Post by Seth on Jun 10, 2011 14:59:31 GMT -5
The screen is blank. Just blackness. Quietly, we hear Rick Mad's voice.
"I am a has been."
The blackness fades out, and a lockerroom fades in. Blue lockers run up and down the aisles. One man sits on one of the benches. He's wearing his classic wrestling attire: black jean shorts and a black tanktop with green outlining the edges. His long red hair is tied in a ponytail, and his goatee has grown a bit since the last time we saw him. He is Rick Mad himself.
Rick Mad: This is how we used to do things, Logan. Me, at a vaguely wrestling related scene, talking about my opponent and my upcoming match.
Rick sighs.
Rick Mad: But that isn't how things are anymore, is it? This isn't ten years ago. And I admit, today's scene isn't a scene I can excel in. But I have a lot to talk about, and perhaps this convoluted mess of things will endear me to the unenthused masses who have never heard my name.
When I was last in WCF... well you know what? I don't even remember. I've done a lot in this company the last few years. From my XIII deathmatch experience, to going insane at the hands of your buddy, Jack of Blades, to being both an ally and enemy of Torture.. I've done a lot.
But I walked away. Because I'm a has been.
I'm not lying to you and I'm not lying to myself. When I came out and attacked you... did the crowd even really care about me? No. Sure, I got a decent sized pop, but it fizzled. When I come out at Blast, will I get the ovation I used to get? No. There are new main eventers, there are fresh faces... THOSE are the guys worth caring about. I realize that.
Don't lie to YOURself about my "generation," though, Logan. You didn't leave us behind... we rejected you. Time after time, we rejected your presence and your existence. We didn't want you around, and you were never really one of us. You hated us, we hated you, and that suited both parties just fine.
Rick takes the towel off his head and looks into the camera, which really focuses on the passion behind his eyes.
Rick Mad: So its time I explain myself and how this return came to be. I sat at home for a year or so, not really doing too much of anything. The dream for a wrestler like me, you know? My body has held up pretty good. I kept in shape. I worked out. I drank a lot of beer, fucked up some relationships, I lived life. But then-
-oh, fuck it. I'm not special, I'm just the same as every other has been that comes back. I missed it. I missed the thrill of wrestling. You all know this story, its the same goddamn story every time. I won't waste my breath.
Once I had decided that I was ready to come back, I had to set some things in motion. I contacted some old friends, some likeminded individuals, and we decided that I might as well start right where I've always left off. The Face of Treachery himself. And you know what, that was just fine with me.
So I decided to mess with you a bit. The debuting star with a rap song, all that sillyness. I hired some jobber to throw you off. And why? For my own goddamn amusement. Just to see what would happen. This business makes you do some stupid shit.
Did I attack you with a steel chair? Yes. Did I do it with malice in my heart? Absolutely. But that is what this business DOES to you, Logan. I don't hate you! Of course I don't. I thought by this point you and I would be sitting on a back porch in Virginia or Pennsylvania sharing a beer and trading war stories. But that isn't how things worked out. We're soulmates, you and I, and you can say what you want now but you know its true. We're connected, no pun intended. Fate always leads me back to you. I just didn't think it would keep being this way.
So yes. I don't hate you. Do I trust in your decision making skills? Hell no, never did. Jason Kash? Shane Borderland? Questionable friends there, I'd say.
However, Logan, there is a catch, and you should already realize what it is going to be. I don't hate you now... but I WILL hate you. I'll hate you the moment I wake up on June 13th. And my hate will grow and grow until you and I come as close to killing each other as two man legally can in this country. I will satiate my hatred with your blood, and the loss of my own.
Because that is what this business does to you.
And I will be carried to the back on a stretcher, most likely. I might pass out. Somehow I'll make it back to my hotel room and I'll fall asleep.
I'll wake up the next morning, examine my injuries, and I won't hate you anymore. I'll wonder what you and I will say about all this once these two old bastards are worn out enough to give up, and we're sitting on that back porch.
Rick lowers his head, contemplating something or another, before looking up and continuing.
Rick Mad: Tonight is my first match wrestling in a long, long time. I'm at a local independent show. I respect you enough that I'm not going to step into the ring at Blast without having wrestled anybody in such a long time. I'm going to win tonight, obviously, but I'm going to take my time. I'm going to let this guy get some shots in, see how tough I am, make sure I can still go. And if I can't, learn my limitations.
And on June 13th, I'll be seeing you. You'll find out if I really am a joke or not. Because if I am, you're going to find that I'm the least goddamn funny joke you've ever heard.
Rick stands and quickly looks away from the camera, exiting the lockerroom and ready for the match, but to find out exactly what he's still made of... and what this business has done to him.
"I am a has been."
The blackness fades out, and a lockerroom fades in. Blue lockers run up and down the aisles. One man sits on one of the benches. He's wearing his classic wrestling attire: black jean shorts and a black tanktop with green outlining the edges. His long red hair is tied in a ponytail, and his goatee has grown a bit since the last time we saw him. He is Rick Mad himself.
Rick Mad: This is how we used to do things, Logan. Me, at a vaguely wrestling related scene, talking about my opponent and my upcoming match.
Rick sighs.
Rick Mad: But that isn't how things are anymore, is it? This isn't ten years ago. And I admit, today's scene isn't a scene I can excel in. But I have a lot to talk about, and perhaps this convoluted mess of things will endear me to the unenthused masses who have never heard my name.
When I was last in WCF... well you know what? I don't even remember. I've done a lot in this company the last few years. From my XIII deathmatch experience, to going insane at the hands of your buddy, Jack of Blades, to being both an ally and enemy of Torture.. I've done a lot.
But I walked away. Because I'm a has been.
I'm not lying to you and I'm not lying to myself. When I came out and attacked you... did the crowd even really care about me? No. Sure, I got a decent sized pop, but it fizzled. When I come out at Blast, will I get the ovation I used to get? No. There are new main eventers, there are fresh faces... THOSE are the guys worth caring about. I realize that.
Don't lie to YOURself about my "generation," though, Logan. You didn't leave us behind... we rejected you. Time after time, we rejected your presence and your existence. We didn't want you around, and you were never really one of us. You hated us, we hated you, and that suited both parties just fine.
Rick takes the towel off his head and looks into the camera, which really focuses on the passion behind his eyes.
Rick Mad: So its time I explain myself and how this return came to be. I sat at home for a year or so, not really doing too much of anything. The dream for a wrestler like me, you know? My body has held up pretty good. I kept in shape. I worked out. I drank a lot of beer, fucked up some relationships, I lived life. But then-
-oh, fuck it. I'm not special, I'm just the same as every other has been that comes back. I missed it. I missed the thrill of wrestling. You all know this story, its the same goddamn story every time. I won't waste my breath.
Once I had decided that I was ready to come back, I had to set some things in motion. I contacted some old friends, some likeminded individuals, and we decided that I might as well start right where I've always left off. The Face of Treachery himself. And you know what, that was just fine with me.
So I decided to mess with you a bit. The debuting star with a rap song, all that sillyness. I hired some jobber to throw you off. And why? For my own goddamn amusement. Just to see what would happen. This business makes you do some stupid shit.
Did I attack you with a steel chair? Yes. Did I do it with malice in my heart? Absolutely. But that is what this business DOES to you, Logan. I don't hate you! Of course I don't. I thought by this point you and I would be sitting on a back porch in Virginia or Pennsylvania sharing a beer and trading war stories. But that isn't how things worked out. We're soulmates, you and I, and you can say what you want now but you know its true. We're connected, no pun intended. Fate always leads me back to you. I just didn't think it would keep being this way.
So yes. I don't hate you. Do I trust in your decision making skills? Hell no, never did. Jason Kash? Shane Borderland? Questionable friends there, I'd say.
However, Logan, there is a catch, and you should already realize what it is going to be. I don't hate you now... but I WILL hate you. I'll hate you the moment I wake up on June 13th. And my hate will grow and grow until you and I come as close to killing each other as two man legally can in this country. I will satiate my hatred with your blood, and the loss of my own.
Because that is what this business does to you.
And I will be carried to the back on a stretcher, most likely. I might pass out. Somehow I'll make it back to my hotel room and I'll fall asleep.
I'll wake up the next morning, examine my injuries, and I won't hate you anymore. I'll wonder what you and I will say about all this once these two old bastards are worn out enough to give up, and we're sitting on that back porch.
Rick lowers his head, contemplating something or another, before looking up and continuing.
Rick Mad: Tonight is my first match wrestling in a long, long time. I'm at a local independent show. I respect you enough that I'm not going to step into the ring at Blast without having wrestled anybody in such a long time. I'm going to win tonight, obviously, but I'm going to take my time. I'm going to let this guy get some shots in, see how tough I am, make sure I can still go. And if I can't, learn my limitations.
And on June 13th, I'll be seeing you. You'll find out if I really am a joke or not. Because if I am, you're going to find that I'm the least goddamn funny joke you've ever heard.
Rick stands and quickly looks away from the camera, exiting the lockerroom and ready for the match, but to find out exactly what he's still made of... and what this business has done to him.
