Post by Smith Jones on Mar 11, 2020 11:30:08 GMT -5
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~ OFF CAMERA ~
We see a stylized old school microphone with headphones hanging from it in a darkened room.
A man we have never seen steps into frame and picks up the headphones. As he nestles the headphones over his head, we clearly see his face. He is an older gentleman of nearly fifty or older. He has a large, graying beard and wise gray eyes stationed behind small spectacles on a metal frame. His affect is serene, calm. He stands behind the microphone and takes a deep breath.
Actually, he is me. I am Dennis, your narrator. It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope my deep, booming voice is adequate for the purposes of telling this story.
These OFF CAMERA portions of our show are obviously the moments where you, the audience, are allowed to peer through some intangible window into the life of the incredible Smith Jones. You need not spend too much time wondering about how this is accomplished without a camera crew or lights or any sort of recording devices at all. Suspension of disbelief is your friend.
A number of months ago, Smith Jones discovered that he had a seventeen-year-old son from a lady friend he’d known years ago. Copeland Sanderson came into Smitty’s life and made him think about things he had never expected to deal with in this life. How much of an obligation does Jones have to this now eighteen-year-old young man who has gone so far as to get a job with APW simply to be near to Smith?
“I… thought it was time I told you the truth about who I really am.”
We now know that Copeland Sanderson is not Smitty’s son. Smith does not know this. He was drunk for the first time in years, proving a point to Warbird. He’d passed out before Copeland could say more.
Now, Smith Jones is sitting in a coffee shop dressed in dark jeans and a gray tee that reads ‘clown’ across the front of it in white lettering. He sits alone at a table with two steaming hot cups on it. The cup directly in front of Smith is a hot apple cider. Copeland Sanderson returns from the men’s room to claim the coffee on the other side of the table. As he sits down...
“Dad. We live in Vegas now. We have to do this. Look!”
Copeland flashes Smith a picture of a roller coaster on top of a building. Smith no sells his terror.
“We are not doing that, son.”
“Hahahaha! You’re not as fearless as you lead everyone to believe you are!”
“I’m plenty fearless. You… said something to me at the hurricane barrier that I just can’t… make head nor tail of.”
“Oh?”
Copeland looks away from Smith.
“Yeah, it’s...”
“You were pretty drunk that night, dad. I wouldn't--”
“Something about me not being a positive role model.”
“Oh, that! Yeah, you’ve been… trying… I guess.”
“I truly have. Not succeeding as well as I’d like.”
Smith looks off to where Copeland is looking. He sees nothing of interest. They both now look at each other.
“I want to hire you as my personal assistant.”
“Your personal…? What would you need me to…?”
“I want you to get a true sense of what this job is like. Life on the road. Bumps and bruises. The grind of the routine and the toll it takes on your mind, body, and what shreds of soul you have left. It looks glamourous from the outside. It’s supposed to look that way. I want to show you the reality of it before you get too deep into something that really is not for everyone.”
“But, you love it. Don’t you?”
“With every fibre of my being.”
“Then, why don’t you think I have what it--?”
“Look! Do you want the job or not???”
Smith glares daggers at Copeland while Copeland looks around the coffee shop in search of the answer to Jones’ question. He looks down at the floor.
“Mhm.”
“I’m sorry? I didn’t--”
“YES. Yes, I want to be your personal assistant.”
“We travel together from now on.”
“With… The Architects?”
“Sometimes, yes. You are not to speak a word to those men. You drive the limo. You answer my phone. You wash our gear. You stay out of sight when you are not needed.”
“We can still chat?”
“Of course we can, Copeland. After all, you’re my son!”
There is a long pause. Copeland’s eyes lift from the floor to meet Smith’s smiling face.
“Of course.”
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~ ON CAMERA ~
Fade up on a shot of the big top at a fair in a small town somewhere in the heart of America. The camera moves in closer and we begin to hear a voice emanating from the large tent, punctuated with oooos and ahhhhs throughout his diatribe. We enter the big top and see that there is a clown standing in the middle of the centre ring. The clown has a large, red smile painted on, but his actual expression underneath is quite grave. Incidentally, there is a large golden lion standing on a two-foot platform next to the clown. The clown is dressed as a lion tamer, complete with a whip with his foot resting on a short stool. He’s wearing a red jacket with long tails, black pants with wide hips, and tall black leather boots. The whole outfit is topped with a black top hat. As the camera moves in, we now recognize the clown as our World Heavyweight Champion… Smith Jones. He speaks on.
“Beazley. You say you don’t care who you face. You’ve got a shot every time you step in that ring. Do you? You want to be in there with the best of the best. Do you? You want to be king of the jungle? Do you? Are you sure? Do you even know what you’re talking about? You’re the Junior Heavyweight Champion and that is a fantastic accomplishment; that is an admirable accolade. But, I saw that match where you won the title and I gotta tell ya, you have a long way to go towards proving yourself worthy of stepping into the squared circle with the biggest and the baddest.”
He takes his foot off the stool and then stoops to pick it up. He suddenly cracks the whip one good time as he begins to circle around the lion. The lion turns on the platform to maintain eye contact with the circling Smith Jones. As Smith's back passes the camera, we see that his red jacket his the words 'New Era' written across the shoulders in bright orange lettering.
“Your Junior Heavyweight Championship does not hold the same gravitas as it would if it were held by someone like say, I dunno, my tag partner Damon Warrens.
Warrens is a wrestler I can depend on to have my back. Even as we look ahead to the All-Architects Main Event at Battlecade (where Damon Warrens will step into the ring against ME for the Alpha Pro Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship) we are still a stronger team than you and Mister E.
Warrens and I are determined to change the game and turn it into something we can all be proud of. Lex Collins’ North American Title reign is also a grand step in the right direction in terms of elevating the wrestling biz as a whole and showing you all what it looks like when hard work and respect take over the title scene here in Alpha Pro.”
Smitty stops circling and stands directly in front of the lion looking directly into its eyes. They share a private moment in front of a sea of anxious onlookers. Smith removes his top hat and drops it to the floor, leaving his bright orange clown wig to frizz out.. He studies the details of the lion’s iris and takes in the aroma of its warm breath.
“Meghan Kelser said it best during her commentary on Metal: ‘The Architects are the ones to watch out for.’ Yer damned skippy. We are the ones to watch out for in the Tag Team Tournament. We are the ones to watch out for in the North American Championship Division. We are the ones to watch out for at The World Title level and all points in between. We are the ones to watch out for in this company. Period.
Are you watching out for us?
Beazley, are you watching out? Do your Breeziacs have your back on this one? Does Mister E have your back? Are you certain beyond all doubt that you can survive such a treacherous situation?”
Jones grabs the lion by the upper and lower mandibles at the same time. The lion’s mouth opens wide. Smith places his head inside the lion’s mouth, tilted to the side so he can still look into the camera lens.
“Are you ready to shove your own head into the lion’s mouth just to see what it feels like? Are you willing to do absolutely anything to your opponent to earn yourself the honour of fighting in the tournament final? You gonna snap my legs like twigs with the San Diego Stretch? You gonna bury me six feet under the ring with a particularly badass Breezy Bomb? You think you could wipe out Warrens with The Triple Shot or crush his dreams with The Hollywood High Dive? Do you think that your weak link of a tag partner is going to do anything to help you advance past a team of our calibre?
Come on, Beaze. Be serious for once.”
Jones pulls his head out of the lion’s mouth to a round of cheers from the big top crowd. He takes a bow and drops the whip and stool. Jones walks over to one of the adjacent circus rings where there is a shallow pool of water next to a tall, tall ladder that leads up to a diving boards. Smith tucks his bright orange clown wig into a bathing cap. He shrugs off the red jacket with tails and starts to climb the ladder.
“This coming Monday Night Metal in Uniondale, New York, Warrens and Jones are coming to show you just how serious we are about winning the APW World Tag Team Titles. And the very moment we do, those belts will be thrust to heights they have not yet seen. Talk about pomp; talk about circumstance… You have no idea, Beaze. You never will. Turn your focus to defending your Junior Heavyweight Championship, ‘cause you never know when someone might catch the whim to sneak up and snatch it from you when you least expect it.”
He stops speaking as he climbs the rest of the way to the top of the ladder. He stands on the diving board and turns to face the camera with a twenty-nine-foot drop behind him. Nerves of steel.
“You wanna impress those faithful Breeziacs? Take the plunge. Dare ya.”
With the big fall behind him, Smith leans ever so slightly backwards as we cut to black.
