Round 3: The Sergeant vs. Anarky

[Chad]

Roleplay begins Thursday and ends next Thursday. 3 RP maximum.

You may submit a card segment for use on the card by private messaging it to the following usernames: Chad; Ford; User Poets Not all segments may be used (i.e. we might only include winners, just depends on the amount of craziness).

 

[Linguistic]

His workout session finally complete, The Sergeant wipes sweat from his forehead with a white towel in one of the corners of his gym. Sweat stains the towel a brownish color, a testament to how dusty and unused the majority of the gym is these days. His old nemesis-turned ally, South Korean wrestling champion Drunken Tiger appears. At seven-plus-feet-tall and around 350 pounds, it isn’t just his Asian heritage that contrasts starkly with Sarge.

It has been a week of important guests at the gym, the headquarters of the dormant Midwest Championship Wrestling. The legendary Hornet stopped by and put on a show for the young wrestling hopefuls, taking Sarge up on an open invitation. The buzz from that visit, combined with Sarge’s success in the ULTRATITLE tournament, has interest in the gym at a five-year high.

Sarge has downplayed his involvement in training recent gym patrons. In fact, he has made it a point to neither require payment from others nor participate directly in the training of the men at his gym. It isn’t the best business plan, but then again Sarge isn’t running a business. Besides, his recent tours in Iraq as a contractor have kept him out of the red and unfazed by economic or business concerns.

The Sergeant (addressing Drunken Tiger): I appreciate you stopping by to lean on me a bit. You’ve got a brawler’s frame and legitimate technical wrestling skills to mix in. It turns my cardio and match fitness up a hundred notches. I need to turn my training up a notch this round. They’ve all been tough and went toe-to-toe with me, but Anarky is on a different level. His will to win is sure to test my own endurance.

Tiger nods his head in agreement, but smirks slightly.

Drunken Tiger: Tell me a thing I know not, Byung Jang (Sergeant in Korean).

Tiger’s broken English makes his words not nearly as sarcastic as he intends them to be, but Sarge has known him for a long time. He recognizes it as a playful ribbing. He laughs.

The Sergeant: Are you kidding me? I impart wisdom to you on the daily, buddy.

I wanted to tell you, while we’re able to have a chat… I appreciate you staying later to work with those guys in there. When you’re done with them, feel free to relax in the office for a bit. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge, and watch some of the tournament highlights while you’re at it.

Who knows? Maybe you can figure out how Joey Melton made it across the DMZ to North Korea… much less put on a pro wrestling event.

Tiger grins, turning to exit. Before reaching the door, he turns back to Sarge.

Drunken Tiger: You say three not healthy men to train, but my counting was eight or nine. I hope soon I will scaring some away from Byung Jang gym.

At that, Tiger exits. As the door shuts behind Tiger, Sarge directs his attention to the camera who has been in the room the entire time, as is customary in professional wrestling.

The Sergeant: I’ve been lucky so far in my quest for the ULTRATITLE. Not lucky in the sense that I should have lost my first to matches, mind you. Lucky that I’ve had two solid, tough opponents to go head-to-head with. Opponents like Gemini and Derrick Allen remind me why I love this sport so much.

With another win and my progress to the third round comes a few more men at the gym, all looking to jump on the bandwagon. I’ve still got doubters out there, mostly from people who haven’t seen my work… you know, critics for criticism’s sake… but there has been a lot of positivity about my run. The influx of guys at the gym, combined with some of the best wrestlers ever to lace up a pair of boots taking a trip to MWCW’s gym… that right there is all the endorsement a person needs.

I know I’ve said in the past that I can’t help these men along, but sending the Pride of Korea to impart some wisdom to them couldn’t hurt. At worst, a bunch of kids unwilling to pay their dues will fade into the backyard wrestling circuit. At best, they learn a little bit about how to conduct themselves in the business.

Hornet’s visit alone taught them a valuable lesson: speak only when spoken to, unless you’re thanking someone for an opportunity. Maybe I can get Joey Melton in here to teach them how to budget for road trips in the event of being paid in nachos and hot dogs.

Sarge pauses briefly to toss the dirty towel in a bin, before turning back to the camera.

The Sergeant: I came into the tournament thinking I had it all figured out. The common theme with me has always been my desire for personal responsibility. Push out other people’s problems and obligations to those people. Focus only on myself.

When I succeed at this, I’m nearly unstoppable. My meteoric rise as a rookie and my achievements thus far in the tournament are testaments to this. Taking on challengers one at a time… it’s easy for me. At the risk of being called a cliché, or worse an homage, combat was always harder. Too many threats. Too many lives at stake. Wrestling is just me and my opponent.

When I’m not successful, I’m bogged down. Sluggish. Unfocused. A failure.

Sarge shakes his head, as if a little disgusted with himself.

The Sergeant: ULTRATITLE offered me a new revelation, though. I can still help people, which is in my very nature it seems, and still stay focused. I can encourage others’ along their respective journeys, yet stay true to myself.

I think that makes me more dangerous than perhaps I’m getting credit for.

There is a quality to Sarge’s voice that hasn’t been there for the whole tournament. His words have a determined sound. It’s as if he originally hadn’t viewed himself as a wrestler with “Round 3” potential, but now sees himself as the eventual winner.

The Sergeant: I’ll be honest with you all. I needed this revelation. A guy doesn’t get past Anarky by relying only on technical prowess and some kudos from wrestling legends and wrestling hopefuls. I need the will to win, and I needed to know my head was in the right place going into the match.

You know, some of the most difficult tasks I’ve accomplished in the military and combat world had nothing to do with my ability. I had to dig deep within my own mind and remind myself that it has been done before by others, so I could do it to. That’s where I’m at right now with Anarky.

Pause.

The Sergeant: Is it wrong to say I’m an Anarky fan? The guy has been active in my old circles for much longer, and been much more successful than me in them, too.

Me? I’m a fly by night Empire Pro Wrestling Intercontinental Champion. At one time I was a pretend challenger for the Empire Pro Wrestling Tag Team Titles.

Anarky, on the other hand, is a former World Heavyweight Champion there. You don’t spend any length of time in this corner of the professional wrestling world without understanding that the Heavyweight Title in EPW is at the top of the food chain when it comes to championship belts.

Sarge’s regret for not getting to the top in EPW is apparent. His reverence of Anarky’s achievement offers the respect true competitors give each other, despite personal opinions and attitudes.

The Sergeant: There’s another title out there that is pretty important these days, depending on who you ask… it’s called the ULTRATITLE.

ULTRATITLE is really what you make of it. Some people want to give it this universal importance that I’d argue doesn’t really exist.

Next year, if there’s a tournament, plenty of people will tout the title’s importance.

There will be just as many, maybe even more, discrediting past winners and calling them flukes or has-beens.

What I suggest is that guys like Anarky and I see it all for what it really is, and that is validation. On a personal level, it is validation of a person’s hard work and perseverance. On a larger scale, it is validation of a man’s principles and strategy. If a man cheats to win, that cheating is validated by his success… whether people like it or not. If a man employs a technical wrestling strategy, it can be validation, should he win that his technical strategy is sound.

For the actual ULTRATITLE, however, the personal struggles and actions of the winner carry consequences. If a winner carries himself with honor, dignity, and integrity, the ULTRATITLE benefits. If he acts a fool, ULTRATITLE suffers.

Anarky understands this. The title does not make a man great. On the flip side, a man can make the title more prestigious.

That brings me to my battle with Anarky again. Boil our traits down to base form as far as wrestling is concerned, and words like willpower, stamina, and tenacity get thrown around. We come from completely different backgrounds and I’ve definitely got a lot less experience in pro wrestling, but I’d venture to guess there aren’t two men facing each other in this tournament who take what we do as wrestlers as seriously as the two of us.

You’re looking at a once-in-a-lifetime convergence of sorts.

Here are these two curving lines, starting from points light-years away on this plane of existence. Never stopping, these lines wind and weave… sometimes moving toward their origins, but more often moving away. These lines are the lives and careers of Anarky and The Sergeant.

As improbable as it might have been even a week ago, the two of us have converged. We will battle each other, both of us in our first ever ULTRATITLE tournament. Maybe I’m a little overexcited, but my path in this tournament just gets better and better.

Sarge’s attempts to calm himself are subtle, but apparent.

The Sergeant: This could be Anarky’s swan song. I think people are beginning to understand this. Frankly, it could be ol’ Sarge’s swan song, too. What better way to make it mean something than to meet each other in a war of attrition?

Pause.

The Sergeant: Come to think of it, a war of attrition is the best way to describe it. Sarge is not known for being the guy to take the easy way out. Anarky is willpower, personified.

Now I’ve heard Anarky talk about how he wants to remind us of our humility and humanity. I don’t dare assume to know his exact meaning in saying something like that, but it indicates his plan to humble all bragging loudmouths in this tournament.

I’d like to think he’s not talking about me, as I consider myself very humble as far as wrestlers are concerned… but maybe he is. To that, I can’t help but mention words like “casualties of war” and “improvised explosive device.”

Sarge pauses, pointing to himself dramatically.

The Sergeant: Needless to say, this guy doesn’t need to be reminded.

To be continued…

 

[JLevinson]

(FADEIN to a bar we have seen countless times before littered in Hartford Whalers and UConn memorabilia. Behind the bar is Anarky, cleaning glasses and cleaning up. He moves gingerly and bruises cover the exposed parts of his body.

Behind the bar are two older gentlemen, both clearly drunk, arguing with each other as a lone TV blares on about the NBA playoffs.)

MAN ONE: “I’m tellin’ you, bro, there is just no f*ckin’ way that Melton could hang with Stevens one on one. Five years ago, sure, he’d probably knock him silly, but now? He’s an old man!”

MAN TWO: “Old man? Please. He cleaned more than a few clocks in the P* Wrestling Classic... and Stevens has gone soft, lemme tell ya. He BARELY got into the second round. You mean to tell that pretty boy is gonna get off his high horse an' beat someone worth beatin’? Puh-lease.”

MAN ONE: “Oh come ON... Melton is older ‘n dirt. I mean, sure, he’s enough to beat this dumbf*ck... “ (He gestures towards Anarky.) “... but when the goin gets tough, Sean is gonna be the last man standing.”

(They both pause at this and wait for Anarky to react. He only smirks and puts away another glass.)

MAN ONE: “Aw, c’mon, ‘Nark, you used to be fun.”

ANARKY: “You and I both know that’s not true.”

(They all chuckle and the men seem to turn their attention to Anarky.)

MAN TWO: “So... seriously? Some f*ckin dude named The Sergeant? Really?”

ANARKY: “I’m a man who wears facepaint and is named after a political philosophy most popular with 14 year olds... and it isn’t even spelled right.”

(They both nod in understanding, smiling a little.)

MAN ONE: “But hey, good win over Doc, right?”

ANARKY: “Oh yes, being left for dead in the ring, pummeled by a bunch of goons is definitely my idea of a convincing victory. I’m sure Sergeant is probably writing his speech to forfeit as we speak.

“Now would you two drunks get the f*ck outta my bar and go bother someone else for a change?”

MAN ONE: “Fine, fine... but... still. Just sayin’. The Sergeant. Seriously.”

ANARKY: “Seriously. Get out. Seriously.”

(The drunks hold up their arms in protest and finally relent, leaving the bar in slow, disjointed steps. After they’ve left, Anarky locks the door, goes behind the bar, opens a bottle of Jack Daniels, pours a full glass, takes an enormous swig, and puts it down, sighing with relief.)

ANARKY: “I apologize, Sergeant. I’m sure you hear quite a bit of that as it is. Me, well... as I said... I’m not exactly one to throw stones.

“The truth is, my friend... I don’t really know how to take you. It is a rare thing in this business to hear a man genuinely respect and even... admire.. you. It’s... honestly... unpleasant.

“I’ve spent my entire career slapping the sh*t out of people who couldn’t wait to talk about how they were going to beat the ever-living-sh*t out of me and now I gotta listen to this? Some guy who thinks I’m... good at what I do?

“Geez.”

(At this, he takes another drink and refills the glass, taking a seat.)

ANARKY: “Can I call you Sarge? Sure I can. You aren’t here. What the f*ck are you gonna do about it? Right.

“So anyway. Sarge. Buddy. Pal. Friendo.

“Please allow me this opportunity to go ahead and tell you to f*ck off.

“I’m sorry I don’t respect or admire you. But... I don’t even know you.

“Oh, sure... I could pretend like I had some great insight into you because I watched a few tapes and saw your previous promos and what you stood for and blah blah blah.

“But the truth is, Sarge.. there’s only one way to know a man.

“And it sure as hell ain’t his accomplishments or heroics. Or his past and or even his Ultratitle history.

“You wanna know a man... really know a man... you’ll see him inside that ring.

“Your meteoric rise as a rookie? Your nearly unstoppable focus? Your war-hardened ability to focus on just single, rinky-dink opponent?

“Well f*ck them, too.

“And you know what else?

“F*ck me, too.”

(He takes another swig and grimaces.)

ANARKY: “I get it, Sergeant. You respect me. You think you even understand me a little. You’ve watched a few matches. Admired me from afar.

“You see a man with willpower and endurance. A man willing to go beyond the limits to achieve victory. A man who will stop at nothing.

“But it is not so simple, my friend. The video.. the reputation... these are just pale shades of a man.

“For you... this is an opportunity. To prove something to yourself and to everybody else. That you belong with the big boys. To validate yourself and your career. To carry on your legacy. To build something.

“You and I... we’re not all that alike.

“You want this to mean something. You want to earn it.

“Is this how you picture yourself, Sarge? Standing in the center of the ring, the Ultratitle draped around your waist, the fans cheering your name? You will have brought honor us all.

“Or is it enough to know you did your best... that you tried real hard and you got your special ribbon of participation and you taught a few kids a valuable lesson about believing in themselves. It’s all very inspiring, I assure you.”

(He raises his glass to his and takes another swig. With this, he drops the glass, which shatters loudly on the wooden floor. He smiles.)

ANARKY: “Did you hear that, Sergeant? That... that is my beauty. My revelation to the world. Something pretty and perfect... broken forever.

“I don’t need to prove anything to you or anybody else. Most of these egomaniacs aren’t listening to anything but the sounds of their own voices anyway.

“No. I covet something entirely different.

“The Ultratitle... this tournament... this is just an opportunity.

“To get into the ring with the greatest wrestlers in the entire history of our sport... from across the globe...

“... and to make them feel my cold caress.

“I want to know them. Not my titles... not my career. I want them to FEEL ME, Sergeant.

“I want you all to know my name. Not what they say about me. But me.

“I want you to look up at me through blood-soaked eyes, your entire body screaming for mercy, and know... that I am not capable of such a thing. I want you to look in desperation at the ref as he shakes his head at you after another two-and-a-half count, and I want you to wonder... I want you to wonder if it’s worth it. If you really have what it takes to put me down.

“I want to see this side of you, Sergeant. I want to feel your weakness. I want to feel your fear. Your uncertainty and doubt. I want to relish in it. Bathe in it.

“Because the man who stands here before you... this empty shell... this worthless f*ck... I can’t stand him any longer.

“He talks and eats and drinks and sh*ts and f*cks and talks and talks and talks and it’s all worth nothing.

“He is just a man.

“But in that ring... when the bell sounds... I am Anarky.

“I am the truth.

“That we are all weak. That we are all flawed and slow and fatigued and tired and we all want to give up sometimes and the crushing weight of expectations is too much and we just wish we could sleep.

“You call it willpower. I call it sickness. A rose by any other name, my friend.”

(He slowly smiles, though it’s crooked and strange and seems almost filled with pain.)

ANARKY: “We will discover beauty and truths together, Sergeant. We will know who you really are. We will know if you are worthy. And you will win. Or you will lose. The universe rarely plays favorites.

“But one way or the other, you will come to know me.

“You will come to know that I need this. That I can’t just walk away. That it defines me.

“Just please don’t disappoint me. I want you to hit me as hard as you can. And again. And again. And again.

“I want to feel every ounce of you raging against me.

“And we will paint that canvas in our blood and the fans will scream for more and then... then Sergeant...

“... then you will know me.”

(FADEOUT.)

 

[Linguistic]

Usually, The Sergeant is at his gym when the cameras are rolling. There’s something comforting about his home away from home. He feels comfortable when filmed in his typical surroundings.

This time around, however, Sarge is hiking at beautiful Ha Ha Tonka State Park near Camdenton, Missouri. A little over an hour’s drive from his gym in Springfield, Ha Ha Tonka offers the opportunity for Sarge to clear his head in a serene wooded setting near an underground spring and adjacent lake.

The doors to his gym locked for the day, Sarge stops along a narrow trail to give his thoughts on his upcoming war with Anarky and conflicting emotions surrounding the tournament matchup.

The Sergeant: My respectful demeanor and unassuming personality make me an easy target sometimes. I’m easy to disregard because I’m not a trash talker. I stand on my own two feet, letting my mind, body, and soul expose me for who I truly am. In the course of a training, hype, and the match itself, my opponent is, too. This exposure can be negative or positive. I’d like to think I’ve been exposed in a positive light more often than not.

For some reason, Sarge appears agitated. It’s as if he has felt slighted in the ULTRATITLE thus far. Sarge still has something to prove.

The Sergeant: Maybe this tournament will be looked upon as the fluke tourney. The one where all the favorites were upset early and all that remained was midcard fodder, has-beens and never-was-ones. Some of the guys worthy of big titles, but none worthy of true legendary status. I want to make it clear that this is not my opinion of the great men still involved in this tournament, but the media has definitely kept that idea as an undercurrent in reporting.

I don’t care about the ULTRATITLE media treatment , though. I look at the grand scheme of things… at this tournament. This is about me. This is about scratching an itch I lied to myself for years about, pretending it didn’t exist. This is about taking control of my life and not living a farce, a sham of a life where all I do is tell myself what I want to hear. That path leads to destruction, and I have a sneaking suspicion has been the reason for so many favorites exiting the tournament so early this year.

None of that needs to be rehashed, though. Now it’s time for me to address you directly, Anarky.

The camera, initially a passive witness to Sarge’s monologue, becomes the focus.

The Sergeant: I know this thing you do… this slightly out of your mind, don’t want to meet you in a dark alley thing… I know that it is at least partly you. You’ve been around long enough that I know you’re words reflect who you are. There is a history there that doesn’t show any glaring inconsistencies.

You, like me, practice what you preach… for the most part.

One thing we appear to agree on is this:

All the talk in the world means nothing until we’re locked in battle. That’s when I’ll know for sure who you really are. That’s when you’ll know for sure who I really am.

Combat and adversity reveal true character.

My character has already been tested and revealed in much harsher conditions than a wrestling ring, so I don’t worry about my end of the deal. I know what I can expect from me. It’s you that I worry about. All of that deep, yet twisted, philosophical talk… it tells me a lot, though. It gives me a preview of who you are down deep.

Your words tell me that the shell of a man you refer to when you are working at a bar is your true self. The shell of a man you keep referring to? That’s you in the ring. That’s the real Anarky. Your single-mindedness is the shell that holds you together.

Sarge waves his hands in short, dismissive motions, trying to keep gnats out of his face.

The Sergeant: One of us… that’d be me… understands the great challenge that lays ahead. I know you’ve got what it takes to win this whole thing, and you’re more than enough of a challenge that I can’t take you lightly.
You on the other hand… you haven’t come to terms with the guy you’re about to lock horns with. I understand you shouldn’t give me anything unless I take it, but to give me no credit is foolish. That’s like walking blind. You’re bound to be hit by a truck eventually.

Meet your truck… also known as The Sergeant.

You escaped last round with an unfocused opponent. He took his eye off the ball and paid the price. You were beaten. Most of the world knows it, and deep down you know it, too. That cold caress you disturbingly talk about, it wasn’t as effective as you hoped. You got lucky.

What is your plan, Anarky, when your opportunity to make me feel you… whatever that means… comes and goes and I’m still standing? When I’ve taken all you’ve got to give and I get back up looking for more, will you finally realize it?

You should have prepared a little more.

You should have overestimated, rather than underestimated.

Sarge shakes his head, disappointed. He breathes in slowly, and there is a pause before an even slower exhale.

The Sergeant: I’ve got no doubt in my mind that when the bell rings and it’s time for us to do this, you’ll be there to hurt me. Neither of us is there to play patty cake. I welcome anything you’ll bring to the table.

What’s sad about this whole experience is that what you see as depth in Anarky is nothing more than hollow. You live for empty torture and pain. There is simply nothing more in life for you to cling to.

I came into this match with anticipation; with excitement. After listening to you, though… I wonder .

Are you looking for somebody to finally put you down?

To be continued…

 

[JLevinson]

(FADEIN to an empty ring, an empty gym. The camera pans up and laying out in the center of the ring, spread out, is Anarky. His eyes are closed.)

ANARKY: “You can learn everything about yourself when you’re on your back... here in the ring.

“You can truly know what kind of man you are. Everything just kind of... fades away. All of your plans, your ambitions, your desires...

“... and it all comes grinding to a halt.

“Your body... your body just wants to give in. It just wants to curl up into a ball and die. But you can’t listen to your body. You can’t listen to the fans. Or the ref.

“In the ring... in that moment... you must feel the gravity of the truth, and come to know yourself.

“You must embrace your weakness, because it is what makes you human. And you must forgive yourself.”

(He pulls himself up casually and smiles, leaning back on his arms in a relaxed position facing the camera.)

ANARKY: “Not Sergeant, though. No, sir. He doesn’t need to.

“Because Sergeant has seen the horrors of war and nothing in the ring... nothing a pitiful man like me could ever understand compared to that.

“This ring... this sport... you think you’re above it. The harsh conditions of a wrestling ring are... beneath you.

“Oh, you won’t say so out loud... but... underneath it all... we can hear the subtext...

“Me.. I’m just... lucky. I’m just an overrated former Champion who doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation he’s in. I don’t get it.

“Please, Sergeant. Tell me. Tell me how to get it. Tell me how to take you seriously while you completely dismiss the previous round as pure luck for me. As you said... the whole world knew. I was done. Finished. Go on, then. Explain it to me.”

(He gets up and walks over to the corner of the ring, where he lights up a cigarette.)

ANARKY: “I’ll tell you this once, Sergeant, because I don’t like repeating myself. If you don’t get it, then you can blame your parents or your genetics or the horrors of war.

“I don’t underestimate people. That’s you. That’s what you do. That’s what everybody else does. I’m not the one here explaining how lucky you are to be here. I’m not the one making excuses for my opponent.

“Me? I don’t get down on my knee and kiss the ring unless you earn it. You wanna earn it?

“Well you don’t earn it overseas. You don’t earn it by having a long list of accolades.

“You earn that sh*t by putting these f*cking shoulders down on the mat for three f*cking seconds.

“Everything else is just speculation.

“You think I’m lucky?

“See, you know what I don’t like about you, Sergeant? You act like you understand the challenge ahead of you, but then you sit here and you dismiss me. You just assume I’m underestimating you.

“Oh?

“Did I promise victory? Did I pretend to tell the future?

“No.

“So stop putting words in my mouth. Stop acting as if you’ve got this all figured out.

“Let me tell you something, Sergeant. In that ring... in that ring something beautiful is happening. Something sacred. And unique. And terrible.

“And in those brief moments of truth, Sergeant... anything can happen. A weak man can be strong. A lucky man can be victorious.

“Doc Silver thought he could plan around it. Thought if he schemed and hatched and boiled and everything would just work out. And sometimes it does. I won’t pretend he’s never gotten the best of me.

“But sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes... nothing does.

“In that world... in that swirling ocean of chaos... this is what defines me. This is my home.

“People think it’s just about the pain. It’s never just about the pain. Pain is a simple thing.

“The endurance of a man... the limits with which he will put his own body on the line... simply for pride... for his own view of himself as a man.

“I celebrate it... and they say I am mad.

“And yet your blood is as good as mine, to them... they relish it. They want it. Me... I’m just a... conduit. Through which truth flows.

“You... you think you’re different than the others. You’re the truck. You’re the one to put me down, maybe? Is that how it is when you’ve fantasized about it?”

(He smirks and takes one long, last drag from the cigarette before he leans back on the turnbuckle and puts it out on the ringpost.)

ANARKY: “Ultratitle is an opportunity to celebrate the beauty and tragedy of our flawed sport. To build a towering pillar of violence and destruction that our modern culture can devour with their ravenous minds.

“To breathe in our madness. To share in it.

“The future is not mine to foresee. I... can only float through space, colliding with everything I come in contact with.”

(He contemplates this a moment before he speaks again, weighing his words before staring daggers in the camera.)

ANARKY: “Before you... you see a lucky man... a sadist... a challenge for you to conquer.

“But I... I am an artist. And the canvas... and your sweet nectar...

“Together... we shall create something... exquisite. You will be a glorious tribute... an unwavering testament to our collective will to destroy.

“In the ring, we will find the truth. You desperately cling to your self-fulfilled destiny.. your reassuring regiment and order. Your definitions.

“You’ve gotten so used to routine... so used to people dismissing you.. that you aren’t even hearing what I’m saying. You’re so used to it, you’re hearing what you expect to hear.

“Me... you don’t see me.. not yet.

“But don’t worry, Sergeant.

“One way or the other... you will. I promise.”

(FADEOUT as he bares his teeth in a wide grin.)

 

[Linguistic]

As the week winds down to “D Day” for the third round of the second ULTRATITLE bracket, it seems appropriate that it is the anniversary for one of the greatest, most heroic, military actions in all of history. The Sergeant recognizes the sacrifice of those men on that day in World War II. Contrary to minority opinion, Sarge gives credit to these men, rather than taking any credit for their deeds that day. In an attempt to symbolize standing on his own two feet and not on the accomplishments of others, Sarge stands by a brick wall in preparation for his last hype promo for his upcoming match with Anarky. There are no backgrounds or sets. Just Sarge and the whitewashed brick wall behind him.

The Sergeant: Let’s get one thing straight. I do not look down on this sport, something I love dearly. I do not look down on any of the competitors who have courage enough to step through those ropes when called. I don’t care what their motivations. A guy can do it for the money. A guy can do it for the fame. Hell, a guy can be like Anarky and do it just to inflict pain and know the man standing across from him.

It takes a special breed of man to step through those ropes. Whatever it is that motivates the man, the fact still remains… he got in there and did it. There are many men out there that love money, fame, or hurting others. Those men don’t get in the ring. Those men don’t go into combat.

I don’t think myself better than those men. None of them. I’m not better than Ikan Jobtayoo. I’m not better than Anarky.
I’ve went out of my way to explain my respect for that man. He’s a tremendous and accomplished competitor. He has more going for him history-wise than I do… and on the fast approaching day we meet, he may prove to have more in the tank than I do.

But I don’t plan on losing.

Maybe I use my skills to my advantage.

Maybe I don’t plan on receiving as much punishment from him as I dish out.

In pro wrestling, people assume that a match goes one of two ways. Sometimes the match is one-sided and over with quick. Other times the match is an equal affair… a war of attrition.

When Anarky goes one on one with me, though… I plan on playing to my strengths. That means avoid his punishment and inflict more of my own. We already know I have the technical skills to do so, but the funny think about technical wrestlers is that they tend to get bogged down in their opponent’s strategy. I have no such plans.

I don’t want to brawl with Anarky. That’s his game. I may be able to outlast him in a tit-for-tat exchange, but I don’t want to take that chance.

The more I know about Anarky, the less I like. And that means I need to put him down for the count.
Sarge pounds his fist in his hand.

The Sergeant: It’s already been established that this might be both Anarky and my swan songs. That means I don’t want any loose ends. I need to put this bastard down.

Anarky thinks he has nothing to learn from a guy like me. He finds me cocky and condescending to even suggest such a thing. He’s seen it all, done it all, and I’m sure he has all the t-shirts to prove it. It proves what I’ve been trying to say since the very beginning. The guy is ill prepared for the man standing before you right now… the man he has to face in a few short days.

I have never assumed to know all I need to know about anything. Combat, wrestling, grilling a good steak… you name it. My understanding of the situation changes frequently. I evolve.

Adapt and overcome. That’s what a survivor does.

This is why I spend so much time trying to understand my opponent. I have a need for understanding. Motivations are not important for me to respect a man and his accomplishments… but motivation is extremely important when employing a sound strategy to defeat him. I study styles, mannerisms… anything I can learn helps me on game day.

Anarky can’t see past that dirty ass knows on his ugly ass face. That’s as far as he needs to see to get the job done… or so he thinks.

For as much as that man has done in the past, an attitude like that should not be glorified with another win in the ULTRATITLE tournament. That is a loose end that I need to shore up before I decide to officially hang up my boots.

Pause.

The Sergeant: I keep drawing comparisons to Doc Silver, too. I know there are all sorts of protocol in these interview segments, but I don’t care…

That comparison annoys the piss out of me.

The man you see before you doesn’t hide behind any man or group of men. I am proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish and I am thankful for those that have helped me along the way, but I don’t hide behind those men and women. I give credit where credit is due.

In combat, the people who fought alongside me are too numerous to list. Those men knew that I did everything with their interests, health, and welfare in mind. They reciprocated.

In wrestling, the list is much, much shorter.

Dan Ryan believed in me when no other wrestling company would give the rookie a chance.

James Irish was the best tag team partner I ever had.

Hell, I’ll throw Drunken Tiger and “Phenomenal” Frankie Scott in there, even though I feuded with them more than we ever worked together.

I never asked these people to jump on a grenade for me or do my fighting for me. It was always their choice.

Doc Silver was a strategic planner in need of an army. In my upcoming match with Anarky, I am the army. Not the U.S. Army. A one-man, combat tested, mother approved army.

Sarge takes a deep breathe, more riled up than at any other time in the tournament.

The Sergeant: I’ve always known that ninety-nine percent of plans and training go out the window at first contact with the enemy. It’s this understanding that has helped me in many situations, combat and otherwise. I’d be foolish not to recognize that my plans to steer clear of Anarky’s strengths and work against his weaknesses might not go completely as I’ve envisioned.

But then again, that’s what a successful man in a confrontation understands.

Sometimes, the person or people you’re fighting have more to offer than you might think.

The end.

 

[JLevinson]

(FADEIN to an almost entirely empty classroom, where Anarky sits in an undersized chair, cutting apart a piece of white paper with safety scissors. After a few moments, he stops and smiles at the camera.)

ANARKY: “Hey, Sergeant. Glad you could make it. You’re just in time. I made something for you. Something as beautiful and unique and once-in-a-lifetime as you are.

(He spreads the paper and reveals a poorly done snowflake.)

ANARKY: “Isn’t it pretty, friend? I think so.

“See, I wanted to give this to you because I’m really a nice man underneath it all. And I want you to feel like a unique and beautiful snowflake. And you don’t feel like that, do you? You don’t feel that I’ve paid you your dues. That I’m not respecting the lessons you can impart into me.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant. What valuable lesson am I going to learn from you? What it feels like to be piledriven by an excellent technical wrestler with a good gameplan? That sounds... thrilling, really.

“I didn’t mean to make this seem less... special, my friend. Everybody’s special. Including you, big guy.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you are just a warm sack of flesh for me to pound the ever-loving sh*t out of, because you’re so much more.

“You’re different. You’re going to approach this with a very calculated manner. Maybe even try to beat me up more than I beat you up. Honestly. You are, perhaps, a once-in-a-generation strategic mind. Do you play chess? I bet you do.”

(He leans back and lights up a cigarette, taking a deep drag and chuckling to himself as he leans back in the tiny chair.)

ANARKY: “I kid because I love.

“Listen, Sergeant. I know you think I’m a f*cking idiot. I get it. You see the skull facepaint and the idiotic need for self-destruction and you think... this guy is not taking this seriously.

“But for all the respect you pretend to afford me, you think I don’t know you present a challenge? Really? You think I just walk into Ultratitle matches thinking each person is another chump for me to knock down? That I’m totally oblivious to the fact that you could very easily kick my ass in this round?

“It’s funny, Sergeant.

“See, I get it. I get your little trick. You pretend to respect me and then you go on and on about how my attitude isn’t... (Puts his fingers in air quotes.) representative... of the sport. That I don’t... deserve... to move on.

“I’ve been court martialed in your little world and come up unworthy. Surprise, surprise.

“See, Sergeant. You want to desperately to be treated differently... so desperately to be afforded a mutual respect.

“But inevitably, you don’t understand. Because you aren’t really listening to me. Like so many others, you only hear what you want to hear.

“You decided that I’ve seen it all and done it all. You’ve decided that I can’t see past my own face.. that I what.. lack vision. You’ve decided that I need to be put down...

(He comically punches the palm of his hand with fake outrage.)

ANARKY: “... for the count.

“I’ve been in this business for sixteen f*cking years and I haven’t seen it all or done it all, friend. Nobody has. Nothing prepares you for what happens in that ring.

“There are no valuable lessons to learn. No sudden realizations... no catharsis for you or I.

“You’re going to drag and claw and scratch your way through this match and it’s going to be ugly and severe and nobody is going to learn anything about themselves.

“You want so desperately to win. I can feel it. I can feel your desire. Pulsating through every word you say.

“You want to put that notch in your belt. To prove to yourself that you can beat someone like me. That you are on that level. Whatever level you think that is.

“But the truth is, Sergeant... you don’t need to do that. You don’t have to prove sh*t to anybody. Because in this world... in OUR world... anything can happen. Any single night.

“I’m not above you. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done.

“The ring doesn’t care what my name is. The ring doesn’t care where I’ve been or what titles I’ve win.

“The ring sees through us all. It knows who we are, truly.

“And at Ultratitle... it will share with me.. who you are. And I will come to know you, finally. Just as you desire.

“To feel you. To create something savage and dark and beautiful. To add another shade to our tapestry.

(He smiles and puts out his cigarette, contemplating the smoke as it rises.)

ANARKY: “I’m looking forward to it.”

(FADEOUT.)