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Bring Me A Gift


the EX-QUEEN of FW~!
Jan 1, 2000
Greensboro USA
(Fade-in: Mark Windham, in an all black outfit: ankle length tights, boots, and a sleeveless shirt that reads: The Ass Is back, sits on a broken concrete wall.)

MARK WINDHAM: So Stevens, you head back to the CSWA a man ashamed of his past, looking to begin anew. You’ve come to the right place, either your timing is impeccable, or the hopeless naturally gravitate together. We can live the rest of our lives without an answer to that one, I think. (Windham smirks.)

New beginnings, as a company we search together, but business would be sh*t if all of us followed through. Some must fail, Sean. In your heart, where do you see yourself falling?

With the Lost Souls who thrive in ruins, or with men like our dear World Champion Dan Ryan? The mountaintop himself, the icon the sport measures itself against today.

I, like this company, Stevens used to be an icon. The name Mark Windham once stood for something, but today it’s nothing, because I’ve learned you can never let go of the man you once were.

You’re running, and you shouldn’t.

Come to me and be saved, Sean. This match in Jersey with your Personal Jesus is what your career needs. Trust in me, and I’ll ensure you’ll be the mountaintop one day.

Not that PT is all about you. Your an ass for thinking as much, but I forgive you by trade.

It’s about my needs, and where you fit in. I need Ryan’s title, the one he stole last summer. I need the moment of sanity it brings. I need to know, the death of the CSWA never rested on my shoulders.

I was the best champion this company ever had, Sean! But nobody cared enough to see it my way. They wanted Hornet, Flair, Deacon, or Randalls. The fans demanded anyone but the Lost Soul.

Well, screw the fans, the hypocrisy from the back, and Merritt himself. I won’t be held at fault for the lack of eyesight the rest of you showed. I’m the man that held these walls up for as long as they stood, and I’m the world champion who can rebuild, brick-by-brick what men like GUNS, and the Professionals set out to destroy.

In Greensboro, you may climb that mountain first. I hope you take full advantage, and come to Jersey bearing a gift.

Our little match, your shot at salvation may be mine as well if you walk into the Meadowlands with the World Title fastened around your waist.

It’s been a long cold wait since I’ve last worn it.

I don’t plan on waiting much longer.

I hope you bring it to the table, Stevens...because Ryan’s not ready to be saved.

I sense you may be, and that sets us both in the right direction.



Long Live THE KING
Mar 16, 2004
"Let's see if I got this straight.

"Mel Gibson dishes out twenty-five million to create a movie, that he felt passionate about, and in turn, it creates media controversy.

"Mark Windham - CSWA's posterboy for controversy - shows up on CSWA television talking about he's my saviour ... my personal Jesus."

fade- in:

The scene opened up in a CSWA lockerroom, Sean Stevens was dressed and ready to exit, but had decided to handle some business before he did.

"I am so sorry it took me as long as it did to respond, but I was a little focused on something else, mainly Dan Ryan and the CSWA Title, and I wouldn't dare disrespect him or it by addressing you before we had our match."

Dressed in a pair of black cargo sweats, and a grey "Nike" tee, Stevens paused, looking around for his jacket - a black leather - before opening the lockerroom's exit, and returning his stare to the camera that followed him.

"I don't know about you, Mark. I won't lie, sometimes I wonder what's really going on inside your head. Sometimes I start to feel bad, because you appear to be this lost soul in search of ... something. Other times, I look at you and get upset, because, as much as I'd like to believe you represent something real, I see through you and realize that you're much more industry than you let on. And, then there's times that I look at you, shake my head, and laugh, because you apparently have more identity crisis' than a rapper, and I can't tell if you want people to feel your pain, or buy your record.

"What I do know about you, Mark? Is that you're a self- centered, egotistical, self promoter, who gets some sort of high off of the spotlight. Say what you want, but Dan Ryan hurt your pride and bruised your ego when he exposed your weaknesses for the world to see. You say you were screwed, but I see through you, Windham ... in actuality, you're relieved. Relieved that those lights went off when they did, because when the referee's hand hit the mat for that third time, and your shoulder was down, nobody got to really see it. Nobody got to see you at your weakest state, on your back, looking up at the lights ... defeated.

"Eli couldn't do it ... I tried and failed ... and, Hornet didn't give two sh#ts to even make an attempt."

He placed his gym bag strap over his left shoulder, turning his back on the camera, in order to choose his path down the hall. Passing a couple of "dark match", CSWA hopefuls on the way, he nodded in their direction, before speaking again.

"I will be the CSWA Champion someday, but until I'm mentally capable of breaking down those political chains that have me bound, I'm content with being a wrestler. See, that's what I am, Mark. I'm not your shoulder to cry on, nor am I a politician, who plays mind games in an effort to get a foot up on his opponents ... I wrestle, and I'm damned good at it.

"I'm not ashamed of my past, nor am I running from anything or anybody. I face my problems head on, I am a living example of what a man should be. I don't make any excuses for the mistakes I've made, because those very mistakes make me the man I am. Those very mistakes put me in my current situation. I'm Sean Stevens, the wrestler, about to face, and beat, Mark Windham, the entertainer who couldn't sell more t- shirts than Hornet, so he went bad. The guy who let the stress of this business overwhelm him so he went south. A man who watched Terry Bolea play the nostalgia card, and figured he'd do the same. Mark Windham, a man who couldn't accept his position, so he's grasping at straws, and identities, in an effort to leave a mark, no pun intended, on a business that passed him and his brother by years ago."

Stevens had reached the arena exit, opened the door, and took a couple of seconds to stare out into the cold, winter night.

"I'm a lot of things, Windham ... but, a fall guy isn't one of them. I'm gonna go home, I'm gonna rest up, and when my body heals from the soreness, I'm going to train, and train, and train some more. And, at Primetime, I'm gonna be at my best. You won't have to worry about me playing to the fans, those days are over. You don't have to worry about me being distracted by Poison Ivy, either ... sadly, those days are done, too.

"You have my undivided attention, Mark ... and, something tells me, when you realize how painful it is to have it, you won't want it."

He stepped out into the night, slamming the door behind him.

fade- to- black

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