Post by Smith Jones on Apr 4, 2020 2:01:50 GMT -5
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“Look at the Situation they got me facin’.
I can’t live a normal life. I was raised by the strife.”
Smith Jones is sitting on his bed in a hotel room at Trump International Hotel & Tower in Chicago, Illinois, rapping along to his Spotify. He has his hands pressed on both sides of his large red headphones as his head bobs with the beat. He’d always had a penchant for nineties rap that he felt the need to repress in public. Today, Smith intends to show a different side of himself to his public. He’s allowed a documentary crew to invade his personal space and push him to be more open and real with who he is as a person. The camera looks at him, zoomed in from across the room as the crew stands still and tries to remain invisible.
We watch Jones in stark closeup as the documentarian attempts to get his attention.
“Mister Jones!”
We never see the documentarian on camera. His voice just isn't loud enough to penetrate the volume of the music.
“They ain’t nothin’ but a heartbeat away.
I’m living life do or die. What can I say?
I’m--”
Smith’s attention is caught by the movement of the camera crew out of the corner of his eye. He tries to ignore the movement as he goes deep within his head, trying to find the words to reintroduce himself to the wrestling world.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself.”
That’s… a start...
“I’m Smith Jones. Welcome to the first time you ever saw me drop a powerhouse. It happens this Monday Night Metal and you're invited to be part of history! It's a night when I could've sat at home to lick my wounds after losing the Alpha World Championship to fellow Architect Damon Warrens last week at Battlecade. Instead of taking the night off, I chose to pick a fight with a 312 pound behemoth who’s got something to prove!
That's what I do. Classic Smith Jones! I want people to rest easy in the knowledge that every time they turn on Monday Night Metal, they are going to see ME. It doesn't matter if I carry that gold belt or not. I AM Monday Night Metal. Rest assured that you are always in good hands as long as I'm around…
Wait… This is cheesy. I sound too cliché. ”
“We can edit the cheesy parts out.”
“You can edit the cheese… Yeah. Okay, so what do you want me to--?”
“You're just, I dunno, getting ready to head out to a fan event. What would you normally…?”
“I normally keep this part of my life secret. Normally, there isn't a camera crew watching me try to...”
“I get it, Smith. Why don't we just… Tell us why you’re here in Chicago.”
Smith nods. He stands up from the edge of the bed and steps to the window. He looks down at the people far below his twenty-ninth floor hotel room.
“Ants.
They’ve always been like ants to me. Scurrying around every which way. Each having their own sense of purpose, a raison d’etre. Each unique in their experience while each so very much the same. And sometimes…
...sometimes you notice one. It’s a little… thiccer than the rest of the crowd.
Michael. You’re not just another ant, are you? You’re three hundred twelve pounds at six foot two, the same height I am. I'm only two twenty-nine. You outweigh me by eighty-three pounds of trembling muscle tissue bent on destruction! Even with your mild-mannered demeanour, you are an immovable force to reckon with. How am I supposed to unveil my brand new finisher against such a massive opponent?!
My new finisher is called The Classic! It is the very first wrestling move that was ever done to me when I was ten years old. After that kid dropped me on my head on the schoolyard and called it a piledriver, I went directly home and began to watch pro wrestling on TV. I emulated their moves and personas in my living room just like the rest of you did. I became a hardcore fan. I found my way into the biz and I have taken over.
It all started with a piledriver. So, The Situation at hand now requires me to lift a three hundred twelve pound strongman and drop him directly on top of his cranium in the centre of the ring in front of a live worldwide audience! How am I going to accomplish this? I’m going to dig down into the depths of this unending well of inspiration and draw out every ounce of what’s left of me and turn out yet another Classic for your viewing pleasure.”
He turns to face the camera now with the window in the background. Smith’s face is a twisted tangle of tense musculature. Smitty sighs. He looks into the lens with growing intensity.
“Damon Warrens took me to my limits and beyond last Monday night at Battlecade! My body is wracked with agony. My knees are stiff. My back aches. My shoulders are tight. I have bruises and contusions that will not yet be healed by Monday night, but all of that be damned!!!
Mike Matthews. Sitch. This is quite honestly going to be one of the toughest fights of my life. You are going to do great damage to me on Monday. I aim to survive. I’ve been training harder than ever for this one, Sitch. Weight training. Strength training. Because, no matter how clichéd this may sound right now, when the moment arrives it’s going to be a matter of the bigger they are, the harder they fall. I plan to show off my new finisher this Monday night on Metal.
To up and change everything about myself without barely changing anything much at all… Classic Smith Jones.
To inexplicably zig when everyone thinks I should unequivocally zag… Classic Smith Jones.
To challenge a fresh rookie fresh off a huge World Title loss… Classic Smith Jones.
And to have the outright audacity to say out loud that I am going to successfully debut my perfect piledriver against a mountain of a man on international television… and actually do it… well… that is classic Smith Jones. You do not wanna miss Metal Monday!
The reason why I am here in your hometown of Chicago? I've been doing this for years. Visiting the hometowns of my opponents in the week leading up to our match. Wanna know why, Sitch? I'm gonna have me a deep dish pizza at Kings Lincoln Park. I’m gonna take in a local indy show and talk to the fans about why they think you’re going to beat me. I’m going to visit your old high school... your old neighbourhood and see what life was like for you growing up. I want to know where you come from, Sitch. I want to know why you’re here. I'm going to look into the eyes of the same little boys and girls who've looked up to you all these years and I'm going to bring as many little pieces of their souls as I can with me into that ring. I'm going to use them to fuel my desire to stop you in your tracks and smite you where you stand. I’m going to hoist you upside down and drop you. The weight of your own massive frame laden with your hopes and dreams of becoming a huge APW superstar will pulverize your upper vertebrae on impact and put a new dent in your skull. Your entire body will fold into itself before it lands as a crumpled heap right next to me as I watch the light in all of their little eyes go out with a collective whimper. I'm sure they'll pour one out on the curb for you before last call at Prysm.
This is just one of those matches that doesn’t need all of the build-up and anticipation to make it a classic situation. Strongman versus technician. Age old battle. And it’s your bonus match for Metal!”
“And Meghan Kelser as the guest referee? What’s her deal?”
Jones grits his teeth hard and looks off to one side, simply steaming from thoughts of the Cowgirls From Hell. He then looks directly into camera.
“Meg. I don’t know why you’ve been tap dancing across my path lately, but I am gonna put a stop to it. This is all fun and games until you get dropped on your head dead centre. I’m in no mood for your malarkey. Call this match clean or don’t come. I’ve been clear.
The opening match this Monday night promises to be CLASSIC.”
Fade to black.
“Watch me now.”
