Post by A.C. Smith on Jul 2, 2012 16:37:40 GMT -4
Our scene opens today on the concourse of what appears to be a very old stadium. Along the walls, we see posters of Notre Dame football hanging above closed food and drink shops, and what little sound there is echoes loudly around the empty space.
We hear footsteps approaching and getting louder, and out of the murky quasi-darkness steps a man with a black jacket and ragged, worn jeans. We see that he's Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker, but he's wearing a name tag that says, 'Fortune.'
We see him round a corner and look out into the mid-afternoon sunshine. Standing at the top of a ramp and looking out onto the stadium is a man wearing a Notre Dame letterman's jacket and looking lost in thought. Stevie immediately recognizes him, and looks a bit shocked that he's there.
Stevie: “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, what are you doing here? Don't you have practice?”
The man in the Fighting Irish jacket turns sideways, and we see the profile of a slumping A.C. Smith.
A.C.: “Not anymore. I quit.”
Stevie: “Well, since when are you the quitting kind?”
A.C.: “I don't know. I just don't see the point anymore.”
This irks Stevie, who cocks his head a bit.
Stevie: “So, you didn't make the dress list. There are greater tragedies in the world.”
A.C.: “I wanted to run out of that tunnel! For my dad! To prove to EVERYONE...”
Stevie: “PROVE WHAT?!?!?!”
It's unclear if this is a question or an exclamation as Stevie walks with a purpose into the light. He gets extremely close to Smith, and towers over him, waiting for a response.
A.C.: “That I was somebody.”
Stevie: “Oh, you are so full of crap. You're five feet nothing. A hundred and nothing. And you've got hardly a spec of athletic ability. And you hung in with the best college football team in the land for two years! And you're ALSO going to walk out of here with a degree from the University of Notre Dame.
In this lifetime, you don't have to prove nothing to nobody EXCEPT YOURSELF! And after what you've gone through, if you haven't done that by now, it ain't gonna never happen.”
A long pause follows, and once again Smith gazes to his left, towards the field.
Stevie: “Now go on back.”
A.C.: “I'm sorry I never got you to see your first game in here.”
Stevie: “Hell, I've seen too many games in this stadium.”
A.C.: “I thought you said you never saw a game..."
Stevie: “I've never seen a game from the stands.”
A.C.'s eyebrows shoot up.
A.C.: “You were a PLAYER?”
Stevie: “I rode the bench for two years. Thought I wasn't getting played because of my color. I got filled up with a lot of attitude. So I quit. Still, not a week goes by that I don't regret it. And I guarantee a week won't go by in your life you won't regret walking out, letting THEM get the best of you.
Can you hear me clear enough?”
Smith mouths the word, “Yeah,” and nods his head. Having made his point, Stevie walks back down the ramp and into the darkness, leaving A.C. alone with his thoughts in the stands as the scene fades to black.
After a few seconds, we see red text that longtime wrestling fans instantly recognize. The words on our screen read, 'Director's Cut,' and as it fades out, we once again see an empty Notre Dame Stadium, with its only occupant being the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith.
This time, though, he's not wearing a letterman's jacket, standing and feeling sorry for himself. This time, he's shirtless, clad in merely black gym shorts and well-worn sneakers, running the steps of the stadium in the oppressive summer heat of South Bend, Indiana. He's holding an older iPod in his left hand, and through the earbuds attached to it and connecting to the right and left sides of his head, we hear the hard-pounding sounds of Metallica as A.C. rhythmically advances up the stairs.
He reaches the top step closest to our vantage point, and takes a well-deserved break. We see that every exposed part of his body is drenched in sweat, a problem quickly rectified when A.C. reaches off-screen for an off-white towel and a bottle of water. After a quick rub-down, Smith turns off his music, takes the earbuds out, swigs half of his giant-sized water bottle in one giant-sized gulp, and opens his mouth to speak.
A.C.: “Longtime fans of mine already know this. But every once in a while, when the situation calls for it, I will perform what I call a, 'Salute to Cinema.' When things line up just right, I bust it out, and here, the parallels are just plain scary.
Maybe I'm not five feet nothing, a hundred and nothing. But a lot like the title character in 'Rudy,' nobody, and I mean NOBODY, expected me to be where I am right now. For the real-life Rudy Ruettiger, it was playing for the Notre Dame Fighting Irish and getting a degree from the school. For me, it's being part of Test for the Best less than two months after making my debut in Action Packed Wrestling.
Not even my fans thought of me as all that much of a threat as recently as a few weeks ago. It's okay, I'm not mad. Hell, if I was an outsider, I wouldn't have liked my chances much, either. In the two matches before I punched my ticket into the tournament, I had a chandelier drop on my head at Mayhem, and I got beaten pretty soundly by Delikado. But did I let it bother me and start playing the, 'I'm just happy to be here,' card? No, I didn't. I reached back, did what I knew I had to do, and suddenly? I'm headed into Chicago not just with intentions of being PART of Test for the Best, but with intentions of WINNING it.”
Most of the sweat is gone from Smith's body, but he takes one final swipe across his forehead with the back of his right hand and shakes his wrist out before going onward.
A.C.: “For the third consecutive match, and maybe even a longer streak than that, I go in as an underdog. Terry Marvin is a guy a bunch of people have penciled in to win this tournament. Hell, just this past week, I can't count the number of times I've heard, 'Oh, you're good, but Terry's gonna end up going to Shockwave and taking Kurt Noble's title.'
Does that bother me? Not in the slightest. Why? Because I've heard the exact same thing for a month straight. Those same people were the ones coming up to me in Philadelphia thinking that Mark Mania, Nick Watson, or Slade Craven would win the ladder match and take the final spot in this tournament. Instead, the immobile, ignorant newcomer who APW's innovator of the ladder match promised to kick in the face proved much the best.
Those same people were the ones that thought I had no business being in the ring with Marvin, John Dionysus, and Keaton Saint at Overdrive. I didn't just trade barbs with them earlier on in the show, and I didn't just hang with them for 10 minutes in the ring. I was the one who scored the pinfall, and in that big brawl to close the show, WHO was it that soared over the top rope and took out the other three Overdrive participants with a suicide dive that'll be on APW's Overdrive opening for years to come? It wasn't Terry Marvin, John Dionysus, or Keaton Saint. It was the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith, making no secret of my intentions heading into this Sunday in Chicago.
Unlike a lot of people, some of whom have had really good, long careers in this business, being labeled an underdog isn't a roadblock for me. If anything, it just serves as extra motivation. Because a lot like the most famous walk-on in college football history, the only person I have to prove anything to is myself. People can say I don't deserve to be in this situation until they're all blue in the face. But while they're doing their best Skip Bayless and Stephen A. Smith impressions, I'm going to go out to the ring in front of a worldwide audience and do what I've been doing for 10 years: Taking care of business.”
Those last four words were said with a certain emphasis, as if to say, “THIS is what matters.” After a quick drink from his water bottle, Smith puts it down in a cupholder and sits down in a seat in the last row of the section.
A.C.: “Terry Marvin will stoop to any low to win this tournament. He tried to save himself as much as possible during that tag match, even spending part of it doing commentary. Terry didn't give a damn about winning that match, just surviving it and getting through to this Sunday night without a scratch on him. It took everything I had to carry him to a win over Dionysus and Saint, and after the match and at the end of Overdrive, he tried to capitalize and take me out, but failed miserably.
He's a guy that talks a big game, and will say anything to anybody if he thinks it'll give him even the SLIGHTEST psychological advantage. It's smart, really, and in a tournament like this where the winner will have won three matches in one night, any little edge you can get is a tremendous help. But my question to Terry is a very simple one, yet one that he will not have an answer to. What, exactly, is he going to say to discount my chances in this tournament that I HAVEN'T heard?
I have disproved every line of reasoning saying I'm not on the level of the other seven combatants in Test for the Best. To get here, I had to face a three-pronged assault in that ladder match against a former main-eventer, a blue-chip prospect, and a guy that took ladder matches to another level. The last time anyone saw me in the ring, it was winning a glorified handicap match with an aspiring Jesse Ventura wannabe as my, ahem, 'partner.'
Make no mistake, I have every right to approach Test for the Best exactly the way that I am. I'm not going to settle for heading to the Windy City, slapping a couple hands on my way to the ring, and being a quick out in the tournament while seven other wrestlers fight for that main event spot at Shockwave. I'm headed to Chicago to lay it all on the line, just as I have each and every night for 10 years running. If Terry Marvin thinks his disjointed rambling is going to distract me from what we're all fighting for, a spot in the main event at Shockwave against Kurt Noble for the APW Undisputed Championship, then he's got a BIG surprise waiting for him this weekend.”
Smith rises again, and jumps up and down a few times to get circulation back in his long legs. After doing several squats and shaking out his ankles, he goes to the wall and stands next to it, his 6'8” frame pushing his head close to the ceiling of the tunnel.
A.C.: “The part of the scene we replicated today that always gets me pumped up is the part where the janitor goes, 'In this lifetime, you don't have to prove nothing to nobody EXCEPT YOURSELF!' That is EXACTLY the mindset I came into Action Packed Wrestling with, and the mindset I've maintained these last two months.
I came back to professional wrestling when I could've very easily stayed retired because I missed going out and doing something I'm among the best in the world at in front of the greatest fans I could ever ask for. I didn't come back for the money, or the fame, and I most CERTAINLY didn't come back so Terry Marvin could play his mind tricks on me. If he thinks I'm an easy target, and if he thinks he can just coast on in to the tournament semifinals without so much as breaking a sweat...well, he has every right to think that. And once he does, I have every right to take his head off with a clothesline and prove him dead wrong.
What I DID come back for were events like Test for the Best. Eight combatants enter, only one leaves with a spot in the main event of one of the biggest events of the year. I proved a ton of people wrong just by getting here, and yet I've still got more than my share of doubters. But unlike a lot of unstable people, what they say falls on deaf ears. I know exactly what I'm capable of, and anyone with any questions about that can buy Test for the Best Sunday night and see for themselves.”
Smith reaches down, grabbing his right foot with his right hand and pulling it up behind his rear end to stretch his thigh. After doing this for a few seconds and repeating the stretch with his left hand and foot, he reaches into his pocket for his iPod, and begins unraveling the wrapped-up earbuds while addressing the camera one last time.
A.C.: “I'm a six-time World Champion for a reason. I've never hesitated to take on the best in the world, even when the deck was stacked against me. And sure, I've taken my lumps. You all saw what happened at Mayhem and against Delikado. But I never let myself listen to anyone else tell me I'm not good enough. I got up off the ground, dusted myself off, learned from my mistakes, and became better than I was before.
I've made a career out of proving those who underestimate me dead wrong. Look back at my career, and look at all the videos on YouTube of me against guys that would be first-ballot Hall of Famers anywhere they went. Maybe they beat me once before, but when it mattered, when all the chips were in play and all the eyes of the world were watching, I made them eat their words and bow down to the better man.
Terry Marvin probably doesn't think he's facing that A.C. Smith. He probably thinks he's getting some big, dumb oaf who doesn't know anything about the business and got lucky in the tag match on Overdrive, and his confidence is probably at an all-time high. But he has a very foolish quality in common with a bunch of people whose careers I've ended. He can't handle the truth. And the truth is that no matter what he says about me later this week, and I know he'll say SOMETHING since he can't ever pass up a live microphone being put into his face...I don't give a rat's ass about ANY of it.
Much like Rudy Ruettiger, I'm not in this for any ulterior motives. I have enough money to live six or seven different lives on, I don't need the fame, and I certainly don't need more accolades for my trophy room. I'm in this for me, for the thrill of giving the fans what they want night after night, week after week, year after year, and for the feeling of being among the top wrestlers not just in Action Packed Wrestling, but the entire world.
I acknowledge that I've got my doubters out there. They've always been there, always reaching for more bullets whenever they think I'm finally down for the count. But I've never, EVER, let them win. And this Sunday, at Test for the Best? Well, they won't start winning THEN.”
Smith finishes unwrapping the earbuds, and puts one in each ear. His oversized thumb scrolls through his music, and we once again hear the insanely-loud heavy metal emanate from the device as he begins running down the steps. Once he descends enough to where his entire frame leaves the shot, the scene fades to black.
We hear footsteps approaching and getting louder, and out of the murky quasi-darkness steps a man with a black jacket and ragged, worn jeans. We see that he's Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker, but he's wearing a name tag that says, 'Fortune.'
We see him round a corner and look out into the mid-afternoon sunshine. Standing at the top of a ramp and looking out onto the stadium is a man wearing a Notre Dame letterman's jacket and looking lost in thought. Stevie immediately recognizes him, and looks a bit shocked that he's there.
Stevie: “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, what are you doing here? Don't you have practice?”
The man in the Fighting Irish jacket turns sideways, and we see the profile of a slumping A.C. Smith.
A.C.: “Not anymore. I quit.”
Stevie: “Well, since when are you the quitting kind?”
A.C.: “I don't know. I just don't see the point anymore.”
This irks Stevie, who cocks his head a bit.
Stevie: “So, you didn't make the dress list. There are greater tragedies in the world.”
A.C.: “I wanted to run out of that tunnel! For my dad! To prove to EVERYONE...”
Stevie: “PROVE WHAT?!?!?!”
It's unclear if this is a question or an exclamation as Stevie walks with a purpose into the light. He gets extremely close to Smith, and towers over him, waiting for a response.
A.C.: “That I was somebody.”
Stevie: “Oh, you are so full of crap. You're five feet nothing. A hundred and nothing. And you've got hardly a spec of athletic ability. And you hung in with the best college football team in the land for two years! And you're ALSO going to walk out of here with a degree from the University of Notre Dame.
In this lifetime, you don't have to prove nothing to nobody EXCEPT YOURSELF! And after what you've gone through, if you haven't done that by now, it ain't gonna never happen.”
A long pause follows, and once again Smith gazes to his left, towards the field.
Stevie: “Now go on back.”
A.C.: “I'm sorry I never got you to see your first game in here.”
Stevie: “Hell, I've seen too many games in this stadium.”
A.C.: “I thought you said you never saw a game..."
Stevie: “I've never seen a game from the stands.”
A.C.'s eyebrows shoot up.
A.C.: “You were a PLAYER?”
Stevie: “I rode the bench for two years. Thought I wasn't getting played because of my color. I got filled up with a lot of attitude. So I quit. Still, not a week goes by that I don't regret it. And I guarantee a week won't go by in your life you won't regret walking out, letting THEM get the best of you.
Can you hear me clear enough?”
Smith mouths the word, “Yeah,” and nods his head. Having made his point, Stevie walks back down the ramp and into the darkness, leaving A.C. alone with his thoughts in the stands as the scene fades to black.
After a few seconds, we see red text that longtime wrestling fans instantly recognize. The words on our screen read, 'Director's Cut,' and as it fades out, we once again see an empty Notre Dame Stadium, with its only occupant being the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith.
This time, though, he's not wearing a letterman's jacket, standing and feeling sorry for himself. This time, he's shirtless, clad in merely black gym shorts and well-worn sneakers, running the steps of the stadium in the oppressive summer heat of South Bend, Indiana. He's holding an older iPod in his left hand, and through the earbuds attached to it and connecting to the right and left sides of his head, we hear the hard-pounding sounds of Metallica as A.C. rhythmically advances up the stairs.
He reaches the top step closest to our vantage point, and takes a well-deserved break. We see that every exposed part of his body is drenched in sweat, a problem quickly rectified when A.C. reaches off-screen for an off-white towel and a bottle of water. After a quick rub-down, Smith turns off his music, takes the earbuds out, swigs half of his giant-sized water bottle in one giant-sized gulp, and opens his mouth to speak.
A.C.: “Longtime fans of mine already know this. But every once in a while, when the situation calls for it, I will perform what I call a, 'Salute to Cinema.' When things line up just right, I bust it out, and here, the parallels are just plain scary.
Maybe I'm not five feet nothing, a hundred and nothing. But a lot like the title character in 'Rudy,' nobody, and I mean NOBODY, expected me to be where I am right now. For the real-life Rudy Ruettiger, it was playing for the Notre Dame Fighting Irish and getting a degree from the school. For me, it's being part of Test for the Best less than two months after making my debut in Action Packed Wrestling.
Not even my fans thought of me as all that much of a threat as recently as a few weeks ago. It's okay, I'm not mad. Hell, if I was an outsider, I wouldn't have liked my chances much, either. In the two matches before I punched my ticket into the tournament, I had a chandelier drop on my head at Mayhem, and I got beaten pretty soundly by Delikado. But did I let it bother me and start playing the, 'I'm just happy to be here,' card? No, I didn't. I reached back, did what I knew I had to do, and suddenly? I'm headed into Chicago not just with intentions of being PART of Test for the Best, but with intentions of WINNING it.”
Most of the sweat is gone from Smith's body, but he takes one final swipe across his forehead with the back of his right hand and shakes his wrist out before going onward.
A.C.: “For the third consecutive match, and maybe even a longer streak than that, I go in as an underdog. Terry Marvin is a guy a bunch of people have penciled in to win this tournament. Hell, just this past week, I can't count the number of times I've heard, 'Oh, you're good, but Terry's gonna end up going to Shockwave and taking Kurt Noble's title.'
Does that bother me? Not in the slightest. Why? Because I've heard the exact same thing for a month straight. Those same people were the ones coming up to me in Philadelphia thinking that Mark Mania, Nick Watson, or Slade Craven would win the ladder match and take the final spot in this tournament. Instead, the immobile, ignorant newcomer who APW's innovator of the ladder match promised to kick in the face proved much the best.
Those same people were the ones that thought I had no business being in the ring with Marvin, John Dionysus, and Keaton Saint at Overdrive. I didn't just trade barbs with them earlier on in the show, and I didn't just hang with them for 10 minutes in the ring. I was the one who scored the pinfall, and in that big brawl to close the show, WHO was it that soared over the top rope and took out the other three Overdrive participants with a suicide dive that'll be on APW's Overdrive opening for years to come? It wasn't Terry Marvin, John Dionysus, or Keaton Saint. It was the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith, making no secret of my intentions heading into this Sunday in Chicago.
Unlike a lot of people, some of whom have had really good, long careers in this business, being labeled an underdog isn't a roadblock for me. If anything, it just serves as extra motivation. Because a lot like the most famous walk-on in college football history, the only person I have to prove anything to is myself. People can say I don't deserve to be in this situation until they're all blue in the face. But while they're doing their best Skip Bayless and Stephen A. Smith impressions, I'm going to go out to the ring in front of a worldwide audience and do what I've been doing for 10 years: Taking care of business.”
Those last four words were said with a certain emphasis, as if to say, “THIS is what matters.” After a quick drink from his water bottle, Smith puts it down in a cupholder and sits down in a seat in the last row of the section.
A.C.: “Terry Marvin will stoop to any low to win this tournament. He tried to save himself as much as possible during that tag match, even spending part of it doing commentary. Terry didn't give a damn about winning that match, just surviving it and getting through to this Sunday night without a scratch on him. It took everything I had to carry him to a win over Dionysus and Saint, and after the match and at the end of Overdrive, he tried to capitalize and take me out, but failed miserably.
He's a guy that talks a big game, and will say anything to anybody if he thinks it'll give him even the SLIGHTEST psychological advantage. It's smart, really, and in a tournament like this where the winner will have won three matches in one night, any little edge you can get is a tremendous help. But my question to Terry is a very simple one, yet one that he will not have an answer to. What, exactly, is he going to say to discount my chances in this tournament that I HAVEN'T heard?
I have disproved every line of reasoning saying I'm not on the level of the other seven combatants in Test for the Best. To get here, I had to face a three-pronged assault in that ladder match against a former main-eventer, a blue-chip prospect, and a guy that took ladder matches to another level. The last time anyone saw me in the ring, it was winning a glorified handicap match with an aspiring Jesse Ventura wannabe as my, ahem, 'partner.'
Make no mistake, I have every right to approach Test for the Best exactly the way that I am. I'm not going to settle for heading to the Windy City, slapping a couple hands on my way to the ring, and being a quick out in the tournament while seven other wrestlers fight for that main event spot at Shockwave. I'm headed to Chicago to lay it all on the line, just as I have each and every night for 10 years running. If Terry Marvin thinks his disjointed rambling is going to distract me from what we're all fighting for, a spot in the main event at Shockwave against Kurt Noble for the APW Undisputed Championship, then he's got a BIG surprise waiting for him this weekend.”
Smith rises again, and jumps up and down a few times to get circulation back in his long legs. After doing several squats and shaking out his ankles, he goes to the wall and stands next to it, his 6'8” frame pushing his head close to the ceiling of the tunnel.
A.C.: “The part of the scene we replicated today that always gets me pumped up is the part where the janitor goes, 'In this lifetime, you don't have to prove nothing to nobody EXCEPT YOURSELF!' That is EXACTLY the mindset I came into Action Packed Wrestling with, and the mindset I've maintained these last two months.
I came back to professional wrestling when I could've very easily stayed retired because I missed going out and doing something I'm among the best in the world at in front of the greatest fans I could ever ask for. I didn't come back for the money, or the fame, and I most CERTAINLY didn't come back so Terry Marvin could play his mind tricks on me. If he thinks I'm an easy target, and if he thinks he can just coast on in to the tournament semifinals without so much as breaking a sweat...well, he has every right to think that. And once he does, I have every right to take his head off with a clothesline and prove him dead wrong.
What I DID come back for were events like Test for the Best. Eight combatants enter, only one leaves with a spot in the main event of one of the biggest events of the year. I proved a ton of people wrong just by getting here, and yet I've still got more than my share of doubters. But unlike a lot of unstable people, what they say falls on deaf ears. I know exactly what I'm capable of, and anyone with any questions about that can buy Test for the Best Sunday night and see for themselves.”
Smith reaches down, grabbing his right foot with his right hand and pulling it up behind his rear end to stretch his thigh. After doing this for a few seconds and repeating the stretch with his left hand and foot, he reaches into his pocket for his iPod, and begins unraveling the wrapped-up earbuds while addressing the camera one last time.
A.C.: “I'm a six-time World Champion for a reason. I've never hesitated to take on the best in the world, even when the deck was stacked against me. And sure, I've taken my lumps. You all saw what happened at Mayhem and against Delikado. But I never let myself listen to anyone else tell me I'm not good enough. I got up off the ground, dusted myself off, learned from my mistakes, and became better than I was before.
I've made a career out of proving those who underestimate me dead wrong. Look back at my career, and look at all the videos on YouTube of me against guys that would be first-ballot Hall of Famers anywhere they went. Maybe they beat me once before, but when it mattered, when all the chips were in play and all the eyes of the world were watching, I made them eat their words and bow down to the better man.
Terry Marvin probably doesn't think he's facing that A.C. Smith. He probably thinks he's getting some big, dumb oaf who doesn't know anything about the business and got lucky in the tag match on Overdrive, and his confidence is probably at an all-time high. But he has a very foolish quality in common with a bunch of people whose careers I've ended. He can't handle the truth. And the truth is that no matter what he says about me later this week, and I know he'll say SOMETHING since he can't ever pass up a live microphone being put into his face...I don't give a rat's ass about ANY of it.
Much like Rudy Ruettiger, I'm not in this for any ulterior motives. I have enough money to live six or seven different lives on, I don't need the fame, and I certainly don't need more accolades for my trophy room. I'm in this for me, for the thrill of giving the fans what they want night after night, week after week, year after year, and for the feeling of being among the top wrestlers not just in Action Packed Wrestling, but the entire world.
I acknowledge that I've got my doubters out there. They've always been there, always reaching for more bullets whenever they think I'm finally down for the count. But I've never, EVER, let them win. And this Sunday, at Test for the Best? Well, they won't start winning THEN.”
Smith finishes unwrapping the earbuds, and puts one in each ear. His oversized thumb scrolls through his music, and we once again hear the insanely-loud heavy metal emanate from the device as he begins running down the steps. Once he descends enough to where his entire frame leaves the shot, the scene fades to black.
