Post by A.C. Smith on Apr 17, 2013 12:24:50 GMT -4
Monday, April 15, 2013
It's a perfect spring afternoon in New York City. Temperatures are hovering in the 60's, and we can imagine plenty of Big Apple residents enjoying the first gasp of post-winter weather in Central Park. However, there is an increased sense of tension in the air, as well as an increased New York Police Department presence on the city streets.
The bombings during the Boston Marathon, which happened just a few hours ago, have taken its toll on a city that knows the effects of terrorism all too well. Those strolling around are guarded, and it almost seems like the millions of people in the five boroughs are walking on egg shells. It's a dreary atmosphere, for sure, one nobody wanted to see again after the events of September 11th, 2001.
We look up from our view on the street, and we see someone on a rooftop. Unlike the man seen in photographs of the explosions in Beantown, there's no doubt about the identity of this rooftop dweller. We zoom in and see that it's the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith, with a golf club in hand, and as the camera refocuses, we see that there is also a strong net extending behind the APW Xtreme Champion, as well as over his head and out around 200 yards from where he's standing.
We cut to the top of the building, and indeed, it becomes clear that Smith has had his own personal rooftop driving range constructed. Smith takes a whack at a Titleist Pro V1 golf ball with an awkward, “HULK SMASH” kind of swing, and we see the net in action as it catches the ball in mid-flight. The white sphere goes to the bottom of the net and slowly rolls down to Smith's feet, and we hear several sets of footsteps behind the camera.
Bobby: “Nice digs, A.C.”
Stevie: “How come you didn't tell us about this place? We could kill some SERIOUS time up here.”
No answer from Smith as his two friends come into the frame and stand about five feet behind him. Instead, he takes another ball, tees it up, and gives it a whack, again with an arms-only swing that would make any PGA Tour swing coach cringe.
Bobby: “Keep your head down. Swing easy.”
Stevie: “Your grip's off, too.”
Bobby and Stevie chuckle a bit, but A.C. gives both of them a look, one that would be followed up in some science-fiction movies by lasers coming out of his penetrating glare. Immediately, Bobby and Stevie, showing rare tact, shut up.
A.C.: “Today's a day where you either hug your kids out of love or hit shit out of hate. I don't have kids, so this'll have to do.”
Bobby: “You have us.”
A.C.: “Yes, I do. And sometimes, you guys remind me of children with your intelligence.”
Another ball gets teed up, and Smith again strikes with the iron. We see immense anger and frustration on the Big Apple Asskicker's face as it comes up to watch the ball in flight, and the big knuckles on both of his hands have become completely white thanks to how hard he's gripping his club.
A.C.: “12 years ago, when those freedom-hating know-nothings flew the planes into the World Trade Center, I was there. I saw kids lose parents and grandparents. I saw husbands and wives make it out of the towers, waiting for their spouses, who'd never come down the stairs. I saw a bunch of my friends on the force and in the fire department go in and sacrifice everything they had for people whose worlds would never be the same again.
Today, those disillusioned freaks hit us again. There's blood all over Boston, and there are emotional wounds that will never be healed. There's an 8-year-old boy who didn't see 9/11, but died as a result of a few idiots thinking that killing people in the name of their God is OK. There are runners in the marathon who may never run competitively again thanks to flashbacks of explosions near the finish line.
If you guys came up here to dick around and crack jokes, I suggest you leave. Because I'm in absolutely NO mood for any of that right now.”
Silence comes over the Manhattan rooftop. Bobby and Stevie are wide-eyed, realizing just now that their bumbling natures don't exactly fit this situation well.
Bobby: “We'll go inside and order some food, OK?”
A.C.: “That's fine. I'll be in in a little while. I think.”
Stevie: “Take as long as you need, boss.”
Bobby and Stevie begin to leave, but Stevie stops himself.
Stevie: “A.C.?”
A.C.: “Yeah?”
Stevie: “We're sorry. We didn't mean to...”
A.C.: (interrupting) “I know, I know. Me too.”
The trio exchange nods, realizing that it's best to forgive everything immediately and let the situation blow over. In time, A.C., Bobby, and Stevie will return to their wise-cracking selves, joking around and reminding everyone of their longstanding friendship. However, this isn't the time or the place for that.
We hear a door close, and Smith is now completely alone on the roof. He tees up another ball and addresses it, but something comes over him as he's about to take the club back and he's unable to swing at it.
He backs away, putting his club down and sitting down, Indian-style, on the concrete. It takes A.C. a moment to gather himself and find the words that he's looking for. We're used to seeing Smith as an extremely articulate, well-spoken man, so this struggle to synchronize his brain and his mouth in the face of his emotions is extremely strange to anyone watching on television.
After what seems like an eternity of silence and reflection, Smith's eyes tilt upward towards the camera. He locks in on the lens, and finally, he opens his mouth to speak.
A.C.: “Last week, I retained the APW Xtreme Championship. Last week, I found out that I'd be heading to South America to take part in a Champion's Ball match against two guys I know very well. This match coming up Thursday is a heck of a chance for me to make a statement, one that says I'm every bit the standard-bearer as Michael Callahan and Evan Harrison, two guys who have long been regarded as top-of-the-line talent in Action Packed Wrestling.
Now? Now, I'm questioning everything.”
Another pause, this one shorter than the last. Rather than stumble over his words, Smith takes a moment to make sure his mind is in the right place before continuing.
A.C.: “Things like what happened in Boston earlier today have a way of putting everything in perspective. They teach people whose priorities are mixed up what matters and what doesn't. I've long regarded myself as someone with a keen sense of that, but I admittedly got a shock to the system that I really needed.
Am I proud to go out in front of the best fans in the world and give them a show that few others can? Absolutely. Do I consider myself blessed to have been able to do that for the past 11 years? You bet your ass I do. But now, in a time where everyone from Boston to Los Angeles is on high alert? It sure seems like all of that doesn't matter nearly as much as it did even a few days ago.”
Smith looks around, out over the city he once helped protect as a member of the NYPD.
A.C.: “Growing up, I always wanted to be a cop. I saw way too many people I knew very well when I was in grade school turn to selling drugs, to living a life of violence, to running errands for crime bosses. I made it my mission to clean up the streets of neighborhoods like the one I grew up in, and for four years, that's exactly what I did.
Nothing came easy, and very little was painless. My file in the local hospital is as thick as a Manhattan phone book, and there's a reason for that. The guys I went after were all dangerous, all trained killers, and they tried to take me out on multiple occasions. But I'm still going strong, and them? Well, they're all in Sing-Sing, as far as I'm aware, and very few of them are getting out anytime soon.
What those policemen and firefighters did in Boston was nothing short of heroic. They dragged victims to ambulances, they supplied tourniquets for people whose limbs had been blown off in the blasts, and they provided valuable instructions to the populace of a city wondering when and where the next bomb was going to go off. Hell, there were some runners in the marathon who, after running over 26 miles, sprinted to help those in need. There were volunteers helping to distribute safety information and evacuate nearby buildings. There were TV crews providing any verifiable information they could, and as I speak, I have no doubt that there are newspaper writers hacking away at their computers, writing columns to run in tomorrow's Boston Globe or Boston Herald about how the city of Boston needs to show resilience in the face of an enemy that wants nothing more than for it to crumble.”
Another pause, as Smith regathers himself.
A.C.: “Those people? Those people are heroes, and they've come at a time where we desperately need them. The people making headlines right now are terrorists, jihadists whose sacred mission is to attack the United States, its citizens, and its strongholds around the world. But the people who SHOULD be making headlines are those that likely won't get any attention at all. And to them, I take this time right now and say one thing, from someone who's been through this before and knows your city is going to recover and be better than ever: Thank you.
Very rarely do I quote famous people. Generally, I think most of them tend to be pompous windbags who enjoy hearing the sounds of their own voices. But the guy we'd all do well to listen to right now is Mr. Rogers, who we all grew up with and learned valuable lessons from. The quote we're all hearing right now goes something like this.
'When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” To this day, especially in times of “disaster,” I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.'
As usual, the guy in the cardigan sweater we all thought we'd outgrown when our ages hit double-digits hit the nail on the head. There are people who have dropped everything to help those in need. Hell, there are people in Boston outright volunteering rooms in their own houses for people who need shelter in this time of tragedy.
We're going to get the people behind this. Believe that. And when our government finds those people who have supported the absent-minded killings of innocent bystanders, I sincerely hope that their punishment isn't the death penalty, but a swift kick in the groin by each resident of the city of Boston every morning, afternoon, and evening. Lord knows that's the LEAST they deserve.”
The famous A.C. Smith eye-roll reappears, although this time, it's for much different, more profound reasons. Yet again, this is a much different, more profound stance than any the Big Apple Asskicker has taken since arriving in Action Packed Wrestling almost a year ago, so it makes sense.
A.C.: “To Michael Callahan and Evan Envi, two worthy opponents with long lists of accomplishments in APW who are probably expecting some long-winded dissertation about how I'm better than they are and will prove it Thursday night on Overdrive: Yeah, you guys aren't getting that, in case you hadn't figured that out already. Sorry about that, but other things kind of took precedent.
Michael Callahan, you've surprised me. When you came to Overdrive, I was expecting an ignoramus who spouted virtues of the Republican Party that long ago stopped caring about the majority of the American people. Instead, you've changed, and I'm happy to see that it seems like Overdrive finally has a top-line champion it can be proud of after almost a year of having to hear Terry Marvin's rhetoric week-in and week-out.
Evan Harrison, you and I go way back, and I don't need to rehash that history here. Everyone who's followed wrestling in the last six or seven years, and yes, we've known each other THAT long, can attest to us having possibly the best rivalry in the business over that time period. You've beaten me some times, including on big stages. I've beaten you others, including on big stages. You and I were pretty much born to be rivals, and every time we lock up, something special happens.”
Smith stands up, rising to his full 6'8” height. He kicks each of his legs a couple of times to work out the kinks from sitting with his legs bent on such a hard surface, but once the stiffness, aches, and pains have been worked out, he grabs his 4-iron and refocuses on the camera.
A.C.: “If this match had happened last week, I'd have been telling you all about how this match was between three champions, but that only one would stand tall and that it would be me. What a difference a couple of days makes, right?
My eyes are on Thursday night's three-way in Colombia. My muscles are twitching for a match that will test all of my skills against two other guys that can really bring it. My competitive drive wants to win, to show anyone who doubts me that I'm every bit the competitor Michael Callahan and Evan Harrison are and that my four-month-long reign as the APW Xtreme Champion is no fluke.
But my heart? My heart is in New England, with the people that know all too well what it's REALLY like to get hit hard by an enemy. I don't know what I can do to help a situation that needs lots of it, but what I can tell you is that everything I give on Thursday night on Overdrive will be dedicated to those trying to bounce back from the same kind of attack I experienced 12 years ago.
Some might say I'm screwed heading into this match with Callahan and Harrison because of that. But I don't see it that way. I've always believed that one needs a sense of perspective, a realization of what matters and what doesn't, in order to get something done. It's no different here. Ever since those explosions happened, I've been looking for the helpers, and I've been looking for ways to do whatever I can to assist those in need. If I can do that by working my ass off trying to beat Michael Callahan and Evan Harrison Thursday night in Bogota? So be it.
It may sound weird as hell coming from a lifelong New Yorker. But Boston? This one's for you.”
One last time, Smith addresses a teed-up golf ball, spreads his feet, and attacks with his golf club. All the rage that was in his swing earlier has returned, and the ball hits the net with authority.
Smith gently puts down his golf club and walks off-screen. We hear a door open and close, and our scene slowly fades to black.
It's a perfect spring afternoon in New York City. Temperatures are hovering in the 60's, and we can imagine plenty of Big Apple residents enjoying the first gasp of post-winter weather in Central Park. However, there is an increased sense of tension in the air, as well as an increased New York Police Department presence on the city streets.
The bombings during the Boston Marathon, which happened just a few hours ago, have taken its toll on a city that knows the effects of terrorism all too well. Those strolling around are guarded, and it almost seems like the millions of people in the five boroughs are walking on egg shells. It's a dreary atmosphere, for sure, one nobody wanted to see again after the events of September 11th, 2001.
We look up from our view on the street, and we see someone on a rooftop. Unlike the man seen in photographs of the explosions in Beantown, there's no doubt about the identity of this rooftop dweller. We zoom in and see that it's the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith, with a golf club in hand, and as the camera refocuses, we see that there is also a strong net extending behind the APW Xtreme Champion, as well as over his head and out around 200 yards from where he's standing.
We cut to the top of the building, and indeed, it becomes clear that Smith has had his own personal rooftop driving range constructed. Smith takes a whack at a Titleist Pro V1 golf ball with an awkward, “HULK SMASH” kind of swing, and we see the net in action as it catches the ball in mid-flight. The white sphere goes to the bottom of the net and slowly rolls down to Smith's feet, and we hear several sets of footsteps behind the camera.
Bobby: “Nice digs, A.C.”
Stevie: “How come you didn't tell us about this place? We could kill some SERIOUS time up here.”
No answer from Smith as his two friends come into the frame and stand about five feet behind him. Instead, he takes another ball, tees it up, and gives it a whack, again with an arms-only swing that would make any PGA Tour swing coach cringe.
Bobby: “Keep your head down. Swing easy.”
Stevie: “Your grip's off, too.”
Bobby and Stevie chuckle a bit, but A.C. gives both of them a look, one that would be followed up in some science-fiction movies by lasers coming out of his penetrating glare. Immediately, Bobby and Stevie, showing rare tact, shut up.
A.C.: “Today's a day where you either hug your kids out of love or hit shit out of hate. I don't have kids, so this'll have to do.”
Bobby: “You have us.”
A.C.: “Yes, I do. And sometimes, you guys remind me of children with your intelligence.”
Another ball gets teed up, and Smith again strikes with the iron. We see immense anger and frustration on the Big Apple Asskicker's face as it comes up to watch the ball in flight, and the big knuckles on both of his hands have become completely white thanks to how hard he's gripping his club.
A.C.: “12 years ago, when those freedom-hating know-nothings flew the planes into the World Trade Center, I was there. I saw kids lose parents and grandparents. I saw husbands and wives make it out of the towers, waiting for their spouses, who'd never come down the stairs. I saw a bunch of my friends on the force and in the fire department go in and sacrifice everything they had for people whose worlds would never be the same again.
Today, those disillusioned freaks hit us again. There's blood all over Boston, and there are emotional wounds that will never be healed. There's an 8-year-old boy who didn't see 9/11, but died as a result of a few idiots thinking that killing people in the name of their God is OK. There are runners in the marathon who may never run competitively again thanks to flashbacks of explosions near the finish line.
If you guys came up here to dick around and crack jokes, I suggest you leave. Because I'm in absolutely NO mood for any of that right now.”
Silence comes over the Manhattan rooftop. Bobby and Stevie are wide-eyed, realizing just now that their bumbling natures don't exactly fit this situation well.
Bobby: “We'll go inside and order some food, OK?”
A.C.: “That's fine. I'll be in in a little while. I think.”
Stevie: “Take as long as you need, boss.”
Bobby and Stevie begin to leave, but Stevie stops himself.
Stevie: “A.C.?”
A.C.: “Yeah?”
Stevie: “We're sorry. We didn't mean to...”
A.C.: (interrupting) “I know, I know. Me too.”
The trio exchange nods, realizing that it's best to forgive everything immediately and let the situation blow over. In time, A.C., Bobby, and Stevie will return to their wise-cracking selves, joking around and reminding everyone of their longstanding friendship. However, this isn't the time or the place for that.
We hear a door close, and Smith is now completely alone on the roof. He tees up another ball and addresses it, but something comes over him as he's about to take the club back and he's unable to swing at it.
He backs away, putting his club down and sitting down, Indian-style, on the concrete. It takes A.C. a moment to gather himself and find the words that he's looking for. We're used to seeing Smith as an extremely articulate, well-spoken man, so this struggle to synchronize his brain and his mouth in the face of his emotions is extremely strange to anyone watching on television.
After what seems like an eternity of silence and reflection, Smith's eyes tilt upward towards the camera. He locks in on the lens, and finally, he opens his mouth to speak.
A.C.: “Last week, I retained the APW Xtreme Championship. Last week, I found out that I'd be heading to South America to take part in a Champion's Ball match against two guys I know very well. This match coming up Thursday is a heck of a chance for me to make a statement, one that says I'm every bit the standard-bearer as Michael Callahan and Evan Harrison, two guys who have long been regarded as top-of-the-line talent in Action Packed Wrestling.
Now? Now, I'm questioning everything.”
Another pause, this one shorter than the last. Rather than stumble over his words, Smith takes a moment to make sure his mind is in the right place before continuing.
A.C.: “Things like what happened in Boston earlier today have a way of putting everything in perspective. They teach people whose priorities are mixed up what matters and what doesn't. I've long regarded myself as someone with a keen sense of that, but I admittedly got a shock to the system that I really needed.
Am I proud to go out in front of the best fans in the world and give them a show that few others can? Absolutely. Do I consider myself blessed to have been able to do that for the past 11 years? You bet your ass I do. But now, in a time where everyone from Boston to Los Angeles is on high alert? It sure seems like all of that doesn't matter nearly as much as it did even a few days ago.”
Smith looks around, out over the city he once helped protect as a member of the NYPD.
A.C.: “Growing up, I always wanted to be a cop. I saw way too many people I knew very well when I was in grade school turn to selling drugs, to living a life of violence, to running errands for crime bosses. I made it my mission to clean up the streets of neighborhoods like the one I grew up in, and for four years, that's exactly what I did.
Nothing came easy, and very little was painless. My file in the local hospital is as thick as a Manhattan phone book, and there's a reason for that. The guys I went after were all dangerous, all trained killers, and they tried to take me out on multiple occasions. But I'm still going strong, and them? Well, they're all in Sing-Sing, as far as I'm aware, and very few of them are getting out anytime soon.
What those policemen and firefighters did in Boston was nothing short of heroic. They dragged victims to ambulances, they supplied tourniquets for people whose limbs had been blown off in the blasts, and they provided valuable instructions to the populace of a city wondering when and where the next bomb was going to go off. Hell, there were some runners in the marathon who, after running over 26 miles, sprinted to help those in need. There were volunteers helping to distribute safety information and evacuate nearby buildings. There were TV crews providing any verifiable information they could, and as I speak, I have no doubt that there are newspaper writers hacking away at their computers, writing columns to run in tomorrow's Boston Globe or Boston Herald about how the city of Boston needs to show resilience in the face of an enemy that wants nothing more than for it to crumble.”
Another pause, as Smith regathers himself.
A.C.: “Those people? Those people are heroes, and they've come at a time where we desperately need them. The people making headlines right now are terrorists, jihadists whose sacred mission is to attack the United States, its citizens, and its strongholds around the world. But the people who SHOULD be making headlines are those that likely won't get any attention at all. And to them, I take this time right now and say one thing, from someone who's been through this before and knows your city is going to recover and be better than ever: Thank you.
Very rarely do I quote famous people. Generally, I think most of them tend to be pompous windbags who enjoy hearing the sounds of their own voices. But the guy we'd all do well to listen to right now is Mr. Rogers, who we all grew up with and learned valuable lessons from. The quote we're all hearing right now goes something like this.
'When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” To this day, especially in times of “disaster,” I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.'
As usual, the guy in the cardigan sweater we all thought we'd outgrown when our ages hit double-digits hit the nail on the head. There are people who have dropped everything to help those in need. Hell, there are people in Boston outright volunteering rooms in their own houses for people who need shelter in this time of tragedy.
We're going to get the people behind this. Believe that. And when our government finds those people who have supported the absent-minded killings of innocent bystanders, I sincerely hope that their punishment isn't the death penalty, but a swift kick in the groin by each resident of the city of Boston every morning, afternoon, and evening. Lord knows that's the LEAST they deserve.”
The famous A.C. Smith eye-roll reappears, although this time, it's for much different, more profound reasons. Yet again, this is a much different, more profound stance than any the Big Apple Asskicker has taken since arriving in Action Packed Wrestling almost a year ago, so it makes sense.
A.C.: “To Michael Callahan and Evan Envi, two worthy opponents with long lists of accomplishments in APW who are probably expecting some long-winded dissertation about how I'm better than they are and will prove it Thursday night on Overdrive: Yeah, you guys aren't getting that, in case you hadn't figured that out already. Sorry about that, but other things kind of took precedent.
Michael Callahan, you've surprised me. When you came to Overdrive, I was expecting an ignoramus who spouted virtues of the Republican Party that long ago stopped caring about the majority of the American people. Instead, you've changed, and I'm happy to see that it seems like Overdrive finally has a top-line champion it can be proud of after almost a year of having to hear Terry Marvin's rhetoric week-in and week-out.
Evan Harrison, you and I go way back, and I don't need to rehash that history here. Everyone who's followed wrestling in the last six or seven years, and yes, we've known each other THAT long, can attest to us having possibly the best rivalry in the business over that time period. You've beaten me some times, including on big stages. I've beaten you others, including on big stages. You and I were pretty much born to be rivals, and every time we lock up, something special happens.”
Smith stands up, rising to his full 6'8” height. He kicks each of his legs a couple of times to work out the kinks from sitting with his legs bent on such a hard surface, but once the stiffness, aches, and pains have been worked out, he grabs his 4-iron and refocuses on the camera.
A.C.: “If this match had happened last week, I'd have been telling you all about how this match was between three champions, but that only one would stand tall and that it would be me. What a difference a couple of days makes, right?
My eyes are on Thursday night's three-way in Colombia. My muscles are twitching for a match that will test all of my skills against two other guys that can really bring it. My competitive drive wants to win, to show anyone who doubts me that I'm every bit the competitor Michael Callahan and Evan Harrison are and that my four-month-long reign as the APW Xtreme Champion is no fluke.
But my heart? My heart is in New England, with the people that know all too well what it's REALLY like to get hit hard by an enemy. I don't know what I can do to help a situation that needs lots of it, but what I can tell you is that everything I give on Thursday night on Overdrive will be dedicated to those trying to bounce back from the same kind of attack I experienced 12 years ago.
Some might say I'm screwed heading into this match with Callahan and Harrison because of that. But I don't see it that way. I've always believed that one needs a sense of perspective, a realization of what matters and what doesn't, in order to get something done. It's no different here. Ever since those explosions happened, I've been looking for the helpers, and I've been looking for ways to do whatever I can to assist those in need. If I can do that by working my ass off trying to beat Michael Callahan and Evan Harrison Thursday night in Bogota? So be it.
It may sound weird as hell coming from a lifelong New Yorker. But Boston? This one's for you.”
One last time, Smith addresses a teed-up golf ball, spreads his feet, and attacks with his golf club. All the rage that was in his swing earlier has returned, and the ball hits the net with authority.
Smith gently puts down his golf club and walks off-screen. We hear a door open and close, and our scene slowly fades to black.
