(FADEIN: Doc Silver sitting at a table. Doc has on a black T-Shirt reading “I Hate Love” in white letters. Resting on the table are a carrot and a stick. “Blood For Poppies” plays in the background.)
DOC: There’s an old saying about trying to get people to do what you want them to do, you offer then a carrot, and a stick, the carrot (Doc holds up the carrot) is your reward for doing what is asked of you and the stick (Doc holds up the stick.) is the punishment that befalls you if you fail to do what is asked of you.
The carrot in your case Erik is this suitcase right here (Green Machine walks over and places a briefcase on the table, he opens it up, stacks of 100 dollar bills inside it.) this is a quarter million dollars in cash. All you have to do is say “I Quit” after the bell rings, and after the bell rings for a second time and I’m declared the winner, you’ll get the money, you can walk out of the ring and go party it up or put it in a bank or do whatever the hell it is you want to do with your new found wealth.
On the other hand, if you refuse my money, if you decide you don’t want to earn more money in 5 seconds than you’ll earn in your whole career, well, then you get the stick. (Greenie places a headshot of an older man, balding, what hair he has is a mix between dark and grey.) This is Reggie Stanbury, he’s the ref of our match, he’s 58 years old, he has been reffing since he blew his knee out as a wrestler at the age of 25.
Now he might be a veteran of the industry and all that, but he’s also a father, his daughter Sally is a nice enough woman, two kids of her own, Fred and Richie. Problem is their father is abusive, and well, Sally just made the painful but necessary move of escaping the house and is now living at a half-way home. Reggie does what he can to help, but he’s earning ref pay in the indy leagues and let’s be honest, a guy like him won’t get the call to ref beyond round 2 of Ultratitle, We all know the Pat Jones, Greg Herpins, Scott Speranzas, and Bruce Phillips of the world are going to have those assignments on lockdown. So really, what’s to stop him from wanting to help his troubled daughter out, maybe he counts a hair quicker than normal and his daughter has a new home, and the peace of mind knowing that a phone call to my private line brings protection far faster and far more effectively than any police station could.
But I’m sure you’re thinking that old Reggie is far to noble and honorable to allow himself to be bribed, that he’s an official in the Ultratitle, the greatest tournament in the history of ever and he wouldn’t disgrace this institution by taking my money. A corrupt ref in wrestling?! Madness you say, such a thought is beyond belief!
Maybe you’re right, but then you have to remember that he is 58 years old and he is 130 pounds soaking wet. Men like him fall down very easy, and when they fall down, they don’t get up very quickly.
(The camera pans to Bloodhunt holding a tire iron, then over to Flint M. Jacobs holding a steel chair, then over to Spectrum with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, Gomer Pyle walks into the shot with his fists covered in layers of tape, he holds a spool of piano wire in his hands. Pyle smiles wickedly and then Green Machine pops into the picture, holding a shock stick taser that he fires for the camera. The camera then turns back to Doc.)
Let’s just say that if by some freak accident poor old Reggie happened to get knocked down during our match…Well, there’s no instant replay in Ultratitle, it’s like baseball and all that nonsense about human error being part of the magic of the sport. So yeah, Reggie might hit the deck and as a result he might miss a few things that people might deem illegal according to the rules of our oh so noble and honorable industry…But one thing he won’t do is make a mistake when he counts the pin on you, because when he does wake up, he will be looking at me covering your blood soaked and broken body and you’re not getting up in 3 seconds, or three minutes, or three hours, maybe not three days to be completely honest with you…
You refuse my offer and you will not leave that arena under your own power…
And rest assured it will not end on that night…Oh no. I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life. IWF is the little company you wrestle for? I could buy it tomorrow and use it as my play ground to torture you in. You leave there for anywhere else I’ll still find a way to get at you. You quit the business and go back to tending bar, one day when you’re leaving that bar you won’t even see it coming and Bloodhunt will take your knee out with a bat.
The first round of Ultratitle will be the night that decides the rest of your life…You can take the money and run, you can live a little fatter in the wallet and suffer no damage, no injury for stepping into the ring with me…
Or you can defy me, and in doing do you will pay a terrible price, and you’ll keep paying it over and over again, and when one day, years from now when you’ve suffered yet another beating at the hands of one of my goons, you’ll be weeping, your body and spirit broken, the endless abuse and dread of the future attacks having driven you half mad…You’ll ask what do you do to deserve this…
And the answer is…You refused me…And people who refuse me have their lives ruined if I so desire it….See Erik, the way this works is simple…Everything in your life can be taken from you by me. I have that kind of power, I have money, I have connections and I have absolutely no mercy at all for those who I want to crush…At this moment in your life you have to understand one important thing…
I AM YOUR GOD…
And you can please me, or displease me. The choice is yours…But know that if you displease me…You will be left to walk forever upon the endless path of misery…
(Fadein, "Mateo's Pub" in Las Vegas, Nevada. As the camera pans forward, the lights dim as we pass through the bar, past broken glass, turned over and-or-broken tables and chairs, broken or dim light bulbs and ripped up carpet. Continuing through, the camera goes past an aged pool table, which is faded with ripped green felt and littered with faded billard balls and worn-through chalk. Finally coming towards the corner of the bar, a light bulb sways from the light fixture, the bulb flickering but dim, it lowers to find our hero, curled up in the fetal position, sucking on his thumb while obviously oblivious as well as delirious, but hides most of his face with his cowboy hat. The camera man tries nudging him acouple times, but to no avail, and turns to giving him light slaps on the right side of his cheek, but provides not much different results. The cameraman finally let's out an irritable sigh and takes a second to put the camera down, the view turning sideways as Mateo starts to snore loudly and more violently as time passes. After afew minutes the cameraman comes back and grumbles something inaudibly before letting out another sigh. Two beats pass and he let's out a grunt as water from what seems like a bucket comes flying from behind the camera, striking Mateo hard and causing him to sit up and flail his arms about wildly, snarling and sneering at no one in particular. Finally...)
(Mateo shakes the water off him and wipes his face on his sleeve.)
EM: Youse ah-gayn?? Wet dead thayt Seddi sai nile?? Wet youse main nathen?? Ace en NAHT Seddi?? Whizz et "Poppa-Squat"?? Naht eben Sloppeh Racoon?? Whizz et eben enehwan en Ah-dubya-Eff?? NO?? Wet ahboat thayt turd Whine Nooten??
NO??? Thane hoe??
(The camera shakes left to right and then turns over to a flickering-yet-statically filled television which as if on cue, cleared up just in time to show the promo aired by Dr. Silver for the Ultratitle tournament. Minutes pass as water continues to drip sporadically while Mateo watches intently. Finally the promo ends and Mateo runs a hand through his hair for a minute or two.)
Bet enuff smah' toke....enuff token boat car-ets...ahs a stakeler fer pacen aht whippen's tah vejet'areans bah tha why....bet youse ax't meh tah mike ah day-scission roit??
Youse ayn yer geh fren'...youse cow hem "Mystery Mahsheen"?? Youse wontah gemmeh carter millen....er whizz et ah millen carters?? Youse knead tah reel-ahs....darreh prow-duct ayn whizz-keh....thy downt mex....
Bet ah dah-grass....en-stayed ov trahen tah proob whah youse deh bater mane...eben doe clair lee youse loohk lahk youse doe-en ahlowta mace-ter'bay'ten...youse wontah gemmeh ah boncha moneh jes'ta leh' dawn own tha maht fer t'ree say-cons an' latecha gate tha dubya an' moob own en tha terneh'mount....
(Mateo scratches his head a second and wipes the excess water from his face.)
Ahm know jane-yes....ayn ah canet 'maimbar tha laced tahm ah pay'shent gabe tha dock'er aid-voss...bet eff youse wood place gemmeh ah say'con tah call-eck mah thouts....
Youse down sker' meh, Dock', eben eff youse chinjup meh neskt fiscal ah gaht skedjooled, an' skedjool meh weth an' aneh'mah....ahma stale penchya en deh mylth, bet ah jest maht desod teh kek youse en deh DECK TOO!!
Youse thank thayt youse cane tyke salm-thane fram meh?? Jest wet es et ah hab thayt ah hab thayt maht 'peel tah youse??
Thes es MAH pub....et ain't perdy...bet beleeb meh...ets mahn an' ain' nose whys cane ennehwan tyke et FRAM MEH.
Ah hab nose conekchuns...bet ahs gaht tow hanes thayt cane cape youse fram miken laugh enneh-wars thane wet et oh-reddeh es.
Youse ainuh Gawd...youse jes' an' ign'rent BEECH campen'siting fer naht gaten eneh tah tiste vajenna lahk eberreh beddeh ails wayne youse feggered aht thayt deh seck ob SHEET un'erneet' wet youse THANK youse cowl a DECK.
(FADEIN: Doc Silver sitting at a poker table. Doc still has on the “I Hate Love” T-Shirt from before. A teaser playing 30 second clips of each of the songs on “Not Your Kind of People” plays in the background.)
DOC: It happens all the time, every night in Vegas it must happen at least a couple hundred times, some moron stumbles into a poker room and catches a wave of cards, but he’s playing reckless and stupid. He’s having a few to many drinks while he’s gambling and people start to notice this, the weaker players are leaving the table and they are being replaced by the sharks who smell blood in the water.
And the idiot with the hot hand hardly notices that the sharks are getting more and more chips, to the point where they have as much as he does, the moron bought in for a couple hundred dollars and now he’s got over a thousand or so, he’s feeling good, King of the World and all that jazz.
But then the moment comes, the shark finally catches him in a hand and moves all in and the moron can’t even see what’s right in front of him, everyone else at the table is praying he’ll fold, because they want his money, that the moron is hopelessly beat but can’t see it, all his chips, everything he has is about to be taken from him.
He needs to fold, rack up his chips and get the hell off the table. He needs to save himself before it’s too late. But he sits there and he’s thinking and pondering, it’s like a slow motion car crash that nobody can stop from happening. Then after that long pause he finally pushes his chips into the middle and says “Call” and finds out how badly beat he is, he watches his money go away he loses everything, then the moron reaches into his wallet and gets more money and loses that, then the trips to the ATM and more losses, and then when he finally wakes up the next day he gets to explain to his wife or girlfriend how he turned a thousand dollar win into a two thousand dollar loss.
You are that moron Erik, your long silence after my offer let me know that you were thinking about refusing my offer, that you were looking for a reason, any excuse at all not to take my deal, and now it appears you’ve in fact said the word “Call” and are demanding I show my hand to you.
My hand is violence and pain, my hand is your career being destroyed, my hand is the wrath of a hateful and brutal man who doesn’t take no for an answer. You have made a mistake, it might have been due to pride or a lack of a working brain, but I don’t really care WHY you made the mistake, I just care that it happened and now I have to fix things.
See Erik this is the problem we have right now, it’s that I talked really big in that opening promo of our match, I made some pretty bold claims about what I was going to do to you if you didn’t take my money and go off into the night like a nice young man, and well now you’ve refused my money. So you think you are calling my bluff, you think you’ll show the world that I’m a bunch of empty talk and idle threats, you think you can do this and get away with it.
This is my last rodeo Erik, and I won’t be made to look a fool in my last go of it.
Look Erik, I didn’t care about you at all before this match, all I’d known about you is that you were this idiot who talked like he stuffed a bunch of cotton in his cheeks before he cut a promo and that anyone who did listen to you talk would last about 15 seconds before hitting the ‘Closed Captioning’ button on their TV to try to make heads or tails of what you were saying, and then most likely they still wouldn’t believe the crawl of text across their screen because even THAT doesn’t make any sense.
So you had me, a disinterested opponent but far more talented and powerful opponent still who was willing to let you get away, it’s like a person who sees a wasp in the sky around them and they decide that the wasp isn’t worth their time, but then the wasp decides to sting them, and so the person kills the wasp for being a nuisance.
You rejected me, you stung me…Now I’m going to end your career…This is going to end really badly for you.
We are going to hit that ring and I’m going to hold that suitcase full of money for you to take one final time, I’m going to give you that chance to change your mind and do the right thing for yourself and your family, but you seem to be a stubborn fool so I’m betting that you’ll kick that briefcase out of the ring, or maybe you’ll try to open it and start throwing money to the fans, and they’ll cheer and celebrate you, whatever you do, I want you to bask in that moment, I’ll stand in the opposite corner and let you soak that moment up and enjoy it.
Because it’ll be the last good moment of your entire life, right after you show the world I can’t buy you and that you are your own man, I will prove to the world that you are LYING, because if you reject my money…Well then Erik…I OWN YOU.
When you leave the hospital after Ultratitle I want you to remember those cheers you got for refusing my money, then when you go out to the parking lot an your ride’s car has been keyed, well, that’ll be unfortunate, when the health inspectors tear down the bar you work at piece by piece for health code violations till they find enough of them to shut you down for good, that will be a bad day for team Mateo.
When your match with Kerry Kuroyama in IWF ends because my men beat you to a bloody pulp yet again, it will be just sad that I keep carrying on this way, I really should find a more productive use of my time.
And when all of it happens, I want you to keep thinking back to those cheers you got when you rejected my money, and over time those cheers will turn from joy and celebration to mocking laughter and scorn, they will burn your ears as you replay that memory over and over again. Your greatest moment will become your most bitter regret.
As for quoting The Crow, there are 10,000 morons out there in the wrestling world who quote that stupid movie or dress up like him, and all of them completely suck.
Enjoy these days, because Ultratitle is the first day of the rest of your life. A life you’ll never escape, a life walking the endless path of misery.
"Hoe-lee Fray-hoe-lays...wet en tha blow HAIL...es 'Tha Carowe', Dock??"
(CUTTO: Erik Mateo, dressed in black jeans, a blue western-style long-sleeved shirt with a snake bolo and a white stetson cowboy hat, sits at the bar in his pub, drinking vodka-cranberry drink and nursing a long neck beer in the other, the latter getting an occasional sip.)
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