Play it again

[A.C. Smith]

We open on a black screen. All we hear in the background is the voice of Vincent Simon, the unofficial voice of Action Packed Wrestling. What we're hearing came from his most recent 'Simon Says' podcast, where he broke down both Christmas Chaos and the upcoming Meltdown Supershow.

“…against A.C. Smith, a man whose moniker is close but no cigar. Over his last six or seven months since his inception here, he has definitely had his shots at glory, his chances to make a name for himself, but every single time he gets close to something, he, for the lack of a better term, takes a giant shit all over the place.”

Suddenly, it pauses, and we hear a low-pitched, firm, angry voice in the background.

“Play it again.”

We finally fade up, and we see the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith, putting in an intense workout in the gym of his New York City penthouse as Bobby the Bavarian Man-Bitch and Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker look on.

Bobby: “But you've heard it six or seven ti...”

A.C.: “PLAY. IT. AGAIN.”

Smith's tone is sharp, and Bobby realizes he probably shouldn't have had to make his friend tell him something twice. He goes to a nearby laptop, one that's hooked up to a surround system with speakers all around the room, and a few seconds later, the soundbyte plays again.

“…against A.C. Smith, a man whose moniker is close but no cigar. Over his last six or seven months since his inception here, he has definitely had his shots at glory, his chances to make a name for himself, but every single time he gets close to something, he, for the lack of a better term, takes a giant shit all over the place.”

Stevie: “I don't know why you're taking this guy so seriously.”

Bobby: “He's some pimple-faced, pretzel-necked geek doing the show from his mother's basement. Why do you give two shits about what he thinks?”

Smith doesn't respond immediately, instead opting to finish his set on the elliptical machine. His reps are precise, almost systematic in nature despite the sweat pouring down his arms and into the palms of his hands.

Finally, after a few seconds that seem like a few weeks, the shirtless Smith pauses, turning to his friends and, by association, the camera.

A.C.: “Don't mistake me making you play it over and over again as me caring about what some hater thinks.”

Bobby and Stevie can't mask the quizzical looks that come onto their faces.

A.C.: “I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. How long have people been telling me I can't do something, that I'm some pimple on the ass of whatever business I'm in?”

Stevie: “10 years?”

A.C.: “Longer. My first amateur wrestling coach told me I was too clumsy to ever be worth training. My first sergeant in the NYPD sent me places no cop ever wants to go for fear of never coming back to their families again. And over the last 10 years, I've heard countless morons try and tell me I'm wasting my time, that I can't win big matches, that I should go off into a hole somewhere and off myself.

You guys know how I've responded. I became one of the best high school heavyweight wrestlers in New York City. Instead of my story ending with drug dealers and gangbangers shooting me in Bed Stuy, it continued with me throwing them into a squad car bound for Rikers Island. And every time someone tells me I can't win a big match, I respond.

Six World title reigns. Countless reigns with secondary titles. The best fans anyone could ever ask for. A bank account that could find half of APW's pension plan. Yeah. I'm SOME failure, aren't I?”

There's no question about it: A.C. Smith is absolutely livid. His face is red as he grabs a water bottle and chugs its contents down his throat. His brow is furrowed, his nostrils are flared, and we can't fault Bobby and Stevie for feeling just a bit uncomfortable.

Bobby: “Right. Besides, he picked you to win anyway.”

A.C. holds up his right index finger.

A.C.: “Now THAT, I CERTAINLY don't care about. Gee, Vincent Simon likes me more than Nick Watson in a title match he called one of the least anticipated in history. Whoopdie-freaking-doo. In his mind, what difference does it make if I win or lose? If I win, I beat a nobody. If I lose, I'm still clearly a failure based off of one match in a Hall of Fame career that has thousands of them.

I've been disproving people like Vincent Simon all my life. And that continues this weekend in Buffalo, when I use every weapon in my arsenal and within arm's reach to take down Nick Watson and win the APW Xtreme Championship.

Boys? Play it again.”

Bobby shakes his head and goes back to the computer as Smith tinkers with the elliptical. Vincent Simon's rant begins for a third time, and our scene fades to black.

-----

We fade up again after a few seconds, and we're back in the gym area. This time, though, Smith is alone, with Bobby, Stevie, and that laptop nowhere to be found. One similarity, though, is A.C.'s intensity, which we saw in large quantities during his workout and is still very much alive and well as he sits on a bench with a white towel over his left shoulder.

Smith briefly uses the towel to wipe some sweat off his face, but after only a few seconds, he refocuses on the camera with his never-blinking brown eyes and opens his mouth to speak.

A.C.: “For some unknown reason, a lot of people don't like to see me win matches. I readily admit I'm one of the last of a dying breed of people who cares about way more than wins and losses, and for whatever reason, that ticks some people, like our pal Vincent Simon, off to an unhealthy degree.

They must really be mad about the last couple of weeks then. After all the talk of me being a disappointment, and with people saying that I'm not living up to whatever standards they've had for me, all of a sudden I'm attacking with a vengeance. Ask John Dionysus, one of the standbys in APW, who I took to the woodshed a few weeks ago. Ask Mac Bane, a member of the Sons of the South, who I taught a lesson at the final episode of Overdrive before the Meltdown Supershow.

I mean, when you think about it, the mere thought of me being some sort of failure is laughable. What other wrestler in APW has a perfect record against C.J. Gates? Who else has knocked out Biggs? And who's given Terry Marvin the fights I have? Suddenly, you're looking at a really short list of people, and in some cases, that list starts and stops with me.

I go into Buffalo this weekend not with the mindset of, 'Oh my God, I need to do something before the year ends.' Far from it. I head into my match with Nick Watson knowing full well that if I wrestle to the best of my ability, like I have several times against Watson already, it's going to be enough to ring in the new year with some gold around my waist. And the best part?

Watson knows it, too.”

Smith’s intensity doesn’t wane, but a knowing half-smile does make its way to his lips.

A.C.: “Nick Watson’s likely going to spend a lot of time this week bragging about how he pinned me in a triple threat match a few weeks back. And you know what? Unlike a lot of people on the APW roster who’d try to make some excuse, I’ll admit that he did. I’m not going to rationalize or put forth some revisionist history bullcrap out of the Evan Harrison playbook.

Instead, though, I’m countering with the fact that he doesn’t have nearly the leverage he thinks he has. He pinned me once in a triple threat match with a ton of moving parts in it. The only time we’ve gone up against each other one-on-one, though, it was me getting the upper hand and finishing Watson off. Furthermore, Watson was one of the guys I beat up the ladder in making the Test for the Best tournament, something NOBODY around APW gave me a chance to do considering that Mark Mania and Slade Craven were in the ring with me that night as well.

It’s true that I was involved in the three-way at One Night in Hell, where Watson won the Xtreme Championship. But he didn’t beat me that night. He sat back, watching as Evan Harrison and I beat the living daylights out of each other. Then, when both of us were out on our feet, out came Sienna Harrison, who finally stood up to her big, abusive brother. Hell, with the way Watson was lying in the weeds until she came along, SHE should have won the damn belt, not him.

Just because Watson’s held the belt since One Night in Hell doesn’t mean he’s some machine. Far from it. He’s the same guy I beat for a spot in the Test for the Best tournament, the same guy that I beat easily in our lone one-on-one encounter, and the same guy who picked up the pieces with Sienna Harrison’s help in Japan after I did all the dirty work. If he thinks one win over me makes him a favorite going into Meltdown, he’s kidding himself.”

Smith rolls his eyes.

A.C.: “If he really wants to compare resumes, though, it’s something I’ll be happy to do. My win over John Dionysus, a stalwart who has a ton of high-quality victories, is more impressive than anything Watson’s done in a one-on-one setting since winning the Xtreme title. Last week, while I was busy handling Mac Bane, he beat Buckson Gooch. And that…well, that’s all he’s got going for him in the last month or so.

We’ve gone in vastly-different directions since we last locked up. I’ve gotten on a roll. Nick Watson? He’s stayed in neutral, doing just enough to hang onto his title while avoiding the guy that could give him a true test. Come this weekend in Buffalo, there’ll be nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

I’ve had my chances at this belt before, and I acknowledge that I haven’t made the most of them. That changes at the Meltdown Supershow. Vincent Simon wasn’t right about much is his one-hour monologue that nobody but he and his mother cared about, but he hit the nail on the head when he said that Watson’s title reign has been far from entertaining. And that must come as a real blow to a guy who cares a TON about what other people think of him.”

Smith pauses.

A.C.: “That’s the one glaring weakness Watson has. It’s not as a person; hell, he’s one of the few guys in APW that sees eye-to-eye with me on a lot of things. It’s not even as a wrestler; he’s got some talent. But my goodness, every time you see him, it’s the same sad story. Him whining to someone about some assorted problem he has, and then promptly lashing out at his opponent because Lord knows it MUST be his fault, not Watson’s.

Let me pre-empt all of that with one simple declaration. I don’t tolerate bullshit. I deal in logic, facts, and consistency. People have been coming out of the woodwork doing the ‘A League of their Own,’ ‘You’re gonna lo-ooo-ose,’ nonsense for as long as I can remember. It never bothers me. It only serves as motivation to shut them up, at least for the time being until they find some other reason to hate me.

Watson doesn’t quite understand that, to quote an overused cliché, haters are gonna hate. The ‘woe is me’ attitude works for a little while, but you know what works even better? Making them put a sock in it by coming through on a big stage. That’s what I’ve done my entire career, and what I’ll continue to do for as long as I’m able to come down that aisle every week.

Some will say my APW tenure so far has been disappointing. How? I’m one of a handful of guys to beat John Dionysus, Keaton Saint, Biggs, and C.J. Gates in this calendar year. I earned my way into Test for the Best by beating a ladder match pioneer, the current Overdrive Champion, and the current Xtreme Champion. I come into my final match of 2012 on a roll, and I intend to make the most of it. And this constitutes me being a bum…how?”

Smith shrugs his shoulders.

A.C.: “The first person to answer that question logically gets a six-pack of their favorite beer, on me. To me, to my fans, and to anyone with half a brain, that line of reasoning has more holes in it than Swiss cheese.

If I didn’t think I could still perform at the highest level, on the biggest stages, for the biggest prizes in this business, I wouldn’t do it. Lord knows I don’t need the money, or the fame, or anything that comes with being an APW Megastar. But I’m here, and I’m ready to rock.

This Saturday night in Buffalo, I’m going into Meltdown with one purpose, and one purpose only. I’m heading to western New York to make the most of my shot at the APW Xtreme Championship. And doing what I know I can do, firing on all cylinders, taking down Nick Watson, and bringing the belt back to the Big Apple, will be an AWFUL nice way to start the holiday season.

Nick, be ready. Because Saturday night, what you’re getting is no bum, no disappointment, no failure. I’m going to Meltdown with all guns blazing, and with you in my crosshairs. And when your shoulders get counted down under the lights, when you lose the one thing that makes you relevant here in APW?

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Smith rises to his full 6’8” height and exits as our scene fades to black.