Post by A.C. Smith on Jan 2, 2013 19:57:20 GMT -4
Our scene opens at the APW’s year-end awards show. Evan Envi has just been named APW’s Rising Star for 2012, and he exits the stage following his speech. Campy awards music plays as the show cuts to commercial.
After a few seconds, we see a long arm belonging to a man in a black suit. It goes towards a lone piece of white paper left on the stage, and it grabs it before the crew can sweep it off. As we focus closer on the man as he unfolds the paper, we see that it’s the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith.
We see the paper being unfolded, and there’s plenty of writing on it, though we can’t make out the chicken-scratch scribbles from afar. However, what we do see is Smith, whose face gets red very quickly, throw the paper down in disgust while mouthing a four-word phrase.
“Son of a BITCH!”
The awards music comes back just as quickly as it faded out, though, and our scene fades to black as the night’s next presenter is introduced.
---
We come back to a scene from later that night, and we’re in a hotel gym. The clock on the wall says 12:08 a.m., and through one small window in the gym, the pitch-black darkness outside supports the reading.
Closer to us, Smith is seen hoisting a punching bag on his broad shoulders, and he stands on an unused chair to hang it on a bar near the gym’s ceiling. Still carrying a scowl on his face and an occasional angry twitch, the bag gets set up. Smith jumps off the chair, kicks it out of his way, and starts his workout.
It’s an intense one, with swift kicks to all parts of the bag mixed in with jab and hook combinations in a steady, never-stopping rhythm. Nobody else is in the gym, and that’s probably a good idea since Smith is taking out several months’ worth of frustrations on the bag he carried in.
He isn’t distracted one bit by Bobby the Bavarian Man-Bitch and Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker, who have made their way to the gym while still clad in pajamas. Smith, in his usual gym attire (shirtless, black shorts), does not stop for several moments, even when his buddies chime in.
Bobby: “Um…something the matter, chief?”
Smith doesn’t respond, bobbing and weaving before hammering the bag with a left jab and right uppercut.
Stevie: “Yeah. And where did you get a heavy bag this time of night, anyway?”
Nothing still. Smith’s right foot connects with the bag several times before, finally, his set concludes with a spin kick, one that sees Smith’s left foot shake the bar the bag is braced on upon impact.
A dead silence comes over the gym as Smith stares down the bag, almost angry that it didn’t break. His left arm reaches for a bottle of water, and A.C. chugs the contents of it down his throat before hurling the plastic bottle into a trash can across the room.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the APW Xtreme Champion speaks.
A.C.: “…one vote.”
Bobby: “What do you mean, ‘one vote?’”
A.C.: “You know that award I was up for? Rising Star? I got one vote. One, lousy, stinking, rotten vote.”
Stevie: “What do you care about some lousy award? Evan…”
Smith stares a hole through his friend the second the name ‘Evan’ escapes into the room. Wisely, Stevie stops.
Bobby: “We know Harrison didn’t deserve the award. He’s a scumbag that’s somehow convinced the upper brass that he’s the next big thing. But it’s one measly trophy. You’re better than getting upset over something like this, snap out of it.”
Bobby may as well have tried to give that mini-motivational speech to a wall. Smith’s expression, always hateful and never budging from it, shifts back towards the bag.
A.C.: “Wins over Biggs, Gates, Dionysus, and Saint...”
Right hook. Whack.
A.C.: “…capturing the APW Xtreme Championship...”
Left forearm. Oof.
A.C.: “…getting into Test for the Best by beating Watson, Mania, and Craven, which Harrison CERTAINLY didn’t do...”
Left knee, followed by a right cross. Bam, bam, and the bag goes backwards.
A.C.: “…making the fans of APW believe that someone actually CARED about what they thought, a change since NOBODY else of substance seems to feel that way…”
The swinging bag is met with a roundhouse kick, which stops it dead in its tracks with a sickening thud.
A.C.: “…and having NONE OF IT MATTER!”
Smith puts his entire 6’8”, 275-pound frame behind a right haymaker, which couldn’t connect more squarely if the man throwing it was following an instruction manual on how to throw a knockout punch.
Snap.
The bag dislodges itself from its supports, which remain hanging from the bar as the bag itself crashes onto the hardwood floor. Even Bobby and Stevie, longtime friends of the Big Apple Asskicker, look at A.C. with their jaws hanging from their faces in shock.
A.C.: “THAT’S the problem.
I’m sick of being cast aside like some green kid who doesn’t know any better. I’m sick of being treated like my best days are behind me just because I didn’t win the goddamn Undisputed Championship on my first night in the freaking company. And Lord knows I’m sick of people with no ethics, no class, and no respect for the things that really matter getting all the spoils and all the recognition as opposed to the people who work the hardest for this company.
When I came to Action Packed Wrestling last spring, it wasn’t because I needed anything. It was because I genuinely wanted to come back to the ring, to feel the rush of the crowd, to give them something to believe in. In 2012, that’s what I did. I ended the year as the Xtreme Champion, and I look forward to giving the title the credibility it lost when Harrison and Nick Watson held it. But did any of it matter when awards time rolled around? Nope.
One vote. For all my blood, my sweat, and my tears, I got one goddamn vote. And THAT’S the problem, one none of us can fix.”
A pause.
A.C.: “Anything else you’d like to talk to me about, or can I get to work on fixing this blasted thing?”
Silence again fills the room as Bobby and Stevie regroup.
A.C.: “Good. Because I think your words would be better served in dealing with the security guards behind you, and I’m CERTAINLY in no mood to deal with them.”
Indeed, the hotel rent-a-cops are standing in the doorway wondering what caused all of the commotion in the dead of night in the gym. Bobby and Stevie go into the hallway, while Smith goes to work re-assembling the bag and its supports, as our scene, again, fades to black.
---
We shift our focus to Smith’s hotel room, and we start outside the bathroom, where we hear his shower shut off. A clock on the wall reads 1:48 a.m., less than 24 hours before the first Overdrive of 2013.
It’s a pretty basic hotel room, with a king-size bed placed in front of a 32-inch high-definition TV set, which in turn sits atop a set of cabinets that house a mini bar. Smith’s suitcase is open and in a corner of the room, while a bigger bag that houses his wrestling gear sits closed on the floor.
The door to the bathroom opens, then closes just as quickly. Smith, now wearing a worn-outwhite tank top and a different pair of shorts, strides to the bed, where he grabs a remote control before turning off the light.
The brief spell of darkness is broken when the TV turns on. The volume isn’t loud enough for us to hear what’s on, but the light coming off it provides just enough visibility for us to see Smith as he climbs into bed and under the covers.
We don’t see his lips move, but we hear his thoughts as he struggles with the too-thin blankets, the too-short bed, and the pillows that provide no support for his head and neck.
“Mark Mania said that he didn’t want anything I’d done to go to my head. Well, that little display earlier tonight at the gym should assure him that that’s not going to be the case. 2013 marks my 11th year of ass-kicking in squared circles all around the world, from New York to New Delhi and back again. And not once have I let anything said about me or my accomplishments get in the way of business that was at hand.
Mania said a lot earlier, actually, and, well, to say I was expecting more from him would be a pretty accurate statement. I mean, here’s the guy that beat Azrael Goeren, retaining his Overdrive title in a knock-down, drag-out war that sent both men to the hospital after Christmas Chaos. But, as far as I can tell, he’s more worried about reminding me that my match with Nick Watson didn’t even headline Meltdown than he is excited about another chance to prove himself as a legitimate tough guy.
As usual, I’m not allowing myself to get consumed with one particular match. It was made perfectly clear at the awards show that nothing I did in 2012 should have allowed me to be satisfied with myself, after all. See, the problem with Mania, one he downplayed ever so slightly in hopes that I wouldn’t pick it up, is that I’ve beaten him before, and I know what it takes to beat him again.
Hell, even his girlfriend, mistress, associate, whatever you want to call her, poked holes in his excuses before Mania even uttered them. Mark Mania was the same person in the Test for the Best ladder match as he is now, except without the Overdrive title to his name. He was a former main-eventer working his way towards the top, same as he is now. He guaranteed a victory over me, same as he’s doing now. Except that night in Philadelphia, I got the biggest win of my APW career by outlasting him, Nick Watson, and Slade Craven, not because of luck or chance or anything like that, but because I was the better man.
In all of his talking in circles, Mania spent way more time talking about how my match with Watson where I won the Xtreme Championship didn’t headline Meltdown than he did about what he’s going to do differently against me on Thursday night. There’s a reason for that: He doesn’t have a logical answer to that question. He really IS the same guy that I beat for a spot in the Test for the Best tournament in June, only with a new shiny belt to go along with the bulky black glasses he needs for being so blind towards reality.
Mania had a lot taken out of him against Goeren. And deep down, despite all his ramblings about him not caring about Johnny Rebel throwing him into this hardcore match, the question needs to be asked: How many more hits can he take? He went to the ends of the earth in winning at Christmas Chaos. Me? I went to Buffalo and destroyed Nick Watson while coming away with the Xtreme Championship and not so much as a chink in my armor.
I know how to handle these situations. Mania grabbing a chair and coming after me won’t shake me when I’ve had to deal with people carrying knives and guns into combat while I was on duty with the NYPD. But how is he going to react when a guy he’s never beaten, and a guy who represents the most hardcore person in the company, comes after him with all of the power inside a 6’8”, 275-pound body? What’s he going to do when subjected to his second brutal beating in as many matches, and what’s he going to do when what battered and bruised Azrael Goeren doesn’t leave a scratch on the APW Xtreme Champion on Thursday night?
These are all valid questions, ones Mania doesn’t have the answers to now and ones whose answers he won’t like when they bubble to the surface in front of a worldwide audience. In all of his scattered thoughts, all of the sentences he put together that didn’t really say much other than, ‘Smith beat me before and I’m happy to have the chance to face him again,’ he didn’t say what he needed to say. He didn’t say, ‘I know I can beat the Xtreme Champion in his element, and here’s how.’ Mania’s a smart guy, and deep down, he knows he didn’t utter that phrase because he couldn’t bring himself to lie on camera. Most of what he said couldn’t have been more logically-challenged, and when that bell rings on Overdrive, he’s going to be in for a very harsh reality check.
Mania WAS right on one thing. This match means a ton to me. This champion vs. champion match in England is important on a lot of levels. It’s my first match of 2013, one that sets the tone for a year I hope will make people take notice. It comes against the Overdrive Champion, a guy that’s supposed to represent one of the top men on APW’s top brand. And it comes just a few weeks before Survive and Conquer, one of the premier events in wrestling and one that I’m really, REALLY excited to take part in.
I’ve got a lot riding on this match with Mania, you see. And contrary to all his attempts to make the public think I don’t cash in when all the chips are in the middle, that’s what I do. I’m the guy who knocked out Biggs, who beat CJ Gates, who did way more than anyone will EVER give me credit for. Even though neither of us are defending our titles, I’m treating this match like a championship fight, and this fight is one I intend to win.”
The TV, which must have had a ‘sleep’ timer set, turns itself off. Smith stops fidgeting around, and we hear him begin to snore as we fade out one last time.
After a few seconds, we see a long arm belonging to a man in a black suit. It goes towards a lone piece of white paper left on the stage, and it grabs it before the crew can sweep it off. As we focus closer on the man as he unfolds the paper, we see that it’s the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith.
We see the paper being unfolded, and there’s plenty of writing on it, though we can’t make out the chicken-scratch scribbles from afar. However, what we do see is Smith, whose face gets red very quickly, throw the paper down in disgust while mouthing a four-word phrase.
“Son of a BITCH!”
The awards music comes back just as quickly as it faded out, though, and our scene fades to black as the night’s next presenter is introduced.
---
We come back to a scene from later that night, and we’re in a hotel gym. The clock on the wall says 12:08 a.m., and through one small window in the gym, the pitch-black darkness outside supports the reading.
Closer to us, Smith is seen hoisting a punching bag on his broad shoulders, and he stands on an unused chair to hang it on a bar near the gym’s ceiling. Still carrying a scowl on his face and an occasional angry twitch, the bag gets set up. Smith jumps off the chair, kicks it out of his way, and starts his workout.
It’s an intense one, with swift kicks to all parts of the bag mixed in with jab and hook combinations in a steady, never-stopping rhythm. Nobody else is in the gym, and that’s probably a good idea since Smith is taking out several months’ worth of frustrations on the bag he carried in.
He isn’t distracted one bit by Bobby the Bavarian Man-Bitch and Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker, who have made their way to the gym while still clad in pajamas. Smith, in his usual gym attire (shirtless, black shorts), does not stop for several moments, even when his buddies chime in.
Bobby: “Um…something the matter, chief?”
Smith doesn’t respond, bobbing and weaving before hammering the bag with a left jab and right uppercut.
Stevie: “Yeah. And where did you get a heavy bag this time of night, anyway?”
Nothing still. Smith’s right foot connects with the bag several times before, finally, his set concludes with a spin kick, one that sees Smith’s left foot shake the bar the bag is braced on upon impact.
A dead silence comes over the gym as Smith stares down the bag, almost angry that it didn’t break. His left arm reaches for a bottle of water, and A.C. chugs the contents of it down his throat before hurling the plastic bottle into a trash can across the room.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the APW Xtreme Champion speaks.
A.C.: “…one vote.”
Bobby: “What do you mean, ‘one vote?’”
A.C.: “You know that award I was up for? Rising Star? I got one vote. One, lousy, stinking, rotten vote.”
Stevie: “What do you care about some lousy award? Evan…”
Smith stares a hole through his friend the second the name ‘Evan’ escapes into the room. Wisely, Stevie stops.
Bobby: “We know Harrison didn’t deserve the award. He’s a scumbag that’s somehow convinced the upper brass that he’s the next big thing. But it’s one measly trophy. You’re better than getting upset over something like this, snap out of it.”
Bobby may as well have tried to give that mini-motivational speech to a wall. Smith’s expression, always hateful and never budging from it, shifts back towards the bag.
A.C.: “Wins over Biggs, Gates, Dionysus, and Saint...”
Right hook. Whack.
A.C.: “…capturing the APW Xtreme Championship...”
Left forearm. Oof.
A.C.: “…getting into Test for the Best by beating Watson, Mania, and Craven, which Harrison CERTAINLY didn’t do...”
Left knee, followed by a right cross. Bam, bam, and the bag goes backwards.
A.C.: “…making the fans of APW believe that someone actually CARED about what they thought, a change since NOBODY else of substance seems to feel that way…”
The swinging bag is met with a roundhouse kick, which stops it dead in its tracks with a sickening thud.
A.C.: “…and having NONE OF IT MATTER!”
Smith puts his entire 6’8”, 275-pound frame behind a right haymaker, which couldn’t connect more squarely if the man throwing it was following an instruction manual on how to throw a knockout punch.
Snap.
The bag dislodges itself from its supports, which remain hanging from the bar as the bag itself crashes onto the hardwood floor. Even Bobby and Stevie, longtime friends of the Big Apple Asskicker, look at A.C. with their jaws hanging from their faces in shock.
A.C.: “THAT’S the problem.
I’m sick of being cast aside like some green kid who doesn’t know any better. I’m sick of being treated like my best days are behind me just because I didn’t win the goddamn Undisputed Championship on my first night in the freaking company. And Lord knows I’m sick of people with no ethics, no class, and no respect for the things that really matter getting all the spoils and all the recognition as opposed to the people who work the hardest for this company.
When I came to Action Packed Wrestling last spring, it wasn’t because I needed anything. It was because I genuinely wanted to come back to the ring, to feel the rush of the crowd, to give them something to believe in. In 2012, that’s what I did. I ended the year as the Xtreme Champion, and I look forward to giving the title the credibility it lost when Harrison and Nick Watson held it. But did any of it matter when awards time rolled around? Nope.
One vote. For all my blood, my sweat, and my tears, I got one goddamn vote. And THAT’S the problem, one none of us can fix.”
A pause.
A.C.: “Anything else you’d like to talk to me about, or can I get to work on fixing this blasted thing?”
Silence again fills the room as Bobby and Stevie regroup.
A.C.: “Good. Because I think your words would be better served in dealing with the security guards behind you, and I’m CERTAINLY in no mood to deal with them.”
Indeed, the hotel rent-a-cops are standing in the doorway wondering what caused all of the commotion in the dead of night in the gym. Bobby and Stevie go into the hallway, while Smith goes to work re-assembling the bag and its supports, as our scene, again, fades to black.
---
We shift our focus to Smith’s hotel room, and we start outside the bathroom, where we hear his shower shut off. A clock on the wall reads 1:48 a.m., less than 24 hours before the first Overdrive of 2013.
It’s a pretty basic hotel room, with a king-size bed placed in front of a 32-inch high-definition TV set, which in turn sits atop a set of cabinets that house a mini bar. Smith’s suitcase is open and in a corner of the room, while a bigger bag that houses his wrestling gear sits closed on the floor.
The door to the bathroom opens, then closes just as quickly. Smith, now wearing a worn-outwhite tank top and a different pair of shorts, strides to the bed, where he grabs a remote control before turning off the light.
The brief spell of darkness is broken when the TV turns on. The volume isn’t loud enough for us to hear what’s on, but the light coming off it provides just enough visibility for us to see Smith as he climbs into bed and under the covers.
We don’t see his lips move, but we hear his thoughts as he struggles with the too-thin blankets, the too-short bed, and the pillows that provide no support for his head and neck.
“Mark Mania said that he didn’t want anything I’d done to go to my head. Well, that little display earlier tonight at the gym should assure him that that’s not going to be the case. 2013 marks my 11th year of ass-kicking in squared circles all around the world, from New York to New Delhi and back again. And not once have I let anything said about me or my accomplishments get in the way of business that was at hand.
Mania said a lot earlier, actually, and, well, to say I was expecting more from him would be a pretty accurate statement. I mean, here’s the guy that beat Azrael Goeren, retaining his Overdrive title in a knock-down, drag-out war that sent both men to the hospital after Christmas Chaos. But, as far as I can tell, he’s more worried about reminding me that my match with Nick Watson didn’t even headline Meltdown than he is excited about another chance to prove himself as a legitimate tough guy.
As usual, I’m not allowing myself to get consumed with one particular match. It was made perfectly clear at the awards show that nothing I did in 2012 should have allowed me to be satisfied with myself, after all. See, the problem with Mania, one he downplayed ever so slightly in hopes that I wouldn’t pick it up, is that I’ve beaten him before, and I know what it takes to beat him again.
Hell, even his girlfriend, mistress, associate, whatever you want to call her, poked holes in his excuses before Mania even uttered them. Mark Mania was the same person in the Test for the Best ladder match as he is now, except without the Overdrive title to his name. He was a former main-eventer working his way towards the top, same as he is now. He guaranteed a victory over me, same as he’s doing now. Except that night in Philadelphia, I got the biggest win of my APW career by outlasting him, Nick Watson, and Slade Craven, not because of luck or chance or anything like that, but because I was the better man.
In all of his talking in circles, Mania spent way more time talking about how my match with Watson where I won the Xtreme Championship didn’t headline Meltdown than he did about what he’s going to do differently against me on Thursday night. There’s a reason for that: He doesn’t have a logical answer to that question. He really IS the same guy that I beat for a spot in the Test for the Best tournament in June, only with a new shiny belt to go along with the bulky black glasses he needs for being so blind towards reality.
Mania had a lot taken out of him against Goeren. And deep down, despite all his ramblings about him not caring about Johnny Rebel throwing him into this hardcore match, the question needs to be asked: How many more hits can he take? He went to the ends of the earth in winning at Christmas Chaos. Me? I went to Buffalo and destroyed Nick Watson while coming away with the Xtreme Championship and not so much as a chink in my armor.
I know how to handle these situations. Mania grabbing a chair and coming after me won’t shake me when I’ve had to deal with people carrying knives and guns into combat while I was on duty with the NYPD. But how is he going to react when a guy he’s never beaten, and a guy who represents the most hardcore person in the company, comes after him with all of the power inside a 6’8”, 275-pound body? What’s he going to do when subjected to his second brutal beating in as many matches, and what’s he going to do when what battered and bruised Azrael Goeren doesn’t leave a scratch on the APW Xtreme Champion on Thursday night?
These are all valid questions, ones Mania doesn’t have the answers to now and ones whose answers he won’t like when they bubble to the surface in front of a worldwide audience. In all of his scattered thoughts, all of the sentences he put together that didn’t really say much other than, ‘Smith beat me before and I’m happy to have the chance to face him again,’ he didn’t say what he needed to say. He didn’t say, ‘I know I can beat the Xtreme Champion in his element, and here’s how.’ Mania’s a smart guy, and deep down, he knows he didn’t utter that phrase because he couldn’t bring himself to lie on camera. Most of what he said couldn’t have been more logically-challenged, and when that bell rings on Overdrive, he’s going to be in for a very harsh reality check.
Mania WAS right on one thing. This match means a ton to me. This champion vs. champion match in England is important on a lot of levels. It’s my first match of 2013, one that sets the tone for a year I hope will make people take notice. It comes against the Overdrive Champion, a guy that’s supposed to represent one of the top men on APW’s top brand. And it comes just a few weeks before Survive and Conquer, one of the premier events in wrestling and one that I’m really, REALLY excited to take part in.
I’ve got a lot riding on this match with Mania, you see. And contrary to all his attempts to make the public think I don’t cash in when all the chips are in the middle, that’s what I do. I’m the guy who knocked out Biggs, who beat CJ Gates, who did way more than anyone will EVER give me credit for. Even though neither of us are defending our titles, I’m treating this match like a championship fight, and this fight is one I intend to win.”
The TV, which must have had a ‘sleep’ timer set, turns itself off. Smith stops fidgeting around, and we hear him begin to snore as we fade out one last time.
