Post by A.C. Smith on Nov 7, 2012 21:17:51 GMT -4
LATE LAST WEEK
Devastation.
That’s the word that immediately comes to mind as our scene opens today. Workers are wading through flood waters, handing out blankets, first aid, and other supplies that are needed by the citizens of a town identified by a nearby sign as Hoboken, New Jersey. Dozens of volunteers are on hand, but despite the solid turnout, those serving the community are getting all they can handle from the nearby crowd of people and Mother Nature.
People coming back to the area see their homes still standing, but ravaged by the effects of Hurricane Sandy. Waters are too high for cars to drive through, and we even see several people maneuvering through the neighborhood in canoes and kayaks.
One such resident, an older man in his 50’s, paddles towards a tall, muscular volunteer. The volunteer is somewhat familiar to us, but has his face largely obscured by sunglasses, a blue baseball cap, and a gray hooded sweatshirt, one whose bottom is dripping with water that’s splashed up from his work. However, the older gentleman instantly recognizes the volunteer without any assistance.
Man: “Hey! You’re…”
Suddenly, the hooded man puts his left index finger to the kayaker’s lips, keeping them shut before he can be identified to the public. We zoom in, and see the bigger man look around before lowering his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. It’s now that we see the man in question is none other than the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith.
Smith compensates for his lowered shades by pulling his hood further over his face as he leans in. He’s clearly in no hurry to be recognized publicly, and his voice, usually clear and crisp, doesn’t rise above a raspy whisper as he opens his mouth to speak.
A.C.: “Shh. Don’t broadcast it.”
Man: “But, but why? You’re…”
Again, Smith’s left index finger ensures that the man doesn’t loudly identify him.
A.C.: “If I cared about being recognized, I’d have photographers here. I’m doing what any good citizen should be doing, and I’d really appreciate being treated like one while I’m here. I’m not like a lot of people. I don’t need publicity for this kind of stuff, and I’d rather not have to get away from a swarm of people when all I’m trying to do is help people in need.
Is there something I can get you?”
The man pauses as Smith slowly brings his index finger away from his mouth.
Man: “Got any more blankets left?”
A.C.: “I’ll check. Hang on a second.”
Smith turns around to go to his supply of blankets, which are located on a makeshift shelf a few feet above the waist-deep water, as the man digs his cell phone out of his pocket. Smith grabs two blankets, one in each hand, and walks back towards the kayak.
A.C.: “Is two enough?”
Man: “Perfect. Thanks.”
Smith offers a meek smile and turns around. However, after taking a step, the man gets his attention again.
Man: “Hey! Any chance I can get a picture?”
Smith looks back, not pleased.
Man: “My daughter, she’s a fan. We’ve been through a lot, and it’d REALLY make her day. Please?”
Smith sighs, but after a moment, he walks to the boat and puts his huge right arm around the man in it. The kayaker’s iPhone is raised to shoulder-height, the two smile, and the flash goes off.
Man: “Thank you so, so much. For everything.”
A.C.: “Stay safe.”
The kayak gets paddled off-screen, and Smith shakes his head before returning to his post.
---
EARLIER THIS WEEK
“Son of a BITCH!!!”
We fade in on a Page Six headline in the New York Post as the paper gets thrown down on a coffee table. It lands with authority, as the pages rustle a bit and try to bounce off of the wooden surface. Below the headline is a photo, the same one we saw the older man take from his kayak in Hoboken.
The camera tilts up, and we see Smith in the living room of his New York City penthouse. He’s flanked by Bobby the Bavarian Man-Bitch to his left and Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker to his right, and he’s none too pleased.
A.C.: “That bastard tricked me.”
Bobby: “What’s the big deal? If anything, this makes you look great!”
A.C.: “People in New Jersey lost everything in Sandy. Personal belongings, homes, memories they’ll never be able to relive again. Do you think I give a DAMN about how I look? I was never in danger when the storm hit. I was in Japan after One Night in Hell. It’s REALLY easy to discount how dangerous this storm was, and it was important for me to do what I had to do, not for publicity, not to make myself look like a saint, but because it was the right thing to do.”
Stevie: “And this guy said WHAT?”
A.C.: “That it was for his daughter, who was a huge fan. His daughter’s probably the damn editor of the Post.”
Smith leaves the shot and storms into the kitchen, followed in earnest by Bobby and Stevie. He jerks a bottle of milk out of the refrigerator’s door and pours himself a glass, paying no mind to the trail of the white substance that’s escaped the bottle as he moves it around.
Bobby: “But the important thing is that YOU know you were there for the right reasons.”
Stevie: “Yeah. Who the hell cares about the guy from the Post? Screw him. He’ll get his in due time.”
Smith chugs his glass of milk, letting out a substantial belch as he wipes the resulting milk mustache off his upper lip with his tongue.
A.C.: “I’m not worried about that. Karma does a good job of handling things. But I’m not like most people. I don’t do what I do for the cameras, for reporters, or for anything like that.”
Bobby: “We know.”
A.C.: “I was there for the people that needed me, because it’s the thing any decent person should do. Because it could’ve been me stuck in the storm, needing help.”
Stevie: “You don’t need to explain yourself to us, dude. If we could’ve been there, we would’ve.”
Bobby: “We bust each other’s balls a lot, but underneath everything, you’re a good dude who works hard and gives back. I’ve always respected that.”
A.C.: “Is there a group hug happening soon? If so, please tell me so I can leave.”
Smith cracks a slight smile, and Bobby and Stevie match him.
A.C.: “It’s just that I’m sick of people telling me what matters. According to everyone in New York City, it suddenly matters that a celebrity was handing out blankets to hurricane victims. It doesn’t, and it never did. I was doing what a ton of other people were doing, not because of my stature, but out of human decency. And it sickens me that people are now being allowed to interpret that differently, as some sort of a publicity stunt.”
Smith puts his empty glass in one part of his sink as Stevie goes into his pocket, pulling out a vibrating cell phone.
Stevie: “Hello?...Yeah, you guys there?...Alright, Bobby and I’ll be down soon…Thanks, Mom, love you…Bye.”
Stevie ends the call and puts his phone back in his front right pocket.
Bobby: “They ready to start moving back in?”
Stevie: “Yeah. The structure is fine, and fortunately, they got all the valuable stuff out when they were forced to evacuate.”
A.C.: “You guys headed to Stevie’s folks’s place? Tell them I’ll be by with some stuff tonight, OK?”
Stevie: “Sure, no problem. Hey, you sure you’re OK?”
A.C.: “I’ll manage.”
A.C. exchanges slap-and-wrap hug-handshake combinations with his buddies before our scene fades to black once again.
---
PRESENT
“Chris Christie may have swung an election with how he acted. But he did the right thing, and that’s all that matters.”
Smith is sitting in his black leather recliner, a newspaper in his left hand and a half-empty bottle of Michelob Ultra in his right. His feet are up on the chair’s leg rest, and his body is slanted at a diagonal so his feet are off the screen as opposed to brushing up against the camera lens. He speaks.
A.C.: “In an age where Republicans may as well be ordered to shoot themselves for saying anything positive about the President, Chris Christie, the governor of New Jersey, heaped praise on Barack Obama for how he handled the effects of Hurricane Sandy. When someone asked him about the presidential race, he responded the only way he knew how: Confrontationally yelling, ‘Do you think I give a DAMN about presidential politics now?’
Sandy hit close to home for me, in more ways than one. I wasn’t really affected too much by it, but plenty of people I know were, which is why I want to help as much as I can. For me, not much else really matters right now.
Sure, I’ve got a match against Terry Marvin this week on Overdrive. And Terry Marvin emerged from one of the greatest in-ring tests you can give yourself at One Night in Hell, the Elimination Chamber. But if he’s going to say he had it so terrible in the Tokyo Dome, he’s dead wrong. You know what’s terrible? Seeing everything you own get swallowed whole by Mother Nature. Seeing friends be without basic necessities. And only being able to help to a certain degree.”
Smith shakes his head, taking a swig of his beer before putting the glass bottle back down in the cupholder and going onward.
A.C.: “What Terry Marvin needs to understand is this. As impressive as he was a few weeks ago at One Night in Hell, and as impressive as everything he’s overcome is, I don’t give a DAMN about it. I know what adversity is, and it’s not defending the biggest prize in our sport on a huge stage with people chanting your name and crowding around television screens to see you do it. That’s not adversity. That’s a boyhood dream.
Adversity is what happened up and down the East Coast when Hurricane Sandy wound up and hit it hard. All you have to do is look at the pictures of New Jersey after it made landfall, and you knew instantly that the shit had hit the fan. New York City was paralyzed for days, thanks to a flooded subway system it couldn’t replace, and the Appalachian Mountains were even hit with a blizzard that folks down south are still digging out of.
People that took the hit, absorbed the blow, and kept moving forward? THAT’S what impresses me. THAT’S how you deal with adversity. Not the kind you pass off as something you overcome when it’s everything you could have ever wanted to happen, but real-life problems that required people to dig deeper than they ever dreamed of digging. And THAT’S the philosophy I’ve lived by not just in wrestling, not just as a policeman with New York’s Finest, but in life as a whole.
What I do in wrestling is one thing. And make no mistake, it’s important to me to be the best I can be in the ring from bell to bell. But when I’m dead and gone, people are going to talk about more than just A.C. Smith, the wrestler who won six World titles. They’ll talk about A.C. Smith, the police officer, the person, the guy who did stuff not because he had to, but because he wanted to.”
We can see Smith start to become a little agitated. He shakes his head, one that seems to be getting more red by the minute, but he collects himself within a few seconds and continues.
A.C.: “Did losing at One Night in Hell get to me? Sure. But the pain went away awful fast once I showered and flipped on the TV backstage. Suddenly, the guys in the locker room weren’t watching the feed from the arena. They were watching Sandy get ready to wreak havoc. Most of them didn’t feel it. Some of us did.
I’m not saying everyone needs to react the same way. But as entrenched as I am in the community, having grown up in New York City and lived here all my life, I felt a different kind of gut-punch when I saw people that needed help. I know what a struggle looks like and feels like, and it’s because of what I’ve seen the past week or so.
People say I’m facing a big test this Thursday night on Overdrive, and to an extent, they’re right. I’m facing a guy that’s beaten me twice, and a guy that’s presided over what some have called the Summer of Showtime as the Action Packed Wrestling Undisputed Champion. Many have said I’m a huge underdog, that it’s going to be tough to beat Terry Marvin.
Tough. Hah.”
The laugh was a sarcastic one, and Smith follows it up by rolling his eyes.
A.C.: “I know tough. Tough is being forced to leave behind everything you know because of a storm you can’t fight off. Tough is coming back and seeing your whole life, your whole world, shattered, and the only thing you can do is try to move on with what you were smart enough to have brought with you when you left. THAT’S a challenge. THAT’S a fight.
Terry Marvin? Yeah, he’s good. Really good. But I’ve locked up with him twice, and I’ve come close enough to beating him to where I know it’s a very real possibility. That’s not in the same galaxy of problems as what I’ve seen the past few days, the ones I’ll continue to help people overcome long after Overdrive on Thursday night gives people a three-hour reprieve from whatever they’re going through.
I’m going to bring everything I’ve got to the ring Thursday night in Washington, D.C., but not for some superficial reason. It’s because, like so many others, in the midst of huge odds and strife, I’m going to respond the only way I know how: By attacking what I AM able to do with full-force.
Can I beat Terry Marvin? Only time will tell the answer to that question. But in the past few days, I’ve seen some really great things happen. I’ve seen families reunite with one another, lost pets get found, and people who have lost everything using their last ounces of hope and determination to get through some really trying times. If anyone thinks I’m going to allow myself to get psyched out by Terry Freaking Marvin after all this, well, they’ve got another thing coming.”
Smith finishes off his beer, twisting the cap back onto the glass bottle and sliding it into the pocket of the blue jeans he’s wearing as he stands up.
A.C.: “This week, I’m dedicating what I do to the responders and volunteers that are rebuilding the East Coast in the wake of Hurricane Sandy. I was a policeman. I understand what goes on in catastrophic situations. I lived it, I breathed it, and more often than not, I took home some baggage when I left work on those days. The courage they’ve shown in the face of real adversity is admirable, and I’ll carry some of that with me tomorrow night.
Terry Marvin’s not a hurricane. He’s not a natural disaster capable of causing billions of dollars in damage. He’s a man. A highly-skilled, highly-renowned man at what he does, but still a man, and one I’m capable of beating. If people can end up being better than ever after one of the strongest storms ever to hit the East Coast wrecked their lives, I can bounce back from two losses and beat Terry Marvin.
Some people in my business would say that’s a foolish assumption. Their lives are wrestling, and I respect that. But I’ve seen too much and learned too much to not believe otherwise. I’m inspired, I’m hungry, and I’m ready to go out and give the fans that desperately need a distraction from real like the best show they’ve ever had.
To steal a phrase from my opponent…it’s showtime, folks.”
Smith walks out of the shot, and our scene fades to black.
Devastation.
That’s the word that immediately comes to mind as our scene opens today. Workers are wading through flood waters, handing out blankets, first aid, and other supplies that are needed by the citizens of a town identified by a nearby sign as Hoboken, New Jersey. Dozens of volunteers are on hand, but despite the solid turnout, those serving the community are getting all they can handle from the nearby crowd of people and Mother Nature.
People coming back to the area see their homes still standing, but ravaged by the effects of Hurricane Sandy. Waters are too high for cars to drive through, and we even see several people maneuvering through the neighborhood in canoes and kayaks.
One such resident, an older man in his 50’s, paddles towards a tall, muscular volunteer. The volunteer is somewhat familiar to us, but has his face largely obscured by sunglasses, a blue baseball cap, and a gray hooded sweatshirt, one whose bottom is dripping with water that’s splashed up from his work. However, the older gentleman instantly recognizes the volunteer without any assistance.
Man: “Hey! You’re…”
Suddenly, the hooded man puts his left index finger to the kayaker’s lips, keeping them shut before he can be identified to the public. We zoom in, and see the bigger man look around before lowering his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. It’s now that we see the man in question is none other than the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith.
Smith compensates for his lowered shades by pulling his hood further over his face as he leans in. He’s clearly in no hurry to be recognized publicly, and his voice, usually clear and crisp, doesn’t rise above a raspy whisper as he opens his mouth to speak.
A.C.: “Shh. Don’t broadcast it.”
Man: “But, but why? You’re…”
Again, Smith’s left index finger ensures that the man doesn’t loudly identify him.
A.C.: “If I cared about being recognized, I’d have photographers here. I’m doing what any good citizen should be doing, and I’d really appreciate being treated like one while I’m here. I’m not like a lot of people. I don’t need publicity for this kind of stuff, and I’d rather not have to get away from a swarm of people when all I’m trying to do is help people in need.
Is there something I can get you?”
The man pauses as Smith slowly brings his index finger away from his mouth.
Man: “Got any more blankets left?”
A.C.: “I’ll check. Hang on a second.”
Smith turns around to go to his supply of blankets, which are located on a makeshift shelf a few feet above the waist-deep water, as the man digs his cell phone out of his pocket. Smith grabs two blankets, one in each hand, and walks back towards the kayak.
A.C.: “Is two enough?”
Man: “Perfect. Thanks.”
Smith offers a meek smile and turns around. However, after taking a step, the man gets his attention again.
Man: “Hey! Any chance I can get a picture?”
Smith looks back, not pleased.
Man: “My daughter, she’s a fan. We’ve been through a lot, and it’d REALLY make her day. Please?”
Smith sighs, but after a moment, he walks to the boat and puts his huge right arm around the man in it. The kayaker’s iPhone is raised to shoulder-height, the two smile, and the flash goes off.
Man: “Thank you so, so much. For everything.”
A.C.: “Stay safe.”
The kayak gets paddled off-screen, and Smith shakes his head before returning to his post.
---
EARLIER THIS WEEK
“Son of a BITCH!!!”
We fade in on a Page Six headline in the New York Post as the paper gets thrown down on a coffee table. It lands with authority, as the pages rustle a bit and try to bounce off of the wooden surface. Below the headline is a photo, the same one we saw the older man take from his kayak in Hoboken.
The camera tilts up, and we see Smith in the living room of his New York City penthouse. He’s flanked by Bobby the Bavarian Man-Bitch to his left and Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker to his right, and he’s none too pleased.
A.C.: “That bastard tricked me.”
Bobby: “What’s the big deal? If anything, this makes you look great!”
A.C.: “People in New Jersey lost everything in Sandy. Personal belongings, homes, memories they’ll never be able to relive again. Do you think I give a DAMN about how I look? I was never in danger when the storm hit. I was in Japan after One Night in Hell. It’s REALLY easy to discount how dangerous this storm was, and it was important for me to do what I had to do, not for publicity, not to make myself look like a saint, but because it was the right thing to do.”
Stevie: “And this guy said WHAT?”
A.C.: “That it was for his daughter, who was a huge fan. His daughter’s probably the damn editor of the Post.”
Smith leaves the shot and storms into the kitchen, followed in earnest by Bobby and Stevie. He jerks a bottle of milk out of the refrigerator’s door and pours himself a glass, paying no mind to the trail of the white substance that’s escaped the bottle as he moves it around.
Bobby: “But the important thing is that YOU know you were there for the right reasons.”
Stevie: “Yeah. Who the hell cares about the guy from the Post? Screw him. He’ll get his in due time.”
Smith chugs his glass of milk, letting out a substantial belch as he wipes the resulting milk mustache off his upper lip with his tongue.
A.C.: “I’m not worried about that. Karma does a good job of handling things. But I’m not like most people. I don’t do what I do for the cameras, for reporters, or for anything like that.”
Bobby: “We know.”
A.C.: “I was there for the people that needed me, because it’s the thing any decent person should do. Because it could’ve been me stuck in the storm, needing help.”
Stevie: “You don’t need to explain yourself to us, dude. If we could’ve been there, we would’ve.”
Bobby: “We bust each other’s balls a lot, but underneath everything, you’re a good dude who works hard and gives back. I’ve always respected that.”
A.C.: “Is there a group hug happening soon? If so, please tell me so I can leave.”
Smith cracks a slight smile, and Bobby and Stevie match him.
A.C.: “It’s just that I’m sick of people telling me what matters. According to everyone in New York City, it suddenly matters that a celebrity was handing out blankets to hurricane victims. It doesn’t, and it never did. I was doing what a ton of other people were doing, not because of my stature, but out of human decency. And it sickens me that people are now being allowed to interpret that differently, as some sort of a publicity stunt.”
Smith puts his empty glass in one part of his sink as Stevie goes into his pocket, pulling out a vibrating cell phone.
Stevie: “Hello?...Yeah, you guys there?...Alright, Bobby and I’ll be down soon…Thanks, Mom, love you…Bye.”
Stevie ends the call and puts his phone back in his front right pocket.
Bobby: “They ready to start moving back in?”
Stevie: “Yeah. The structure is fine, and fortunately, they got all the valuable stuff out when they were forced to evacuate.”
A.C.: “You guys headed to Stevie’s folks’s place? Tell them I’ll be by with some stuff tonight, OK?”
Stevie: “Sure, no problem. Hey, you sure you’re OK?”
A.C.: “I’ll manage.”
A.C. exchanges slap-and-wrap hug-handshake combinations with his buddies before our scene fades to black once again.
---
PRESENT
“Chris Christie may have swung an election with how he acted. But he did the right thing, and that’s all that matters.”
Smith is sitting in his black leather recliner, a newspaper in his left hand and a half-empty bottle of Michelob Ultra in his right. His feet are up on the chair’s leg rest, and his body is slanted at a diagonal so his feet are off the screen as opposed to brushing up against the camera lens. He speaks.
A.C.: “In an age where Republicans may as well be ordered to shoot themselves for saying anything positive about the President, Chris Christie, the governor of New Jersey, heaped praise on Barack Obama for how he handled the effects of Hurricane Sandy. When someone asked him about the presidential race, he responded the only way he knew how: Confrontationally yelling, ‘Do you think I give a DAMN about presidential politics now?’
Sandy hit close to home for me, in more ways than one. I wasn’t really affected too much by it, but plenty of people I know were, which is why I want to help as much as I can. For me, not much else really matters right now.
Sure, I’ve got a match against Terry Marvin this week on Overdrive. And Terry Marvin emerged from one of the greatest in-ring tests you can give yourself at One Night in Hell, the Elimination Chamber. But if he’s going to say he had it so terrible in the Tokyo Dome, he’s dead wrong. You know what’s terrible? Seeing everything you own get swallowed whole by Mother Nature. Seeing friends be without basic necessities. And only being able to help to a certain degree.”
Smith shakes his head, taking a swig of his beer before putting the glass bottle back down in the cupholder and going onward.
A.C.: “What Terry Marvin needs to understand is this. As impressive as he was a few weeks ago at One Night in Hell, and as impressive as everything he’s overcome is, I don’t give a DAMN about it. I know what adversity is, and it’s not defending the biggest prize in our sport on a huge stage with people chanting your name and crowding around television screens to see you do it. That’s not adversity. That’s a boyhood dream.
Adversity is what happened up and down the East Coast when Hurricane Sandy wound up and hit it hard. All you have to do is look at the pictures of New Jersey after it made landfall, and you knew instantly that the shit had hit the fan. New York City was paralyzed for days, thanks to a flooded subway system it couldn’t replace, and the Appalachian Mountains were even hit with a blizzard that folks down south are still digging out of.
People that took the hit, absorbed the blow, and kept moving forward? THAT’S what impresses me. THAT’S how you deal with adversity. Not the kind you pass off as something you overcome when it’s everything you could have ever wanted to happen, but real-life problems that required people to dig deeper than they ever dreamed of digging. And THAT’S the philosophy I’ve lived by not just in wrestling, not just as a policeman with New York’s Finest, but in life as a whole.
What I do in wrestling is one thing. And make no mistake, it’s important to me to be the best I can be in the ring from bell to bell. But when I’m dead and gone, people are going to talk about more than just A.C. Smith, the wrestler who won six World titles. They’ll talk about A.C. Smith, the police officer, the person, the guy who did stuff not because he had to, but because he wanted to.”
We can see Smith start to become a little agitated. He shakes his head, one that seems to be getting more red by the minute, but he collects himself within a few seconds and continues.
A.C.: “Did losing at One Night in Hell get to me? Sure. But the pain went away awful fast once I showered and flipped on the TV backstage. Suddenly, the guys in the locker room weren’t watching the feed from the arena. They were watching Sandy get ready to wreak havoc. Most of them didn’t feel it. Some of us did.
I’m not saying everyone needs to react the same way. But as entrenched as I am in the community, having grown up in New York City and lived here all my life, I felt a different kind of gut-punch when I saw people that needed help. I know what a struggle looks like and feels like, and it’s because of what I’ve seen the past week or so.
People say I’m facing a big test this Thursday night on Overdrive, and to an extent, they’re right. I’m facing a guy that’s beaten me twice, and a guy that’s presided over what some have called the Summer of Showtime as the Action Packed Wrestling Undisputed Champion. Many have said I’m a huge underdog, that it’s going to be tough to beat Terry Marvin.
Tough. Hah.”
The laugh was a sarcastic one, and Smith follows it up by rolling his eyes.
A.C.: “I know tough. Tough is being forced to leave behind everything you know because of a storm you can’t fight off. Tough is coming back and seeing your whole life, your whole world, shattered, and the only thing you can do is try to move on with what you were smart enough to have brought with you when you left. THAT’S a challenge. THAT’S a fight.
Terry Marvin? Yeah, he’s good. Really good. But I’ve locked up with him twice, and I’ve come close enough to beating him to where I know it’s a very real possibility. That’s not in the same galaxy of problems as what I’ve seen the past few days, the ones I’ll continue to help people overcome long after Overdrive on Thursday night gives people a three-hour reprieve from whatever they’re going through.
I’m going to bring everything I’ve got to the ring Thursday night in Washington, D.C., but not for some superficial reason. It’s because, like so many others, in the midst of huge odds and strife, I’m going to respond the only way I know how: By attacking what I AM able to do with full-force.
Can I beat Terry Marvin? Only time will tell the answer to that question. But in the past few days, I’ve seen some really great things happen. I’ve seen families reunite with one another, lost pets get found, and people who have lost everything using their last ounces of hope and determination to get through some really trying times. If anyone thinks I’m going to allow myself to get psyched out by Terry Freaking Marvin after all this, well, they’ve got another thing coming.”
Smith finishes off his beer, twisting the cap back onto the glass bottle and sliding it into the pocket of the blue jeans he’s wearing as he stands up.
A.C.: “This week, I’m dedicating what I do to the responders and volunteers that are rebuilding the East Coast in the wake of Hurricane Sandy. I was a policeman. I understand what goes on in catastrophic situations. I lived it, I breathed it, and more often than not, I took home some baggage when I left work on those days. The courage they’ve shown in the face of real adversity is admirable, and I’ll carry some of that with me tomorrow night.
Terry Marvin’s not a hurricane. He’s not a natural disaster capable of causing billions of dollars in damage. He’s a man. A highly-skilled, highly-renowned man at what he does, but still a man, and one I’m capable of beating. If people can end up being better than ever after one of the strongest storms ever to hit the East Coast wrecked their lives, I can bounce back from two losses and beat Terry Marvin.
Some people in my business would say that’s a foolish assumption. Their lives are wrestling, and I respect that. But I’ve seen too much and learned too much to not believe otherwise. I’m inspired, I’m hungry, and I’m ready to go out and give the fans that desperately need a distraction from real like the best show they’ve ever had.
To steal a phrase from my opponent…it’s showtime, folks.”
Smith walks out of the shot, and our scene fades to black.
