step along the way. The ULTRATitle was the next step ... that ultimately would lead to another and again to another. There, truly, is no rest for the weary and Kevin's illusions of grandeur had long ago fallen by the way side. All he sought was to carry out how ever many years he had left in him to give to what was left of the business that had given him so much
Win or lose, Kevin wrestled tomorrow. And then again the next day, until his knee's or his back finally gave out and demanded his retirement. And even then, he'd go one more time in any bingo hall, dive bar or arena that would have him. This is all he knew, and all he had ever wanted…
… and retirement would come at a reluctant pace
.
A banged and batter door hinged to an aging center block building swings open wide with a shrill creak. Kevin Watson emerges from the newly created void and crosses over the thresh hold into the fading afternoon sun. He plows his hand into his weathered jean pocket and retrieves a half crushed and all but empty pack of cigarettes.
With his eyes squinting in the orange glare, Kevin, lights a cigarette and draws in the chemical dependence based relaxation accompanied by the toxins and tars. The stress of the day, or at least the last hour, escapes from his body with the carbon monoxide and left over smoke.
He raised his free hand and rubbed his eyes. His hand slowly dragged down his face and landed squarely on his scruffy beard leaving his rough and callused fingers to relieve the itch of a matted beard. With a look of contemplation or at least confusion Kevin launches in to a monologue.
"In an industry that has spent nearly two decades placating and putting up with Troy Windham's tired shtick... I hate to be the one that has to disappoint but against the urgings of the 'The Epitome' himself; I showed up." Kevin announces as smoke bellows from his lungs.
Kevin lifts the cigarette a little bit higher, assesses the effects of the first drag and flicks the ashes for safe measure. Feeling comfortable with its current state he continues.
"And even if Troy, wants to continually numb us all with the same trite and cliché diatribe that any wrestler or wrestling fan has grown well accustom to and in turn, for effect of course, pretend he has no idea or even a small inclination as to who I am ...
I'll gladly play the opposing opposite and be forthright in the absence of Troy's ability to speak in terms beyond his tried and true gimmick.
…and much to his chagrin, I'm sure, openly admit; I know who he is."
Kevin flicks his ash again before drawing from his, eventual yet ever so, certain death. His exhale twists and turns into the outside air and he cringes at the thought of his next omission.
"Hell, we ALL ... know who he is. Whether, we like it or not."
With a slight twitch that inadvertently results in a few popping vertebrae, Kevin tries to shake off the sting of the last comment.
"Being that as it may ... " Kevin pauses and draws again from his nearly finished cigarette. " ... with out the help of an estate draining agency, an agent or even my, less than trusty, attorney … " Kevin pause abruptly to exhale and lets out a slight cough.
"... Jackson Klein, I could probably fill everyone in on Troy's favorite subject, just incase he can't find the time amongst the stretch limo’ riding, jet flying, iPod updating and lady of night paying lifestyle; to properly introduce himself to anyone who may be unfamiliar with his royal Epitomness. Or subsequently has taken up residence under a rock for the past ten years or so."
Kevin checks what is left of his costly habit and flicks the butt causing the ash to break loose a float to the ground. He pulls from the speckled yellow filter once again and continues his own diatribe as the remainder of the smoke escapes his tainted lungs.
"Troy has practically done it all. That is, of course, aside from actually being or portraying anything more than the slacker/business impresario ..." Kevin pauses, with a deliberate facial expression denoting sarcastic confusion. " ... he's beamed into your television sets for the better part of twenty years. Troy is rich and successful, if he hasn't found time in his busy acting schedule to mention that.
Troy is powerful and amazingly trendy for a thirty eight year old man, I might add. Oh, and incase you've only recently tuned into the ULTRATitle tournament and all its prestigious glory ... his tips are forever ... freshly ... frosted."
The man once billed as “The Innovator of Insanity” again jars the extended ash from his cigarette just before raising it to his lips to finish it off. Green means go, and as the white departs from this physical world, the last flick of the butt is the one that sends the smoldering fiberglass to its final resting place upon the ground.
"It bares to mention; Troy is a pillar of the screen actors community, why - with his roles on episodic television on the envelope pushing USA network and -- lets not forget; a Cable Ace award winning performance in a made for television melodrama aired exclusively on the emerging auctorial hotbed that is the Lifetime channel.
Although, I can not attest to the claim, being I don't have the need, nor want ... or hell, full disclosure, disposable income ... to read these publications ... but I hear Troy "Generation X" Windham is commonly featured in GQ, Variety, and even Vanity Fair.
Which, and don't get me wrong ... Troy is amazingly vain ... but I had no idea that a magazine held in such high, yet ridiculous, esteem featured B or even in this case, possibly C List made for television movie stars... or professional wrestlers. But again, what would I know ... I don't read these particular publications."
Kevin stokes his facial hair with his nicotine stained fingers.
"What else?" Kevin acts as if he is in deep thought momentarily, "Troy is apart of, quite possibly, the largest clan or ever-sprawling family in the history of the wrestling business. Who seem to have a inextinguishable amount of twenty to thirty something year old goons that will follow someone as scatter brained as Troy.
He appears to have a thing for midgets, but hell what fan of the CSWA doesn't have a bit of a soft spot for the vertically challenged.
Troy also loves to talk in circles, repeating himself each time in a slightly different way. Maybe just to get his point across or simply to hear the sound of his own voice.
Also, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that 'The Epitome' is a big fan of repeating himself. I'd guess mainly just give his loyal fan base a double dose of his 'tome.'"
Kevin takes a moment to reposition, while enjoying his own lackluster attempt at a humor.
"Speaking of "The Epitome" for those who may not be hip to the vernacular ... the moniker within it self is truly a testament to Troy's never expanding and William Morris Agency scripted wit.
Epitome is the embodiment or exemplification of a person or thing. The model or quintessential archetype, if you will, and I think everyone can agree, whole heartedly, that Troy Windham is ... in fact ... the person or thing that is typical of or possesses all the traits of ... well; Troy Windham.
Really? Who else would ever dare to be quite that pompous and utterly absurd, save: Dan Ryan maybe.
I know I'm missing something else, something ... at least to Troy, that is of grand importance. But then again, when it comes to the subject of Troy, what isn't of grand importance to ... Troy?" Kevin says as he raises his hands to express a sarcastic bewilderment.
"Of course... How Windham of me ... Gold Rush! The night that "The Gold Standard" single handedly drained the remaining funds on the CSWA's official books with his private locker rooms, crudités plates and aged ... cheesy banter.
But as history will correctly denote, that is not the only amazing feat to come out of the night for; your favorite wrestlers least favorite wrestler ... also managed to stand in ring and run his mouth for the whole of an event while he watched fifty nine other combatants actually give a damn."
"I know, you saying to yourself ... that’s impossible. Believe you me ... I was there, and saw it with my own two eyes. After being regaled with the most quaint video package of himself reclaiming his title short months, or long years before ... I forget the time frame; Troy laced up, frosted his ever so frosty blonde tips and sashayed his swollen swagger down to the ring and gave an unruly microphone a tongue lashing like no women has ever seen from "The Crown Jewel" with out clarifying the going price first.
Everyone's favorite clansmen even took time to single out yours truly as we awaited are soon to be opponents to stake their claim in the multi-ring event. He amused the crowd with a rousing report of a prank he once pulled on a younger and much brasher version of you current orator.
Struck me odd at the time being that Troy had previously acted as if he didn't know me and well, we know what has gone on before. So, business as usual I suppose. Some things just refuse to change… like Troy.
Actually now that I think of it ... Troy was the FIRST to introduce me to the world as the NEW Greensboro Champion. Who knew I'd be the last, right? Or ever one at all. Life's a strange beast."
Kevin reaches for another cigarette from the depleted pack but he doesn't light this one right away. Instead he just holds it between his index and ring finger as if it were lit. Sometime just the ritual is enough.
"And even then, Troy wasn't done. Oh, no ... not by a LONG shot!
That microphone had apparently slapped the taste from some Windham's mouth at some point and 'Boy Troy' wouldn't rest until he made it square or at least retrieved said spit.
He really went in. I hear he; found the next American Idol and even took a call from JK Rowling. I heard him ramble off something about Harry Potter, and best I could tell amidst securing my spot in the final ring and the Greensboro title that he even managed to cure celebrity onset anorexia.
It was ... quite a night. The gift of gab was certainly his that night, if not ... every night. Given that he says the same **** every night, in every town ... no matter the event or stakes.
So, as the smoke cleared, and all rings divulged into on singular battle ground comprised of mostly newly crowned champions, ex-champions, and runner ups ... Troy went on to give the performance of a Lifetime ... movie."
Kevin pauses, mostly for effect, while he takes the chance to light his second cigarette. With it effectively burning and the first sweet drag inhaled and released back into the lower atmosphere he continued his speech.
"Troy "Mark's Brother" Windham managed to toss FIVE of his opposing eight.
You were close Troy!" Kevin remarks snidely while pointing toward the camera, "Sixty is kind of close to eight, give or take fifty some odd participants.
The stars aligned for this Sweetwater, Texas star that night, folks! JA's upper body, a chronic masturbatory grip and a traditionally placed commentary desk would ultimately be 'his Grace's' ... saving grace.
Eron snuck Flair ... I bought into my own hype momentarily, made a mistake and crashed through said commentary table. Eron got dumped as "The Boy Troy" played Superman and made it safely back in for the forth or maybe even fifth time without actually touching the floor; taking home the Gold Rush and retaining the CSWA World Unified title.
Standard ... Gold confetti was then had by all. Marks marked and Windhams world wide were elated.
And all was right in Sweetwater."
Kevin drags from his cigarette again.
"It's a cute story. I know.
I'll leave out the ending... I don't want to spoil it for Troy’s fan base who hasn't yet found a trust worthy tape trader, or figured out how to work a torrent to get a hold of what would become a legacy's last leap."
Kevin coughs in a obviously deliberate fashion and blends in a muffled, "Dan Ryan."
"But that was five years ago, and while Troy Windham, with the help of his clan and the incessant, nerve racking, screeches that emerge from JJ Deville's mouth ... who by the way went to college, and will in fact NOT believe your name to be ... your real name, took over New Frontier Wrestling or took a humiliating post bender dump in a non-functional bathroom on the Men of a Certain Age set...
I vanished only to find myself trapped in my own past and left in obscurity to scratch and clawed my way across the United States, trying to put right what once went wrong, strive to stay true to the craft, and live the life of so many greats that came before me and most certainly before Troy ... all out the back of a RENTED Saturn, I might add.
... sometimes a Ford Focus.
Kevin catches himself rambling aimlessly and stops for another pull from his cigarette. He reaches around to his back pocket and produces a small tin flask and with a twist of the cap he tilts the cold cheaply forged metal to his lips and indulges in his favorite vice of them all.
"Sorry, I know Windham fans, especially, lack any semblance of an attention span; unless of course you can repeat yourself several times in a row to really drive it in to there thick skulls.
For those who do not suffer from the same affliction, give me just a moment to draw back in the lesser of the human species."
Kevin clears his throat, swigs, and begins speaking again mocking his previous comments in a restated form.
"Gold Rush. The Boy Troy pulled a Boy Toy and then lost his strap, and I imagine his smile to Texas' other resident stereotype ... Dan Ryan. Everyone with me?"
Another swig flushes down Kevin’s drying throat.
"This time Troy, you won’t have the luxury of sitting back and playing Bill Buckley while you would be victor has to clear an entire ring before getting anywhere near Mr. CSWA.”
And another for good measure.
“This time the risk is too high, even for you. No more pranks and no more bull****. One on one ... center of the ring, and all other applicable jargon.
I’ve got nothing to loose here and everything to gain. You said it yourself, surprisingly only once … The highest I ever reached in this profession is a title you were ‘handed’ upon your debut.
Kevin Watson, the ULTRATitle champion? That doesn't even have a ring to it.
I’m here, simply, to keep doing what I do and every step closer to the finish is another ass in another seat once I get back to the independent circuit.
Yourself, on the other hand, this may be your last shot at roping the sun and riding it into another straight to DVD film.”
Another tip of the flask.
“Win the ULTRATitle? We’ll see … Knock Troy Windham off his high horse and crush his last shot at eternal glory? That’s something I'm game for!”
A final attempt proves fruitless as the flask is tapped, producing only mere drops of liquid. Kevin reapplies the cap and slips it back into his pocket.
“So Troy, how about you save us all the trouble and no-show your next scheduled interview appearance, even though they’d benefit obsessive compulsive's worldwide.
That is of course … unless you have something new to say after eighteen arduous years in front of the camera cutting your old school international superstar promos?”
Kevin realizes he let his cigarette go out and drops it to the concrete.
“Remember, even the sun shines on a dog’s ass once in a while. Fade to black, Troy.”
Kevin surveys his surroundings for a second longer before turning around and walking into the back lit darkness of the door way from which he emerged.
GreggG
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(CUT TO: Troy Windham, in the back of his stretch Escalade, white interior trim lights illuminating the backseat. The tips of his hair have received their daily frosting, with his hair moussed into intentionally sloppiness. He has on his $500 D&G sunglasses with a three day stubble. He's wearing a white LaCoste T-Shirt dotted with sailboat patterns -- straight from the Russell Westbrook closet. Troy's on his razor phone.)
TROY: "Yeah, I want the floor seats. Not the luxury box. The luxury box was dope, don't get me wrong, but I want to do that handshake thing I've been doing with Nick Collisson. And make sure the Lear's fueled up after the game -- I want to go straight back to South Beach after the game. I got some work to do down there. Aight, man. Deuce Bigelow, Male Gigolo... speaking of which, I saw the script for the sequel. The part of Deuce's brother looks pretty good. Get on that."
(Troy hangs up the phone and smirks.)
TROY: "I'm sorry about that -- but I had some BUSINESS to attend to. Not sure if you heard the news, but I just got myself a 5% stake in the O-KAY-SEE THUNDER NBA franchise. It's long been a dream of mine to own a NBA team. I've been trying to work it out with the Maloofs for a while, since I know them from way back in the Champagne Room at Palms, but they're all tied up. But one of my many, many, many agents from William Morris knows Nick Collison PERSONALLY and he got me hooked up with their ownership team and then one of my many, many financial advisors got me an in. And as far as I can ascertain... I am now the first professional wrestler to own a minority stake in a NBA franchise. And, just like me, the OKC Thunder are about to win a title."
(Troy smirks, rubbing his fingers through his hair.)
TROY: "Of course, my NBA deal's going to get noticed and analyzed non-stop by my many enemies in the professional wrestling industry. In fact, no doubt right now, Kevin Watson -- a grown man who calls himself (Troy shakes his head) K-9 -- is salivating at the bit, like he does his monthly ration of $1 Ramen cups to try and run me down in his upcoming interview. And that sounds cool. And that may be. But no matter what he says... I'm still The Epitome."
(Troy winks.)
TROY: "You see, K-9 can rip into my NBA ownership, my Cable Ace Awards and everything else I've ever done in this industry. And that's cool. Because he's ripping into my *ACCOMPLISHMENTS*. He's ripping into everything I've ever achieved. And, even though I said I wasn't going to address him, it's only fair game for me to try and discredit his accomplishments. So let me begin right now..."
(Troy smirks.)
TROY: "Oh, that's right, you don't have any actual accomplishments, as far as I can ascertain. The only thing you've seemingly done in professional wrestling is given yourself the monicker of the 'Innovator of Insanity'. And while I applaud you on your abilities in finding a way to incorporate consonance in your nickname, I have to ask you a question, K-Hole. Why do you think you belong in this tournament?"
(Troy stares at the camera.)
TROY: "K-9, I know you probably have a Staples gift card ready to load up on a lot of office supplies to try and use on my sexy face. I know you've probably trolled the local junkyard to find some shrapnel to use against me. I know you probably have watched every single tape of every single match ever broadcast in Japan and know about 50,000 suplexes, submission holds and what-have-you's. But guess what? I, along with everyone else, can give one sh*t about all of that. Because I can't pronounce any of that stuff, let alone execute any of that stuff in a wrestling ring. I've got 10 moves like a 'bulldog' and a 'lariat' and I even busted out the old Windham Claw my last match. But here I am, a man so successful in wrestling that he has become an international brand and a minority partner of the most exciting franchise in professional basketball TODAY. It's because, K-9, I spent my year concentrating on the IMPORTANT stuff. I learned a few moves. I learned how to do them to precision. I don't need to cripple someone for life. All I need to do is knock someone out for a few seconds and pin them. Ten basic moves. Done to perfection. Master them, know when to use them in the ring, and spend the rest of your life becoming a global icon. It's simple, really."
(Troy shakes his head.)
TROY: "That's why *I* belong in the Ultratitle. Because I am a superstar. Because this tournament NEEDS me. The Ultratitle has never been won by a true superstar. It's been won by the second string. Joey Melton? Doc Silver? Michael Manson? Nova? Their resumes are one page long. My resume is a NOVEL. This title is being hailed as the most important in our industry's history. And, when I win it, then it will oficially have that level of prestige. And, when I win it, I will have lapped the field ONCE AGAIN. My name will be UNTOUCHABLE. My legacy will be complete. There will be NO QUESTION to who the greatest of all-time is. I will have made The Ultratitle indeed just that... and the Ultratitle will have made me the PINNACLE OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING!"
(Troy smirks.)
TROY: "See what I did there, everyone? That's consonance. I can bust that out, too."
(Troy shakes his head.)
TROY: "So, K-9, I want you to ask yourself deep down inside exactly why it is you're here. A quick paystub from ADP? A way to get your name out there to get a contract offer from some random string of letters alphabet soup indie hellhole? Because you're not here to win the Ultratitle. And that's because you wasted your entire career while I've lived mine to the fullest. There's some Gold on the Cieling, K-12. And it's mine oh mine..."
(FTB)
TROY: "Yeah, I want the floor seats. Not the luxury box. The luxury box was dope, don't get me wrong, but I want to do that handshake thing I've been doing with Nick Collisson. And make sure the Lear's fueled up after the game -- I want to go straight back to South Beach after the game. I got some work to do down there. Aight, man. Deuce Bigelow, Male Gigolo... speaking of which, I saw the script for the sequel. The part of Deuce's brother looks pretty good. Get on that."
(Troy hangs up the phone and smirks.)
TROY: "I'm sorry about that -- but I had some BUSINESS to attend to. Not sure if you heard the news, but I just got myself a 5% stake in the O-KAY-SEE THUNDER NBA franchise. It's long been a dream of mine to own a NBA team. I've been trying to work it out with the Maloofs for a while, since I know them from way back in the Champagne Room at Palms, but they're all tied up. But one of my many, many, many agents from William Morris knows Nick Collison PERSONALLY and he got me hooked up with their ownership team and then one of my many, many financial advisors got me an in. And as far as I can ascertain... I am now the first professional wrestler to own a minority stake in a NBA franchise. And, just like me, the OKC Thunder are about to win a title."
(Troy smirks, rubbing his fingers through his hair.)
TROY: "Of course, my NBA deal's going to get noticed and analyzed non-stop by my many enemies in the professional wrestling industry. In fact, no doubt right now, Kevin Watson -- a grown man who calls himself (Troy shakes his head) K-9 -- is salivating at the bit, like he does his monthly ration of $1 Ramen cups to try and run me down in his upcoming interview. And that sounds cool. And that may be. But no matter what he says... I'm still The Epitome."
(Troy winks.)
TROY: "You see, K-9 can rip into my NBA ownership, my Cable Ace Awards and everything else I've ever done in this industry. And that's cool. Because he's ripping into my *ACCOMPLISHMENTS*. He's ripping into everything I've ever achieved. And, even though I said I wasn't going to address him, it's only fair game for me to try and discredit his accomplishments. So let me begin right now..."
(Troy smirks.)
TROY: "Oh, that's right, you don't have any actual accomplishments, as far as I can ascertain. The only thing you've seemingly done in professional wrestling is given yourself the monicker of the 'Innovator of Insanity'. And while I applaud you on your abilities in finding a way to incorporate consonance in your nickname, I have to ask you a question, K-Hole. Why do you think you belong in this tournament?"
(Troy stares at the camera.)
TROY: "K-9, I know you probably have a Staples gift card ready to load up on a lot of office supplies to try and use on my sexy face. I know you've probably trolled the local junkyard to find some shrapnel to use against me. I know you probably have watched every single tape of every single match ever broadcast in Japan and know about 50,000 suplexes, submission holds and what-have-you's. But guess what? I, along with everyone else, can give one sh*t about all of that. Because I can't pronounce any of that stuff, let alone execute any of that stuff in a wrestling ring. I've got 10 moves like a 'bulldog' and a 'lariat' and I even busted out the old Windham Claw my last match. But here I am, a man so successful in wrestling that he has become an international brand and a minority partner of the most exciting franchise in professional basketball TODAY. It's because, K-9, I spent my year concentrating on the IMPORTANT stuff. I learned a few moves. I learned how to do them to precision. I don't need to cripple someone for life. All I need to do is knock someone out for a few seconds and pin them. Ten basic moves. Done to perfection. Master them, know when to use them in the ring, and spend the rest of your life becoming a global icon. It's simple, really."
(Troy shakes his head.)
TROY: "That's why *I* belong in the Ultratitle. Because I am a superstar. Because this tournament NEEDS me. The Ultratitle has never been won by a true superstar. It's been won by the second string. Joey Melton? Doc Silver? Michael Manson? Nova? Their resumes are one page long. My resume is a NOVEL. This title is being hailed as the most important in our industry's history. And, when I win it, then it will oficially have that level of prestige. And, when I win it, I will have lapped the field ONCE AGAIN. My name will be UNTOUCHABLE. My legacy will be complete. There will be NO QUESTION to who the greatest of all-time is. I will have made The Ultratitle indeed just that... and the Ultratitle will have made me the PINNACLE OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING!"
(Troy smirks.)
TROY: "See what I did there, everyone? That's consonance. I can bust that out, too."
(Troy shakes his head.)
TROY: "So, K-9, I want you to ask yourself deep down inside exactly why it is you're here. A quick paystub from ADP? A way to get your name out there to get a contract offer from some random string of letters alphabet soup indie hellhole? Because you're not here to win the Ultratitle. And that's because you wasted your entire career while I've lived mine to the fullest. There's some Gold on the Cieling, K-12. And it's mine oh mine..."
(FTB)
BWade
Grandma Took Me Home
Reluctance & Retirement, Part VI (Overwhelmed & Under Prepared)
The man, the myth, the mistake, Kevin Watson, sits on the grey fender of a rented Kia Sofia. The less then desirable car is parked slightly askew behind what appears to be a small event center. Some hell hole of a paper thin budgeted wrestling promotion still clinging on to the dream of a return of the territory days.
Kevin is dressed in his, ever interchangeable, ring and/or street clothes. Dusty zip up, old jeans and those damn boots. He puffs on a cigarette between gulps of a tall can covered by the iconic brown paper bag .These days the there was no more innovation of insanity; only a practice of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
The results were always the same. Just move along, another town by day light ... another ring by night fall.
"I was unfortunate enough earlier today to catch the 'Pinnacle of Professional Wrestling' on ESEN doing what he does so well." he says while exhaling.
He gulps from the can again.
"That, of course, being; repeating himself, dodging the point, and certainly reminding everyone in any form possible that he is rich and/or powerful. The man truly has a way with words and is 'The Pinnacle of Professional Wrestling Promotional Programming' ... although by his own admission, not so much in the ring.
Troy leaves a lot to be desired inside the squared circle. Skill and technique, for starters. But I'd be slighting the man if I did not agree that he does, in fact, throw a gorgeous lariat. The Lariat is a tricky maneuver. Sure, it may look simple to the naked eye, but every time the Epitome steps in through those ropes he has to consciously remember; Do I stick my arm out vertically? ... Or horizontally?"
Kevin breaks again to tip the aluminum chalice to his lips to imbibe. The brown paper bag sticks to the side of the can where his fingers has pressed the two tightly together. The condensation bleeding though and causing the bag to slowly tear.
"Good news is; he gets it right most of the time.
His bulldog, however, is a little on the sloppy side... but believe you me granted it's tough to put together such a intricate syncopated movement that requires both; a headlock and falling. It's harder than it looks... and Troy makes it hard to look at."
Kevin takes the last drag left on his cigarette and flicks it way as he pulls it from his mouth. Exhaling he continues.
"Although his hair does shine under those house lights.
I could sit here for hours and explain in great detail why Troy Windham is a hack on canvas. He has a laundry list of weaknesses, hang ups, and personality defects like: he's only perfected ten moves, his life and career have been spent worrying out bit parts in terrible movies and television, his biggest strength is his hell bent intent on doing the smallest amount to get over, and of course... He suffers from the largest case of denial in Professional Wrestling since the CSWA book Fish Fund XIV!
But I'll be honest... listening to me talk about Troy Windham isn't much better then listening to him do it. Hell, what can he say that we haven't already heard before anyway?"
Sipping from the can again Kevin pauses for dramatic or at least thirst.
"I've never pulled any punches on my personal opinion of this form of verbal discourse. Listening to Troy stammer on through pop culture reference after reference really plays to the lowest common denominator. After all at the end of the day the fans pay the bills and in turn make stretch Escalades, blonde hair dye and champagne at the Palm obtainable.
And what do the fans want to see in THIS tournament? Who is the best of the best -- right now! They want to see one hundred and twenty eight professional wrestlers ... wrestle. Which just so happens to be what Troy seems to view as the largest inconvenience in this overall 'sweet gig.'
You want to know why I'm here, Windham? Because this is what I do, night in and night out. ULTRATitle or not ... I am a wrestler."
Kevin peals what remains of the paper bag from the can. He balls up the wet paper bag and tips the can back once again. He sets the ball of wet brown paper down on the hood and continues talking.
"I'm not a half assed movie star. I don't fly in private jets or shop for sport teams. I don't stare longingly into mirrors and whisper self affirmations. I don't spend sleepless night worrying whether or not people will talk about me or the things that I'm doing...
Instead, I wrestle. Not only as a livelihood but as a lifelong passion! And if that's NOT focusing on what's important; then so be it. We can't all be Windhams'. Or we all are? That family is confusing."
Kevin tips back one last time it off. He sets it down on the hood of the car and shoves himself off the fender. He adjusts his jeans and reaches in his jacket pocket and produces another cigarette.
"I may not have accomplished as much as you have, Troy. I may never ... but everything I have I fought for tooth and nail. I scratched my way to the middle and got drug right back down. I didn't complain and I didn't create a false reality to mask my failures. I laced my boots up and hit the RING running.
You can look down upon me from you ivory tower on South Beach, or LA ... or whatever location is most trendiest at the moment and think anything you like, say anything you like but I'm lucky to be here right now. I've thrown my career away more times then you've frosted those thinning tips!
Every time I bounce back, and climb a little bit higher. Who knows, Troy? Maybe this time ... I climb higher than ever before. Higher then the Epitome, himself!"
Kevin places the cigarette between his lips and lifts both hands to light it. One flicking the lighter and the other shielding the wind. He continues to talk with the cigarette still in his mouth.
"The way I see it; you have more on your plate then you can handle. NBA, NFW, sitting at the helm of future classic cinema ... "
He pauses to pull from the newly lit square, holds momentarily and exhales.
"It's all too much, Troy. Neither of us are young are anymore and while you've been busy sticking your greedy little hands in every mediocre pie you can find: I've been here, getting sharper, getting better and knocking off guys who used to be something. This is ALL I do. Wrestle.
I study, I train ... and admittedly I'm a big fan of Suplexes and not so keen on all this talking. Luckily the time for talking is over and pretty soon it'll be time for Suplexes and a myriad of other WRESTLING maneuvers you can't pronounce, much less execute. Those hardcore days are behind me, who needs a hardware store full of foreign objects against man with ten options?"
He pauses and pulls again.
"Honestly, you may want to recant all that not-scouting and watching tape shtick, Windham."
He exhales.
"Maybe, call up one of your lap boys at the Morris Agency and see if you can't get your hands on some of those Japanese broadcast tapes ... I'm in a few."
Kevin takes yet another drag and drops the unfinished cigarette to the concrete and outs it with his old boots. He rounds the car and leisurely walks in the event center through a back door.
The man, the myth, the mistake, Kevin Watson, sits on the grey fender of a rented Kia Sofia. The less then desirable car is parked slightly askew behind what appears to be a small event center. Some hell hole of a paper thin budgeted wrestling promotion still clinging on to the dream of a return of the territory days.
Kevin is dressed in his, ever interchangeable, ring and/or street clothes. Dusty zip up, old jeans and those damn boots. He puffs on a cigarette between gulps of a tall can covered by the iconic brown paper bag .These days the there was no more innovation of insanity; only a practice of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
The results were always the same. Just move along, another town by day light ... another ring by night fall.
"I was unfortunate enough earlier today to catch the 'Pinnacle of Professional Wrestling' on ESEN doing what he does so well." he says while exhaling.
He gulps from the can again.
"That, of course, being; repeating himself, dodging the point, and certainly reminding everyone in any form possible that he is rich and/or powerful. The man truly has a way with words and is 'The Pinnacle of Professional Wrestling Promotional Programming' ... although by his own admission, not so much in the ring.
Troy leaves a lot to be desired inside the squared circle. Skill and technique, for starters. But I'd be slighting the man if I did not agree that he does, in fact, throw a gorgeous lariat. The Lariat is a tricky maneuver. Sure, it may look simple to the naked eye, but every time the Epitome steps in through those ropes he has to consciously remember; Do I stick my arm out vertically? ... Or horizontally?"
Kevin breaks again to tip the aluminum chalice to his lips to imbibe. The brown paper bag sticks to the side of the can where his fingers has pressed the two tightly together. The condensation bleeding though and causing the bag to slowly tear.
"Good news is; he gets it right most of the time.
His bulldog, however, is a little on the sloppy side... but believe you me granted it's tough to put together such a intricate syncopated movement that requires both; a headlock and falling. It's harder than it looks... and Troy makes it hard to look at."
Kevin takes the last drag left on his cigarette and flicks it way as he pulls it from his mouth. Exhaling he continues.
"Although his hair does shine under those house lights.
I could sit here for hours and explain in great detail why Troy Windham is a hack on canvas. He has a laundry list of weaknesses, hang ups, and personality defects like: he's only perfected ten moves, his life and career have been spent worrying out bit parts in terrible movies and television, his biggest strength is his hell bent intent on doing the smallest amount to get over, and of course... He suffers from the largest case of denial in Professional Wrestling since the CSWA book Fish Fund XIV!
But I'll be honest... listening to me talk about Troy Windham isn't much better then listening to him do it. Hell, what can he say that we haven't already heard before anyway?"
Sipping from the can again Kevin pauses for dramatic or at least thirst.
"I've never pulled any punches on my personal opinion of this form of verbal discourse. Listening to Troy stammer on through pop culture reference after reference really plays to the lowest common denominator. After all at the end of the day the fans pay the bills and in turn make stretch Escalades, blonde hair dye and champagne at the Palm obtainable.
And what do the fans want to see in THIS tournament? Who is the best of the best -- right now! They want to see one hundred and twenty eight professional wrestlers ... wrestle. Which just so happens to be what Troy seems to view as the largest inconvenience in this overall 'sweet gig.'
You want to know why I'm here, Windham? Because this is what I do, night in and night out. ULTRATitle or not ... I am a wrestler."
Kevin peals what remains of the paper bag from the can. He balls up the wet paper bag and tips the can back once again. He sets the ball of wet brown paper down on the hood and continues talking.
"I'm not a half assed movie star. I don't fly in private jets or shop for sport teams. I don't stare longingly into mirrors and whisper self affirmations. I don't spend sleepless night worrying whether or not people will talk about me or the things that I'm doing...
Instead, I wrestle. Not only as a livelihood but as a lifelong passion! And if that's NOT focusing on what's important; then so be it. We can't all be Windhams'. Or we all are? That family is confusing."
Kevin tips back one last time it off. He sets it down on the hood of the car and shoves himself off the fender. He adjusts his jeans and reaches in his jacket pocket and produces another cigarette.
"I may not have accomplished as much as you have, Troy. I may never ... but everything I have I fought for tooth and nail. I scratched my way to the middle and got drug right back down. I didn't complain and I didn't create a false reality to mask my failures. I laced my boots up and hit the RING running.
You can look down upon me from you ivory tower on South Beach, or LA ... or whatever location is most trendiest at the moment and think anything you like, say anything you like but I'm lucky to be here right now. I've thrown my career away more times then you've frosted those thinning tips!
Every time I bounce back, and climb a little bit higher. Who knows, Troy? Maybe this time ... I climb higher than ever before. Higher then the Epitome, himself!"
Kevin places the cigarette between his lips and lifts both hands to light it. One flicking the lighter and the other shielding the wind. He continues to talk with the cigarette still in his mouth.
"The way I see it; you have more on your plate then you can handle. NBA, NFW, sitting at the helm of future classic cinema ... "
He pauses to pull from the newly lit square, holds momentarily and exhales.
"It's all too much, Troy. Neither of us are young are anymore and while you've been busy sticking your greedy little hands in every mediocre pie you can find: I've been here, getting sharper, getting better and knocking off guys who used to be something. This is ALL I do. Wrestle.
I study, I train ... and admittedly I'm a big fan of Suplexes and not so keen on all this talking. Luckily the time for talking is over and pretty soon it'll be time for Suplexes and a myriad of other WRESTLING maneuvers you can't pronounce, much less execute. Those hardcore days are behind me, who needs a hardware store full of foreign objects against man with ten options?"
He pauses and pulls again.
"Honestly, you may want to recant all that not-scouting and watching tape shtick, Windham."
He exhales.
"Maybe, call up one of your lap boys at the Morris Agency and see if you can't get your hands on some of those Japanese broadcast tapes ... I'm in a few."
Kevin takes yet another drag and drops the unfinished cigarette to the concrete and outs it with his old boots. He rounds the car and leisurely walks in the event center through a back door.