RELOADED 18: PHILADELPHIA, PA

[EastPrez]

PREZ EXECUTIVE DECISION: MOAR RP! I've extended the RP deadline until Monday night, 10/21, PM.

RP DEADLINE: 10/18 (11:59:59PM EST, threads close first thing Saturday AM before cereal and cartoons!)
IN-STORY DATE: Current 616 Timeline, Late August

RP NOTES: NO RP LIMIT! SWING FOR THE FENCES!


NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING PRESENTS:
RELOADED 18: “IT’S ALWAYS SHADY IN PHILADELPHIA"
WELLS FARGO CENTER - PHILADELPHIA, PA


*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
TRIATHALON THREE-WAY DANCE!
ONE HOUR Time Limit!


NFW WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE MATCH

'Marathon Man' IMPULSE (c)
v.
‘Birmingham Stallion’JACK BRYANT
v.
JACK HARMEN

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Does Ocho have the new HOT APP in NFW or is he really SHOVELWARE?

NFW TRIPLE-CROWN CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE MATCH

LEYENDA De OCHO (c)
v.
ALEX AUSTIN
w/ LUCKY SEVEN IN HIS CORNER!

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
HOLLYWOOD’S ON FIRE!
w/ special guest
CALVIN JAY CHALMERS CARLTON, III

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

PETER WINDHAM PRESENTS:
THE PETER WINDHAM SHOWCASE
(feat. PETER WINDHAM)

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

SPECIAL ULTIMATE WRESTLING ALLIANCE BLACKLIST SHOWCASE MATCH!

The best and brightest from NFW’s territory system REPRESENT THE BELL AND X-BONES ON THE BIG STAGE!

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Card Subject to Change...


PREZ NOTES:

Main Event and TRIPLE-CROWN match winner will be determined by RP BOMBS. YOU ALL HAD BETTER BRING IT.
For those about to rock, I SALUTE YOU.
​

 

[LQJT86C]

[Untitled]

(FADEIN: The interior of Iron Sport Gym in Glenolden, PA. White grip-powder from the hands of powerlifters cakes the black flooring and weight plates. A documentary-style camera films ALEX AUSTIN in Atama rashguard and shorts doing super-sets, starting with five clean-and-press reps, then 10 clap pushups, and ending with 15 medicine ball tosses with his training partner LUCKY SEVEN. Her blonde/black hair tied back tight, and she’s wearing a black shoulderless 2006 USA Gymnastics Nationals shirt, with “L. Palazzo” written beneath. After another super-set, somebody off-camera yells “TIME!” and Alex rests. A couple meat-head powerlifters are watching him from weight benches in the background, while others continue training. The loudspeaker music changes to “Same Old Sauce” by Grotus)

CAMERAMAN: “Got time for a promo, Alex?”

AUSTIN: (wipes sweat from forehead) “On what?”

CAMERAMAN: “Triple Crown, Leyenda De Ocho...”

AUSTIN: (points back to his training area) “That says it all. Each hour of training brings me 60 minutes closer to winning that title. Now don’t get me wrong – I like Ocho. I’ve even trained with him on occasion. He’s a talented, hard-working guy. And I give him MAJOR props for flushing Rook Black’s reign of error down the toilet.”

(Cups hand behind ear)

AUSTIN: “And somewhere in the distance, I can hear the opening chords of ‘Midnight Rider’ as the ex-champ peddles down that dusty trail. All joking aside, I saw the look of despair and defeat in Rook’s eyes, and I’m afraid we might find him hanging from a bridge if I continue talking about him. So I’ll end by saying, Rook, you have my number, and if there’s nobody else to talk to, you always have a friend in Alex Austin. It’s just a sport, man. No one needs to die.”

“But you’re ‘The Guy’ now, Ocho. Congrats. It didn’t take long, just like it didn’t take me long to stick the President to the canvas for three seconds and launch myself to the top of the newsfeed. He thought it’d be funny to call me Alex Autism, insulting me and the millions of families who deal with autism every day, and I shut him down like Congress.”

“We’ve followed a similar career path, Ocho, but I’ve gotta be honest and call you out on something. I see you being the little company man now, rubbing elbows with Eddie at corporate events, eating hors d’oeuvres with Pikachu and signing autographs for cosplay girls in Zelda headdress, and while I’m sure a segment of the TUH-TUH-TUH-TEE-VEE watching audience digs that, me and Laurie (thumbs back at Lucky Seven) think it’s full of shit.”

SEVEN: (cough cough) “Commercialized!” (cough cough)

(Austin shakes head/purses lips in disappointment)

AUSTIN: "That's why Philly is gonna cheer me and reign a shitstorm of boos on you worse than Santa and McNabb, because I keep it indie ALL the time, and they appreciate that. They see you going the route of Impulse, who is the Green Day to my NO-FX - indie when the cameras are on, but lives in a luxury home that uses 14,000 kilowatts of electricity per month, and bends his girlfriend's fat fucking ass over Orphelia down pillows while they procreate. But maybe they won't cheer me, and that's fine too because I don't aim to please - I aim to WIN. People are either down with that, or they're not."

(Seven turns up palms, widens her eyes and shrugs)

AUSTIN: “And what THE FUCK did you do to the belt? I realize the AI thing wasn’t your idea, but goddamn, man. Are you really that proud to walk around with a glorified Game Boy strapped to your waist? No, cut the shit for a second, and answer that yourself. Being a champion is supposed to mean something. Kids are supposed to look at the belt you wear and be inspired to dream big and chase goals, not wonder how many fucking apps the thing can hold.”

“Before the Triple Crown, there was the NATIONAL Championship. I’m in the minority of people who thinks they never should have changed the name. Being a National Champion is a great distinction, normally reserved for the very best collegiate athletes, particularly wrestlers, who travel around the country defending in every state. That’s something I can identify with, since for many years I too went cross-country, winning submission grappling tournaments while living out of a Chevy Cavalier.”

“That’s why, for all your merits, Ocho, I’M the guy who should be wearing that belt. Alex Austin is the one man in this entire organization who can restore its former prestige. You know it, I know it, and just like all those men who tapped out to that hungry kid off the street from Coon Rapids, Minnesota, you too will be forced to re-evaluate and re-train when you EXPERIENCE Alex Austin’s high level game.”

“You speed-ran through some guys at Novice and Medium, but you know damn well I’m in God Mode on the ground all the time. I just have to get you there, Ocho.”

“So don’t slip. Don’t trip. Don’t fall, and don’t let me get my underhooks. ‘Cause as soon as you hit your back, I’m ripping out your double-As quicker than INSERT GAME REFERENCE HERE.”

(FADEOUT)

 

[Biron]

THE CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE


(FADEIN: Philadelphia, PA - Night; A street shot from Frankford Avenue of a red brick-built tavern - JOHNNY BRENDA’s - with two half-circle cement steps leading up to a propped open, glass panel door and a round, decorated column holding up the multi-layered canopy that shelters the cramped step area. CUTTO: Inside Johnny Brenda’s, back in a dimly-lit corner w/ a red felt-top pool table that’s spotlighted by two stem-mounted ceiling fixtures. Standing at the side of the table is a clean shaven JACK BRYANT, sporting two butterfly stitches across a short gash on the right side of his forehead. He’s dressed in a black UWA Liberty Bell and Crossbones tee, denim jeans, and slightly obscured cowboy boots.)

BRYANT: “Considerin’ tha’ fact that our good President refuses ta’ tour through tha’ Deep South, bein’ here in Philly’s about tha’ closest I ever get ta’ bein’ out in front of a home crowd. I mighta’ become a big-time wrassler bustin’ heads in tha’ Frontier, but I cut mah’ teeth here in Philly’s own UWA. What I learned, aside from tha’ ropes a’ wrasslin’, is that when you shit stomp enough people, you become an honorary Brother a’ Philadelphia. (smirks) It’s damn good ta’ be back. Ya’ see, there’s no better place than here - where I got started, a place that’s a second home ta’ me - fer me ta’ become tha’ World Heavyweight Champion.”

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: (man, hollering over tunes) “Yo, JB! You got this!”

(BRYANT shoots a glance over his shoulder and nods in acknowledgement.)

BRYANT: “Harmen, I’m not tha’ least bit surprised you did what you did. Back when I was tanglin’ with DeVille, I warned someone ta’ steer clear n’, when he chose ta’ go-ahead anyhow, I fit a steel chair to his head like it was a damn ballcap. (cracks a crooked grin) Randall. I’ll be gettin’ ta’ you. (switches gears) That’s why I can’t really blame you fer hittin’ me with that Locomotive - tha’ belt was a real nice touch. (runs index finger over the butterfly stitches) Walkin’ outta Brooklyn with tha’ World Title woulda’ been a better Welcome Back gift, but tha’ way tha’ past six months have been, yers was just ah’bout right. Here’s tha’ difference between what you did ta’ me, n’ what I did ta’ Randall Knox. Randall is - (pauses) I’m lookin’ fer tha’ right word here. It’s not spineless. I pried n’ bent on it in Brooklyn like tha’ Champ does with tha’ truth. (nods) He’s not a coward, either. But, in tha’ South, in a place like Philly, he’s not tha’ definition of a man. That moral compass a’ his is so fucked that I’m shocked he can find his way down ta’ tha’ ring some nights. I crown tha’ Little King n’ all he does is take it n’ shut his mouth.”

“Me, on the other hand - (takes a swill of the Pabst Blue Ribbon next to him) you pull a stunt like that with me n’ I make it mah’ business ta’ hurt you. With some folks, it’s nothin’ more than puttin’ a beatin’ on ‘em. But you, Harmen, I know damn well that physical pain is not somethin’ that’s gonna’ shake you. Ya’ could build a fine shed with tha’ number a’ screws you got loose. What I’m gonna’ do is let you go fer one hour, fer tha’ entire Triathalon Three-Way, with tha’ hope that you could walk away tha’ World Champion. Then, when tha’ dust settles, yer gonna’ have ta’ watch tha’ Big Belt get strapped ah’round mah waist. Yer gettin’ up there in dog years. It’s gonna’ put a big ol’ smile on mah’ face ta’ see you watchin’ an opportunity - maybe tha’ last - slip through yer fingers. That’ll burn you up, Devil Boy - I know it will, but that’s tha’ price a’ playin’ with fire.”

(BRYANT runs a hand over his clean shaven face.)

BRYANT: “I s’pose I better get ta’ Impulse - Bear Bryant knows that he’s a bit of a attention whore. I do wanna’ let you know that I’ve always respected you as a wrassler - yer possibly tha’ best technician goin’ right now. Aside from that, I never had much time fer you. You’ve embraced tha’ Homegrown Hero role as long as I can remember, but as much as you’ve tested tha’ waters, that’s one awkward, ass-out hug at best. You can claim ta’ be tha’ Best in tha’ World, ‘r that nobody can beat you, but I’m gonna’ rip apart tha’ little Dream World you live in, Knox. I know this match is made fer a wiry, little punk like you - yer called tha’ Marathon Man fer a reason, but this is gonna’ be about a lot more than stamina. That can be taken from you. That’s gonna’ be tha’ reoccurin’ theme a’ tha’ evenin’. Yer not in yer safe haven anymore. Home-field advantage is back in Brooklyn - Philly is a Jack Bryant-sorta city, Knox. All tha’ fans that are usually at yer back, I’m gonna’ take them, too. Sure, you’ll have yer supporters - tha’ women n’ children, tha’ PG crowd, will be out there - but most a’ what yer gonna hear while I’m beatin’ you corner-ta’-corner is mah’ name. n’ then, ta’ top it all off, I’m gonna’ take yer World Title. (smirks) You say that yer on borrowed time in tha’ Frontier, Randall. Well, consider all a’ this mah’ partin’ gift ta’ you, Champ.”

(FADEOUT)

 

[brusch]

Yes, I do like the belt.

(FADE TO: Lake Shore Trail, North Avenue Beach, Chicago. LEYENDA DE OCHO sits behind a plain table stacked with cup upon cup of Gatorade, which is periodically visited by runners squeezing in their last training runs for Sunday's Chicago Marathon. Ocho is wearing his "CAN'T KEEP ME DOWN" tee and a pastel pink mask, with the Triple Crown Championship over his shoulder. It plays a continuous loop of the music and video from Mike Tyson's Punch Out where Mac runs behind his coach's bicycle. He slaps hands with a runner before addressing the camera.)


LDO: "You know, the secret to these things - you have to be able to pace yourself. You let that adrenaline get to you in the beginning of the race, surrounded by 50,000 other people whooping and hollering and cheering the same thing you're cheering, and your heart starts pumping pretty quickly. You'll probably feel great about it too - and then, mile 20 hits, and you're deeply embedded in the South Side of town. Where NO ONE is there to cheer you on. Where you're surrounded by runners left and right dropping like flies, succumbing to the physical and mental exhaustion, not realizing that they doomed themselves with their impatience in the very beginning. When you're at that stage, before you have that finish line in your sights, it is a battle between yourself and the devil inside you - and it's where you find out what you're really made of."


(Ocho hands two runners cups, who proceed sloppily throw them down their throat, Gatorade splattering everywhere.)


LDO: "I respect you, Alex. Way too much to make jokes about your name (and trust me, with a name like mine? That's some real pot-kettle-black territory I'd be entering). You're a hell of a talent, a hell of a grappler, and for quite some time you've hitched your proverbial wagon to perhaps the biggest name in our industry. But while I appreciate you calling me The Guy, there's something you need to understand. I didn't get where I am now overnight.


My pursuit of Rook Black and the Triple Crown Championship was over a year in the making. The minute I learned that there was an illustrious, long-tenured champion in NFW who held a championship shaped like a Triforce, I knew my goal. My ONE goal, my singular focus until the task was complete. And then, the more I got to know Rook Black the man? The defiler, the Machiavellian Final Boss who would throw everything he could to destroy my quest to restore Power, Wisdom and Courage to the title? Well...you know how the story went.


It took me a long time to get through that wall, Alex. Maybe it's quick in the eyes of some, in the eyes of those who go with the flow and win where they can, with less focused aims; I don't intend to convince people like that. What you need to realize, Alex, is that in the year I've been in pursuit of this title, I've learned the value patience. I've learned the value of knowing when all you need to do is hang in there until it's your moment to push as hard as any man can push.


I've learned what it takes to be a winner.


It's not talk. It's not being drowned in a sea of worrying about your indie-cred and the opinions of those who only want to see you fail. It's being the 100%, completely, entirely, fully concentrated and purest form of yourself...and unleashing it upon all who stand in your path.


I've been getting cheers along the way for how I go about my business, but I'm not going to pretend everyone agrees. I've gotten to do promotional spots with Nintendo, but I'd be ok if I'm never on the cover of a video game. My masks and tee shirts have been selling pretty well, but I know better than to think everyone's on my side. You're probably going to get some cheers in Philadelphia, Alex - because you're good. Too good to overlook.


So call me the next Impulse, call me commercialized, call me anything you want. I know the important truths. And the biggest one?"


(Ocho pats his title belt twice.)


LDO: "This isn't going ANYWHERE."


(FTB)

 

[User Poets]

One dance left

"There's two ways to look at the Triathalon."

"The first is that the New Frontier management is hoping that having Harmen and Bryant in the ring with me at the same time will cause JB to forget that Harmen interfered in what was his first ever shot at the New Frontier World Title, and take me out of the match early."

Culminating, I guess, in what you could call a Jack-Off?

"The second is that the New Frontier management is hoping that an hour's worth of falls, near falls, and broken - up - by - the - third - party falls will be sufficient to have all of us dragging our asses off the mat by the time the bell rings, and - again - the two on one advantage will spell 'We have a new Champion.'"

"I vote for a third option."

"I win the match, and I walk out of the ring with the New Frontier World Championship."

"I am the Marathon Man, after all."

(FADEIN...

I'm lying on my back on the canvas of the old training ring in the basement of Coop's. Dressed in civvies - faded jeans, a plain black button down shirt, my worn out leather jacket, motorcyle boots, and the New Frontier World Championship belt lying over my shoulder.

Don't get cute, either - this is certainly not the last thing I'm going to see in the New Frontier. You're not nearly as clever as you think.

The view is spinning, like someone tied the camera to the ceiling, pointed downward,

And...)

"This is the culmination of the past three years. This is the culmination of the moment Troy Windham declared war on the New Frontier. His Troyal Pain in the Ass is gone, his minions are scattered and irrelevant, and the World Championship will be decided between the three best wrestlers of the past three years."

"No offense to Castor Strife, but he's just as much show and spectacle as he is wrestling ability - this is past, present, and future, all coming together to see who will rule the New Frontier."

Past.

"Jack Harmen has been a living legend for more than a dozen years."

Let that sink in for a second.

"Jack Harmen has been a legendary name in this sport for more years than my career and Jack Bryant's career, combined."

"This isn't a nostalgia trip like Hornet, either. This isn't a man with a ton of early success who spends the last fifteen years of his career milking the first ten past the point of relevancy."

But to Hornet's credit, he's spent most of the past decade using his name to give credibility to the up - and - comers, ensuring that this sport would even have a future. I don't want to embarass Troy or Mike Randalls by saying their names, but that's the right way to do business.

"Jack Harmen held a version of the World Title as recently as two thousand nine. In this day and age in the wrestling business, that's barely a blink of an eye ago. Jack Harmen has held every title in the New Frontier except for the Television and the World."

National's evolution to Triple Crown included.

"Jack Harmen is a force to be reckoned with, whether he's twenty one, twenty nine, thirty six, or forty."

Future.

"I think it's pretty safe to say, nobody was as dominant a Television Champion as Jack Bryant. You can look at Joe the Plumber, who vacated the belt on becoming the World Champion, or Castor Strife, who vacated the belt for what ended up being a successful bid to win the vacant World Championship two years later."

"I'm not talking about a wrestler's career in full."

"I'm talking about the New Frontier World Television Championship."

"If this company shut down tomorrow, in a hundred years when it's the stuff of legend, Jack Bryant's name will be the one they associate with the Television Championship."

And that's the problem.

"The Television Championship has always been the stepping stone to the World Title. If you look at the history of the belt, the only men who have ever held the TV Title without holding the World have been Jack Bryant and Dorchester Stratton."

"Dorchy is the current holder; besides, he's not good enough."

"And JB's only shot so far was tainted by the past. Can he win this one and keep the streak alive?"

"Part of me hopes so. Part of me hopes that he's able to get past the way he was robbed by the Hellfire Club and rub their faces in it by holding the World Title aloft at the culmination of the Triathalon."

"That's one part of me. Truth be told, I fully believe that Jack Bryant will be the next New Frontier World Champion."

"I just don't think it'll happen at Reloaded 18."

Present.

"Because I'm not ready to let go of this title just yet."

"Because in this industry, you get what you give - and I've given everything to the New Frontier."

"Because, while Jack Bryant refers to me as appealing to the PG Crowd... all I can do is laugh."

That's almost as funny as Alex Austin calling me the Green Day to his NOFX. I prefer to be the Black Flag of professional wrestling, Alex. Groundbreaking and revolutionary, and completely reviled in their day. Long hair, longer songs, they dared to have a guitar solo or two. And they were vilified for it by fundamentalist paint - by - numbers punkers like you apparently remain.

For the record, in 2013, FLAG, in my opinion, is the spiritual legacy to the original group. Keith Morris, Chuck Dukowski, Dez Cadena, and Bill Stevenson have more rights to the name than Gregg Ginn. How's that for punk, loser?

"The PG Crowd."

"Because I carry myself with dignity."

"Because I don't cuss."

"Because when handed a chair I'll hand it back."

"It's quite possible that the most refined gentleman to ever appear on film in the past twenty five years was played by Sir Anthony Hopkins."

"Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

"Am I a cannibal? Am I insane? Am I a supervillain? Of course not."

"All I want to do is caution you not to superficially judge. Have I done that to you? Have I done that to anyone?"

"I know the rumors, Jacks. I've heard the rumors. I know that people are saying this is the end of my New Frontier career."

"Do I answer that? Do I address the rumors?"

To an extent.

"All I'm going to say is that for five years, I've lived, breathed, sweated and bled New Frontier Wrestling. I've expanded my career beyond what I ever thought I could do and I've had varying degrees of success in some of the biggest wrestling companies operating today - but I never forgot the New Frontier. I never stopped promoting this place as my home, the place where I got my start, the place that held my biggest loyalty."

Hell, in my Official FWO Photo, I was wearing a NFW T-Shirt. Can my loyalty to the New Frontier or the Wrestling Revolucion really be denied?

"Is this the end? Who can say."

"But if it is, I intend on making it such an end... that the name Impulse will forever be spoken of when referring to the greatest athletes in the New Frontier's history."

"Is this the end?"

"I doubt it."

"But if this is the last time I'm going to appear in New Frontier Wrestling, I'm not worried about the possibility of not winning the match"

"Last time pays for all."

FADE

 

[Ford]

Luna-LINC of the PAST has DEMANDS

(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC interlaced with the NFW World Heavyweight Championship. BLACK VIDEO MATTE.)

JACK HARMEN (V.O.): Shakespeare couldn’t craft a finer ending than what fate hath dictated.

(FADEIN: OVERHEAD VIEW, from a blimp hovering above LINCOLN FINANCIAL FIELD. Starring up at the sky at the 50 yard line is your next World Champion.)

JACK HARMEN: Cause this will all end in TRAGEDY.

(Harmen chuckles.)

JACK HARMEN: Hilarious tragedy!

(Jack Harmen is doing snow angels in the middle of the 50 yard line. There is no snow. He’s dressed completely in red.)

JACK HARMEN: Jack Bryant comes back to the town that MADE him, Philadelphia, PA… only to realize? This is HARMEN country.

(Harmen curls the side of his lips, doing his best Bryant impersonation. Or is that Foghorn Leghorn? It’s ANYONE’S guess.)

JACK HARMEN: Now boy, I’z I’z tell ya wa’. Ta’ der Philly boy be dun CRAZY.

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: I mean, I would TOTALLY kill Santa Claus. I bleed Eagles green, I sweat Phillies blood, and I PISS Pabst Blue. Fucking poser drink, what are you, a damn hipster? Fuck that noise. Have you always just PRETENDED to be a man? Cause I’m a REAL man’s man. With these VERY HANDS, SOAKED IN BLOOD on the DAILY. Shit son, I even built a shed once!

(CUTTO: A rickety shed. Numerous screws are loose. It promptly collapses. CUTTO: Harmen on the 50 yard line. He hacks a cough.)

JACK HARMEN: Don’t get me wrong, I respect a man who can take a beating, and you’ve taken the finest beating I’ve ever dished and came back asking for more. You’re DAMN GOOD FAMILY FUN, and I hope to share LOTS of BLOODY VIOLENT JOY with you at Reloaded 18.

(Harmen can’t help but smile.)

JACK HARMEN: I can’t FUCKING WAIT!

(Harmen cackles, hacks and spits to his side. He continues making imaginary snow angels. The field above his head has been uplifted by cleets in such a way that Harmen looks like he has devil horns.)

JACK HARMEN: If you somehow leave Reloaded the champion Jacky boy? You’re gonna do so in an ambulance or a body bag, because I’ve got a shotgun from SMart, and you’re a S-M-R-Tard. I don’t play by the rules, and if I have to break them to TAKE the belt, earned or not? You’ll NEVER see the Vengeance coming.

(Harmen laughs and climbs to his feet.)

JACK HARMEN: And you GUESS you better get to the WORLD CHAMP? C’mon Bryant. Pulse may be the nanciest of nancy boys, the wimpiest of the wimpy, a man who can’t even use a chair to DOME JJ DEVILLE?! And Champs got a pussy, no doubt ‘bout that, but shit son, you disrespect his skills in the ring and I’m gonna have to fight back from a nine to two to zero deficit when he flash pins you twenty times in six minutes. And honestly, I don’t have that patience. If it comes down to that? I will BURN the ring to EMBERS AND ASH! I will wipe the world CLEAN of not only Impulse, not only Jack Bryant, but the ENTIRE NFW AS A WHOLE.

(Harmen’s eyes go wide.)

JACK HARMEN: Cause the ‘past’ (Harmen sneers, effectively a “f you pulse”) demands a tribute. That tribute is a shiny gold belt and the head of its former champion on a PIKE!

(Harmen coughs and growls.)

JACK HARMEN: Now, this is a message to Impulse. Listen son, deny it all you will, but you’re BAT SHIT crazier than ME!! You get handed a perfectly good steel chair, and your first impulse ISN’T to crack your opponent with it? Seriously, what sort of name is Impulse if you never GIVE IN to your impulses!

(Harmen shakes his head.)

JACK HARMEN: You've had a good career here, great even, and we’ve been friends. I do appreciate and honor that bond, but I do so in MY way. I’m gonna let you in on WHY people are rumor mongering about the inevitable end of your career.

(Harmen smiles and points to himself.)

JACK AHRMEN: It’s because I’m fucking Judas. I GUAREN-FUCKING-TEE it. When you’re opposite the ring of me? I’m going to legally DEMOLISH and DESTROY you for an HOUR, and walk out (dramatic pause) CHAMPION…

(Harmen rolls his shoulders.)

JACK HARMEN: If THAT doesn’t work out the way I EXPECT?! Fair warning since we're friends and all… I will invoke the NUCLEAR OPTION! 'Cause it’s not a HOPE I walk out with the World Championship, it’s an inevitability. The hope is I don’t blow up NFW in the process.

(JACK HARMEN grabs the camera by its side.)

JACK HARMEN: I WILL, walk out with the world title, or NO ONE WILL!

(Harmen lets go of the cameraman, who stumbles back.)

JACK HARMEN: This is my demand. This is my promise. This is my last will and testament. This is my FUCKING DECREE!

(Harmen loses air and coughs before clearing his throat.)

JACK HARMEN: Even if it breaks me... even if it kills me… my last act will be to raise the NFW World Championship high above my head in the town I grew up in.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Whether I’ve “earned” it or not.

(Harmen laughs, tossing his head back.)

JACK HARMEN: Just try and stop me.

(HARMEN falls back to the 50 yard line and continues to make some Lincoln Financial Field snow angles, while his laugh echoes.

FADE OUT.)

 

[Biron]

NUT UP


(FADEIN: To ‘Birmingham Stallion’ JACK BRYANT, standing in front of an eroded, multi-colored brick wall, dressed in an orange General Lee “01” tee, seen-better-days Wranglers, and light brown Double-H Ramblers. Bryant’s hands, taped up in Tully Knuckles - white athletic tape wrapped around his knuckles/palms and thumb taped separately - are planted on his hips.)

BRYANT: “Jack Harmen … you ol’ red-headed stepchild you.”

“Are you tryin’ ta’ tell us somethin’? Are you, boy? Is there a reason yer jumpin’ around, road flares strapped around yer chest, threatenin’ death n’ destruction on anybody that’ll listen? Look at me! Look at me! And ta’ think I was knockin’ on Randall fer bein’ an attention whore - yer takin’ it ta’ a whole new level.”

“Maybe yer folks stuck you in tha’ corner one too many times ‘cause you were a weird, little bastard. Could be that yer crutch, yer best pal Nova was keepin’ you from goin’ off tha’ deep end. Is that it? Are you Nova-sick, Jackie-boy? (quick smirk) For awhile there, you were back in tha’ spotlight again - that must’a been a nice blast from tha’ past - but the Superfly Express was bound ta’ run off tha’ tracks. One second yer talkin’ about how tha’ belts never come off n’ tha’ next yer right back ta’ where you been tha’ past five years. ‘course, you see that limelight fadin’ away n’ what else can lil’ Jack Harmen do, but go ta’ his dark place.”

(BRYANT cracks a crooked grin.)

“Hell, it seems ta’ be doin’ tha’ job - yer smack dab in tha’ middle a’ tha’ World Title hunt. Not bad considerin’ you earned - that’s stretchin’ tha’ word, too - yer original shot by beatin’ a buncha’ rookies n’ unknowns. Now, yer rantin’ n’ ravin’ about yer spot on tha’ totem pole, attackin’ whoever gets within reach a’ tha’ belt, n’ doin’ yer Lunatic bit like never before. (scowls) n’ you wanna’ call me a pretender? (send a gob of spit flying off-camera) I see tha’ theatrics fer what they are, Jack-o. It’s a long tooth in this business, fingers dug in deep, clingin’ on tha’ edge. It’s got all tha’ makin’s of a feel-good story. I can already imagine Impulse gettin’ all teary-eyed n’ offerin’ you a helpin’ hand - he’s tha’ sensitive type after all. (grins) Me … well, I’m not such a bleedin’ heart. I’ll stomp yer fingers n’ watch you slip back ta’ bein’ lost in tha’ shuffle.”

“I s’pose tha’ position yer in makes you a dangerous individual. Harmen, I’m good with all that. You see, I’ve made it mah’ business .. hell, I’ve gona outta mah’ way ta’ butt heads with tha’ kind a’ fellas that would’a loved ta’ pull tha’ pin on mah’ career. Yanno, maybe there’s somethin’ tha’ matter with mah’ line a’ thinkin’. But, when I hear you spoutin’ about me leavin’ Philly in a ambulance ‘r a body bag (grins), I can’t stop this ol’ crooked grin. ‘cause I’d bet tha’ farm in Birmingham that yer not man enough ta’ do it. You wanted ta’ flap yer gums about me bein’ a real man ‘r not - well, ya’ got sixty minutes ta’ find out n’ yer sure as shit gonna’. Somethin’s gotta give, boy.”

“We’ll see what in Philly. Time ta’ NUT UP.”

(BRYANT runs a hand down his trimmed beard.)

BRYANT: “Now, Harmen, go sit in tha’ corner n’ smash yer toys while tha’ adults talk.”

“What tha’ hell was that, Randall? (smirks) That’s gotta be some sort’a record fer rattlin’ off reasons yer gonna’ lose a match. You’d think tha’ Marathon Man would know he oughta’ pace himself. I might a’ been impressed - that was some serious ESS-EE-SEE speed - but yer a bit predictable, sport. This isn’t tha’ first time I’ve had ta’ listen ta’ you spin a situation ta’ suit you best. You can pull that shit with tha’ greenhorns, but not ol’ Jack Bryant - I got a nose fer bullshit n’ yer gonna’ need hip waders if it gets any deeper around here. I just think it’s a cryin’ shame that you decided ta’ come out - tha’ straight-laced, honorable World Champion - n’ go about sullyin’ what’s set ta’ go down at Reloaded.”

“You think tha’ folks at home want ta’ listen ta’ tha’ White Knight, tha’ self-proclaimed Best in tha’ World conjurin’ up scenario after scenario a’ how me n’ Harmen are gonna’ team up n’ scheme tha’ belt off a’ him? That’s one helluva a imagination you got there, Randall. Ya’ seem ta’ think I’m gonna stand side-by-side with tha’ nutjob that just tried ta’ kick mah’ head clean off mah’ shoulders n’, in tha’ process, stopped me from winnin’ tha’ World Title - (shakes head) sure, that sounds like somethin’ I would do. (chuckles) You’ve got an interestin’ take on actin’ with dignity. You see, I never knew that much dignity made a fella’ come off like a whinin’ brat. (pauses) If that’s what you’ve been talkin’ about all this time - if that’s why yer ridin’ around on a high horse, you can keep it. I don’t want that from you, Randall - all I want is tha’ World Heavyweight Title. At Reloaded, it's mine.

(FADEOUT)

 

[Ford]

Re: NUT UP

(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC interlaced with the NFW WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP.)

(FADEIN: JACK HARMEN, your friendly neighborhood Lunatic, with LIT ROAD FLARES strapped around his chest like a BOMB VEST. They go well with his red canvas pants and dyed red hair. His eyes bulge out of their sockets. He holds that red steel chair in his right hand.)

JACK HARMEN: You think I’m doing this all for ATTENTION?!

(Harmen looks down to the road flare strapped across his chest. They’re clearly singe his skin and leave burn marks across his chest.)

JACK HARMEN: I’m doing this because I’ve lost my SOUL. I may have lost my partner, but he was NOT my moral compass. Nova was simply a muzzle. He never wanted to get his hands dirty. He never wanted his soul to be tainted.

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: I’m doing all this because my vessel is on BORROWED TIME. I am a wayward child searching the desert for a prophet, looking for guidance. I want a REASON for this life. I want PURPOSE.

(XCU: Harmen’s eyes. They bulge.)

JACK HARMEN: I am LOST in the darkness of my soul. And the ONLY, SHINING BEACON I can find?

(Medium Close UP, as Jack Harmen pulls off the road flares.)

JACK HARMEN: The NFW World Heavyweight Championship.

(The road flares clang to the ground.)

JACK HARMEN: Impulse may be the poster child of NFW, but he’s already thinking of the best way he can lose the championship. Me? I wouldn’t ever CONSIDER losing. Those dirt sheets and reporters spewing their verbal diarrhea how I was washed up at 26, 30, 34, as soon as LAST MONTH!

(HARMEN holds up an ESEN magazine, with an article questioning the longectivity of the Neighborhood Lunatic with the quotation as “When will the Lunatic snap (his knees)?” Harmen tosses the magazine to the ground.)

JACK HARMEN: You think I give them an OUNCE of credibility? Hell, I prove ‘em wrong EVERY TIME this 37 year old body FLIES HIGH.

(XCU: Harmen sneers. He coughs once.)

JACK HARMEN: And to change gears, this has been bugging me since I saw the VTR. I gotta prove that I earned a shot at the World Championship?

(Medium Close Up: Harmen paces.)

JACK HARMEN: Jack Bryant questions my worth as a challenger to the NFW title. He calls me over the hill. He spews the venom of the dirt sheets in the vain hope of representing an audience that’s WRONG. I earned my opportunity against ‘Pulse by beating the best this company could put against me. Then on the night in question, Calvin Carlton made sure it was the WORST night of my life. So Pulse, as I expected, offered me a rematch. After that, what can I say? I got impatient J.B. Cause I was wondering to myself backstage, why I was waiting in line BEHIND a concussed injured broken SHELL of a man who LOST to Dorchester Stratton. Why I had to wait for YOU to LOSE your chance so I could get my rematch for the World Heavyweight Championship?! When did LOSING to Dorchester STRATTON of all people turn Jack Bryant into a CONTENDER?

(XCU: Harmen’s lips.)

JACK HARMEN: Pity.

(WIDE SHOT: Jack Harmen coughs and spits to the side.)

JACK HARMEN: Jack Bryant is booked as the third man in our ménage-a-toi because the booking staff and marketing departments know they gotta pull that trigger NOW, or NEVER. All those JB t-shirts and beer cozies are WORTHLESS if Jack Bryant doesn’t win the World title before he suffers Post Concussion Syndrome and retires at 28.

(XCU: Harmen’s thumbs up.)

JACK HARMEN: If it’s not me who EARNS the belt, I hope it’s you JB.

(Back to Medium Shot. Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Cause I’ll attack you after, and blast you OVER, and OVER in the head with a STEEL CHAIR.

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: Then the next show, I’m gonna do it AGAIN.

(Harmen cackles.)

JACK HARMEN: And again.

(CLOSEUP: Harmen throws back his head.)

JACK HARMEN: AND AGAIN!

(Medium Shot: Harmen pats his steel chair.)

JACK HARMEN: You’re a good steel chair. Nice and sturdy. I’m gonna call you “Clang-Ow.” Clang-Ow here is excellent for causing multiple concussions to men driven by their ego, filled with pride and vanity. Clang-Ow is a master at ENDING careers. The perfect tool to bring a man like Jack Bryant CRASHING back to earth, to use a man's hubris against him. But I think I may have a FRIEND for you Clang-Ow.

(Harmen wanders off frame. A moment later, he returns with BATPULSE, the fake Impulse mask dangling from a BASEBALL BAT.)

JACK HARMEN: Clang-Ow, meet BATPULSE. Batpulse, meet Clang-Ow. Sorry you guys couldn’t meet Nova, he could drink you guys under the table. But don’t worry. I’m gonna introduce you both to my good friends Impulse and Jack Bryant VERY soon.

(Harmen laughs. He drops both the bat and the chair promptly.)

JACK HARMEN: You don’t think I have what it takes to put you in a BODY BAG JB? I don’t hide ladders or tables or kitchen sinks under the ring, I hide SHOTGUNS and FLAME THROWERS. I call them BANG and FIRE BAD. Bang ends things, Fire Bad cleans up the evidence. By the time I’m through with Jack Bryant if he SOMEHOW wins the World title, the ONLY thing left will be a Ziploc of ASHES and the WORLD TITLE draped on MY shoulder.

And yes Philadelphia Police department, that is a confession--

(STATIC CUTTO: It looks like an insert edit. Mary-Lynn Mayweather is sitting behind an oak desk with her name plate front and center.)

MARY-LYNN MAYWEATHER: This interview is in no way a confession and should not be construed as such. Any threats of acts of violence are confined to the theatrics of the squared circle.

(STATIC CUTTO: Insert edit over, Harmen is in mid rant.)

JACK HARMEN: --Bryant. I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE!

(Harmen snarls. He coughs once and spits on the ground.)

JACK HARMEN: This above all: to thine ownself be true.

(XCU: Harmen’s eyes, BULGING. The cameraman RUNS away but Harmen STRIKES, SMASHING CLANG-OW into the camera lens. STATIC. FADE TO BLACK.)

 

[Ford]

SEE the CRAZY

OOC: Use it or lose it. Just didn't want to miss out and figured I might be able to extend this smoorgasborg of fun a bit!

“FOURTH~!?!”

(FADEIN: Jack Harmen, sitting at his office desk, reading the most recent article released on NFW.com on his third generation ipad. He promptly smashes it all over the table top. He frowns.)

JACK HARMEN: Hmm. I guess I can see how Troy Windham can go through a dozen of these in a day.

(Harmen tosses the broken pieces of his ipad into the corner of his WRESTLING DUNGEON ACADEMY office. In said corner are numerous broken weapons that would routinely be used in a professional wrestling setting: kendo sticks, crutches, steel chairs. Also in the pile of wreckage are no fewer than a dozen shattered Nintendo DS systems. Back to Harmen’s paperwork cluttered desk, as Harmen slams his hands down, causing papers to scatter.)

JACK HARMEN: It doesn’t matter if I’m first, fourth, or eight hundred and seventy second best “wrestler” in the world. All anyone needs is… ONE… GOOD… NIGHT.

(Harmen cracks a smile. There’s a twinkle in his eye.)

JACK HARMEN: Or, ONE, good, PLAN. Or in my case, a SPIDERWEB of plans. Because I might not be the fastest anymore, I may not be able to hang with a marathon man like Pulse over a full hour, but I’ve got the experience and the knowledge to use the LIMITATIONS that time has bestowed on me to MY advantage.

(Harmen hacks a loogie and spits into the corner.)

JACK HARMEN: It’s not about being the fastest, or the strongest. It’s about perseverance. It’s about being the SMARTEST.

(Harmen cackles.)

JACK HARMEN: And JB over there’s got the spirit of a LION, but the IQ of a grapefruit with a brain that’s a few steel chair shots away from turning into mashed potatoes. Impulse, the idiot, was open and honest enough to tell us, that he’s given us EVERYTHING he has. He has done everything he can as NFW champion to represent the NFW faithful.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Which means I know his limitations. I know how far Impulse will go to remain champion. And yet, there’s not a MAN out there that knows just how FAR I’ll go to be proclaimed the World Champion. No one, NO ONE understands just how much I NEED this.

(Harmen coughs, and sneers.)

JACK HARMEN: It’s not a matter of needing to be champion soon. (Long pause). Or even a year from now. (shakes his head) I need to be champion SIX MONTHS AGO. My clock is ticking, and my 37 year old body is about to EXPLODE. You all may see that during our HOUR LONG Iron Man Match, but KNOW that I have a PLAN.

(XCU: Harmen’s face illuminated by a computer light.)

JACK HARMEN: And I have a back up plan. And I’ve got a back up to my back up.

(Medium shot.)

JACK HARMEN: And SOOO on. Which is STRANGE to consider how well prepared the UNPREDICTABLE LUNATIC is. But I’ve done this all before. Too many times to count. I know that, honestly? Once that bell rings? Every MOMENT, every BREATH changes the CONTEXT of the contest.

JB may think he knows what he’s getting into, but come minute 45 those punches are gonna have the effect of an 85 year old JB with progeria.

Impulse may be able to last an entire hour running at high gear, true, and he may very well be one of the best pure natural athletes this sport has ever seen… but can he truly prepare to counter whatever I DECIDE to do!?

(CLOSE UP: As Harmen grabs the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. (lets go) You couldn’t even counter Fakepulse! And I was just trying to have some FUN!

(Harmen sneers.)

JACK HARMEN: Now, I want your belt. And friendship, love, death, life, NOTHING will stop me from TAKING it. If I go to prison twenty five to life as the World Champion? MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

(Harmen looks down. He coughs once.)

JACK HARMEN: Cause I have NOTHING left to lose. Nova, lost in Mexico. My wife? Gone. My kids? Growing up without me. My career? Shit, I’m a waning moon. But I can cause the most ROURIOUS RAPTURESQUE tide this sport has EVER seen.

(Harmen laughs, smiling.)

JACK HARMEN: The greatest story has yet to be told. There’s a REASON, for my madness. You’d understand and be a little crazy were you in my shoes.

(Harmen lets go of the camera, taking a deep sigh.)

JACK HARMEN: But I won’t give up. I’mma Spinal Tap the Lunatic to 11.

Cause this is my legacy.

And the NFW World Championship is the last piece of the puzzle.

(Harmen sneers.)

JACK HARMEN: So Pulse, I hope we can remain friends after I disembowel Rose. I hope JB and I can throw fists whenever we’re bored. I hope you all don’t take this PERSONALLY.

(Harmen tilts his head to the side.)

JACK HARMEN: Cause the violence is only focused on you cause you’ve got a bullseye on your back. I’d be doing the SAME thing were JB champ, if Castor Strife were still relevant, even if MY OWN MOTHER was champion.

(Harmen licks his lips.)

JACK HARMEN: The NFW title WILL be mine. JB, Pulse, CASTOR?! All you idiots just don’t realize.

(XCU: Harmen cracks a smile.)

JACK HARMEN: You’re just not crazy enough to see.

(FADEOUT.)

JACK HARMEN(V.O.): That makes these odds all even.

 

[RStrawsma]

"My name is Kerry Kuroyama... and professional wrestling is in my blood."

(Open on grainy home video footage taken from inside a local gym. Two individuals wrestle in a sparring bout to a sparse crowd of few trainers and other wrestling students. One of them, hardly out of his late teens, shows a certain amount of prowess and power that helps him gain an advantage, chaining together a set of suplexes with great form.)

"I come from three generations of professional wrestling tradition. And with a lineage like that, I've always lived under the weight of expectations to be great. Unflinching to that weight, I've dedicated every moment of my adult life to exceeding those expectations."

(Cut to archived footage of the same young man a year later, walking to the ring at an indie wrestling event hosted by the IWF out of the Pacific Northwest. The budget graphic appearing below identifies him as KERRY KUROYAMA. We see him in the ring for a moment of action, drilling an opponent to the mat with a pump-handle side powerslam.)

"All my life, people have told me about my potential to be one of the best of my generation... and perhaps to be even better. They said that all I needed was one perfect opportunity to step up and make a move."

(Cut to footage imported from Japan's OJPW promotion, skipping ahead another year. In a match amid a crowd of amazed Kyoto denizens, the young man heralded as "the Pacific Blitzkrieg" drops another opponent into the mat with his specialty Kuroyama Driver. In the following shot, the referee raises his arm and his name is announced as the winner of the match.)

"So journeyed out beyond the boundaries of my home of Seattle is search of that opportunity. And in that search, I found the will to overcome every challenge that beset my path."

(Cut to promotional footage taken at the most recent Ultimate Wrestling Alliance event. Kerry Kuroyama tangles with a goat-masked luchador, narrowly ducking a missile dropkick. As soon as the opponent regroups and gets to his feet, Kuroyama lands a STIFF spinning back chop that sends him careening wildly back to the mat.)

"That quest for opportunity has led me to the Ultimate Wrestling Alliance, where I've been on tour for the past couple months, continuing to get the job done one match at a time. But up until now, everything I've experienced in the ring has just been a warm-up exercise compared to where my journey takes me next."

(Cut to "the Pacific Blitzkrieg" KERRY KUROYAMA standing proudly before a Reloaded 18 backdrop, clad his ring attire with a matching emerald green robe, arms crossed over his chest, and eyes full of confidence and keen ambition.)

"The time to act on an opportunity is here and now."

"At NFW's Reloaded 18, I hope to represent the UWA... before a sold out capacity crowd full of Philadelphia fans who have come to watch the greatest CHAMPIONS of New Frontier go to war in the ring."

"With the eyes of the world watching him in action, 'the Pacific Blitzkrieg' KERRY KUROYAMA will give this industry its first glimpse at the new evolution of professional wrestling."

(Fade to black.)

 

[Biron]

Back in Birmingham


(FADEIN: To a wide shot of ‘Birmingham Stallion’ JACK BRYANT, sporting a white button-up w/ rolled sleeves, a pair of dressy Wranglers and Black Jack Caimans by Heritage Boots, standing in front of a dark mahogany trophy case with three vertical glass panels. Behind the outer panels, there are dozens of colored and/or black and white photos, a 2011 FW Rookie of the Year trophy, three replica TV Titles, and a fourth belt - black straps and a large silver plate with a Jack Bryant/Jack Daniel’s Alabama Smash Mouth Wrasslin’ logo. The shot creeps forward on the stoic Bryant.)

BRYANT: “Let me tell ya’ somethin’ about you that you don’t know, Jack Harmen.”

(He grimaces.)

“As much as it kills me ta’ say it … in this company, in tha’ Frontier, you haven’t done a sliver of what Stratton has. So when you try to rundown Jack Bryant for “losing to Dorchester Stratton of all people”, I just can’t stop this ol’ crooked grin. Not when it’s comin’ from yer yapper, Harmen. Not when tha’ runnin’ joke is that yer tha’ Poland a’ Professional Wrasslin’ - you won tha’ National Championship n’ couldn’t even hold it for a day. Not when yer second greatest accomplishment is ta’ piggyback a NFW ACH-OH-EFFER to an EMT run. Not when yer claim ta’ tha’ World Title is a win over tha’ best tha’ company had (cracks a crooked grin) - names like Jesse Ramey, Orange Dragon, Lane Cash, and a Leyenda de Ocho. Sure, Ocho has made somethin’ of himself, but six-seven months ago, he was a rook with milk still wet on his lips. You seem ta’ think mah’ hubris will be mah’ downfall (smirks) but I’m not tha’ one who desperately needs a reality check. (chuckles) I bet them two words bring all sorts’a memories floodin’ back, considerin’ all tha’ time ya’ve spent in close proximity ta’ Cammy Cruise in tha’ Frontier. Maybe, that’s where tha’ problem lies. You might’a been too busy dressin’ up like Impulse, chasin’ around anybody with a mask, ‘r fightin’ over tha’ red crayon at tha’ kiddie table ta’ keep up.”

(The shot swings right to catch only BRYANT, the three replica Television Titles, and three black and white photos ⚊ Bryant and Shawn Hart, both high above the ring, hanging onto the TV Title at SUPERCRASH III, a suffering DeVille in mid-tap as Bryant, seemingly letting out a roar, leans back into the Southern Cross Sharpshooter, Bryant, up on the second turnbuckle, looking out at an unspecified crowd with the TV Title held up high.)

“I earned mah’ title shot long before me n’ Dorchester Stratton squared up in Amsterdam ta’ finish tha’ Best a’ Five Series. There’s not a lone victory I would point ta’ - it’s more about tha’ swath I cut through tha’ Frontier. You should know, Jack-o, you were one a’ tha’ fellas that came up short against me at SUPERCRASH III. I s’pose it can be tough ta’ keep all yer title matches straight - you’ve had a good dozen ‘r so. (smirks) You see, Harmen, it’s a cinch when yer messin’ with a bunch’a floppin’ crappies. That might be how you built yer contendership, but Jack Bryant took tha’ hard road. (nods) From tha’ day I won mah first TV Title ta’ tha’ day Stratton ended mah’ third run, I actually faced tha’ BEST tha’ Frontier had. I called out tha’ BEST. I put mah’ belt on tha’ line against tha’ likes a DeVille, Eric Dane, Impulse, n’ Stratton. Mah' strength a' schedule would make a Big East boy like you blush (cracks a crooked grin)- red looks good on you after all, Menace. That’s why you hear Impulse say “nobody was as dominant a Television Champion as Jack Bryant”. That’s why after tha’ Best a’ Five was over n’ done with, after I got released from tha’ hospital n’ got back here ta’ Birmingham, Eddie Mayfield paid a visit n’ gave me this belt … ”

(BRYANT half-turns, opens the right side of the case, and pulls out the belt w/ the Jack Bryant/Jack Daniel’s Alabama Smash Mouth Wrasslin’ logo on the large silver plate. BRYANT, holding the belt at abdomen-level, squares back up with the camera.)

“Lookin’ back at it, it’s a helluva gesture fer Eddie ta’ give me this. At the time, well, (chuckles) I might’a reacted a bit differently. See, mah’ old man put in thirty-three years at Birmingham Steel n’ when he couldn’t physically take tha’ grind anymore, he got a real nice gold watch with his engraved initials n' a layoff slip. When Eddie handed me this belt, all I could think about was that gold watch. Even as beat up as I was, I knew that I wasn’t ready ta’ call it a day. That bein’ stretchered off inta’ tha’ sunset was not mah’ grand exit. Fer six months, day after day after day, I bust mah’ butt ta’ get back ta’ tha’ Frontier. I waited impatiently fer tha’ doctors ta’ clear me, ta’ tell me I was good ta’ go. I had all sorts’a folks - media, friends, n’ family - doin’ just what yer doin’ now, Jack-o. Doubtin’ that I could make it back after what me n’ Dorchester had done ta’ each other. But Jack Bryant’s not tha’ kinda’ man that sits on tha’ sidelines n’ wonders what if. I’m not gonna’ stand here n’ tell everybody that I’m at a hundred-percent ‘cause I just don’t know. (shrugs) But neither do you, Harmen, n’ all tha’ wishful thinkin’ you can drum up ain’t changin’ that. You can scheme ‘till tha’ cows come home ‘r weave together whatever elaborate rouse ya’ can, but it’s not gonna’ guarantee nothin’. ”

(The shot rotates all the way back to the left as BRYANT turns and puts the belt back into the case. On the shelf above, there are three more photos - Bryant, with a splintered table leg in-hand, crouched by a pleading JJ DeVille at RELOADED X, a handcuffed Bryant being led up the ramp by five Texas State Troopers, all wearing big cowboy hats, grey uniforms, black ties, and black pants, Bryant hogtieing Dorchester Stratton w/ the leather strap that connected them at RELOADED 13.)

“This good ol’ Southern boy likes ta’ keep it simple.”

(BRYANT cracks a crooked grin.)

“NUT UP or SHUT UP. See you boys in Philly.”

(FTB)

 

[Ford]

Re: Back in Birmingham

OOC: Way after midnight, but was inspired and wanted to write after work. Use it or lose it. Or move it to the Films forum. I'm game for whatever.

(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC interlaced with the NFW World Championship. CUTTO: JACK HARMEN, standing in the direct center of frame of a wide shot on a dutch tilt. He wears his a red cargo pants, red sunnydale high t-shirt, and his hair has been dyed red and spiked.)

JACK HARMEN: JB, did you even SEE Supercrash III? The only reason Rook walked out with the National title was because I LET him, because that’s the type of GIVING and GOOD WILLED MAN I was.

(Harmen clears his throat.)

JACK HARMEN: NOT ANYMORE! I chose my fate that night. Well, except for being powerbombed by an alien named Mr. Myers. I’m pretty sure he was an alien. Or a monster. I actually think he was a Kaiju.

(Harmen sneers.)

JACK HARMEN: MY greatest accomplishments in this organization were never WINS, but TRIUMPHS. Superfly winning the tag straps over two days in Hershey was surely my greatest win. It was a TRIUMPH of mine to pin Troy Windham and you’re good friend Malik in the same NIGHT the LAST time we fought. Me lasting an hour and a half at Supercrash III? Out marathoning the marathon man?

(Harmen smirks.)

JACK HARMEN: Finest hours of mine. Infiltrating Rook Black’s National Guard while also becoming an ESTEEMED member of Eddie Mayfield’s Secret Service. Shit, when you think about it, ANYONE could be TV champ. Who else besides ME could turn MAYFIELD into a fool?

(CUTTO: CU on Jack Harmen.)

JACK HARMEN: Getting everyone to believe I was Impulse? God. I'm waxing nostalgic.

(MEDIUM SHOT. Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: I’ve had more identities than you’ve had titles. I could go ON and ON, but know every version of me never doubted that you could come back from a simple concussion. I just told you, if you walked out of Reloaded 18 with MY NFW title, I’d attack you over, and OVER, and OVER, smashing steel chair after steel chair into your inevitably Humpty Dumpty cranium. I smell blood in the water.

(XCU: Harmen licks his lips.)

JACK HARMEN: Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.

(CUTTO: BLACK.)

 

[EastPrez]

Re: Back in Birmingham

This Thread is nickel-between-the-knees CLOSED AND LOCKED TIGHT.

THANKS FOR YOUR EFFORTS.

Great RP cycle. Look for BRAWL up before the end of the week and RELOADED the middle of next week (or sooner).

It would be great to get some NFW Chatter going about these cards - Thoughts, armchair booking, etc.

Let's stay active and K.I.M. (KEEP IT MOVING)

JN