Post by Johnny Rebel on May 20, 2011 15:11:13 GMT -4
[The scene opens to an open field where there are a group of college students playing football on a beautiful afternoon. The crisp air is refreshing after what seems to be months of non-stop rain. The sun is beginning to set and the breeze makes it just comfortable enough to be outside. We get a wide shot which covers a lot of ground and there is a man sitting alone watching the action on an old set of metal bleachers. We zoom in closer to see “Simply Put” Johnny Rebel, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs. He’s wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off; a pair of gloves are hanging out of his pocket.]
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Rebel: Competition. It’s a bit of a buzz word around here. It’s what drives us as alpha-males, the top dog, or whatever other analogy you want to use. Everybody wants to be at the top of his or her game. Nobody wants to be at the bottom rung, except for maybe Branden Harvey – I’m pretty convinced he enjoys losing.
[Rebel smirks.]
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Rebel: By definition, competition is a contest between individuals, groups, animals, etc. for a territory, a niche, or a location of resources. Taking two individuals and pitting them against each other for something of value. We could back to the beginning of time where we have man against evil shooting for control of the universe. Ready for your history lesson? When God created man and placed him the garden, there were simple rules. Do this and don’t do that. However, evil existed and was constantly battling good and doing whatever it had to do to sway man from the rules and laws of God. Do you see the struggle there? The competition that existed between the two? They were battling for dominion over the Earth between themselves. Going back since the beginning of time there has been struggle and strife to determine who was the best – and here we are, thousands of years later and we’re still fighting the same battles.
[He smirks at the lack of evolution in mankind.]
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Rebel: We still pit man against man. And why? Is because we’re barbaric by nature? Is it because we’ve got to prove that when we’re better than someone else by facing off in some kind of contest? By sheer definition, the idea of competition occurs naturally between living organisms, which co-exist in the same environment. For example, animals compete over water supplies, food, and mates, etc. Humans compete for water, food, and even mates – though when these basic life needs are met, deep rivalries arise over the pursuit of these worldly things – wealth, prestige, and fame. Those are all true of us, right? We can’t coexist amongst each other without naturally challenging one another to some kind of test. Since we naturally rise up and oppose each other, it seems only fitting that we have named this upcoming pay-per-view, Mayhem. Because essentially, that’s what we’ve created for ourselves: mayhem.
Is it true of us that we seek out those things? Who needs wealth? Certainly, not me. Every bit of a wealth I’ve ever had has been ripped from me in one way or another. Money? I’ve had it and it did nothing for me. My ex-wife drained my bank account as soon as she decided to make a run for it. Prestige? Had it. Overrated. We place value on things that have no value. I was labeled the “next big thing” and fulfilled that prediction for my career and where has it led me? I’ll tell you – back to the bottom of the barrel. Opening cards in small Australian towns against prime, excuse me if I can’t make it through this with a straight face, talent like “Supersonic” Branden Harvey, A.J. King and [coughs, trying to hold back a smile] Young Mannie. There is no prestige here, folks. I do what I have to do to earn my next paycheck and fill a void in my life for competition and move on to the next city to do it all over again. At some point, I suspect there will be a challenger worthy of my attention but until then I’ll continue to piss on the idea that this is bringing me any kind of prestige. And then there is even the idea of fame, which has long passed me by. I’m not interested in fame anymore. Again, I’ve had it and I don’t need it. I don’t need the approval of any of you. My name has been in lights – and again, where has it got me? Right back where I started. Competition? It’s not worth it.
[Rebel hops up from his bleacher seat and begins walking down to the open field where the football game is going on. He stands off to the side, observing for a few minutes when he is approached by one of the guys.]
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Football Guy #1: Care to join us?
Rebel: Oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t look…very…competitive.
Football Guy #1: I think you’ll be surprised.
[Rebel points to the guy’s waist where there is a belt with two flags hanging down on each side.]
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Rebel: Then what the hell are those?
Football Guy #1: We’re not trying to get hurt out here - just a friendly, yet competitive, game of flag football.
[He’s dumbfounded at the idea of playing football with flags dangling around your waist.]
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Rebel: What’s manly about other dudes grabbing around your junk while you’re trying to run down the field?
Football Guy #1: It’s not like that, man.
Rebel: What do you mean it’s not like that? This is Sally Talfourd’s dream job.
Football Guy #1: Isn’t she a former APW Undisputed Champion?
Rebel: Former. Her opponent probably fell asleep listening to her dribble on mindlessly for hours about absolutely nothing.
Football Guy #1: I take it you’re familiar with the APW, then?
Rebel: Fairly.
Football Guy #1: You don’t actually think you’re a wrestler, do you?
Rebel: I could be.
[The football drone yells to his buddies and motions for them to come over. They all gather around the two as the conversation continues.]
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FG#1: Get a load of this. This guy thinks he’s an APW megastar!
[Laughter ensues from the rest of the gang. It’s almost like a bad dream. Rebel is surrounded by a bunch of college students, pointing and laughing at the thought of Johnny Rebel being a true APW megastar.]
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Rebel: Yuck it up, boys.
[Rebel pulls out the two gloves out of his pocket that he was holding earlier and slides them on each hand.]
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Rebel: Time to saddle up. Let’s go. Give me one of those belts – do you have any that match my shorts?
[The laughter stops and the student that Rebel was having the conversation with shoves a belt in to Rebel’s chest. He runs it around his waste and tightens it, as he can’t contain the smirk on his face as he examines such an idea of “flag football.” He joins his respective team and lines up ready for the kickoff. The ball is kicked off in the air and the entire team, except Rebel, go shooting off down the field as a member of their team receives the kick and advances the ball. His flag is torn and the rest of the team walks back to where Rebel is slowly walking forward.]
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Rebel: Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t realize we were supposed to run. I didn’t know if they would mess up your nails.
[Rebel’s teammates grunt in anger. He realizes the figurative nails that are being run across the chalkboard. He is really starting to get under their skin.]
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Rebel: There sure are a ton of mixed signals here.
[The team again lines up and Rebel lines up wide at a receiver position. The quarterback snaps the ball as the players collide and receivers take off to run their routes and try to get open. Rebel is standing wide open, with the nearest defender something like 15 yards away. The quarterback refuses to look in his direction until absolutely necessary and in desperation heaves the ball in Rebel’s direction. Rebel makes an alligator figure with his arms and tries to catch the ball as it comes way. It slides right through his arms and bounces right off his chest and on to the ground. His teammates throw their hands in the air and disbelief.]
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FG#1: Real smooth.
FG#2: Nice hands, feet!
[The two football players high-five each other in delight. Rebel looks frustrated and heads back to the huddle. They break and head back to their respective positions and again the ball is snapped. Rebel again releases in his route and again is completely wide open. The quarterback is under pressure and his flag is pulled about five yards behind the line of scrimmage. Rebel stomps his feet on the ground and throws is hands up in the air as to say, “Give me the ball!”]
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Rebel: I was wide open!
FG#3: Sorry, didn’t see you.
Rebel: Whatever. Line up.
[Another play happens as Rebel’s team fails to get a first down and the ball is turned over; they are now on defense. Johnny lines up over the center, prepared to rush the quarterback, now played by FG#1.]
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Rebel: I’m going to eat your lunch.
FG#1: Yeah, like you caught those balls thrown directly at you?
Rebel: Not my fault. I haven’t had a lot of practice catching balls!
[The ball is snapped and Rebel fights through a block. He absolutely decimates the quarterback with a shoulder tackle right in the cut. He crumples to the ground.]
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Rebel: HELL YES!
[Rebel is jumping up and down with his hands in the air, celebrating. He’s looking for teammates to high-five but everyone is catering to the folded quarterback lying on the ground. Rebel, realizing that he’s just knocked the poop out of someone while playing flag football, takes off running. He’s chased for a while by the meatheads but eventually breaks free and finds safety in a little coffee shop. He orders a drink and sits down on a couch nearby; slowly catching his breath.]
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Rebel: [Using his arm to whipe sweat beads off his head] That was a close one.
[Rebel takes the top off his bottle of water and takes a drink.]
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Rebel: Did you see that, Blade? I was trying to tell you earlier what competition meant and I figured, “hey, maybe talk was cheap.” So, I thought I’d show you what it means to compete. Those guys who were prancing around wearing a belt with flags and no physical activity. It made me sick. I couldn’t take it anymore and head to lay that dude out. Did you catch a glimpse of the intensity? Did you see what it was like to have actual competition? Because all I’ve seen from you so far is – nothing. Silence. What’s the matter, Blade? Cat got your tongue? Afraid to speak? I’m not quite sure what’s happening here. To be competitive in this sport you have to step up and you can’t hide behind the wall forever. At some point you’re going to have to come out here and give it your best shot. I’m just not so sure you’ve got what it takes to do that.
[Rebel puts the lid on his water bottle and tosses it on the table.]
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Rebel: But you know, there is a downside to all this talk of competition. Let’s look at political elections. Do you know what that’s like, Blade? The competition is between two people, whom are both aspiring for one position. It gets ugly, sometimes even nasty. See sometimes the things that cut the deepest are words. It’s not the physical aspect of it that scares anyone. See, I can walk down to that ring and put you in your place physically. Toss you from ring post to ring post and walk away and you’ll probably forget about it next week. But if we’re really getting to the heart of the matter and we get to the point where it digs deep, that’s the kind of stuff that sticks with you. The phrase “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is rubbish. Bones will heal but those wounds on the inside won’t; and that’s where those elections are won. When the mud starts slinging and the dirt is dug up on you – chances are you’re going to run and hide. I think that’s what has happened here. You’re hiding somewhere and have absolutely nothing to say. This election is over and I’ve been voted the president.
[Rebel smirks.]
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Rebel: Or, what about arms races? Are you old enough to remember those, Blade? Are you even competent enough to comprehend the dangers that lay within those races? By definition an arms race is a competition between two or more parties for the best armed forces. In this case, we’ll single out the race to gain nuclear arms. It was a race between the Soviet Union and the United States. Who could get the upper hand? Both countries wanting to have the biggest and the most dangerous weapons. And who could get there first? That was the most important part of the challenge. Each side perceived that one had the upper leg on the other. At the end of the race, when the Soviet Union dissolved in to disarray and the Cold War ended, the tensions decreased and the nuclear arsenal of both countries were reduced. I promise you, Blade, that the same ending won’t happen here. If this is a race, I’m so far ahead of you; you can’t even see the dust that I kicked on my way out of the gates.
You had your chance to show that you could keep up. You had every chance to show that maybe, just maybe, you could compete. You dropped the ball. If this is our own personal arms race, I’ve already reached nuclear capacity. At Mayhem, I’m going to show you. I’m going to drop that bomb on you and watch you scatter off like a rat in the sewer. You could put all your effort in to reaching my level but without a doubt, you’d still come up short. Eventually you’d cave and eventually you’d have nothing left. I’m simply on another level.
[Rebel uses his hands to physically show the next level. He smiles and continues on.]
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Rebel: Or my favorite type of competition: substitute or indirect competition. This is an economic concept, which I know is above you blade, so perk up while I teach you a lesson. This is where products which are close substitutes for one another compete. For example, when you’re doing your grocery shopping and you’re pushing your little buggy around trying to find out what you’re going to eat for the next several weeks and you come to the refrigerated section. The substitute for butter is margarine. Do you see the competitive spirit there? Butter is the original. Since the beginning of time, you’ve used butter. It’s what your dear mother spread over your bread or your biscuits. And then came this substitute. Margarine. Fake butter. It’s disgusting. It’s nothing like the real thing. You’re sitting around the dinner table on Saturday evening and having yourself a biscuit with your nice dinner and you spread the fake stuff all over it. Yuck. It’s crap. See, that’s kind of like where we are, Blade. I’m the original. The real thing. I’ve been doing this longer than you could ever imagine. Then all of the sudden comes this thing that is trying to be the substitute for the real thing. That’s you, Blade. You’re the margarine in this story. You’re sitting all by yourself on the shelf because nobody wants you. They aren’t buying what you’re selling. I’m the original and you’re the fake knock-off.
[He smiles.]
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Rebel: I can’t make it any clearer, Blade. I’ve educated you as best I can. Hopefully, you were paying attention to the lesson.
[Rebel stands up on the chair in the middle of the coffee shop as people around him start to look at him nervously.]
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Rebel: Because at Mayhem, I’m going to win. It’s going to be my hand in the air. Johnny Rebel will be 4-0 and you’ll still be wondering why on Earth you decided to give this a second run. Because I’m Johnny Rebel….
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Teenager: …and he’s awesome!
[Rebel shoots him a glare as to say, “what in the world?”]
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Rebel: No. Well, yes? Now I’m confused.
[The crowd laughs at Rebel’s ineptitude.]
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Rebel: See you at Mayhem, Blade. That, my friend, is…
#SIMPLY
#F’N
#PUT!
[Rebel steps down from his perch and walks out of the coffee shop. The camera fades to black with the words “Simply F’N Put” in white lettering.]
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