“Dan, when are you going to put on another clinic at Carver-Hawkeye? When you and-“
Stein cuts her off.
“TTW is dead. They’re dead to me. Sky High is a joke. I mean… the competition was awesome, and the backstage fun was awesome. I got to meet you girls, but… it’s not going to happen again. Not with Sky High, at least. I’m sure I’ll make a stop up there on my way back to Cedar Rapids in a couple days… but no clinics.”
”Aw, but Danny. All the guys are talking about you! You should see the hall fights!”
Stein laughs.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Stein turns back to the television, his bare arm exposed to show the red Atlanta Braves tattoo just on the outside of his shoulder. Stein grins to himself and stands, walking towards the kitchen, just when the University of Iowa fight song plays over the house.
“Doorbell.”
Stein turns quickly, rushing towards the front door, with the head of Herky the Hawkeye etched into the all glass door. As Stein opens the door, and takes a glance around, nobody is there. He looks to the ground, at his Hawkeye welcome mat, and picks up the brown package with his name written in a crimson marker.
“What is it, Dan?”
Stein pulls it inside the house, slowly shutting the door.
“Dan?”
Stein sets it on the counter. He knows who it’s from. He knows what it is. And he knows what it means.
“Dan?”
Stein steps back, shaking his head.
“Uh, girls. I think it’s best if you two started packing up. I’ve got stuff to do, and you’ve got to get back to Iowa City.”
“Aw, Dan!”
“No… seriously. You guys have to get out.”
Stein looks at the girls, who quickly jump up. The scene fades away as Stein walks into the dinning area, sitting down, staring blankly at the walls.
“Philip Storm… Classy guy.”
Stein chuckles.
“Good to know a rookie like me can get under your skin, you ol’ dog, you. Look at you flipping shit because I made fun of you. Made you feel like I was disrespecting you. Me… a lowly young pup of only two weeks in CWA, made you get angry over just a couple words you heard come out of my mouth. Aw. I’d be honored if I thought you were worth a shit now-a-days.”
Stein looks to the camera with a devilish grin.
“See, Storm. You’re what we Iowans like to call, a ‘moron’. You know why I would classify you as a moron, Storm? Because you honestly believe you can create storms. You honestly believe your emotions can create storms, and you can use them against your opponents. Now, color me stupid, but I didn’t know I was wrestling with a god from Mount Olympus. Do me a favor, Storm. Tell Zeus I’ve always got his back, and tell his wife that she needs to give me my boxers back, would ya?”
Stein chuckles.
“Oh, but I’m the dumb one, right? I’m the dumb one when I can’t ‘spell’ your name right? When in the fuck have I ever spelt your name, let alone spelt it wrong? Unlike you, Storm, I don’t sit at my computer with Notepad open, copy/pasting my opponents names over and over and over. I actually speak with proper grammar. ‘Me and him kick your ass’. You know, if you had the sentence structuring of a high schooler, I’d take you seriously. I learned that whole ‘me on vacation’ shit when I was in fifth grade, Phil. If you want to get all touchy feely about shit like that, Mason didn't put me in a fucking sleeper hold. He restrained me so he could WHISPER something in my ear. He didn't put me in a sleeper hold, he grabbed me from behind. You see, I could go back over your promo, word for word, and show you at least thirty corrections in your grammar. I could, but here’s the thing, Storm.
You’re not worth the time. You claim to be superb, like people know you. Great. Wonderful. Ron Burgundy wants his line back, Mr. Crumpet.
The truth, Storm, is that you’ve never been in the ring with me. You’ve never been in the ring with me; you’ve never seen what it’s like to be face to face with me. You’ve never wrestled anyone like me; you’ve never dealt with anyone like me.
You call me a kid, like I’m lower than you. You call me ‘boy’, like I’m a sub-servant being to you. You degrade me, you cut me down, and yet you’re still disgusted by the words that come from my mouth. You take offense to them. You’re angry at me. You feel like you have to teach me a lesson, like a slave master to his slave.
I’m sorry, Storm. But your lessons you feel like you need to teach me, I’ve learned. I’ve also learned that when a man with a calm demeanor suddenly becomes enraged, his emotions get the best of him, and he quickly gets out of control. And that’s exactly what wrestling is about. Control. Control over yourself, over your opponent, and, in this case, opponents.
But you’ve lost that control. Your emotions have gotten the best of you.
You’ve played into my strategy.
You’ve let a rookie get the best of you. You fell into a rookie’s plan.
And I love it.”
Stein looks at the camera, a slight grin on his face. He puts his hands on his hips as he continues to speak.
“Your last promotion was a joke, Storm. All you did was go over mine, show clips of mine over your own. You used my promotion to get you over with the fans, and who’s the one that the fans are laughing at? Unlike you, Storm, my fans actually follow me from federation to federation. I have loyal fans… you have the nerds that play Dungeons and Dragons and tape their glasses when they break. Those are the kind of people that follow you, the ones that actually think that fantasy role playing is a way of life. Myself, on the other hand, the actual wrestler of the group? I have ‘wrestling fans’. People that know what wrestling is when they see it. The people that enjoy the sport part of wrestling, not the entertainment. The bullshit words that spew from YOUR mouth. Wild Chylde has seen me. She’s seen my matches, and she hasn’t shown her face yet this week. She knows what’s in store for her…
You… you still doubt that I actually know what I’m doing.
You contradict yourself. In your first promotion you said, “Wild Chylde, she's the biggest threat to me in this match, she's had AJWF, HiC, ACW and WhW title reigns all over.” And now you say “I never said titles reflect a mans ability.” Excuse me, I’m trying to figure this out. If you say that the person with the most title reigns on record is the biggest threat to you, and then say that titles aren’t what makes a person a good wrestler… what’s your excuse as to why I’m such a horrible wrestler that I have no chance of beating you?
See, Storm. I’ve been through my fair share of shit in the year or so that I’ve been wrestling. The Sky High tournament, Lewis Cheeseman Cup, I’ve wrestled (and defeated) the OPW Atlantic Coast Champion, their equivalent of a Pure Wrestling title. I’ve seen my bumps and bruises in TTW, I’ve bled for the sport, I’ve defeated champions, I’ve done all the things that you claim to have done, I just haven’t had titles around my waist, which I stated the EXACT moment I stepped foot in CWA.
I’ve worked. I’ve worked, I’ve worked, and I’ve bled. I’ve done all that the sport asks of me, Storm. I’ve given the sport one hundred and ten percent, and I’ve got nothing in return but a fucking trophy from the Sky High Cup.
So, once again, you contradictory fuck off. You can get fucked by a fucking rhino if you believe I’m not ‘on your level’. It’s fucks like you, the ‘veterans’ that have no purpose wrestling against the current superstars of CWA, like myself. You and Attict… you two are doomed to wrestle curtain jerker matches while my name actually draws people to the ring.
I’m tired of you ass clowns walking around with corn cobs up your asses because you’ve done so much shit in your life. I’ve done just as much, I’ve trained twice as hard, and I’ve put on matches that you two fuckers could only dream about.
So, go back to making fucking storms, Phil. I don’t give a shit. Believe you have super human powers that are comparable to Wonder Boy for all I give a shit.
I’m glad I’ve gotten your attention, Storm. You’ll actually see my boot as it breaks your fucking neck.
That’s ‘The Kicker’.”
Stein grins, cockily. As the camera pans back, Stein stands on the back porch of a country home. In the background is a huge storm front, moving towards the house. Stein, grins as lightning flashes, and dust blows everywhere behind him. Stein walks away, and the camera pans back to reveal that they’re actually in a studio, it’s just a screen playing the video of the storm. Someone from behind the camera yells cut, and the video cuts quickly, leaving us with a view of the green screen Stein was standing in front of…
Fade
Black.