Rook Black
Live Long and Pants.
ROOK: “I told myself ...”
(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK zipping up a pair of charcoal gray slacks. He’s shirtless, though a bleach white off the rack button down shirt is on a hanger. He’s currently in a cramped dressing room with one chair, one mirror, and a large FedEx box, and his travel bags.)
ROOK: “that if I managed to win …”
(ROOK loops a leather belt through and buckles it.)
ROOK: “Not one of my ardent detractors …”
(ROOK pulls down the shirt from the hanger and carefully puts his arms through the sleeves, wary of his lower back.)
ROOK: “Would change their tune …”
(ROOK buttons up and applies cufflinks.)
ROOK: “That the people who have bet everything on ruining my reputation rather than defeat me in the ring …”
(ROOK pulls over the FedEx box and opens it.)
ROOK: “Have already sunk too much of their bankroll on that bad bet.”
(ROOK unearths a large silver object obscured by bubblewrap.)
ROOK: “So much so that they’d never admit to being wrong. That among my peers who wanted me so desperately to fail, yet could not risk their own records against mine, there was nothing that I could do to change their minds.”
(ROOK: ROOK reveals the tSC (the Squared Circle) Championship.)
ROOK: “That even if I won, it won’t change what they say.”
(ROOK regards the title reverently.)
ROOK: “And that was just fine with me.”
(ROOK straps the tSC Championship around his waist.)
ROOK: “After all, talk is cheap on any day...”
(ROOK produces the PURE Championship. He snaps the straps together, threads his left arm through and hooks the belt on his elbow.)
ROOK: “and opinions are like assholes ...”
(ROOK produces the National Title and does the same procedure for his right arm.)
ROOK: “and people can say whatever they want …”
(ROOK produces The Triple Crown Championship, and he has to stop again to marvel at it. The nuances of the plates, which edges reflect the light and how.)
ROOK: “to whomever they want …”
(ROOK moving carefully, since he’s balancing so much hardware at the moment, steps through the doorway.)
(FTB)
ROOK (v/o): “as much as they want …”
(SLOMO FLASHBULBS: ROOK BLACK triumphantly holding The Triple Crown Championship over his head, with the National Title on his right shoulder, the PURE Championship on his left, and the tSC Championship around his waist. His smile is big and bright, and his eyes gleam in the pure exhilaration of the moment.)
ROOK (v/o): “... since it’s my distinct pleasure to prove them wrong …”
(SLOMO FLASHBULBS: ROOK cocks his head back in laughter, his shoulders and chest moving in his breathy amusement, the PURE title sliding down to his elbow from his shoulder from the jostling movement.)
ROOK (v/o): “... every damn time.”
(FTB.)
(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK at a podium with microphone. He shifts the PURE Championship back on his shoulder.)
ROOK: “This is the right time to say absurd things.”
ROOK: “So. This is the beginning of my legacy here in NFW. I am the first ever Triple Crown Champion, and all champions to come after will be compared to me. They will be measured against my intelligence, my cunning, my tactical thinking. They will be compared against my ability in the ring, against my resilience. They will be compared against my ruthlessness, my drive, and my determination.”
ROOK: “But that’s hardly a current concern, since I’ll hand over the Triple Crown Championship when someone takes it from my cold, dead hands.”
ROOK: “Or perhaps when the time comes for another unification match with every other belt in NFW.”
ROOK: “That was a joke. That’s not going to happen.”
ROOK: “Probably not.”
ROOK: “But it probably doesn’t surprise any of you to know that I’m feeling pretty good. This is an incredible-”
ROOK (enunciating): “start-”
ROOK: “for what I hope to be able to achieve here in NFW. I am in no way satisfied with that I’ve accomplished yet, and I am very determined to continue to challenge any and every member of the roster willing to get into the ring with me, and I am absolutely obsessed with getting my hands on any and every member of the roster who is unwilling to face me.”
ROOK: “I have a bit of a streak going it seems.”
ROOK: “Of course everyone knows that streaks are statistically insignificant, but on a psychological level, they can profoundly affect those who are susceptible to choking or other kinds of performance anxiety.”
ROOK: “To the cowardly, grow a damn pair. I have never, and will never, taunt those that I’ve narrowly defeated in disrespect to the blood and sweat and pain that they’ve brought me in those matches. To the opportunistic, you had better think of a new plan soon, because the waiting game-”
ROOK: “You know, waiting around and hoping that someone else is finally the one to put a stop to me? That plan? It’s not working.”
ROOK: “As of right now, I have no idea who my next contender will be. Certainly either Deacon or Jason Reeves are deserving. The only thing that I would ask of the board is this: in the interest of Triple Crown Championship and the Triple Crown Champion, I want to be fighting in this title’s first official defense yesterday.”
ROOK: "Make it happen."
(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK zipping up a pair of charcoal gray slacks. He’s shirtless, though a bleach white off the rack button down shirt is on a hanger. He’s currently in a cramped dressing room with one chair, one mirror, and a large FedEx box, and his travel bags.)
ROOK: “that if I managed to win …”
(ROOK loops a leather belt through and buckles it.)
ROOK: “Not one of my ardent detractors …”
(ROOK pulls down the shirt from the hanger and carefully puts his arms through the sleeves, wary of his lower back.)
ROOK: “Would change their tune …”
(ROOK buttons up and applies cufflinks.)
ROOK: “That the people who have bet everything on ruining my reputation rather than defeat me in the ring …”
(ROOK pulls over the FedEx box and opens it.)
ROOK: “Have already sunk too much of their bankroll on that bad bet.”
(ROOK unearths a large silver object obscured by bubblewrap.)
ROOK: “So much so that they’d never admit to being wrong. That among my peers who wanted me so desperately to fail, yet could not risk their own records against mine, there was nothing that I could do to change their minds.”
(ROOK: ROOK reveals the tSC (the Squared Circle) Championship.)
ROOK: “That even if I won, it won’t change what they say.”
(ROOK regards the title reverently.)
ROOK: “And that was just fine with me.”
(ROOK straps the tSC Championship around his waist.)
ROOK: “After all, talk is cheap on any day...”
(ROOK produces the PURE Championship. He snaps the straps together, threads his left arm through and hooks the belt on his elbow.)
ROOK: “and opinions are like assholes ...”
(ROOK produces the National Title and does the same procedure for his right arm.)
ROOK: “and people can say whatever they want …”
(ROOK produces The Triple Crown Championship, and he has to stop again to marvel at it. The nuances of the plates, which edges reflect the light and how.)
ROOK: “to whomever they want …”
(ROOK moving carefully, since he’s balancing so much hardware at the moment, steps through the doorway.)
(FTB)
ROOK (v/o): “as much as they want …”
(SLOMO FLASHBULBS: ROOK BLACK triumphantly holding The Triple Crown Championship over his head, with the National Title on his right shoulder, the PURE Championship on his left, and the tSC Championship around his waist. His smile is big and bright, and his eyes gleam in the pure exhilaration of the moment.)
ROOK (v/o): “... since it’s my distinct pleasure to prove them wrong …”
(SLOMO FLASHBULBS: ROOK cocks his head back in laughter, his shoulders and chest moving in his breathy amusement, the PURE title sliding down to his elbow from his shoulder from the jostling movement.)
ROOK (v/o): “... every damn time.”
(FTB.)
(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK at a podium with microphone. He shifts the PURE Championship back on his shoulder.)
ROOK: “This is the right time to say absurd things.”
ROOK: “So. This is the beginning of my legacy here in NFW. I am the first ever Triple Crown Champion, and all champions to come after will be compared to me. They will be measured against my intelligence, my cunning, my tactical thinking. They will be compared against my ability in the ring, against my resilience. They will be compared against my ruthlessness, my drive, and my determination.”
ROOK: “But that’s hardly a current concern, since I’ll hand over the Triple Crown Championship when someone takes it from my cold, dead hands.”
ROOK: “Or perhaps when the time comes for another unification match with every other belt in NFW.”
ROOK: “That was a joke. That’s not going to happen.”
ROOK: “Probably not.”
ROOK: “But it probably doesn’t surprise any of you to know that I’m feeling pretty good. This is an incredible-”
ROOK (enunciating): “start-”
ROOK: “for what I hope to be able to achieve here in NFW. I am in no way satisfied with that I’ve accomplished yet, and I am very determined to continue to challenge any and every member of the roster willing to get into the ring with me, and I am absolutely obsessed with getting my hands on any and every member of the roster who is unwilling to face me.”
ROOK: “I have a bit of a streak going it seems.”
ROOK: “Of course everyone knows that streaks are statistically insignificant, but on a psychological level, they can profoundly affect those who are susceptible to choking or other kinds of performance anxiety.”
ROOK: “To the cowardly, grow a damn pair. I have never, and will never, taunt those that I’ve narrowly defeated in disrespect to the blood and sweat and pain that they’ve brought me in those matches. To the opportunistic, you had better think of a new plan soon, because the waiting game-”
ROOK: “You know, waiting around and hoping that someone else is finally the one to put a stop to me? That plan? It’s not working.”
ROOK: “As of right now, I have no idea who my next contender will be. Certainly either Deacon or Jason Reeves are deserving. The only thing that I would ask of the board is this: in the interest of Triple Crown Championship and the Triple Crown Champion, I want to be fighting in this title’s first official defense yesterday.”
ROOK: "Make it happen."