Post by Smith Jones on Oct 10, 2019 9:01:24 GMT -5
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~ OFF CAMERA ~
We see a single blonde hair extremely close up. The hair is resting on a cold concrete floor. We move across the floor along the length of it to see that it is intertwined with a white bootlace. That white bootlace is woven into a white patent leather wrestling boot. That white patent leather wrestling boot is currently being laced up by Smith Jones. He pauses when he notices the hair. His entire body freezes. The muscles above his eyes ripple and wrinkle, solidifying masses shifting like tectonic plates across his forehead. An earthquake of emotion rumbles deep beneath the surface. He pulls at the single blonde strand of hair and carefully unravels it from his boot lace.
SMITH JONES: “You’ve done this your whole putrid human life, Smith Jones. What in the heel are you doing??! Your timing is horrible. You are the APW World Heavyweight Wrestling Champion now. Are you really going to split your focus now with some… girl? Get your head right. Love is a waste of time for a man like you. It’s your kryptonite, Smith. There are people out there who still don’t know how truly difficult it was for you come back from retirement, kick off a solid layer of ring rust, lace these very leather boots, and scratch and climb and claw and fight your way up from the grave into seventh heaven. You are a wrestling robot. You’re a machine that devours dreams and injures limbs. Your finisher is one of the more technically difficult to perform just right and it is devastating! Listen to me. Do not compromise your career for this woman. She is gorgeous, she is sweet, she is hot as hell, but she is not a manager, she is not a valet. She is just a girl.”
He stands up quickly and clenches both fists tightly with a growl. He turns and slaps his hand against the brick wall before he smashes his head against the same wall. Smith rests his forehead on the brick with a sigh and a standing slouch.
SMITH JONES: “It is possible to maintain a relationship and retain the championship at the same time.”
Jones begins to laugh at the words that just escaped his lips. His guffaw echoes from the concrete basement walls in the shadowy chamber. Jones gets angry again.
SMITH JONES: “Have you ever had success with that, Smith?! Look at your history. You’re making this mistake again? I killed this weak side of you years ago! STAY DEAD!!”
Smith picks up his phone and opens the camera. In selfie mode, he records.
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~ ON CAMERA ~
Fade up on a shot of Smith Jones’ rageful visage staring at his phone camera with his signature stone scowl. The video is in black and white. With Smith’s gray and white wrestling ring in the background, he speaks.
SMITH JONES: “I will NEVER stay dead! Do you even know me at all??? I am the career underdog known the world over as Smith Jones. This coming Wednesday will mark exactly nine years to the day since I signed my first pro contract. I had three years on the indies before that. Think about how many bumps I’ve taken over the years. How many words I’ve spoken. How many miles I’ve driven and flown. Think about how many steps I’ve walked down how many ramps to how many rings in how many cities all over our dying Earth. How many times I’ve wiped my white patent leather wrestling boots on the apron. The Point of Controversy is my original finisher since my first pro match. Think about how many skulls I’ve cracked with the PoC. And yeah, I’ve had massive failures along the way, but every time someone has tried to make me stay dead, I have risen anew and lain waste to doubt every step of the way. I’ve competed in many different styles and I have held gold at every level on every continent worldwide, including Antarctica!”
He takes a beat to chew on a thought, staring off to one side for a moment. He inhales slowly and then lets out a hard sigh. Jones glares deep into the camera.
SMITH JONES: “Dean Wolf. My words last week on Metal were intentionally incendiary. I called you a clown because I need you angry and passionate in that ring. I want you fired up! I want to beat you at your best. You hold gold in APW. That speaks volumes about the level at which you are able to compete. I want it all. Show me what you’ve got. My words still ring with the sweet song of truth. You are the best at hardcore; I am the best wrestler. That is the distinction that I intend to appropriately illustrate when you and I step into the ring this Monday night. Do not assume that my choice to perform at the highest level of traditional professional wrestling makes me unqualified to compete against a hardcore badass like you. The first title I ever held was the XHW X-Core Championship. And for the record, I didn’t even ever win that title. I just beat the champion down so badly that he couldn’t get out of his hospital bed for months while I walked around defending his X-Core gold as my own. I know Hardcore, Dean. BTDT. The reason I speak ill of the Hardcore Championship is because I have come to believe that the use of weapons in combat sullies said combat. I learned that the hard way. I used to break the rules. Trust me, I am best known worldwide for those times when I used to break the rules. Brass knuckles. Crowbars. I used to curse as much as the next guy. It’s been a winding road to say the least. I have decided after all of that to respect the sanctity of one on one combat. The playing field is most even when it’s simply hand to hand; brain versus brain. I am not the champion of stabbing people with bull’s horns. As a Taurus, I am offended! I am the champion of wrestling.”
He puts the camera phone on the bench where he had been sitting. He leans it against the wall. We can now clearly see that he is in his basement training chamber at his home in Toronto. He is dressed in his trademark all white ring gear. He pulls The World Title belt out of his trophy case full of belts he has collected over the years and stares at its faceplate for a good long time, studying the intricate lines. As the scene remains black and white, the only colour we now see is the golden glow of The World Title. Smith wraps the championship belt around his waist backwards, secures the snaps in front of him, and twists the golden faceplate to the front.
SMITH JONES: “The APW World Heavyweight Wrestling Championship is now locked safely around the waist of the incredible Smith Jones. I have Main Evented every single APW supershow so far. Every single one. From my Semi-Main debut win at Alpha Rising to my Main Event victory in the Alpha Showdown Match to my heartbreaking Main Event near miss at Ascension to my Main Event World Title win at Supremacy with my Main Event match against the winner of the tournament on the horizon at HorrorKore... That’s five straight and counting. Not to mention, this is my fifth Metal Main Event. That makes ten since APW was born this past summer. I dare you to name me ONE PERSON in this locker room other than ME who has done that. The damned referee? The announce team? The timekeeper? At HorrorKore, I will exhibit scary skill when I successfully retain The World Title. I know that there are people in this locker room who believe I don’t deserve to be where I am. I beat ZMAC by the very skin of my teeth. I won a match that either one of us could have won. I barely survived. But in the end, history remembers that Smith Jones prevailed. As for you, Dean Wolf, you poured your heart out to become the first ever APW Hardcore Champ. The first ever champ in all of Alpha Pro! And after losing it once, you committed yourself to getting another shot and reclaiming it. You looked fantastic when you hit Spartan with Easy Prey and then you went in for The Kill to secure the one, two, three and regain your title of choice. You looked very strong in your Hardcore Title defense against Three B at Supremacy with ZMAC as the special guest referee! You are very, very good at what you do. But, you know as well as I do how hard it is to watch someone else carry around THE strap. You’re getting Smitty shaped tan lines from constantly standing in my shadow.”
Smith grabs his phone and places it on a music stand that he often uses as a tripod for his training videos. The sheet music for Carl Orff’s ‘Carmina Burana’ cushions the phone. He aims the lens towards the ring. The black and white image buzzes in and out of focus on its own. Jones grabs a full roll of yellow police tape before he climbs up onto the ring apron and wipes his feet. He steps through the ropes into the ring and takes centre. The yellow caution tape dangles to the canvas as he looks out at his camera phone with a serious stare.
SMITH JONES: “Hey, Google. Play my theme music.”
‘Waiting For The End’ by Linkin Park plays while Jones stares straight at you. Smith looks up at the ceiling above him. He raises his right fist into the air high above himself, looking at it. Smith closes his eyes. He opens his hand and spreads his fingers out wide. Peace washes over him. He opens his eyes and looks straight forward with calm smirk.
SMITH JONES: “In the face of all opposition, in front of all eyes, I can stand here and say without equivocation that I am the man to beat. That is why you talk on social media about murdering Smith Jones. Styles really do make fights. This fight between you and me, Dean Wolf, is gonna be a good’n. It will serve as a representation of how things will be after modern society eventually crumbles. Greta’s message is in essence correct, but instead of looking at the true problem, the world cyberbullies her and discredits her message just because it wasn’t presented precisely the way they wanted her to at present it at the tender age of sixteen. Grown men berate her for being brave enough to stand up for what she believes in at an age when all they ever thought about at sixteen was getting their bathing suit areas wet. I am The Champion of the World, but even I know that there may someday not be much of a world left to champion. After we continue to ignore the pleas of our children to change the way we live this life, there will come a day when you turn your faucet and nothing comes out. There will come a day when you show up at the grocery store and the doors are locked. Cell towers will cease to receive and transmit. Gas pumps will cough desert dust. Looters will riot! Things will descend into a more… hardcore lifestyle. That’s when your people will shine, Dean Wolf. When people need to stand on their front porches with pitchforks and defend themselves from their neighbours; when police station storage rooms run out of caution tape and we are all forced to recognize true danger for ourselves like grown adults trapped in the dangerous world we built for ourselves. You hardcore hellians will rule all. But, that’s not what this match is about in my view.”
Jones steps forward. He removes The World Title from around his waist and hangs it over the top rope, snapping it into place. He reaches out to the top rope in front him and drapes the roll of yellow police tape over it. He moves it down to the middle rope and wraps it around a time or two before he moves back up to the top rope. He wraps it around his gold belt once or twice and then continues along the ropes, beginning to wrap all of the ropes around the ring from the inside. Watching his own handiwork intently, he speaks on.
SMITH JONES: “This (non-title) Heavyweight Champion versus Hardcore Champion battle is not about the hunks of gold we lug around with great pride. This belt is to me a shield against the likes of you, Wolf. This match is about the time to come after the hardcore hacks beat the world into temporary submission. Those with the ability to exercise true foresight will take over. You can smash a fellow’s face in for a crust of bread, but do you have the know-how to bake it for yourself. You can beat a guy’s brains in with a baseball bat, but how adept are you at healing yourself to live another day. You can board up your old house until it crumbles to the ground, but do you have what it takes to raise shelter up out of the dirt when the time comes? Can you farm? Can you fish? Can you hunt? Are you game? This match, for me, is a metaphor for what will happen the day hardcore DIES and society rises anew from the ashen rubble of anarchy. When the very future of humanity relies on those with the intelligence and long-term vision to know what is truly best for the betterment of The World, I will stand with them. I’m going to hold onto this precious gold belt until that day comes.”
Smitty's movement is becoming more and more frantic. He is kneeling now, wrapping police tape around the bottom rope and looping up to the middle. He reaches out to the ring post and wraps it there, pulling it back in towards the top rope, not a set pattern like a spider might, but a more random method than that. Still ignoring the lens, he continues his work.
SMITH JONES: “Dean Wolf. It’s true, you’ve beaten me once before, but you know and everyone else who watched that match worldwide knows that you are not facing the same Smith Jones you faced on Canada Day in Seattle. I had just come off a Junior Heavyweight Contendership loss against Steven Osbourne of all people! The week before that, I lost to Braxton Locus! I was losing to superstars who couldn’t even last long enough to qualify for the tournament bracket. And then, you came along, Wolf. When I was already down, you kicked me and spat on my rotting carcass as I lay baking in the blistering sun. You laid me out and left me for dead, basking in the heat of my spotlight. Let me be clear. You were as much a part of MY story then as you are now. You’ve come back around and you’ve got a belt over your shoulder and you’re all swoll. You’re going to murder Smith Jones? You must not be talking about this particular Smith Jones. I have other plans. I’m going to wipe my feet on that apron, part the ropes, take centre, and put my fist down your throat. I’m going to lock you up in grappling holds that you’ve never heard of and can barely pronounce. I’m gonna drop you with the Point of Controversy once again. I’m going to teach you what it truly means to BE a weapon. I’ve trained all over the world in Jiu Jitsu, in Strong Style, in the elegant ferocity of capoeira. And I’ve already said, I got brawls. You would do best to sneak into the arena hours, nay, days before Metal and hide yourself the perfect weapon to use against me when the ref’s back is turned, because if you show up empty-handed to a bare-handed brawl with the incredible Smith Jones… Just… don’t. If I’ve offended you, good of you to step up and defend your station against my words. My opinion is unchanged. I am above you. I’ve been above you in the Main Event for months upon months. I am above you on the roster. I am above you in the food chain. I am the apex of APW. Do what you’ve got to do. I understand. I laid a challenge down and you had no choice but to accept. That’s what champions do. I hold the gold that EVERYONE covets. Deep in your viscera, you know that I’m right. This Monday Night Metal, you are set to appear in your very first one on one Main Event match because of ME. I don’t believe I’ve gotten a thank you from you yet.”
The caution tape roll is now empty. Smith Jones stands dead centre inside his ring and glares at the camera.
SMITH JONES: “That’s fine. Knock yourself out. Go fight your hardcore battles all over the arena all you want...”
Fade to black.
SMITH JONES: “...and leave the REAL wrestling to me.”
