SteelCitySon
League Member
One on one matchup!
Rocko Daymon vs. Christian Sands
- Thread starter SteelCitySon
- Start date
In The Beginning
SCENE BEGINS
(Fade into black and white. No color. It's a gymnasium, midday. From our current perspective, we see one side of a life-sized wrestling ring, standard issue, off to the left. On the right are a few mats for calusthenics and training reps, and a wall with shelves holding various exercise equipment. There is also a sound.)
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
(The camera slowly pans to the left, following the apron of the ring. Eventually, we get a look at what is to the left side of the room, where the weights and punching bags are kept. The shelves on the wall over here hold no exercise equipment. Instead, they are lined with various titles, trophies, and awards, most of which issued from Superior Championship Wrestling. The heavy sounds of blows landing continues to ring through the room.)
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
(We come to rest on the figure laying into the tall bag hung from the low-end of the ceiling. He is dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and a black hoodie with a significant emblem or symbol blazed on the back. The sleeves of the sweatshirt are pulled up to reveal a white long-sleeved undershirt. The hands are taped up. The hood is pulled over the head, but we see a definition of the side of the lower face of this man.)
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
(He puts blows into the bag with moderate pace, hodling a distinct boxer's stance. Then, out of nowhere, we hear a voice speak down to him. This belongs only to Rocko Daymon.)
"Why are you still here?"
(The boxer stops, and removes the hood. It is none other than Rocko Daymon. He looks up and sighs, almost shrugging off the sound of his own voice.)
"Why do you keep moving?"
"Why do you persist?"
(He responds with a soft blow into the bag. He's looking at the floor.)
"You don't even know what you're trying to achieve."
(He looks up again, with his expressionless face. Then, he turns back into the bag, and starts punching into it again. The voice returns, now with several messages coming in sporadically, as though there were a dozen Rocko Daymons speaking at once.)
"It's not going to work."
"Think of your health."
"Think of your wife and son."
"Why are you still here?"
"What is there to achieve? How many more get the last laugh? You can't return, you can't keep up with them. You're getting-stop trying while you-old-can still walk-You're forgetting what-Are you-happened to you-Just move-even-last time you-on-listening to me?-You will never-made your big-He's going to-give up-laugh at you-return?-Stop-while-you-STILL-CAN!!"
(The voices ring out in unison with the final statement. Rocko speeding up his blows as their punishing messages roll off his back like acid, now wears a tense, anger-ridden face. He punches the bag even harder, switching between hefty rights and lefts with animalistic force. Finally, he turns and crashes into the bag with a spinning right hand that jolts it back.)
(Breathing heavily, Rocko stops the bag from drifting back and forth, and looks to the floor again.)
"Then you'll learn on your own."
Rocko Daymon
I guess so.
(With the same voice responding to itself, we fade from black and white to color. Daymon looks up into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Empire Pro Wrestling... I am Rochester Vincent Daymon. Rocko, for short.
(He cracks a smile.)
Rocko Daymon
For those who don't know me, if you're going to make any wallaby or cartoon cracks, now is the time to do it. Cause when we meet in the ring...
(A light blow to the punching bag.)
Rocko Daymon
All jokes set aside, cause I like to take care of business.
(He takes in a deep breath, beginning to unravel the tape around his fists.)
Rocko Daymon
Today... is January 11th, 2004. It's an important day for me. Today, I am 27 years old...
(He shakes his head in amazement.)
Rocko Daymon
Twenty-seven years old... every time I say it, it reminds me that I'm not a young guy anymore. It's just too close to thirty for my liking. Today is a big fat reminder of how old I'm getting... and how young a lot of the new talents are. I've been in this business for five years. It's remarkable... looking back.
(He looks to the shelf of various trophies and titles.)
Rocko Daymon
And that's all I accomplished? Damn...
Guys like Dan Ryan and Eli Flair have enough gold in their vaults to run a jewelry outlet. It's kind of humbling. It tells me, time does not equal greatness. I may be a veteran... a few people might call me "legendary"... but looking at this? I see that I still have a long way to go.
(He looks directly into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Today, on my birthday, I realize that I'm running out of time to go the rest of the way. I hope to do it here, in Empire Pro. I hope to make a name for myself early on. That way, if this fed goes into legendary status, I'll be remembered as the legendary figure who was there in the beginning, standing out among the rest...
Wishful thinking? Yeah, maybe... but even at 27, I'm not about to throw in the towel. In fact, I'm far from it. I'm still pushing on. I'm going to prove to everybody that I still have it, and that it never left me. That's my goal in 2004, and in Empire Pro.
(Removing the last of the tape wound around his left hand, Rocko looks into his palm for a moment. Then, he pulls up a chair and seats himself.)
Rocko Daymon
And right off the bat? I'm paired with Christian Sands... my enemy since a long time ago, but a man I've haven't fought up until a few weeks ago.
And I know what he's going to say...
He's going to say, if it weren't for the involvement of Adam Benjamin, dressed as Santa Claus, he would have won that match. And yes, I'll be the first to admit that I would have been defeated without Benji Claus' interference. Pat yourself on the back, Christian... you won the first round.
(He clears his throat, and pulls up a cooler. To grab a drink? Hell no... who do you think this is? Dallas Winston?! He pulls it up to put up his feet.)
Rocko Daymon
But Christian... that was Major Championship Wrestling. That was Ballistic.
We're in a different federation now. We are working for a different owner--Paul Freeman, instead of Jeff Bolich. We are competing on a different show. Chances are, it will be televised on a different station, and there will be a different crowd watching us. With all these changes, why must we assume that the match itself will be the exact same?
I fought you once so far, quite recently, and learned from my mistakes. I'm sure you've done the same. We're now better prepared to go head to head. With that said, at least we can promise each other a better challenge. But what draws the line? What is it that gives one man the big glorious W and the other the fat ugly L?
Siimply put... motivation.
(A simple shrug.)
Rocko Daymon
Whoever wants it more, takes it, right? But I can say right now that I'm more motivated to win in this meeting than I was at MCW. You see, our meeting at Ballistic was, for me, a simple way of getting revenge, for your interference when I fought Karl Brown the week prior. But even something that serious pales in comparison to what I'm feeling now.
I've got a clean slate... a fresh new start in a sparkling clean federation. I have an opportunity like no other. For the longest time, I've been out... then struggling with my return. But now, I can explode into the main scene once again. By beating you, and the rest to come, I make myself known as one of the earliest overall ass-kickers in Empire Pro. Why else would the likes of Dan Ryan in GXW or DreamMaker in SCW be considered legends, even though, currently, they have nothing to their name?
It's because they were there in the beginning... and in the beginning, that's where everything matters, right? You do everything you can in the beginning, and from there, you grow.
Un-freakin'-believable, am I right?
(He nods twice.)
Rocko Daymon
I'm sure you've got the same motivation, Christian... I won't deny it. But lets see how much you want it when you step into the ring against me. I intend to do more than test your will. I will also be testing my own.
Hopefully, your bad blood with Adam Benjamin has simmered down, and we won't have to deal with him a second time. That's good, even though he helped me win in our last meeting. I want this match to end with a clean win from either end. No interferences, no feet on the ropes, no pulling tights...
(He smirks.)
Rocko Daymon
No bad call from the ref, or ANYTHING like that. One man wins, the other loses... no arguments, everything in fine print. That way, when we look back, there's no beating around the bush... no, "You wouldn't won ifs," or "I could have won whens."
Christian, wouldn't you agree? Wouldn't you want the same thing? Cause I'll tell you now, to disagree with that would prove that you are intimidated by my strength. Better yet, you might actually be AFRAID of me...
But that's not you, is it, Christian? Naw, can't be. I know you, and your arrogance. I know you think there is absolutely no way you can win this match... right?
(Rocko nods, wearing a confident smile.)
Rocko Daymon
Yeah, Christian... that's just the way I want you to think. All the more painful it will be for you when I blast you into the mat.
See you at Aggression, Christian. Bring all you can afford.
(With another nod, Rocko looks away from the camera. We fade to the emblem seen on the back of his hooded sweatshirt. In the background, "Capricorn" by 30 Seconds to Mars is playing.)
"So I run, hide, tear myself up.
"Start again with a brand new name,
"And eyes that see into infinity."
"I will disappear.
"I told you once and I'll say it again.
"I want my message read clear.
"I'll show you the way, the way I'm going."
"So I run, hide, tear myself up.
"Start again with a brand new name,
"And eyes that see into infinity."
"I was almost there.
"Just a moment away from becoming unclear.
"Ever get the feeling your gone?
"I'll show you the way, the way I'm going."
"So I run, hide, tear myself up.
"Start again with a brand new name,
"And eyes that see into infinity."
"So I run, start again,
"With a brand new name.
"With a brand new name."
"So I run, hide, tear myself up.
"Start again with a brand new name,
"And eyes that see into infinity."
"I will disappear."
SCENE ENDS
SCENE BEGINS
(Fade into black and white. No color. It's a gymnasium, midday. From our current perspective, we see one side of a life-sized wrestling ring, standard issue, off to the left. On the right are a few mats for calusthenics and training reps, and a wall with shelves holding various exercise equipment. There is also a sound.)
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
(The camera slowly pans to the left, following the apron of the ring. Eventually, we get a look at what is to the left side of the room, where the weights and punching bags are kept. The shelves on the wall over here hold no exercise equipment. Instead, they are lined with various titles, trophies, and awards, most of which issued from Superior Championship Wrestling. The heavy sounds of blows landing continues to ring through the room.)
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
(We come to rest on the figure laying into the tall bag hung from the low-end of the ceiling. He is dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and a black hoodie with a significant emblem or symbol blazed on the back. The sleeves of the sweatshirt are pulled up to reveal a white long-sleeved undershirt. The hands are taped up. The hood is pulled over the head, but we see a definition of the side of the lower face of this man.)
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
*WHUMP!*
(He puts blows into the bag with moderate pace, hodling a distinct boxer's stance. Then, out of nowhere, we hear a voice speak down to him. This belongs only to Rocko Daymon.)
"Why are you still here?"
(The boxer stops, and removes the hood. It is none other than Rocko Daymon. He looks up and sighs, almost shrugging off the sound of his own voice.)
"Why do you keep moving?"
"Why do you persist?"
(He responds with a soft blow into the bag. He's looking at the floor.)
"You don't even know what you're trying to achieve."
(He looks up again, with his expressionless face. Then, he turns back into the bag, and starts punching into it again. The voice returns, now with several messages coming in sporadically, as though there were a dozen Rocko Daymons speaking at once.)
"It's not going to work."
"Think of your health."
"Think of your wife and son."
"Why are you still here?"
"What is there to achieve? How many more get the last laugh? You can't return, you can't keep up with them. You're getting-stop trying while you-old-can still walk-You're forgetting what-Are you-happened to you-Just move-even-last time you-on-listening to me?-You will never-made your big-He's going to-give up-laugh at you-return?-Stop-while-you-STILL-CAN!!"
(The voices ring out in unison with the final statement. Rocko speeding up his blows as their punishing messages roll off his back like acid, now wears a tense, anger-ridden face. He punches the bag even harder, switching between hefty rights and lefts with animalistic force. Finally, he turns and crashes into the bag with a spinning right hand that jolts it back.)
(Breathing heavily, Rocko stops the bag from drifting back and forth, and looks to the floor again.)
"Then you'll learn on your own."
Rocko Daymon
I guess so.
(With the same voice responding to itself, we fade from black and white to color. Daymon looks up into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Empire Pro Wrestling... I am Rochester Vincent Daymon. Rocko, for short.
(He cracks a smile.)
Rocko Daymon
For those who don't know me, if you're going to make any wallaby or cartoon cracks, now is the time to do it. Cause when we meet in the ring...
(A light blow to the punching bag.)
Rocko Daymon
All jokes set aside, cause I like to take care of business.
(He takes in a deep breath, beginning to unravel the tape around his fists.)
Rocko Daymon
Today... is January 11th, 2004. It's an important day for me. Today, I am 27 years old...
(He shakes his head in amazement.)
Rocko Daymon
Twenty-seven years old... every time I say it, it reminds me that I'm not a young guy anymore. It's just too close to thirty for my liking. Today is a big fat reminder of how old I'm getting... and how young a lot of the new talents are. I've been in this business for five years. It's remarkable... looking back.
(He looks to the shelf of various trophies and titles.)
Rocko Daymon
And that's all I accomplished? Damn...
Guys like Dan Ryan and Eli Flair have enough gold in their vaults to run a jewelry outlet. It's kind of humbling. It tells me, time does not equal greatness. I may be a veteran... a few people might call me "legendary"... but looking at this? I see that I still have a long way to go.
(He looks directly into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Today, on my birthday, I realize that I'm running out of time to go the rest of the way. I hope to do it here, in Empire Pro. I hope to make a name for myself early on. That way, if this fed goes into legendary status, I'll be remembered as the legendary figure who was there in the beginning, standing out among the rest...
Wishful thinking? Yeah, maybe... but even at 27, I'm not about to throw in the towel. In fact, I'm far from it. I'm still pushing on. I'm going to prove to everybody that I still have it, and that it never left me. That's my goal in 2004, and in Empire Pro.
(Removing the last of the tape wound around his left hand, Rocko looks into his palm for a moment. Then, he pulls up a chair and seats himself.)
Rocko Daymon
And right off the bat? I'm paired with Christian Sands... my enemy since a long time ago, but a man I've haven't fought up until a few weeks ago.
And I know what he's going to say...
He's going to say, if it weren't for the involvement of Adam Benjamin, dressed as Santa Claus, he would have won that match. And yes, I'll be the first to admit that I would have been defeated without Benji Claus' interference. Pat yourself on the back, Christian... you won the first round.
(He clears his throat, and pulls up a cooler. To grab a drink? Hell no... who do you think this is? Dallas Winston?! He pulls it up to put up his feet.)
Rocko Daymon
But Christian... that was Major Championship Wrestling. That was Ballistic.
We're in a different federation now. We are working for a different owner--Paul Freeman, instead of Jeff Bolich. We are competing on a different show. Chances are, it will be televised on a different station, and there will be a different crowd watching us. With all these changes, why must we assume that the match itself will be the exact same?
I fought you once so far, quite recently, and learned from my mistakes. I'm sure you've done the same. We're now better prepared to go head to head. With that said, at least we can promise each other a better challenge. But what draws the line? What is it that gives one man the big glorious W and the other the fat ugly L?
Siimply put... motivation.
(A simple shrug.)
Rocko Daymon
Whoever wants it more, takes it, right? But I can say right now that I'm more motivated to win in this meeting than I was at MCW. You see, our meeting at Ballistic was, for me, a simple way of getting revenge, for your interference when I fought Karl Brown the week prior. But even something that serious pales in comparison to what I'm feeling now.
I've got a clean slate... a fresh new start in a sparkling clean federation. I have an opportunity like no other. For the longest time, I've been out... then struggling with my return. But now, I can explode into the main scene once again. By beating you, and the rest to come, I make myself known as one of the earliest overall ass-kickers in Empire Pro. Why else would the likes of Dan Ryan in GXW or DreamMaker in SCW be considered legends, even though, currently, they have nothing to their name?
It's because they were there in the beginning... and in the beginning, that's where everything matters, right? You do everything you can in the beginning, and from there, you grow.
Un-freakin'-believable, am I right?
(He nods twice.)
Rocko Daymon
I'm sure you've got the same motivation, Christian... I won't deny it. But lets see how much you want it when you step into the ring against me. I intend to do more than test your will. I will also be testing my own.
Hopefully, your bad blood with Adam Benjamin has simmered down, and we won't have to deal with him a second time. That's good, even though he helped me win in our last meeting. I want this match to end with a clean win from either end. No interferences, no feet on the ropes, no pulling tights...
(He smirks.)
Rocko Daymon
No bad call from the ref, or ANYTHING like that. One man wins, the other loses... no arguments, everything in fine print. That way, when we look back, there's no beating around the bush... no, "You wouldn't won ifs," or "I could have won whens."
Christian, wouldn't you agree? Wouldn't you want the same thing? Cause I'll tell you now, to disagree with that would prove that you are intimidated by my strength. Better yet, you might actually be AFRAID of me...
But that's not you, is it, Christian? Naw, can't be. I know you, and your arrogance. I know you think there is absolutely no way you can win this match... right?
(Rocko nods, wearing a confident smile.)
Rocko Daymon
Yeah, Christian... that's just the way I want you to think. All the more painful it will be for you when I blast you into the mat.
See you at Aggression, Christian. Bring all you can afford.
(With another nod, Rocko looks away from the camera. We fade to the emblem seen on the back of his hooded sweatshirt. In the background, "Capricorn" by 30 Seconds to Mars is playing.)
"So I run, hide, tear myself up.
"Start again with a brand new name,
"And eyes that see into infinity."
"I will disappear.
"I told you once and I'll say it again.
"I want my message read clear.
"I'll show you the way, the way I'm going."
"So I run, hide, tear myself up.
"Start again with a brand new name,
"And eyes that see into infinity."
"I was almost there.
"Just a moment away from becoming unclear.
"Ever get the feeling your gone?
"I'll show you the way, the way I'm going."
"So I run, hide, tear myself up.
"Start again with a brand new name,
"And eyes that see into infinity."
"So I run, start again,
"With a brand new name.
"With a brand new name."
"So I run, hide, tear myself up.
"Start again with a brand new name,
"And eyes that see into infinity."
"I will disappear."
SCENE ENDS
JABolich
League Member
Check The Radar
(FADEIN: The familiar study of the Sands Estate, filled as usual with books and innumerable wrestling tapes. CHRISTIAN SANDS, garbed in a casual black suit, sits at his desk, his hands folded on the desk as he leans forward in his high-backed leather chair.)
Sands: Oh, Rocko, Rocko, Rocko... I don't need to make any wallaby jokes about you. Only Final Fantasy jokes. Eh, Rude of the Turks? That gimmick must've gone over huge with the Dungeons and Dragons-playing virgins in the audience.
As you've no doubt guessed, I'm jumping right to the point here. I don't need to introduce myself to Empire Pro's fans because they already know who I am. Anyone not living under a rock has seen me making waves in federations worldwide. My stock in the wrestling world has been rising rapidly as of late, and I anticipate a continuation of the current trend.
But you know, there's something I want to level with you about.
When I watched your promo I noticed you mentioning the fact that I've been your enemy for a long time. Let me assure you that the feeling is not mutual. Maybe you THINK I'm your enemy, but outside of any matches we may have, I'm indifferent to you. You said during our last match that this all stems back to the invasion of SCW and how I treated none of you SCW boys with respect. Too bad. I don't respect SCW or its homegrown talents because none of you deserved my respect. Gaggle of little-leaguers, the lot of you. About the only thing the SCW crew was good for was making me look like an unstoppable force by losing to me in every match - and they did their job quite well for a change. In fact, I think my one loss in SCW came at the hands of Dan Ryan - a GXW talent. Remarkable.
But speaking of dead leagues - do you really think that just because we're in a different promotion, the outcome of this match is going to be different?
I'm aware that we last faced off in Bolich's pisshole of a fed, and I'm aware that this is Freeman's baby. But how does that factor into the match? Has Freeman magically waved his hand and given you the talent you need to beat me? Is there some mystical aura around Empire Pro that gives you super powers? Have you equipped Empire Materia and gained the ability to Omnislash me into next Wednesday, Mr. Final Fantasy? What you fail to realize is that men are men, regardless of what promotion they're in. In spite of our mutual British friend's interference, you couldn't beat me in Bolich's sh*thole, and you sure as hell won't beat me here.
You want to talk to me about drive, huh? I'll have you know that there is nobody in this promotion more driven than me. More than anybody on this roster, I live and breathe for this sport, and I live and breathe to climb to the top of it. And that dedication has worked thus far. In the space of a year and a half I've gone from a no-name rookie on the GXW B-show to one of the most dangerous talents in wrestling. Hell... I've been burned alive by my own brother, yet I'm still here. By all rights, I should've been dead after that match, but I came back a few months later and picked up where I left off - higher than where I left off, in fact - because I cannot live without this sport. Hell... I never got married because I didn't want anything distracting me from wrestling.
Speaking of which - how's the wife, Rock? And little Kincaid - how's he doing?
You talk about my arrogance - but I'm seeing that same trait in you, Rock. Here you're knocking me for apparently knowing for certain that I can beat your ass six ways from Sunday... then go and say that it's a certainty that you're going to beat my ass six ways from Sunday. Wh-wh-WHAT?! Did someone say hypocrite? Yeah, I thought so.
The bottom line, Rock, is that any arrogance I might have is justified. Lord knows I've got all the tools I need to dominate the business. I'm one of the world's most dangerous mat-techs and I've got the raw power to back it up. More importantly, behind all that is a drive that no man in this industry can parallel. I highly doubt that you can match the intensity of the fire inside me - then again, that's nothing to be ashamed of, since you're not alone.
Get ready, Rock, because I'm going to show you in no uncertain terms that whatever drive you've got is small potatoes compared to the passion for wrestling that is the very essence of Christian Sands.
Beware the Sandstorm.
(FADEOUT)
(FADEIN: The familiar study of the Sands Estate, filled as usual with books and innumerable wrestling tapes. CHRISTIAN SANDS, garbed in a casual black suit, sits at his desk, his hands folded on the desk as he leans forward in his high-backed leather chair.)
Sands: Oh, Rocko, Rocko, Rocko... I don't need to make any wallaby jokes about you. Only Final Fantasy jokes. Eh, Rude of the Turks? That gimmick must've gone over huge with the Dungeons and Dragons-playing virgins in the audience.
As you've no doubt guessed, I'm jumping right to the point here. I don't need to introduce myself to Empire Pro's fans because they already know who I am. Anyone not living under a rock has seen me making waves in federations worldwide. My stock in the wrestling world has been rising rapidly as of late, and I anticipate a continuation of the current trend.
But you know, there's something I want to level with you about.
When I watched your promo I noticed you mentioning the fact that I've been your enemy for a long time. Let me assure you that the feeling is not mutual. Maybe you THINK I'm your enemy, but outside of any matches we may have, I'm indifferent to you. You said during our last match that this all stems back to the invasion of SCW and how I treated none of you SCW boys with respect. Too bad. I don't respect SCW or its homegrown talents because none of you deserved my respect. Gaggle of little-leaguers, the lot of you. About the only thing the SCW crew was good for was making me look like an unstoppable force by losing to me in every match - and they did their job quite well for a change. In fact, I think my one loss in SCW came at the hands of Dan Ryan - a GXW talent. Remarkable.
But speaking of dead leagues - do you really think that just because we're in a different promotion, the outcome of this match is going to be different?
I'm aware that we last faced off in Bolich's pisshole of a fed, and I'm aware that this is Freeman's baby. But how does that factor into the match? Has Freeman magically waved his hand and given you the talent you need to beat me? Is there some mystical aura around Empire Pro that gives you super powers? Have you equipped Empire Materia and gained the ability to Omnislash me into next Wednesday, Mr. Final Fantasy? What you fail to realize is that men are men, regardless of what promotion they're in. In spite of our mutual British friend's interference, you couldn't beat me in Bolich's sh*thole, and you sure as hell won't beat me here.
You want to talk to me about drive, huh? I'll have you know that there is nobody in this promotion more driven than me. More than anybody on this roster, I live and breathe for this sport, and I live and breathe to climb to the top of it. And that dedication has worked thus far. In the space of a year and a half I've gone from a no-name rookie on the GXW B-show to one of the most dangerous talents in wrestling. Hell... I've been burned alive by my own brother, yet I'm still here. By all rights, I should've been dead after that match, but I came back a few months later and picked up where I left off - higher than where I left off, in fact - because I cannot live without this sport. Hell... I never got married because I didn't want anything distracting me from wrestling.
Speaking of which - how's the wife, Rock? And little Kincaid - how's he doing?
You talk about my arrogance - but I'm seeing that same trait in you, Rock. Here you're knocking me for apparently knowing for certain that I can beat your ass six ways from Sunday... then go and say that it's a certainty that you're going to beat my ass six ways from Sunday. Wh-wh-WHAT?! Did someone say hypocrite? Yeah, I thought so.
The bottom line, Rock, is that any arrogance I might have is justified. Lord knows I've got all the tools I need to dominate the business. I'm one of the world's most dangerous mat-techs and I've got the raw power to back it up. More importantly, behind all that is a drive that no man in this industry can parallel. I highly doubt that you can match the intensity of the fire inside me - then again, that's nothing to be ashamed of, since you're not alone.
Get ready, Rock, because I'm going to show you in no uncertain terms that whatever drive you've got is small potatoes compared to the passion for wrestling that is the very essence of Christian Sands.
Beware the Sandstorm.
(FADEOUT)
SCENE BEGINS
(Outside of a home in the Pacific Northwest. No surprises who lives here. It's mid-afternoon, but you could hardly tell with the cloudy skies overhead. Pulling up the driveway is a black BMV, pulling up to the garage door. The driver's side door swings open and Rocko Daymon steps out of the car, shoving his keys back into his pocket. He's dressed in usual jeans, a t-shirt, and his leather jacket. He carries with him a navy blue gym bag. Perhaps he just got back from his "job," busting his ass in a gym.)
(The front door opens, and Empire Pro gets the first glimpse of his manager and wife, Caitlyn Daymon. She greets him with a smile.)
Caitlyn Daymon
Back from Ludwig's already?
(He nods.)
Rocko Daymon
Yeah... didn't want to stay long. Bumped into too many familiar faces. After so many handshakes in between bench pressing and curling, you tend to want to get out of there.
(He pecks her on the cheek and steps inside. She follows, closing the door. We cut to the interior, where Rocko begins to scale the steps to the second floor. Caitlyn continues to follow.)
Rocko Daymon
But, just about everybody I met said that I looked great. Better than I've ever looked, they said.
Caitlyn Daymon
That's good to hear.
Rocko Daymon
Yeah, especially when these aren't just adoring fans. Not just meat-head body builders... actual athletes. A lot of them professional wrestlers in the Pacific and Western circuits... guys I've known since I started professional wrestling five years ago. Good friends with Zack*.
(Reaching the landing, Rocko takes a right into a hall that leads to a wing of second floor rooms in the house. He comes to the end of the hall and enters a door on the right side. This is the bedroom they share. His jacket comes off and his hung on the wall. He falls face first on the comfy king-sized bed.)
Rocko Daymon
Ehhh... and it's as though I can feel exactly what they're talking about, you know? I FEEL like I'm in my best condition ever. I feel as though I could take on anything! Or anyone, for that matter.
Caitlyn Daymon
Sounds good. Has your neck been giving you any trouble?
(He looks up.)
Rocko Daymon
Nope. Not one bit.
Caitlyn Daymon
Good.
Rocko Daymon
...
Caitlyn Daymon
...well?
Rocko Daymon
Oh come on, do we have to?
Caitlyn Daymon
Doctor's orders, Rock. We can't get too cocky, now can we?
Rocko Daymon
Okay, okay... let's get it over with.
(Coming onto the bed, Caitlyn straddles herself over his back and turns his head to the left.)
Caitlyn Daymon
Does that hurt?
Rocko Daymon
Nope.
(Turns his head to the right.)
Caitlyn Daymon
How about there?
Rocko Daymon
Nope.
(She pulls his head back, putting strain on the neck.)
Caitlyn Daymon
And that?
Rocko Daymon
Nothin'.
(She moves his head around in other cocked positions, expect a response. After a few minutes, she inquires again.)
Caitlyn Daymon
Anything?
Rocko Daymon
Nothing, babe.
Caitlyn Daymon
Good.
(With a satisfied smile, Caitlyn comes off the bed. She heads to the door.)
Rocko Daymon
Now where are you headed?
Caitlyn Daymon
I need the car to pick up some groceries.
Rocko Daymon
...oh.
Caitlyn Daymon
I'll take Kincaid, so the house is yours.
Rocko Daymon
Alright. Bye bye.
(With another smile, Caitlyn leaves the room. The camera turns to put Rocko in the frame again, sitting at the end of his bed. He looks up to the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Well, by the look of things, Christian Sands, my family's doin' A-OK. Thanks for asking.
(He flashes an exceptionally hokey thumbs up with a bright grin on his face.)
Rocko Daymon
Heh... I find it amusing that you'd even mention them halfway through a promo. You just suddenly ejaculated a question about my wife and son out of nowhere. It's like watching the Godfather, and Pacino suddenly yells "BEANS!" in the middle of a line.
Chris... you're a pretty weird guy.
You sort of implied that they can be a distraction. Can they? Well, I don't look at it that way. When I'm in the ring, I'm fighting for them. I'm wrestling for their well-being. Especially in the case of my son. I want him to be proud of his father as he gets older. It's all the motivation I need to succeed.
(He pauses for a moment, nodding confidently.)
Rocko Daymon
But you Christian, you talk of your own motivation. Your... "drive." What you say are some pretty big words to live up to. But just about everybody in the industry brags about how motivated they are, and how nobody can match that sort of spirit in the ring. And I'm a man whose gone through five years of professional wrestlers all saying the same thing.
So your motivation may be unique, Chris... but as for your dialogue and personality, I'm afraid there's a hundred like you out there in the professional wrestling world. You are old news to me, Christian Sands.
(He throws his arms up to his sides, shrugging a question to the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
But you're probably thinking, what makes ME different, right? Well, I can tell... aside from my family, as I've already gone over... I'm still here, right? Twenty-seven years old, as of a couple days ago... that doesn't sound old at all, but when you're a professional wrestler, every year between 18 and 30 is golden. After that, the bones just start wearing down, and everything goes through a downward spiral...
In short, I'm running out of time. And I could have easily given up and thrown in the towel for good a year ago, when I took a spill off the SuperiorTron and nearly damn well broke my neck... but got off by sitting in a wheelchair for six months, wearing a cast over my shoulders for another five, and being told by doctors that my chances of wrestling again were very slim.
The fact that I'm here, once again, prepared to wrestler... prepared to lock horns with ol' Christian Sands, to proudly walk through the sandstorm with my chin up, shows EXACTLY what kind of motivation I have.
That's the classic Rocko Daymon drive for ya... not that vague, "I'm the most motivated man in professional wrestling" line that every other wrestler out there throws around as if it MEANT something...
So you were set on fire, and nearly burned alive? Big deal! I went through 44 minutes and 18 seconds of mortal combat against a trained killer with a broken wrist, three broken ribs, a slipped disc in my neck, discolated shoulder, and blood pouring out of nearly every orifice you could think of, conscious through every second of pain and torment...
And a year later... I'm f*ckin' back, Christian. I'm back in black, and better than ever. And even more important, is that I'm willing to go through another 45 minutes of hell, if all it means is to make you bleed, and to leave you beaten.
(A smile crosses his face. The usual confident one you'd see on a man who is telling you something as naturally as a guy telling you the current weather while standing outside. The man KNOWS what he is saying to be true...)
Rocko Daymon
Gotta say, Chris... compared to that, your motivation isn't all that to be impressed with.
For a guy as motivated as you, you certainly don't seem to be all that enthusiastic with this match. Here you're cracking jokes, and giving your own ego a Sands-sized handjob by bringing up the story of SCW, how you strolled in on the coattails of Ryan, Poe, and Powers, and claimed that every person in there was nothing compared to you...
It's funny that YOU would be the one to bring up SCW. Is your confidence really that hurt? Do you have to bring up events from over a year ago to make yourself look like you actually AMOUNTED to something at one point in time?
That's truly pitiful, Sands... I can tell right away you're scrambling through methods to make yourself look intimidating. Too bad you're failing miserably.
(Rocko chuckles to himself.)
Rocko Daymon
Another thing I notice is your inaccuracy with what really happened in the past...
No, not GXW's invasion into SCW... I'm talking about something that happened before that. Something that you THINK happened, Sands... but truly know nothing about. It's plausible that whenever this might have happened, you didn't know the name Rocko Daymon. You probably weren't even wrestling then...
Now, I am 27... and as I said, that's not very old by human terms. But, maybe I'm getting senile. Hell, maybe old Rocko's taken one too many hits to the head through all his matches to have an accurate long-term memory. All I know is, at some point between my early years and now, I've gone through many monickers, and gimmicks, and stables aplenty. You could have called me... Rocko Daymon, Man of a Million Names.
But inevitably, there's one thing I can't recall...
All this... Final Fantasy business. Pardon me for not grasping something here, but are you serious with all of this talk, or are you simply mistaking me with someone out of Marcus Slayton's clan of a dozen relatives? After all, with all the Zells and Renos running around Camp Reaver, you tend to think yourself in a great classic Playstation RPG...
But me? Heh... you have any proof of this, Christian? Cause when I think back, I honestly CAN'T REMEMBER ever being involved with any Final Fantasy based stable. These... "Turks" you talk of... and the name Rude. They really don't ring any bells.
I can say, beyond a doubt, that I have NO idea what you're talking about.
(The expression on his face is loose, bearing a half-smile. He is totally serious with what he is saying. There is no possible way he could be beating around the bush: He is telling the truth.)
Rocko Daymon
But hey, maybe I was, and I just don't remember. I guess you'll have to ask my wife.
But could you tell me anything about these... Turks, Christian? Could you tell me who my allies were? Could you tell me what belts I carried through that stint? My rivals? My goals?
...
Nope, didn't think so. I really don't think you have an understanding of what you're talking about Chances are, Christian, that you simply heard another guy who might have known about it say something in the locker room. Maybe you misheard "Reaver", and though they said "Rocko."
Bottom line is, you're blowing up an issue out of a simple rumor. It's like appearing on the covers of the tabloids... "Professional Wrestler Hails From Playstation!"
You know, if I based you on the rumors I heard... chances are, you wouldn't be too happy with what you're hearing. I've heard words passed through the locker rooms every now and again... stories about how Devon wasn't really your brother, but your ex-husband, which explained why he bore your last name. He was getting revenge after you one the pink coffee table in court.
But does that mean I automatically make an exposition in my promos about your homosexuality? Uh, NO! Because I know the difference between fact and rumor. You, obviously, do not.
Meanwhile, the rest of us on Planet Reality are asking... what the F*CK are you talking about?
(He shakes his head in confusion.)
Rocko Daymon
From all of this, I truly begin to wonder if you have any CONCEPT of what you're up against. If all you know of me is dead history that probably never happened, then you disappoint me. I expected more out of you, Christian. It almost humiliates me to even think I almost LOST to you last time we met.
But this time... things are different. For one thing, I know you better, having fought you in the ring. And now that I know that... you know absolutely NOTHING, even after a match, I know you haven't grown in experience from our last meeting. In fact, I'd say your ignorance has blinded you.
To me, you're like a sitting duck.
Here you're under the impression that I'm a hypocrite. What, you thought this match was going to be a walk in the park? Of course we're going to beat each other "six ways to Sunday," although after that last promo, it's obvious that you can only manage two or three as opposed to a whopping SIX! What's so hypocritical about that? We both have great talents, and we'll be matching our mettle in the ring. Obviously, the both of us are going to be hurt...
(He raises an eyebrow.)
Rocko Daymon
You aren't implying that you dominated our last meeting single-handedly. If you have the arrogance to say that you did, then it's OBVIOUS you're living in denial. That's a sure sign of fear, by the way.
(He shakes his head in dismay.)
Rocko Daymon
You're confusing me, Christian... cause I just can't picture you, the man, in the same light as how you speak yourself. There's just too many loopholes in your words. It's as if you were trying to make an exposition, instead of preparing for a wrestling match.
So what are you? A speaker, or a professional wrestler? Cause I can tell you right now, I'm a balls-to-the-wall no-bullsh*t professional wrestler when I'm in that ring, and unless you're the same, you don't have a hope in hell against me.
(A light passes over the darkening window at one end of the room. Headlights. Someone just pulled up into the driveway.)
Rocko Daymon
That will likely be Caitlyn... which means this is the end of our little session. In ending, I just want to say that I really don't care with what you have to say in response, Christian... cause when we meet in the ring at Aggression, you'll be choking back on all your words.
(With a final nod, Daymon comes off his bed and cross over to the door. He exits. We fade to black.)
SCENE ENDS
*Zack Tseng is Daymon's brother-in-law, who introduced him to professional wrestling years ago.
(Outside of a home in the Pacific Northwest. No surprises who lives here. It's mid-afternoon, but you could hardly tell with the cloudy skies overhead. Pulling up the driveway is a black BMV, pulling up to the garage door. The driver's side door swings open and Rocko Daymon steps out of the car, shoving his keys back into his pocket. He's dressed in usual jeans, a t-shirt, and his leather jacket. He carries with him a navy blue gym bag. Perhaps he just got back from his "job," busting his ass in a gym.)
(The front door opens, and Empire Pro gets the first glimpse of his manager and wife, Caitlyn Daymon. She greets him with a smile.)
Caitlyn Daymon
Back from Ludwig's already?
(He nods.)
Rocko Daymon
Yeah... didn't want to stay long. Bumped into too many familiar faces. After so many handshakes in between bench pressing and curling, you tend to want to get out of there.
(He pecks her on the cheek and steps inside. She follows, closing the door. We cut to the interior, where Rocko begins to scale the steps to the second floor. Caitlyn continues to follow.)
Rocko Daymon
But, just about everybody I met said that I looked great. Better than I've ever looked, they said.
Caitlyn Daymon
That's good to hear.
Rocko Daymon
Yeah, especially when these aren't just adoring fans. Not just meat-head body builders... actual athletes. A lot of them professional wrestlers in the Pacific and Western circuits... guys I've known since I started professional wrestling five years ago. Good friends with Zack*.
(Reaching the landing, Rocko takes a right into a hall that leads to a wing of second floor rooms in the house. He comes to the end of the hall and enters a door on the right side. This is the bedroom they share. His jacket comes off and his hung on the wall. He falls face first on the comfy king-sized bed.)
Rocko Daymon
Ehhh... and it's as though I can feel exactly what they're talking about, you know? I FEEL like I'm in my best condition ever. I feel as though I could take on anything! Or anyone, for that matter.
Caitlyn Daymon
Sounds good. Has your neck been giving you any trouble?
(He looks up.)
Rocko Daymon
Nope. Not one bit.
Caitlyn Daymon
Good.
Rocko Daymon
...
Caitlyn Daymon
...well?
Rocko Daymon
Oh come on, do we have to?
Caitlyn Daymon
Doctor's orders, Rock. We can't get too cocky, now can we?
Rocko Daymon
Okay, okay... let's get it over with.
(Coming onto the bed, Caitlyn straddles herself over his back and turns his head to the left.)
Caitlyn Daymon
Does that hurt?
Rocko Daymon
Nope.
(Turns his head to the right.)
Caitlyn Daymon
How about there?
Rocko Daymon
Nope.
(She pulls his head back, putting strain on the neck.)
Caitlyn Daymon
And that?
Rocko Daymon
Nothin'.
(She moves his head around in other cocked positions, expect a response. After a few minutes, she inquires again.)
Caitlyn Daymon
Anything?
Rocko Daymon
Nothing, babe.
Caitlyn Daymon
Good.
(With a satisfied smile, Caitlyn comes off the bed. She heads to the door.)
Rocko Daymon
Now where are you headed?
Caitlyn Daymon
I need the car to pick up some groceries.
Rocko Daymon
...oh.
Caitlyn Daymon
I'll take Kincaid, so the house is yours.
Rocko Daymon
Alright. Bye bye.
(With another smile, Caitlyn leaves the room. The camera turns to put Rocko in the frame again, sitting at the end of his bed. He looks up to the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Well, by the look of things, Christian Sands, my family's doin' A-OK. Thanks for asking.
(He flashes an exceptionally hokey thumbs up with a bright grin on his face.)
Rocko Daymon
Heh... I find it amusing that you'd even mention them halfway through a promo. You just suddenly ejaculated a question about my wife and son out of nowhere. It's like watching the Godfather, and Pacino suddenly yells "BEANS!" in the middle of a line.
Chris... you're a pretty weird guy.
You sort of implied that they can be a distraction. Can they? Well, I don't look at it that way. When I'm in the ring, I'm fighting for them. I'm wrestling for their well-being. Especially in the case of my son. I want him to be proud of his father as he gets older. It's all the motivation I need to succeed.
(He pauses for a moment, nodding confidently.)
Rocko Daymon
But you Christian, you talk of your own motivation. Your... "drive." What you say are some pretty big words to live up to. But just about everybody in the industry brags about how motivated they are, and how nobody can match that sort of spirit in the ring. And I'm a man whose gone through five years of professional wrestlers all saying the same thing.
So your motivation may be unique, Chris... but as for your dialogue and personality, I'm afraid there's a hundred like you out there in the professional wrestling world. You are old news to me, Christian Sands.
(He throws his arms up to his sides, shrugging a question to the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
But you're probably thinking, what makes ME different, right? Well, I can tell... aside from my family, as I've already gone over... I'm still here, right? Twenty-seven years old, as of a couple days ago... that doesn't sound old at all, but when you're a professional wrestler, every year between 18 and 30 is golden. After that, the bones just start wearing down, and everything goes through a downward spiral...
In short, I'm running out of time. And I could have easily given up and thrown in the towel for good a year ago, when I took a spill off the SuperiorTron and nearly damn well broke my neck... but got off by sitting in a wheelchair for six months, wearing a cast over my shoulders for another five, and being told by doctors that my chances of wrestling again were very slim.
The fact that I'm here, once again, prepared to wrestler... prepared to lock horns with ol' Christian Sands, to proudly walk through the sandstorm with my chin up, shows EXACTLY what kind of motivation I have.
That's the classic Rocko Daymon drive for ya... not that vague, "I'm the most motivated man in professional wrestling" line that every other wrestler out there throws around as if it MEANT something...
So you were set on fire, and nearly burned alive? Big deal! I went through 44 minutes and 18 seconds of mortal combat against a trained killer with a broken wrist, three broken ribs, a slipped disc in my neck, discolated shoulder, and blood pouring out of nearly every orifice you could think of, conscious through every second of pain and torment...
And a year later... I'm f*ckin' back, Christian. I'm back in black, and better than ever. And even more important, is that I'm willing to go through another 45 minutes of hell, if all it means is to make you bleed, and to leave you beaten.
(A smile crosses his face. The usual confident one you'd see on a man who is telling you something as naturally as a guy telling you the current weather while standing outside. The man KNOWS what he is saying to be true...)
Rocko Daymon
Gotta say, Chris... compared to that, your motivation isn't all that to be impressed with.
For a guy as motivated as you, you certainly don't seem to be all that enthusiastic with this match. Here you're cracking jokes, and giving your own ego a Sands-sized handjob by bringing up the story of SCW, how you strolled in on the coattails of Ryan, Poe, and Powers, and claimed that every person in there was nothing compared to you...
It's funny that YOU would be the one to bring up SCW. Is your confidence really that hurt? Do you have to bring up events from over a year ago to make yourself look like you actually AMOUNTED to something at one point in time?
That's truly pitiful, Sands... I can tell right away you're scrambling through methods to make yourself look intimidating. Too bad you're failing miserably.
(Rocko chuckles to himself.)
Rocko Daymon
Another thing I notice is your inaccuracy with what really happened in the past...
No, not GXW's invasion into SCW... I'm talking about something that happened before that. Something that you THINK happened, Sands... but truly know nothing about. It's plausible that whenever this might have happened, you didn't know the name Rocko Daymon. You probably weren't even wrestling then...
Now, I am 27... and as I said, that's not very old by human terms. But, maybe I'm getting senile. Hell, maybe old Rocko's taken one too many hits to the head through all his matches to have an accurate long-term memory. All I know is, at some point between my early years and now, I've gone through many monickers, and gimmicks, and stables aplenty. You could have called me... Rocko Daymon, Man of a Million Names.
But inevitably, there's one thing I can't recall...
All this... Final Fantasy business. Pardon me for not grasping something here, but are you serious with all of this talk, or are you simply mistaking me with someone out of Marcus Slayton's clan of a dozen relatives? After all, with all the Zells and Renos running around Camp Reaver, you tend to think yourself in a great classic Playstation RPG...
But me? Heh... you have any proof of this, Christian? Cause when I think back, I honestly CAN'T REMEMBER ever being involved with any Final Fantasy based stable. These... "Turks" you talk of... and the name Rude. They really don't ring any bells.
I can say, beyond a doubt, that I have NO idea what you're talking about.
(The expression on his face is loose, bearing a half-smile. He is totally serious with what he is saying. There is no possible way he could be beating around the bush: He is telling the truth.)
Rocko Daymon
But hey, maybe I was, and I just don't remember. I guess you'll have to ask my wife.
But could you tell me anything about these... Turks, Christian? Could you tell me who my allies were? Could you tell me what belts I carried through that stint? My rivals? My goals?
...
Nope, didn't think so. I really don't think you have an understanding of what you're talking about Chances are, Christian, that you simply heard another guy who might have known about it say something in the locker room. Maybe you misheard "Reaver", and though they said "Rocko."
Bottom line is, you're blowing up an issue out of a simple rumor. It's like appearing on the covers of the tabloids... "Professional Wrestler Hails From Playstation!"
You know, if I based you on the rumors I heard... chances are, you wouldn't be too happy with what you're hearing. I've heard words passed through the locker rooms every now and again... stories about how Devon wasn't really your brother, but your ex-husband, which explained why he bore your last name. He was getting revenge after you one the pink coffee table in court.
But does that mean I automatically make an exposition in my promos about your homosexuality? Uh, NO! Because I know the difference between fact and rumor. You, obviously, do not.
Meanwhile, the rest of us on Planet Reality are asking... what the F*CK are you talking about?
(He shakes his head in confusion.)
Rocko Daymon
From all of this, I truly begin to wonder if you have any CONCEPT of what you're up against. If all you know of me is dead history that probably never happened, then you disappoint me. I expected more out of you, Christian. It almost humiliates me to even think I almost LOST to you last time we met.
But this time... things are different. For one thing, I know you better, having fought you in the ring. And now that I know that... you know absolutely NOTHING, even after a match, I know you haven't grown in experience from our last meeting. In fact, I'd say your ignorance has blinded you.
To me, you're like a sitting duck.
Here you're under the impression that I'm a hypocrite. What, you thought this match was going to be a walk in the park? Of course we're going to beat each other "six ways to Sunday," although after that last promo, it's obvious that you can only manage two or three as opposed to a whopping SIX! What's so hypocritical about that? We both have great talents, and we'll be matching our mettle in the ring. Obviously, the both of us are going to be hurt...
(He raises an eyebrow.)
Rocko Daymon
You aren't implying that you dominated our last meeting single-handedly. If you have the arrogance to say that you did, then it's OBVIOUS you're living in denial. That's a sure sign of fear, by the way.
(He shakes his head in dismay.)
Rocko Daymon
You're confusing me, Christian... cause I just can't picture you, the man, in the same light as how you speak yourself. There's just too many loopholes in your words. It's as if you were trying to make an exposition, instead of preparing for a wrestling match.
So what are you? A speaker, or a professional wrestler? Cause I can tell you right now, I'm a balls-to-the-wall no-bullsh*t professional wrestler when I'm in that ring, and unless you're the same, you don't have a hope in hell against me.
(A light passes over the darkening window at one end of the room. Headlights. Someone just pulled up into the driveway.)
Rocko Daymon
That will likely be Caitlyn... which means this is the end of our little session. In ending, I just want to say that I really don't care with what you have to say in response, Christian... cause when we meet in the ring at Aggression, you'll be choking back on all your words.
(With a final nod, Daymon comes off his bed and cross over to the door. He exits. We fade to black.)
SCENE ENDS
*Zack Tseng is Daymon's brother-in-law, who introduced him to professional wrestling years ago.
JABolich
League Member
(FADEIN: A garage somewhere. CHRISTIAN SANDS sits on the hood of a pale blue '94 Toyota Supra, one leg slightly tucked in.)
Sands: Rockoooooo.
If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to play mind games with me. You don't remember the Turks? You don't remember when you, Zack Tseng, and a few of your friends masqueraded around as Turks in SCW?
That's okay. I don't remember carrying a skull to the ring, either.
You know, I can't help but question your drive, Rock - especially in relation to mine. First off, getting thrown off a set isn't drive - it's stupidity for being up on the set in the first place. And don't tell me you had no choice, because unless you were completely unconscious at the time, you had options.
Second... your entire 'I'm so driven' argument is thrown off by the fact that you've seriously considered calling it quits at the age of... twenty-seven?! What the hell?
Let me tell you something, Rock. Better men than you have suffered through more injuries than you, yet they've come back. There are men in this sport who have wrestled well past that age. If you want proof of that, watch a CSWA show. You'll notice that forty-year-olds like Hornet are still out there.
Yet here comes little Rocko, who's actually considered quitting at twenty-seven. Who thinks his time is running short. Bullsh*t. You've got at least thirteen good years left in you.
I'm twenty-six. You don't hear ME *****ing about how my time is running out, do you? Hell no. I plan on continuing in this business for a LONG time. Given even half a chance, I'd wrestle until my body breaks down from old age - because it's what I love to do.
I have never once considered calling it quits in this industry. Even when I was nearly BURNED TO DEATH in a match, I came back - and trust me, a near-fatal burning is somewhat worse than a hurt neck. You can fuse a broken neck. Last I checked, though, there was no cure for death.
I've faced death down, Rocko. I came within inches of losing my life under that flaming woodpile. Yet heeeeeere I am, still going strong and still having never considered giving it up.
Like I said, wrestling is all I live for. Sure, I've got my car collection and my money, but neither of those things are truly significant to me. My passion is solely focused on wrestling; everything else is peripheral.
But that doesn't matter, right? Because you expected more out of me.
(Smirk...)
Let me tell you a little secret.
Your expectations and a cup of coffee are worth a cup of coffee.
The only expectations I give a sh*t about are the expectations I've set for myself. I'm not in this business to live up to the standards of some bush-leaguer who thinks he can make it big. ESPECIALLY when that bush-leaguer is dodging every point I throw at him. You still haven't told me why being in Empire Pro gives you an advantage this time around, you know, and you still keep missing my point about SCW.
The only reason I mention SCW, incidentally, is because as one of its alumni, you are by definition a small fry.
Look at it this way. In five years, you've accomplished nothing in the grand scheme of things. You've won a few titles, sure, but only in a little league. Meanwhile, in a year and a half I've been making waves in federations all over the world. In the grand scheme of things, my stock in the wrestling business is astronomically higher than yours.
Then again, that's no surprise, considering that I'm an innately skilled paragon of wrestling and you're a washed-up halfwit from a league remembered only by a handful of people.
If I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous of my success.
(Wink...)
My concept of what I'm up against is really quite accurate. I'm up against a shell of a man - a man who THINKS he's driven, but isn't. I'm up against a man who's not only considered leaving the business for foolish reasons, but also delights in turning everything into a f*cking sob story. I swear, if I have to hear about your damn broken neck and how miserable you were in your off-time and how you're fighting for your son one more time, I'm going to... laugh at your stupidity.
I don't pity you at all.
I certainly don't respect you.
Because what it comes down to is that you're not in my league. You never were. You never will be.
By the way, tell Kincaid to watch Aggression. I'm sure he'll delight in seeing Daddy humiliated and defeated on national TV. Though I suppose he'd be used to it by now.
Bye bye, Rochester.
Beware the Sandstorm.
(FADEOUT)
Sands: Rockoooooo.
If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to play mind games with me. You don't remember the Turks? You don't remember when you, Zack Tseng, and a few of your friends masqueraded around as Turks in SCW?
That's okay. I don't remember carrying a skull to the ring, either.
You know, I can't help but question your drive, Rock - especially in relation to mine. First off, getting thrown off a set isn't drive - it's stupidity for being up on the set in the first place. And don't tell me you had no choice, because unless you were completely unconscious at the time, you had options.
Second... your entire 'I'm so driven' argument is thrown off by the fact that you've seriously considered calling it quits at the age of... twenty-seven?! What the hell?
Let me tell you something, Rock. Better men than you have suffered through more injuries than you, yet they've come back. There are men in this sport who have wrestled well past that age. If you want proof of that, watch a CSWA show. You'll notice that forty-year-olds like Hornet are still out there.
Yet here comes little Rocko, who's actually considered quitting at twenty-seven. Who thinks his time is running short. Bullsh*t. You've got at least thirteen good years left in you.
I'm twenty-six. You don't hear ME *****ing about how my time is running out, do you? Hell no. I plan on continuing in this business for a LONG time. Given even half a chance, I'd wrestle until my body breaks down from old age - because it's what I love to do.
I have never once considered calling it quits in this industry. Even when I was nearly BURNED TO DEATH in a match, I came back - and trust me, a near-fatal burning is somewhat worse than a hurt neck. You can fuse a broken neck. Last I checked, though, there was no cure for death.
I've faced death down, Rocko. I came within inches of losing my life under that flaming woodpile. Yet heeeeeere I am, still going strong and still having never considered giving it up.
Like I said, wrestling is all I live for. Sure, I've got my car collection and my money, but neither of those things are truly significant to me. My passion is solely focused on wrestling; everything else is peripheral.
But that doesn't matter, right? Because you expected more out of me.
(Smirk...)
Let me tell you a little secret.
Your expectations and a cup of coffee are worth a cup of coffee.
The only expectations I give a sh*t about are the expectations I've set for myself. I'm not in this business to live up to the standards of some bush-leaguer who thinks he can make it big. ESPECIALLY when that bush-leaguer is dodging every point I throw at him. You still haven't told me why being in Empire Pro gives you an advantage this time around, you know, and you still keep missing my point about SCW.
The only reason I mention SCW, incidentally, is because as one of its alumni, you are by definition a small fry.
Look at it this way. In five years, you've accomplished nothing in the grand scheme of things. You've won a few titles, sure, but only in a little league. Meanwhile, in a year and a half I've been making waves in federations all over the world. In the grand scheme of things, my stock in the wrestling business is astronomically higher than yours.
Then again, that's no surprise, considering that I'm an innately skilled paragon of wrestling and you're a washed-up halfwit from a league remembered only by a handful of people.
If I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous of my success.
(Wink...)
My concept of what I'm up against is really quite accurate. I'm up against a shell of a man - a man who THINKS he's driven, but isn't. I'm up against a man who's not only considered leaving the business for foolish reasons, but also delights in turning everything into a f*cking sob story. I swear, if I have to hear about your damn broken neck and how miserable you were in your off-time and how you're fighting for your son one more time, I'm going to... laugh at your stupidity.
I don't pity you at all.
I certainly don't respect you.
Because what it comes down to is that you're not in my league. You never were. You never will be.
By the way, tell Kincaid to watch Aggression. I'm sure he'll delight in seeing Daddy humiliated and defeated on national TV. Though I suppose he'd be used to it by now.
Bye bye, Rochester.
Beware the Sandstorm.
(FADEOUT)
SCENE BEGINS
(Ludwig's Fitness Center is a local hotspot for athletes between the Seattle and Tacoma area, of Washington. It's here where many men in the local leagues work out every day. It's the alma mater of some of the brightest professional wrestlers and athletes out of the Pacific Northwest. Several have come through Ludwig's, all with heads full of dreams. Nobody comes in to simply beef up their limbs to appease their vanity. Everyone comes with one goal in mind: Bust your ass today, and bust the charts tomorrow.)
(Rocko Daymon is one of the many to come through this public gym. It is here where he learned how to wrestle. It is here where he perfected his abilities, to become what he is today, which will make him what he will be tomorrow. It is here where he returns today, eager for another tune-up in preparation for his match against Christian Sands over the weekend.)
(We fade in, opening on a shot of the entrance of the men's locker room. Two men emerge. One is immediately noticed as Rocko Daymon, sporting regular pads, a white t-shirt, and black gym shorts. The other is someone the Empire Pro audience is unfamiliar with... Zack Tseng, the man who introduced Rocko into the industry. The man who changed his life forever. Zack wears long black training pants, a black tank top, and pad equipment similar to Rocko's.)
(By the way they look, they appear to be ready to hit the ring. They walk to the standard-sized elevated mat at one end of the gym's large training center. The two friends and brothers-in-law share wear jovial smiles, as if they had been chit-chatting away for a long while over the old days.)
Rocko Daymon
I still don't know why you talked me into this, man...
Zack Tseng
Because, Rock... you need it. After watching your past few matches, you could obviously use a little more training against an actual opponent.
Rocko Daymon
I figured the problem was just mental... about confidence, or motivation.
(Zack shakes his head.)
Zack Tseng
Oh no, man... you've got it all together up there. But you've been out of the ring for a year... you've got the rust.
Rocko Daymon
That's bullsh*t... I don't believe in it.
Zack Tseng
No, "bullsh*t" is all the obvious mistakes you've made against Sands, Brown, Benjamin, and the rest. It's good that you've got a little confidence with your return, Rocko, but don't get cocky. Your neck may not give you trouble, but you've been sitting at home for a while...
(Rocko shrugs.)
Rocko Daymon
Yeah... well... I have been using my gym.
Zack Tseng
Steel is one thing, Rocko... flesh is another. Steel always remains in one shape, and though tough and solid, provides little concious resistance. Flesh, on the other hand, morphs and adapts against you. Flesh thinks.
Rocko Daymon
...is that some part of your Zen Buddhist sh*t?
Zack Tseng
Heh... no, what I'm trying to say is, a human opponent is a lot different than pumping iron. No more talk about it, though... we have a duel.
(The two stop at the ring's apron. Two other men currently occupy the ring, holding a little sparring match. Not wanting to distract their performance, Rocko notices a man in his forties or fifties with a towel around his neck, presumably a manager. He approaches him.)
Rocko Daymon
These your guys?
Manager
Yeah, they've been going at it for about ten minutes now. Did you guys want a little time in there?
Rocko Daymon
That's what we had planned.
Manager
Okay...
(The seasoned veteran and trainer of the two young wrestlers inside slaps on the mat with urgency, gaining their attention. Though they listen, they don't let their focus fall away from each other, as they wrestle into a grapple.)
Manager
Let's go guys, hurry it up!
(The blonde wrestler suddenly goes in low, catching his raven-headed competitor off balance. He follows through with a suplex, and goes for a cover. The manager makes two counts before the dark haired wrestler kicks out of the pin. The two come to their feet together, and the blonde throws a long right hook. Its easily telegraphed, and the raven-headed competitor has no trouble ducking the swing. He counters with a back suplex, and bridges a pin. The trainer on the outside makes the count again, this time coming to the three.)
(The men watching, Rocko and Zack included, applaud the duo for their performance. Both men roll out of the ring, panting and covered in sweat. The defeated offers his palm to the victor, and the other shakes his hand.)
Manager
It's all yours guys.
(As the trainer goes to meet his students, scolding one for telegraphing punches and the other for losing focus, Rocko and Zack look at each other with smug grins.)
Zack Tseng
After you.
Rocko Daymon
Oh no, Zack, I insist...
(Rocko lowers himself in a bent-knee bow, his arms held out to the ring in a presentable fashion. It's an obviously overexaggerated gesture. Zack rolls his eyes and slides into the ring. Rocko pulls himself up to the apron and steps in after him. Tseng immediately goes to one corner and stretches himself against the ropes. Rocko comes to his feet and bounces around in place, loosening himself up.)
Rocko Daymon
Say Zack, old buddy old pal...
Zack Tseng
Yeah?
Rocko Daymon
Do you remember the two of us every being involved in a stable called the Turks?
(Zack takes a moment to think about it, then shakes his head. He chuckles.)
Zack Tseng
You know, Rocko... honestly, I've been in too many to remember. How long ago was it?
Rocko Daymon
I don't know... four, maybe five years. Still early in my career, supposedly.
Zack Tseng
Hmm... nope, don't say I recall anything like that. When you've been in a dozen other stables, you tend to just forget everything that happened more than a year or two ago, you know what I'm saying?
Rocko Daymon
Ah, what can you say... we're two modern professional wrestlers who really don't care about ancient history in professional wrestling... for live for the present and future, and that's what keeps us going. Dwelling on the past is rather pointless.
Zack Tseng
Ah, maybe so, but we can also learn a lot from the past, which is why I invited you back here to Ludwig's, old friend. To look back, analyze... see your mistakes, and correct them. To put your mind in a perfect state of balance... as well as your body, and reflexes. That will lead to the path of victory.
Rocko Daymon
What the hell are you saying there, Dhali Lama?
(With a sly grin, Zack turns from his corner and goes into a customary martial arts stands, fists held up in front of his face.)
Zack Tseng
I'm saying, "Put up your dukes," Rocko Daymon, cause I'm going to kick the sh*t out of you.
(Rocko chuckles for a moment. Then, like lightning, darts forward into a surprising spear. Many spectators in the gym call out in surprise, as the move is totally unexpected. Yet Zack Tseng's keen eyes catch every small movement. He easily sidesteps, and Rocko crashes into the corner.)
Rocko Daymon
Oof...
(Daymon falls out and turns into a sitting position in the corner. He looks up to see Zack looking down at him with his head cocked to the side and arms crossed over his chest.)
Zack Tseng
Tsk tsk, Rocko... you should have known that I'm not one to fall for that old trick.
Rocko Daymon
Heh... so tricks are no go, eh? Good... I like balls-to-the-wall.
(Daymon confident comes back to his feet and slowly advances. Tseng goes back into his fighting stance, ready to strike. Rocko comes close, and Tseng, with his legs moving at a blurring speed, throws a sudden right roundhouse into the air. Rocko narrowly dodges the attack, and counters. Taking Zack's leg into his left arm, Rocko uses his right to crash over the other's neck with a swooping lariat to put him to the ground. There's a decisive WHUMP as Zack Tseng falls to the mat. The spectators whoop out with exhilaration, as does Rocko, who stands looking over his fallen friend, pumped up and yelling at the top of his lungs.)
Rocko Daymon
Yeah, where's the POWER, fool!
(Zack suddenly comes off the ground with a spinning windmill, his legs striking Rocko's side twice in rapid succession. Daymon is caught off guard, allowing enough time for his opponent to return to his feet and sweep him down to the mat with a tackle. Zack quickly locks on a Fujiwara armbar. Rocko groans in pain.)
Zack Tseng
That's always been you... thinking with your arms, and not with your head...
Rocko Daymon
Ahh... hnnh... you f*cker...
(Even in pain, Rocko is grinning. Zack responds by tightening the hold, and Rocko's eyes nearly buldge out of his head. He quicly flails his free arm out to graps onto the bottom rope.)
Rocko Daymon
ROPE!! ROPE!!
(Zack notices and releases. Rocko checks his arm down on the mat, and gets back to his feet, still wearing a wide smile.)
Zack Tseng
You're getting cocky...
Rocko Daymon
And you're holding back.
(Tseng immediately blazes forward with a spinning heel kick that Daymon narrowly misses. Zack comes at him with numerous kicks and quick striking attacks, all of which Rocko parries with an expert's precision.)
Rocko Daymon
Cut the Bruce Lee sh*t and FIGHT, you--OOF!
(Without warning, Zack flips forward with a picture perfect Frankensteiner that flows out of an axe-kick. Poised on Rocko's shoulders, he steadies himself, preparing to flip back. He does get a chance, when Rocko shrugs off the shock and powerbombs him into the mat. Spectators in the gym yell out in surprise, causing many others to pause their exercises and join in on the crowd brewing near the apron.)
Rocko Daymon
Now that's better!
(Zack quickly rolls back onto his feet. Rocko aggressively comes after him with rights and lefts swinging. Zack evades his blows with ease, and sidesteps a voracious tackle. He deflects a right and counters with a knee into Daymon's side, then follows through with a shoulder toss. An arm twist that follows flips Rocko over onto his knees. He groans in pain.)
Rocko Daymon
What the hell is it with the arms today?
Zack Tseng
You prefer I go after your head?
(Zack suddenly throws a low kick toward's Rocko face. The former SCW champion quickly falls back to the mat to miss the attack. As he rises to his feet, Zack hits the ropes, and comes off with a jumping forearm. Rocko takes a hit to the face, and gets sent to the mat.)[/B}
Rocko Daymon
Okay... now I'm pissed!
(As he gets back to his feet, Zack hits the ropes. He goes airborne again, but is suddenly shut down when Rocko grabs him the air and blasts him into the mat with a devastating spinebuster! The two performers get another big charge from the spectators on the outside. Rocko waits for him to get to his feet, then takes him by the arm and whips him. Zack, however, reverses. Rocko connects into the corner. Rocko opens his eyes from the intial impact, and receives a knee into his chest. Zack pounds into him a few for times with the knee.)
Zack Tseng
Had enough?
{B]Rocko Daymon
Urrhh...
Zack Tseng
Didn't think so.
(Continuing the punishment, Zack takes Rocko by the arm and whips him to the opposite corner. But something suddenly happen, and Rocko reverses! Zack connects, and when his vision refocuses, he sees Daymon coming at him with the Phantom Train! Squeezing his eyes shut, Zack braces himself for impact...)
(But nothing happens. Slowly, he opens his eyes to see that Rocko stopped himself just inches away from impact.)
Rocko Daymon
That's the Phantom Train, Zack. No coming back from that.
Zack Tseng
Okay okay... you win.
(The spectators applaud the two on their performance. Rocko and Zack wave back, and leave the ring as a pair of boxers enter. Exhausted and panting, the two take a breather on a bench nearby.)
Rocko Daymon
Nice job in there... but you were going easy.
Zack Tseng
Well yeah. I wouldn't want to wear you down before your match.
Rocko Daymon
Still think I have ring rust?
Zack Tseng
Of course. You should've handled me flawlessly in that ring, with the level of resistance I was giving you.
(Rocko groans.)
Zack Tseng
Don't worry about it... you have less rust than I expected. We'll work on it later. Til then, let's take a break.
(Zack gets up off of the bench and walks to another end of the gym. He looks back.)
Zack Tseng
I promise you, by the time we leave today, any thoughts on "ring rust" will be buried. We're going to polish you up, man.
(Rocko smiles and nods as Zack leaves. He whipes his forehead dry of sweat and looks into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Maybe it was a good idea to come here today... and train with my former mentor. I need an opportunity to sharpen my skills and reflexes... and then I'll be 100% ready at Aggression. Not that I doubt I could beat Christian Sands with less than a hundred, but I know it's not wise to get sloppy. I give everything I can when I wrestle a match, no matter how small an insignificant. And if I can give more, then I do that too.
Whatever it takes to win...
(He shrugs his shoulders.)
Rocko Daymon
With the vigorous sessions in the gym every day of this week, and my opponent's scatter-brained circus of roleplays, I'm about as confident with myself as I am in shape. It'd be a joke to consider being beat by Christian Sands. I expect a hell of a challenge, of course... but an actual win? Over me, Rocko Daymon? Five year veteran, achiever of goals, and living proof of his own words?
In spite of the black air of confidence swirling around Sands' head, he is totally blind to what's going to happen at Aggression. He's going to go head to head with a challenge that he doesn't expect me to bring... and it will be so unexpected, that it proves to be his downfall. At Aggression, his arrogance and pride will fall apart as I dismantle his strength and endurance in front of the hundreds of fans in attendance.
And you know what puts a smirk on my face? He has no idea that any of this is coming...
(A classic Rocko Daymon grin crosses his face, showing his confidence.)
Rocko Daymon
After five years of delivering and receiving ass-kickings, I think I'd know how well I'm going to do in an upcoming match. I mean, in most cases, when I had even as much as a single doubt... I would usually lose, or at least make the kind of mistake that would nearly lead to that outcome. But when I feel the way I am now, heh... it's no surprise that I end up victorious in almost all of those matches. Call it precognition... but I'm simply baffled as to how Christian Sands thinks his word can go against five years of experience and expect it to sound more logical.
Take a look at my last string of matches. Going into bouts against guys like Adam Benjamin and Karl Brown made me feel uneasy with my strength, and how it held out over the year. That sort of worry caused me to perform less than what I wanted. Against Brown, I flopped around too many times to ever hold steady control of the action. Against Benjamin, I flat out lost.
But now, it's the exact opposite. Something about being in Empire Pro, a fresh federation... it just gives me a boost of confidence, coming back on a clean slate. I see those last matches as like... the NFL preseason. Basically, matches that made little difference, other than for me to test the waters, to find my regular knack in the ring. But now I'm done with the practice matches... I'm with the real deal. This time around, at Aggression, I'm fighting for nothing but victory.
(He reaches down and slides his navy blue gym bag up to his feet. He pulls out a towel and whipes some of the sweat from out of his face before going on.)
Rocko Daymon
Where does Christian Sands get HIS kind of confidence? Let's look at the facts... I have five years against his year and a half. I have library of accomplishments, wheras Christian Sands has only one thing to brag about--a measley belt he won in a federation full of "small fries". From the very signing of this match, I have been focused on training and psyching myself up, as opposed to trying to compete in a pissing match, or surfacing totally inaccurate historical tidbits.
(Can we say "KEYFABE", anyone?)
Rocko Daymon
What is Chrissy trying to accomplish with these promos? Is he trying to make himself sound tougher? More driven? I don't think I have to explain the element of drive when applied to myself... just look at my long historical background in this industry to know that when I'm in the ring, I am alive and thinking of nothing else. I have more drive than Tiger F*cking Woods.
Chissy brings up the issue of how he dedicates his entire life to professional wrestling... while I might have a divided focus on the different aspects of my life. There's my professional wrestling career... and there's my family. But you see, Christian has his words messed up. He's looking this in say...
Well, let's say the motivation of Christian Sands amounts to... a pepperoni pizza. He looks at mine, and sees a pizza of the same size. Only instead of being ALL pepperoni, it's only half that, with sausage taking the other side. But rather... instead of half-and-and, my motivation relies on an entire stack of pizzas; you have pepperoni, being my motivation as a wrestlers... sausage, being my motivation as a father and husband... and, let's say just plain ol' cheese, which represents my motivation of being a man... a role model.
That's three pizzas stacked against Sands' one. He may dedicate his entire life to professional wrestling, but I find that to be a very dense outlook on life. The successful human being should have several facets to himself that represent his different sides, and take over when needed. Let's say a guy like me has masks. When I'm at home, tucking my son in to bed, or with my wife, I'm wearing my family guy mask. But when I'm in the ring, kicking ass, it's the war mask that is displayed on my face.
The point is... Christian Sands expects to go against a man who lives for many things, but lives for them all at once. But that's wrong. When I fight him, I won't be thinking of my family, or my fans, or my past. I'm only going to be thinking of tearing him apart.
Sands could never understand any of this... but it's expected from a man that parallels his shallow-mindedness. If I were him, I wouldn't be questioning the motivation of Rocko Daymon... I'd be more interested in figuring out what he intends to bring with him in the ring, and try to find a way to withstand it.
(Rolling the towel over his shoulders so it may rest on his neck, Rocko reaches into the bag againt and pulls out a water bottle. He takes a few sips of whatever's inside, and continues.)
Rocko Daymon
I'd also like to figure out the point of bringing up his entire issue of being set on fire. Here he calls me an idiot for just happening to be on top of a twenty foot screen, where I took a dive. What makes him any different to pursue a dead rivarly against his estranged brother?
So he was set on fire... and he came back days later. What that means is either that he made a phenomenal recovery, or he is making a complete exaggeration of the entire ordeal. All I know is, when I watching Cyrus Blackshire hold his younger brother over an inferno of flames for almost half an entire minute, Max Blackshire was in a hospital for over a month. I myself have been set on fire a time or two, and have gone through other ordeals... and though I wouldn't consider those incidents as serious as Max Blackshire's accident--or what Sands tries to make of his own--I know it's nothing you can simply shrug off.
With that said, I truly don't see the significance of Christian Sands' experience of being set on fire. The point he tries to make is that he faced death on his would be funeral pyre, yet came back for more.
(He shakes his head in disbelief.)
Rocko Daymon
How pompous he is to brag... suddenly he's weighing ONE near-death experience over the OTHER--my own. And I can understand the fear of being set on fire, having had that done to me once before...
But try this on for size...
For the past ten years, Death has stalked me. One big, ugly grinning skull looming over me, casting a shadow over everything I can see. For ten years, I ran away from it. I never looked back. I kept my eyes shut, so I would blind myself of fear. And for a time, there was a moment when I thought I was safe. Then suddenly, Death swept up unexpectedly behind me, after a ten year chase, and clenched me in his jaws. During that 44 minute ordeal, which was my last match in SCW, I felt myself be taken into the mouth of Death, rolled around and crushed beneath his teeth, and his venomous tongue...
And as I feel from 20 feet, as I floated through the air... I felt Death swallow me. There was that moment... your life flashing before your eyes. I see my friends, my wife... my son. I see the face of my mother and father, the latter of which would have his own struggle a year later, which he would inevitably lose to. I saw my brother, and his family, licking boots just to make end's meet.
Then... I hit the stage.
(He pauses for a beat.)
Rocko Daymon
How could anyone know what that's like? When everything goes black, and sound just winks out of existence. When you suddenly lose all the feeling from below the neck. At that moment, somewhere between total pain and total numbness, I knew I was dead. I was sure that I had died, and this was hell.
So while I commend Sands for facing his own experience with "death" and overcoming it... I've lived with fear in my heart for over a decade. What's more, is that I took something more than a reminder... I brought with me a weakness, in my neck. At any time during a match, it could simply snap, and render me paralyzed for the rest of my life. That's a fate WORSE than death, in my opinion. Yet even with this knowledge, I come back, ready to fight, and ready to win.
It took me an entire year to overcome that fear, to come back into the ring, and fight for my dream. Even with the same man who nearly killed me, that Harbinger of Death, currently wrestling in another federation, I'm back because I have drive... motivation... a fire inside, that must burn, and must be fed in the ring, against every man I fight.
Christian Sands couldn't possibly understand that... which is why he will lose. Simply put, I'm more experienced. I'm more motivated. I spent months in a wheelchair, with the possibility of that confining contraption being my seat for the rest of my life.
(He takes another sip of his water bottle and thinks a few minutes more.)
Rocko Daymon
Who are you trying to kid, Christian? Do you understand how absolutely LAUGHABLE your speech was over "making waves through federations all over the world?" I bet Dan Ryan is busy searching his house for his ass at this very moment, having laughed it off. And you call my accomplishments... nothing?
Look at it this way, Christian... my titles, ranging from mulitple holdings of World and Television divisions, all come from SCW. That may not amount to much, if you perceive it as a "small fed." Then again Christian... the ONLY thing people remember you for, is an International Title... from the same fed.
If that's all you've ever accomplished, then maybe SCW was the right kind of place for you. Obviously, you had more success there than you have now at GXW, or what you will have in Empire Pro.
A year and a half... and all you've done is win one belt, and wear out at least a hundred Duracell batteries used to power the mics that you never cease to speak into at every event. As it is, you yourself are a small fry in GXW. I'd hardly say you send waves through federations all over the world.
After a while, you'll probably realize that you'll never accomplish anything, cause your single-minded motivation prevents it. When you live for wrestling, and get let down by your talent... that sort of screws you over in life, doesn't it? You question my motivation when I "consider" quitting at 27--mind you, I was 26 at the time, and in a wheel chair, unsure if I'd ever walk again. But when you get up to three or four years, Chrissy... you'll understand exactly what I'm coming from. You remind me of myself years ago... hell, at two years, I felt I could go on for the rest of my life. But after you take a thousand bruises and break a dozen or so bones... five is just about right for you to become unsure of the rest of your career.
You could keep going, of course, if you're like Christian Sands, and have no life outside of professional wrestling... you could go until forty, when you're wrinkled and stiff in the ring, getting booed and heckled by the fans about your age, and where your only spot is a clothesline, if you're lucky. I, however, feel the best time to leave is when you reach the end of your prime...
At first, I thought I'd already reached that point... but when I stood out of that wheelchair months ago, and saw the look in my wife's eyes, it was obvious that I hardly reached my prime. I had all I needed to go even further. And that's just what I'm doing...
(He nods with confidence, then narrows his eyes.)
Rocko Daymon
You see, Chris... it's just not worth the effort to beat me at the intellect game. You'd do much better by simply keeping your trap shut and fighting me in the ring. Here you're saying I'm dodging these points... but the truth is, you simply don't UNDERSTAND the points I initially made. You ask, what does a different federation have to do with this? Go back and listen to my first promo... the answer was right there in your face, and I can't help you if you lack the intelligence to understand it.
The combination of different factors amounts to an entirely different situation. For example, this match has standard rules instead of falls count anywhere. Another thing is what's at stake. Last time we met, in MCW, we simply fought for bragging rights... and no matter what way you look at it, the match had an inconclusive finish. But this time around, we fight for more than just to prove who has the biggest swinging cock in professional wrestling...
This time, it's about setting a mark... about making the first move in a new federation with a different kind of potential. You may see the circumstances the same, but victory this time around means more to me. I have a chance to make the public forget about those last few disappointments, so they can see that I'm back, and I mean business.
(Another nod of confidence.)
Rocko Daymon
Now let's get to the bottom line. Christian Sands does nothing more than glorify himself to masturbate his consistently deflating ego. With every word, not matter what match, no matter who the opponent, he speaks as though he was God's gift to this sport. But the truth of Christian Sands lies in all the tapes... that he is really nothing more than a flash in the pan.
And every time he gets lucky enough to pull a narrow win to back up his words, he thinks of it as a worldwide event, as though people in Canada celebrated a holiday with respect to him. He's nothing more than a grammatically proficient Michael Shutt--mediocre talent, impossibly self-centered and overexaggerated ego, with just a little more brainpower.
Even with our extended history, Christian Sands has yet to get a final word, to find a definitive answer in beating me to the ground. In our last match, he certainly didn't present himself as the great figure he presents himself to be. By his promos, it's obvious that he hasn't changed... he hasn't admitted that he's made any mistakes in underestimating me. He's gone on through the entire week, perfectly convinced that history will repeat himself... that he'll JUST NARROWLY come out with his finisher in the final seconds of the match, and steal a win...
Christian Sands is weak, narrow-minded, and foolish in every sense. It will be a pleasure to chip away at his high-and-mighty pride this week at Aggression.
As for all of the fans watching, just a simple message... at Aggression, you're all going to see what I came back to professional wrestling to do. You're going to see what I can do through my entire stay at Empire Pro. I'm going to give you all 110%, and if I'm lucky, I'll pop in an extra 1% to show that I don't piss around when I'm in the ring! I'm here to succeed... and to give myself something to be proud of outside the boundaries of SCW.
I'm bringing a one-man revolution to professional wrestling, and it will begin at Aggression, riding in on a Phantom Train. Don't miss it.
(With another nod, he gathers his stuff back into his bad, and comes up off the bench. He's approached by Zack Tseng, back from his break.)
Zack Tseng
Ready for round two?
Rocko Daymon
The second and final round... let's do it.
Zack Tseng
Wait, "final"?
Rocko Daymon
Damn right!
(The two turn and approach the ring. We fade to black.)
SCENE ENDS
(Ludwig's Fitness Center is a local hotspot for athletes between the Seattle and Tacoma area, of Washington. It's here where many men in the local leagues work out every day. It's the alma mater of some of the brightest professional wrestlers and athletes out of the Pacific Northwest. Several have come through Ludwig's, all with heads full of dreams. Nobody comes in to simply beef up their limbs to appease their vanity. Everyone comes with one goal in mind: Bust your ass today, and bust the charts tomorrow.)
(Rocko Daymon is one of the many to come through this public gym. It is here where he learned how to wrestle. It is here where he perfected his abilities, to become what he is today, which will make him what he will be tomorrow. It is here where he returns today, eager for another tune-up in preparation for his match against Christian Sands over the weekend.)
(We fade in, opening on a shot of the entrance of the men's locker room. Two men emerge. One is immediately noticed as Rocko Daymon, sporting regular pads, a white t-shirt, and black gym shorts. The other is someone the Empire Pro audience is unfamiliar with... Zack Tseng, the man who introduced Rocko into the industry. The man who changed his life forever. Zack wears long black training pants, a black tank top, and pad equipment similar to Rocko's.)
(By the way they look, they appear to be ready to hit the ring. They walk to the standard-sized elevated mat at one end of the gym's large training center. The two friends and brothers-in-law share wear jovial smiles, as if they had been chit-chatting away for a long while over the old days.)
Rocko Daymon
I still don't know why you talked me into this, man...
Zack Tseng
Because, Rock... you need it. After watching your past few matches, you could obviously use a little more training against an actual opponent.
Rocko Daymon
I figured the problem was just mental... about confidence, or motivation.
(Zack shakes his head.)
Zack Tseng
Oh no, man... you've got it all together up there. But you've been out of the ring for a year... you've got the rust.
Rocko Daymon
That's bullsh*t... I don't believe in it.
Zack Tseng
No, "bullsh*t" is all the obvious mistakes you've made against Sands, Brown, Benjamin, and the rest. It's good that you've got a little confidence with your return, Rocko, but don't get cocky. Your neck may not give you trouble, but you've been sitting at home for a while...
(Rocko shrugs.)
Rocko Daymon
Yeah... well... I have been using my gym.
Zack Tseng
Steel is one thing, Rocko... flesh is another. Steel always remains in one shape, and though tough and solid, provides little concious resistance. Flesh, on the other hand, morphs and adapts against you. Flesh thinks.
Rocko Daymon
...is that some part of your Zen Buddhist sh*t?
Zack Tseng
Heh... no, what I'm trying to say is, a human opponent is a lot different than pumping iron. No more talk about it, though... we have a duel.
(The two stop at the ring's apron. Two other men currently occupy the ring, holding a little sparring match. Not wanting to distract their performance, Rocko notices a man in his forties or fifties with a towel around his neck, presumably a manager. He approaches him.)
Rocko Daymon
These your guys?
Manager
Yeah, they've been going at it for about ten minutes now. Did you guys want a little time in there?
Rocko Daymon
That's what we had planned.
Manager
Okay...
(The seasoned veteran and trainer of the two young wrestlers inside slaps on the mat with urgency, gaining their attention. Though they listen, they don't let their focus fall away from each other, as they wrestle into a grapple.)
Manager
Let's go guys, hurry it up!
(The blonde wrestler suddenly goes in low, catching his raven-headed competitor off balance. He follows through with a suplex, and goes for a cover. The manager makes two counts before the dark haired wrestler kicks out of the pin. The two come to their feet together, and the blonde throws a long right hook. Its easily telegraphed, and the raven-headed competitor has no trouble ducking the swing. He counters with a back suplex, and bridges a pin. The trainer on the outside makes the count again, this time coming to the three.)
(The men watching, Rocko and Zack included, applaud the duo for their performance. Both men roll out of the ring, panting and covered in sweat. The defeated offers his palm to the victor, and the other shakes his hand.)
Manager
It's all yours guys.
(As the trainer goes to meet his students, scolding one for telegraphing punches and the other for losing focus, Rocko and Zack look at each other with smug grins.)
Zack Tseng
After you.
Rocko Daymon
Oh no, Zack, I insist...
(Rocko lowers himself in a bent-knee bow, his arms held out to the ring in a presentable fashion. It's an obviously overexaggerated gesture. Zack rolls his eyes and slides into the ring. Rocko pulls himself up to the apron and steps in after him. Tseng immediately goes to one corner and stretches himself against the ropes. Rocko comes to his feet and bounces around in place, loosening himself up.)
Rocko Daymon
Say Zack, old buddy old pal...
Zack Tseng
Yeah?
Rocko Daymon
Do you remember the two of us every being involved in a stable called the Turks?
(Zack takes a moment to think about it, then shakes his head. He chuckles.)
Zack Tseng
You know, Rocko... honestly, I've been in too many to remember. How long ago was it?
Rocko Daymon
I don't know... four, maybe five years. Still early in my career, supposedly.
Zack Tseng
Hmm... nope, don't say I recall anything like that. When you've been in a dozen other stables, you tend to just forget everything that happened more than a year or two ago, you know what I'm saying?
Rocko Daymon
Ah, what can you say... we're two modern professional wrestlers who really don't care about ancient history in professional wrestling... for live for the present and future, and that's what keeps us going. Dwelling on the past is rather pointless.
Zack Tseng
Ah, maybe so, but we can also learn a lot from the past, which is why I invited you back here to Ludwig's, old friend. To look back, analyze... see your mistakes, and correct them. To put your mind in a perfect state of balance... as well as your body, and reflexes. That will lead to the path of victory.
Rocko Daymon
What the hell are you saying there, Dhali Lama?
(With a sly grin, Zack turns from his corner and goes into a customary martial arts stands, fists held up in front of his face.)
Zack Tseng
I'm saying, "Put up your dukes," Rocko Daymon, cause I'm going to kick the sh*t out of you.
(Rocko chuckles for a moment. Then, like lightning, darts forward into a surprising spear. Many spectators in the gym call out in surprise, as the move is totally unexpected. Yet Zack Tseng's keen eyes catch every small movement. He easily sidesteps, and Rocko crashes into the corner.)
Rocko Daymon
Oof...
(Daymon falls out and turns into a sitting position in the corner. He looks up to see Zack looking down at him with his head cocked to the side and arms crossed over his chest.)
Zack Tseng
Tsk tsk, Rocko... you should have known that I'm not one to fall for that old trick.
Rocko Daymon
Heh... so tricks are no go, eh? Good... I like balls-to-the-wall.
(Daymon confident comes back to his feet and slowly advances. Tseng goes back into his fighting stance, ready to strike. Rocko comes close, and Tseng, with his legs moving at a blurring speed, throws a sudden right roundhouse into the air. Rocko narrowly dodges the attack, and counters. Taking Zack's leg into his left arm, Rocko uses his right to crash over the other's neck with a swooping lariat to put him to the ground. There's a decisive WHUMP as Zack Tseng falls to the mat. The spectators whoop out with exhilaration, as does Rocko, who stands looking over his fallen friend, pumped up and yelling at the top of his lungs.)
Rocko Daymon
Yeah, where's the POWER, fool!
(Zack suddenly comes off the ground with a spinning windmill, his legs striking Rocko's side twice in rapid succession. Daymon is caught off guard, allowing enough time for his opponent to return to his feet and sweep him down to the mat with a tackle. Zack quickly locks on a Fujiwara armbar. Rocko groans in pain.)
Zack Tseng
That's always been you... thinking with your arms, and not with your head...
Rocko Daymon
Ahh... hnnh... you f*cker...
(Even in pain, Rocko is grinning. Zack responds by tightening the hold, and Rocko's eyes nearly buldge out of his head. He quicly flails his free arm out to graps onto the bottom rope.)
Rocko Daymon
ROPE!! ROPE!!
(Zack notices and releases. Rocko checks his arm down on the mat, and gets back to his feet, still wearing a wide smile.)
Zack Tseng
You're getting cocky...
Rocko Daymon
And you're holding back.
(Tseng immediately blazes forward with a spinning heel kick that Daymon narrowly misses. Zack comes at him with numerous kicks and quick striking attacks, all of which Rocko parries with an expert's precision.)
Rocko Daymon
Cut the Bruce Lee sh*t and FIGHT, you--OOF!
(Without warning, Zack flips forward with a picture perfect Frankensteiner that flows out of an axe-kick. Poised on Rocko's shoulders, he steadies himself, preparing to flip back. He does get a chance, when Rocko shrugs off the shock and powerbombs him into the mat. Spectators in the gym yell out in surprise, causing many others to pause their exercises and join in on the crowd brewing near the apron.)
Rocko Daymon
Now that's better!
(Zack quickly rolls back onto his feet. Rocko aggressively comes after him with rights and lefts swinging. Zack evades his blows with ease, and sidesteps a voracious tackle. He deflects a right and counters with a knee into Daymon's side, then follows through with a shoulder toss. An arm twist that follows flips Rocko over onto his knees. He groans in pain.)
Rocko Daymon
What the hell is it with the arms today?
Zack Tseng
You prefer I go after your head?
(Zack suddenly throws a low kick toward's Rocko face. The former SCW champion quickly falls back to the mat to miss the attack. As he rises to his feet, Zack hits the ropes, and comes off with a jumping forearm. Rocko takes a hit to the face, and gets sent to the mat.)[/B}
Rocko Daymon
Okay... now I'm pissed!
(As he gets back to his feet, Zack hits the ropes. He goes airborne again, but is suddenly shut down when Rocko grabs him the air and blasts him into the mat with a devastating spinebuster! The two performers get another big charge from the spectators on the outside. Rocko waits for him to get to his feet, then takes him by the arm and whips him. Zack, however, reverses. Rocko connects into the corner. Rocko opens his eyes from the intial impact, and receives a knee into his chest. Zack pounds into him a few for times with the knee.)
Zack Tseng
Had enough?
{B]Rocko Daymon
Urrhh...
Zack Tseng
Didn't think so.
(Continuing the punishment, Zack takes Rocko by the arm and whips him to the opposite corner. But something suddenly happen, and Rocko reverses! Zack connects, and when his vision refocuses, he sees Daymon coming at him with the Phantom Train! Squeezing his eyes shut, Zack braces himself for impact...)
(But nothing happens. Slowly, he opens his eyes to see that Rocko stopped himself just inches away from impact.)
Rocko Daymon
That's the Phantom Train, Zack. No coming back from that.
Zack Tseng
Okay okay... you win.
(The spectators applaud the two on their performance. Rocko and Zack wave back, and leave the ring as a pair of boxers enter. Exhausted and panting, the two take a breather on a bench nearby.)
Rocko Daymon
Nice job in there... but you were going easy.
Zack Tseng
Well yeah. I wouldn't want to wear you down before your match.
Rocko Daymon
Still think I have ring rust?
Zack Tseng
Of course. You should've handled me flawlessly in that ring, with the level of resistance I was giving you.
(Rocko groans.)
Zack Tseng
Don't worry about it... you have less rust than I expected. We'll work on it later. Til then, let's take a break.
(Zack gets up off of the bench and walks to another end of the gym. He looks back.)
Zack Tseng
I promise you, by the time we leave today, any thoughts on "ring rust" will be buried. We're going to polish you up, man.
(Rocko smiles and nods as Zack leaves. He whipes his forehead dry of sweat and looks into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Maybe it was a good idea to come here today... and train with my former mentor. I need an opportunity to sharpen my skills and reflexes... and then I'll be 100% ready at Aggression. Not that I doubt I could beat Christian Sands with less than a hundred, but I know it's not wise to get sloppy. I give everything I can when I wrestle a match, no matter how small an insignificant. And if I can give more, then I do that too.
Whatever it takes to win...
(He shrugs his shoulders.)
Rocko Daymon
With the vigorous sessions in the gym every day of this week, and my opponent's scatter-brained circus of roleplays, I'm about as confident with myself as I am in shape. It'd be a joke to consider being beat by Christian Sands. I expect a hell of a challenge, of course... but an actual win? Over me, Rocko Daymon? Five year veteran, achiever of goals, and living proof of his own words?
In spite of the black air of confidence swirling around Sands' head, he is totally blind to what's going to happen at Aggression. He's going to go head to head with a challenge that he doesn't expect me to bring... and it will be so unexpected, that it proves to be his downfall. At Aggression, his arrogance and pride will fall apart as I dismantle his strength and endurance in front of the hundreds of fans in attendance.
And you know what puts a smirk on my face? He has no idea that any of this is coming...
(A classic Rocko Daymon grin crosses his face, showing his confidence.)
Rocko Daymon
After five years of delivering and receiving ass-kickings, I think I'd know how well I'm going to do in an upcoming match. I mean, in most cases, when I had even as much as a single doubt... I would usually lose, or at least make the kind of mistake that would nearly lead to that outcome. But when I feel the way I am now, heh... it's no surprise that I end up victorious in almost all of those matches. Call it precognition... but I'm simply baffled as to how Christian Sands thinks his word can go against five years of experience and expect it to sound more logical.
Take a look at my last string of matches. Going into bouts against guys like Adam Benjamin and Karl Brown made me feel uneasy with my strength, and how it held out over the year. That sort of worry caused me to perform less than what I wanted. Against Brown, I flopped around too many times to ever hold steady control of the action. Against Benjamin, I flat out lost.
But now, it's the exact opposite. Something about being in Empire Pro, a fresh federation... it just gives me a boost of confidence, coming back on a clean slate. I see those last matches as like... the NFL preseason. Basically, matches that made little difference, other than for me to test the waters, to find my regular knack in the ring. But now I'm done with the practice matches... I'm with the real deal. This time around, at Aggression, I'm fighting for nothing but victory.
(He reaches down and slides his navy blue gym bag up to his feet. He pulls out a towel and whipes some of the sweat from out of his face before going on.)
Rocko Daymon
Where does Christian Sands get HIS kind of confidence? Let's look at the facts... I have five years against his year and a half. I have library of accomplishments, wheras Christian Sands has only one thing to brag about--a measley belt he won in a federation full of "small fries". From the very signing of this match, I have been focused on training and psyching myself up, as opposed to trying to compete in a pissing match, or surfacing totally inaccurate historical tidbits.
(Can we say "KEYFABE", anyone?)
Rocko Daymon
What is Chrissy trying to accomplish with these promos? Is he trying to make himself sound tougher? More driven? I don't think I have to explain the element of drive when applied to myself... just look at my long historical background in this industry to know that when I'm in the ring, I am alive and thinking of nothing else. I have more drive than Tiger F*cking Woods.
Chissy brings up the issue of how he dedicates his entire life to professional wrestling... while I might have a divided focus on the different aspects of my life. There's my professional wrestling career... and there's my family. But you see, Christian has his words messed up. He's looking this in say...
Well, let's say the motivation of Christian Sands amounts to... a pepperoni pizza. He looks at mine, and sees a pizza of the same size. Only instead of being ALL pepperoni, it's only half that, with sausage taking the other side. But rather... instead of half-and-and, my motivation relies on an entire stack of pizzas; you have pepperoni, being my motivation as a wrestlers... sausage, being my motivation as a father and husband... and, let's say just plain ol' cheese, which represents my motivation of being a man... a role model.
That's three pizzas stacked against Sands' one. He may dedicate his entire life to professional wrestling, but I find that to be a very dense outlook on life. The successful human being should have several facets to himself that represent his different sides, and take over when needed. Let's say a guy like me has masks. When I'm at home, tucking my son in to bed, or with my wife, I'm wearing my family guy mask. But when I'm in the ring, kicking ass, it's the war mask that is displayed on my face.
The point is... Christian Sands expects to go against a man who lives for many things, but lives for them all at once. But that's wrong. When I fight him, I won't be thinking of my family, or my fans, or my past. I'm only going to be thinking of tearing him apart.
Sands could never understand any of this... but it's expected from a man that parallels his shallow-mindedness. If I were him, I wouldn't be questioning the motivation of Rocko Daymon... I'd be more interested in figuring out what he intends to bring with him in the ring, and try to find a way to withstand it.
(Rolling the towel over his shoulders so it may rest on his neck, Rocko reaches into the bag againt and pulls out a water bottle. He takes a few sips of whatever's inside, and continues.)
Rocko Daymon
I'd also like to figure out the point of bringing up his entire issue of being set on fire. Here he calls me an idiot for just happening to be on top of a twenty foot screen, where I took a dive. What makes him any different to pursue a dead rivarly against his estranged brother?
So he was set on fire... and he came back days later. What that means is either that he made a phenomenal recovery, or he is making a complete exaggeration of the entire ordeal. All I know is, when I watching Cyrus Blackshire hold his younger brother over an inferno of flames for almost half an entire minute, Max Blackshire was in a hospital for over a month. I myself have been set on fire a time or two, and have gone through other ordeals... and though I wouldn't consider those incidents as serious as Max Blackshire's accident--or what Sands tries to make of his own--I know it's nothing you can simply shrug off.
With that said, I truly don't see the significance of Christian Sands' experience of being set on fire. The point he tries to make is that he faced death on his would be funeral pyre, yet came back for more.
(He shakes his head in disbelief.)
Rocko Daymon
How pompous he is to brag... suddenly he's weighing ONE near-death experience over the OTHER--my own. And I can understand the fear of being set on fire, having had that done to me once before...
But try this on for size...
For the past ten years, Death has stalked me. One big, ugly grinning skull looming over me, casting a shadow over everything I can see. For ten years, I ran away from it. I never looked back. I kept my eyes shut, so I would blind myself of fear. And for a time, there was a moment when I thought I was safe. Then suddenly, Death swept up unexpectedly behind me, after a ten year chase, and clenched me in his jaws. During that 44 minute ordeal, which was my last match in SCW, I felt myself be taken into the mouth of Death, rolled around and crushed beneath his teeth, and his venomous tongue...
And as I feel from 20 feet, as I floated through the air... I felt Death swallow me. There was that moment... your life flashing before your eyes. I see my friends, my wife... my son. I see the face of my mother and father, the latter of which would have his own struggle a year later, which he would inevitably lose to. I saw my brother, and his family, licking boots just to make end's meet.
Then... I hit the stage.
(He pauses for a beat.)
Rocko Daymon
How could anyone know what that's like? When everything goes black, and sound just winks out of existence. When you suddenly lose all the feeling from below the neck. At that moment, somewhere between total pain and total numbness, I knew I was dead. I was sure that I had died, and this was hell.
So while I commend Sands for facing his own experience with "death" and overcoming it... I've lived with fear in my heart for over a decade. What's more, is that I took something more than a reminder... I brought with me a weakness, in my neck. At any time during a match, it could simply snap, and render me paralyzed for the rest of my life. That's a fate WORSE than death, in my opinion. Yet even with this knowledge, I come back, ready to fight, and ready to win.
It took me an entire year to overcome that fear, to come back into the ring, and fight for my dream. Even with the same man who nearly killed me, that Harbinger of Death, currently wrestling in another federation, I'm back because I have drive... motivation... a fire inside, that must burn, and must be fed in the ring, against every man I fight.
Christian Sands couldn't possibly understand that... which is why he will lose. Simply put, I'm more experienced. I'm more motivated. I spent months in a wheelchair, with the possibility of that confining contraption being my seat for the rest of my life.
(He takes another sip of his water bottle and thinks a few minutes more.)
Rocko Daymon
Who are you trying to kid, Christian? Do you understand how absolutely LAUGHABLE your speech was over "making waves through federations all over the world?" I bet Dan Ryan is busy searching his house for his ass at this very moment, having laughed it off. And you call my accomplishments... nothing?
Look at it this way, Christian... my titles, ranging from mulitple holdings of World and Television divisions, all come from SCW. That may not amount to much, if you perceive it as a "small fed." Then again Christian... the ONLY thing people remember you for, is an International Title... from the same fed.
If that's all you've ever accomplished, then maybe SCW was the right kind of place for you. Obviously, you had more success there than you have now at GXW, or what you will have in Empire Pro.
A year and a half... and all you've done is win one belt, and wear out at least a hundred Duracell batteries used to power the mics that you never cease to speak into at every event. As it is, you yourself are a small fry in GXW. I'd hardly say you send waves through federations all over the world.
After a while, you'll probably realize that you'll never accomplish anything, cause your single-minded motivation prevents it. When you live for wrestling, and get let down by your talent... that sort of screws you over in life, doesn't it? You question my motivation when I "consider" quitting at 27--mind you, I was 26 at the time, and in a wheel chair, unsure if I'd ever walk again. But when you get up to three or four years, Chrissy... you'll understand exactly what I'm coming from. You remind me of myself years ago... hell, at two years, I felt I could go on for the rest of my life. But after you take a thousand bruises and break a dozen or so bones... five is just about right for you to become unsure of the rest of your career.
You could keep going, of course, if you're like Christian Sands, and have no life outside of professional wrestling... you could go until forty, when you're wrinkled and stiff in the ring, getting booed and heckled by the fans about your age, and where your only spot is a clothesline, if you're lucky. I, however, feel the best time to leave is when you reach the end of your prime...
At first, I thought I'd already reached that point... but when I stood out of that wheelchair months ago, and saw the look in my wife's eyes, it was obvious that I hardly reached my prime. I had all I needed to go even further. And that's just what I'm doing...
(He nods with confidence, then narrows his eyes.)
Rocko Daymon
You see, Chris... it's just not worth the effort to beat me at the intellect game. You'd do much better by simply keeping your trap shut and fighting me in the ring. Here you're saying I'm dodging these points... but the truth is, you simply don't UNDERSTAND the points I initially made. You ask, what does a different federation have to do with this? Go back and listen to my first promo... the answer was right there in your face, and I can't help you if you lack the intelligence to understand it.
The combination of different factors amounts to an entirely different situation. For example, this match has standard rules instead of falls count anywhere. Another thing is what's at stake. Last time we met, in MCW, we simply fought for bragging rights... and no matter what way you look at it, the match had an inconclusive finish. But this time around, we fight for more than just to prove who has the biggest swinging cock in professional wrestling...
This time, it's about setting a mark... about making the first move in a new federation with a different kind of potential. You may see the circumstances the same, but victory this time around means more to me. I have a chance to make the public forget about those last few disappointments, so they can see that I'm back, and I mean business.
(Another nod of confidence.)
Rocko Daymon
Now let's get to the bottom line. Christian Sands does nothing more than glorify himself to masturbate his consistently deflating ego. With every word, not matter what match, no matter who the opponent, he speaks as though he was God's gift to this sport. But the truth of Christian Sands lies in all the tapes... that he is really nothing more than a flash in the pan.
And every time he gets lucky enough to pull a narrow win to back up his words, he thinks of it as a worldwide event, as though people in Canada celebrated a holiday with respect to him. He's nothing more than a grammatically proficient Michael Shutt--mediocre talent, impossibly self-centered and overexaggerated ego, with just a little more brainpower.
Even with our extended history, Christian Sands has yet to get a final word, to find a definitive answer in beating me to the ground. In our last match, he certainly didn't present himself as the great figure he presents himself to be. By his promos, it's obvious that he hasn't changed... he hasn't admitted that he's made any mistakes in underestimating me. He's gone on through the entire week, perfectly convinced that history will repeat himself... that he'll JUST NARROWLY come out with his finisher in the final seconds of the match, and steal a win...
Christian Sands is weak, narrow-minded, and foolish in every sense. It will be a pleasure to chip away at his high-and-mighty pride this week at Aggression.
As for all of the fans watching, just a simple message... at Aggression, you're all going to see what I came back to professional wrestling to do. You're going to see what I can do through my entire stay at Empire Pro. I'm going to give you all 110%, and if I'm lucky, I'll pop in an extra 1% to show that I don't piss around when I'm in the ring! I'm here to succeed... and to give myself something to be proud of outside the boundaries of SCW.
I'm bringing a one-man revolution to professional wrestling, and it will begin at Aggression, riding in on a Phantom Train. Don't miss it.
(With another nod, he gathers his stuff back into his bad, and comes up off the bench. He's approached by Zack Tseng, back from his break.)
Zack Tseng
Ready for round two?
Rocko Daymon
The second and final round... let's do it.
Zack Tseng
Wait, "final"?
Rocko Daymon
Damn right!
(The two turn and approach the ring. We fade to black.)
SCENE ENDS
JABolich
League Member
(OORP: Ryan, allow me to introduce you to the term "short and sweet". 
)
)
JABolich
League Member
(FADEIN: CHRISTIAN SANDS' study. SANDS leans back in his chair, an eyebrow raised impassively.)
Sands: Aaaaalriiiiight, so that's the game you want to play.
So now that I've wasted an hour of my life on that ridiculously long piece of sanctimonious tripe that was supposed to pass for a Rocko promo, let's get down to business. Rochester - actually, mind if I call you Chester? No? Good.
So, Chester... this makes personality shift number what for you? Ten? Eleven? In the space of a month I've seen you go from Humble Chester to Vengeful Chester to Patronizing Chester. What's wrong? Am I getting under your skin? Poor baby. Did you want a bottle?
Oh, wait, I forgot... you're so grizzled and experienced that you've moved up to no-spill plastic cups now.
You know, if you're really as much of a veteran as you'd say you are, you'd realize that experience is really quite irrelevant. It is to me, at any rate. Take a look back in GXW. Randy Cobb, a former NthWA Champion, has MUCH more experience and talent than you do. Yet I still beat him. With that in mind, you can take your five years and stick them up your ass... assuming you can wedge them in there alongside your head.
And would you PLEASE, PLEASE stop trying to turn this match into a sob story? I think I mentioned before that I don't care HOW badly you broke your neck. But hey. You seemed to be having fun describing the pain and torment in painstaking detail, so if you'd like, I'll break your neck again for you and we can watch the tears start flowing all over the world!
Okay, I lied. More like we can watch people shrug and go about their business.
You don't seem to realize that in this industry, I'm already a bigger star than you've ever been. Don't even bother rattling off your list of titles in comparison to mine, either, because a man's worth isn't determined through titles. The sheer fact that I was out there picking fights with some of the top names in the business and winning while you were in SCW playing with twits like the Reaver and Dallas Winston places me on a level so far above you, I can practically reach up and touch the International Space Station.
But hey, that doesn't matter, right? Because you're driven! In fact, you even taped your training regimen to show me how TOUGH you are! Oh, I'm scared now! I'm terrified of Rocko training! Nevermind the fact that everyone in the business trains as hard or harder - I'm SCREAMIN' here! Do me a favor, Rocko. When all that training pays off and you beat me from here to Kathmandu and leave me for dead, put heather on my headstone and say a little prayer for me. I can see the reaper coming for me now. Oh, woe is me.
I guess I'd better just give up now. I mean, what chance do I have against Chester V. Daymon, five-year veteran, achiever of goals, dreamer of dreams, slayer of dragons, guardian of the legendary land of Douche Bagia and wielder of the Mighty Herring of Mediocrity?
What's that? Did I just call you mediocre? Yes I did. Oh yes I did, you little rascal.
So you want to talk facts, eh Chester? Alright, let's put it this way. In the past year and a half I ran your bush-league of a fed into the ground, buried the entire SCW roster, debuted in NFW and started an undefeated streak that's still going strong, outperformed the 2003 Wrestler of the Year in a main event match, romped through the entire GXW midcard with ease, and beat the tar out of you in MCW. And you've done... what? Lost to Adam Benjamin? What else? Got your ass kicked by me? Anything else? Oh, got schooled by Clapper and tossed off a stage like a little *****. Yeah, you've got a HUGE advantage on me, pal.
If I'm a grammatically-correct Hellb*tch, then you, sir, are a poor man's Reuben Fasco. And that's pretty f*cking poor.
Just for the record, you're quite dense if you see anything of you in me. See, there's a key difference between you and I, Chester. Several, really. That is, I've got talent, success, charisma, drive, and a whole lot more. You've got... a stack of pizzas or something. Here's a piece of advice: Never play with metaphors on an empty stomach. "My motivation is like a stack of pizzas..." LISTEN TO YOURSELF, you f*cking chode! Am I going to have to send the short bus to pick you up?
But I'll humor you a bit. According to your pizza metaphor, you're just plain cheese. I, on the other hand, am a deluxe king-sized supreme with extra f*cking mushrooms.
...Ugh. That felt dirty. Remind me to never try pandering to your level of mental deficiency again.
I'll tell you what, Chester. You come in and ride that little phantom train of yours - by the way, did you know that the Phantom Train is a boss in Final Fantasy 6? Either way, you ride your little choo-choo into Aggression, and I'll stand at the switch and send you rolling happily along the track leading straight to the bottom. Maybe while you're down there you can work on your promo skills - you know, picking a first- or third-person mode of address and sticking to it.
Now run along and go tape some more of your workouts. Meanwhile, those of us who don't need to resort to such nonsense to prove our motivation will sit back and laugh at you.
Not that we weren't laughing already.
Beware the Sandstorm, Chester. Buh-bye.
(FADEOUT)
Sands: Aaaaalriiiiight, so that's the game you want to play.
So now that I've wasted an hour of my life on that ridiculously long piece of sanctimonious tripe that was supposed to pass for a Rocko promo, let's get down to business. Rochester - actually, mind if I call you Chester? No? Good.
So, Chester... this makes personality shift number what for you? Ten? Eleven? In the space of a month I've seen you go from Humble Chester to Vengeful Chester to Patronizing Chester. What's wrong? Am I getting under your skin? Poor baby. Did you want a bottle?
Oh, wait, I forgot... you're so grizzled and experienced that you've moved up to no-spill plastic cups now.
You know, if you're really as much of a veteran as you'd say you are, you'd realize that experience is really quite irrelevant. It is to me, at any rate. Take a look back in GXW. Randy Cobb, a former NthWA Champion, has MUCH more experience and talent than you do. Yet I still beat him. With that in mind, you can take your five years and stick them up your ass... assuming you can wedge them in there alongside your head.
And would you PLEASE, PLEASE stop trying to turn this match into a sob story? I think I mentioned before that I don't care HOW badly you broke your neck. But hey. You seemed to be having fun describing the pain and torment in painstaking detail, so if you'd like, I'll break your neck again for you and we can watch the tears start flowing all over the world!
Okay, I lied. More like we can watch people shrug and go about their business.
You don't seem to realize that in this industry, I'm already a bigger star than you've ever been. Don't even bother rattling off your list of titles in comparison to mine, either, because a man's worth isn't determined through titles. The sheer fact that I was out there picking fights with some of the top names in the business and winning while you were in SCW playing with twits like the Reaver and Dallas Winston places me on a level so far above you, I can practically reach up and touch the International Space Station.
But hey, that doesn't matter, right? Because you're driven! In fact, you even taped your training regimen to show me how TOUGH you are! Oh, I'm scared now! I'm terrified of Rocko training! Nevermind the fact that everyone in the business trains as hard or harder - I'm SCREAMIN' here! Do me a favor, Rocko. When all that training pays off and you beat me from here to Kathmandu and leave me for dead, put heather on my headstone and say a little prayer for me. I can see the reaper coming for me now. Oh, woe is me.
I guess I'd better just give up now. I mean, what chance do I have against Chester V. Daymon, five-year veteran, achiever of goals, dreamer of dreams, slayer of dragons, guardian of the legendary land of Douche Bagia and wielder of the Mighty Herring of Mediocrity?
What's that? Did I just call you mediocre? Yes I did. Oh yes I did, you little rascal.
So you want to talk facts, eh Chester? Alright, let's put it this way. In the past year and a half I ran your bush-league of a fed into the ground, buried the entire SCW roster, debuted in NFW and started an undefeated streak that's still going strong, outperformed the 2003 Wrestler of the Year in a main event match, romped through the entire GXW midcard with ease, and beat the tar out of you in MCW. And you've done... what? Lost to Adam Benjamin? What else? Got your ass kicked by me? Anything else? Oh, got schooled by Clapper and tossed off a stage like a little *****. Yeah, you've got a HUGE advantage on me, pal.
If I'm a grammatically-correct Hellb*tch, then you, sir, are a poor man's Reuben Fasco. And that's pretty f*cking poor.
Just for the record, you're quite dense if you see anything of you in me. See, there's a key difference between you and I, Chester. Several, really. That is, I've got talent, success, charisma, drive, and a whole lot more. You've got... a stack of pizzas or something. Here's a piece of advice: Never play with metaphors on an empty stomach. "My motivation is like a stack of pizzas..." LISTEN TO YOURSELF, you f*cking chode! Am I going to have to send the short bus to pick you up?
But I'll humor you a bit. According to your pizza metaphor, you're just plain cheese. I, on the other hand, am a deluxe king-sized supreme with extra f*cking mushrooms.
...Ugh. That felt dirty. Remind me to never try pandering to your level of mental deficiency again.
I'll tell you what, Chester. You come in and ride that little phantom train of yours - by the way, did you know that the Phantom Train is a boss in Final Fantasy 6? Either way, you ride your little choo-choo into Aggression, and I'll stand at the switch and send you rolling happily along the track leading straight to the bottom. Maybe while you're down there you can work on your promo skills - you know, picking a first- or third-person mode of address and sticking to it.
Now run along and go tape some more of your workouts. Meanwhile, those of us who don't need to resort to such nonsense to prove our motivation will sit back and laugh at you.
Not that we weren't laughing already.
Beware the Sandstorm, Chester. Buh-bye.
(FADEOUT)
Last edited: