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Sky's the Limit August 31, 2007 It was just after the OPW SHOWDOWN "High Noon". Dan Stein sat in his locker room, his head back against the wall, eyes staring at the wall in front of him. His body was covered in sweat - most of it not his own - from the Hardcore Battle Royal he just put himself through. Stein knew who won the match, it was the same one armed man the heads at OPW had made him do the job for just the show before. Dan stared at the wall, his eyes barely ever blinking. A thousand thoughts ran through his head; a thousand memories flashed in his mind. Stein's attention was captured by the knock at the door. Lazily and thoroughly exhausted, Stein invited the guest into the room. Dan Stein: Door's open. Stein's eyes drifted at the door, and as the figure entered the room, he sighed a little. Dan Stein: What's up, Paul. Paul Jarvis walked towards Stein, carrying his gym bag with him. Stein's head went back to the wall, his eyes fixating back on that spot in the locker across from him. Paul Jarvis: Dude, you all right? Stein turned to Jarvis, leaning forward a bit as he looked into Jarvis' eyes - a whole different world of hurt in his own. Dan Stein: Are you serious? You saw that shit out there. They're pushing Marc Stanton like he's fucking Jesus H. Christ, while the actual fucking TALENT like... like... Paul Jarvis: ...Us? Dan Stein: Yeah. I didn't want to sound conceited, but yeah, man. Us. They're pushing a pill-popping redneck, when they've got able bodied YOUNG athletes with in ring talent, mic talent, and genuine CHARISMA. It's like they're living in the past, living in DIWF-land. All these guys coming back from nowhere, and Greyson Blade is spear heading this shit. I cna't handle it. I can't handle being jobbed to a guy with a broken arm. Stein paused, looking away for a second, and then back at Jarvis. Dan Stein: And they wonder why their company is going under. Stein sighs, putting his head back on the wall. Paul Jarvis: "They"? "Their"? Sounds like you've all ready packed it in on OPW, man. Dan Stein: Yeah, dude. I can't fucking do this shit any more. They gave me a title for a fucking week and took it off me for some rip-off belt Stanton personally dictates, and I'm not supposed to call politics? What the fuck? Why the FUCK are you going to give me a dying title, give it to me to revive it, and then take a huge giant shit on my chest? Fuck that. Fuck THIS place. Fuck everyone in this building, fuck all these insane fucks that think what OPW puts out is even wrestling anymore. Fuck! Jarvis nodded, smirking. Paul Jarvis: Haha, yeah, man. I hear ya. That's why I told Carson I wasn't coming back. Stein's attention snapped to Jarvis again. Dan Stein: Nice. What'd he say? Paul Jarvis: Nadda. Gave me my check, sent me on my way. Then again, I don't think he expected me to stay here long as it is. Stein looked away for a second, thought quickly, and looked back at Jarvis. Dan Stein: Is Carson still here? Paul Jarvis: I just walked out of his office down here to tell you. I've got a gig in the Mid-West I'm going to head to tomorrow morning, I've got to get out of here... unless you want to come? Stein stands up, grabbing a shirt from his bag. Sweaty, disgusting, Stein didn't care. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door. He stopped, looking around himself. Dan Stein: I swear to God, man. If my career doesn't take off from here, I'm going to get back into underwear modeling. But, fuck. Anything is better than this. Paul Jarvis: Don't worry, dude. God knows what's up. Stein looks at Jarvis, smirking. As the two men leave the locker room, the door slammed shut on their night... and on their OPW careers. |