#Enter#
[A typical mid-90s day in the busy city of Phoenix, Arizona. A moderately sized apartment complex, is off in the near distance. Not too much excitement or sign of disturbance is in the atmosphere, other than a few tenants walking their dogs across parts of the lawn.]
#ZOOM#
[Our camera turns just in time to catch glimpse of a speeding Silver 2000 Toyota Corolla, passing by. As the car passes out of sight, we are taken into the passengers seat looking directly at the driver. The young Maurice Thompson drives, black sunglasses, a loose white t-shirt, and black training shorts, with matching knee pads. He looks down at the clock on his radio.]
Thompson: Four-Thirty? I'm already ten minutes late…
["Messiah" from Dead Celebrity Status plays from Thompson's self installed CD player. He continues speeding along the road, in an obvious hurry to reach his destination. From the looks of his previously stated attire, it looks as if he is on his way to a training session. His body language reads anxiety as he gets stuck behind a line at a stop light. Maurice taps his right thumb and index finger on the steering wheel either to the beat of the music or in an attempt to hurry along the light.]
[His patience wears thin as another thirty seconds pass with no change in the light. Thompson huffs before leaning back in his chair with disgust. His right hand raises, quickly brushing across his forehead. Maurice begins driving after another few pain staking moments. He reaches his right hand down, seemingly to change the song, as "Somebody Turn The Lights Out" another song from Dead Celebrity Status rings through his car.]
Thompson: Blood and Mike are going to kill me…
[We now are looking out of the front windshield in time to see Maurice make a sharp left turn. He continues speeding through the streets, luckily for him the Vision Quest Gym isn't located near the busier parts of the city. After another right turn Maurice begins to slow down as our view shifts to outside his Corolla. The Vision Quest Gym is very modest, nothing more than a garage. While in good shape without any noticeable rust, cracks, or major defects. A plane white sign with black lettering reads, "Vision Quest Gym" over the front door. Again, nothing that is visually stimulating, just a plain looking garage building.]
[Our focus changes back to the Corolla, our first good look at the vehicle. A single scratch is visible just below the rear view window on the drivers side. Thompson abruptly pounces out of the car, slamming the door shut behind them. He jogs towards the front door in a hurried fashion. Thompson rushes through the door, to his surprise "The Amazing" Cold Blood and "Storm Warrior" Michael Navarro standing in front of the ring with their arms folded. They simply glare towards Maurice before Cold Blood turns towards his tag team partner.]
Blood: I'll let you take care of this…
[Cold Blood walks out of sight, Navarro stands still…glaring…piercing a hole through one of his protégées. In the distance we hear a door slam shut, almost simultaneously Navarro marches directly towards Thompson getting right into his face.]
Navarro: How Dare You Disrespect My Gym!? Waste _MY Time! Waste Blood's Time! All This _AFTER_ You Wrestle The Worst Damn Match You Could Have Against That Fucking Bigot!
DO YOU NOT HAVE ANY SELF RESPECT?!?!?!?!!
[Silence drops between the two. Thompson stands there, taking the verbal lashing. His hands placed firmly on his hips, while his head hangs slightly. Navarro stares straight where Thompson's eyes would be if he were looking his mentor in the eye.]
Navarro: What Did I Tell You About Hanging Your Head?! Take Those Damn Sunglasses Off And Look Me In The Eye Like A Man!
[Thompson stands still, not moving an inch.]
Navarro: LOOK AT ME LIKE A HIDATSA WARRIOR!! OR ARE YOU NOT EVEN THAT?!?!
[Upon hearing those words Thompson immediately whips off his sunglasses, throwing them to the ground. His eyes burn with passion as Navarro glares directly back at him.]
Navarro: So that's what it takes to get that look in your eyes Maurice? Where was that when you were standing across from Beckson!? He _IS_ EVERYTHING WE STAND AGAINST!!
HOW DARE YOU SHOW UP LATE AFTER YOU DIDN'T EVEN GIVE YOUR BEST EFFORT AGAINST THAT PIECE OF SHIT?!?!
DO YOU ENJOY BEING LOOKED DOWN ON!?!
DO YOU ENJOY HAVING COLD BLOOD AND I BEING LOOKED DOWN ON!?!
DO YOU ENJOY A RACIST PIECE OF SHIT LOOKING DOWN ON YOUR PARENTS!?!?
[Thompson shakes his head slowly.]
Navarro: I Didn't Think So! There's Nothing And I Mean _ NOTHING_ That Can Be Done About It Right Now! When The Time Comes Again You Had Better Show Some Spirit When You're Standing Across From Beckson…
[Navarro calms down slightly. He takes a step back, keeping both eyes focused on Thompson.]
Navarro: You have to worry about the present. We both know you have Leon Corella waiting to tear you apart, wanting to prove that you pinning him was a joke…Quite frankly, if you follow this recent pattern of not being dedicated..
He's absolutely right!
I don't think you winning that match was a fluke…Do you think so Maurice?
[Maurice slowly shakes his head once more.]
Navarro: It can't feel good knowing someone is doubting you. Maurice, I want you to look directly in that camera and tell Leon Corella _EXACTLY_ What You're Thinking!
[Navarro steps away from Thompson. Maurice's eyes are intense, his breathing is rapid, his body language reads of disappointment and determination. He simply stares at the camera, allowing you to read all the emotion running through his body.]
Thompson: Corella, I don't even know where I should start. It's hard to take you seriously, since I've accomplished more in three months of my career than you have in thirteen years! Who are _YOU_ to say you will break me?! You already had one opportunity to prove yourself in the ring against me, but you came up short. Instead of admitting your defeat, you decide to make excuses just like Beckson has done with his whole life!
[Thompson continues starring forward, the emotion still seeping from his eyes.]
Thompson: He Blames Anyone Who Isn't White For Ruining The Planet! He Can't Come To Terms With The Fact That He Just Isn't Good Enough To Accomplish Anything In His Life! He Defeated Me Once, But I Stand Here Today And Promise That Will Never Happen Again!
[Thompson slaps his chest, the sound echoes through the gym. A dull imprint of his hand remains on his chest. His voice lowers slightly as points at the camera.]
Thompson: What's your excuse Corella? Are you that ashamed of your past that you will do anything in DCWL to rectify your career? Is this some kind of game to you? Your words mean nothing to me Corella, the only thing that is of any worth to me is how you show yourself in the ring. I've done my homework, and you haven't been impressive until you stepped into the DCWL. Even then, it still wasn't enough for you to defeat me.
[Thompson pauses slightly as his breathing calms down.]
Thompson: I am going to defeat you again Corella, there's no doubt in my mind. You will painfully learn that Leon Corella…
Will _NEVER_ Defeat A Hidatsa Warrior!
[The Scene Fades.]
[Within the DCWL Sportscenter studio awaits a most incredible sight, for standing besides investigative reporter Dan Clear is a huge mountain of a man; a hairy mountain that's all beefy and smiles! Our very first look at what is the American Freebear: big and imposing, not to mention impatient over showing us his talent, the Freebear came to the show with only a XXXL flight jacket over his wrestling singlet: red, white and blue like the colors of our country!]
Dan: Dear Lord, what a man, what a bear of a man do I have for you tonight! Wrestling for a tryout in the DCWL, he stands six feet four inches tall, weighs 338 pounds and comes to us as a highly regarded champion of the Mid-South region! Fans I've seen this man in action, he totally DEMOLISHES everything in his way: he claws his foes, mauls his opponents... Before climbing up to the top to unleash his INCREDIBLE finisher!
[The American Freebear remains all smiles and beards. Hirsute hair flowing all around as meaty hamhock-sized paws press over the reporter's desk, eyes shining with a wild glimmer (maybe a hint of Seminole blood inside the big Floridian?)! And that beard... That ungodly beard running around the Freebear's face without a care in the world! This giant of a man stands there and remains all smiles.]
Dan: The Bear Force One, flying moonsault from the top rope!! Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you... THE AMERICAN FREEBEAR!
[Finally, the big man speaks.]
Freebear: It's an honor to come to the DCWL, Dan. Let me just say, I'm looking around the world and noticin' how all the wrestlers goin' around have SHRUNK. They now talk about their technical skills, their "workrate", their knowledge and work ethic inside the ring. That's all real nice. That's quaint, even. But lemme tell you: wrestling is, and has always been... about POWER.
[Hands slam across the desk, making the whole thing rumble!]
Freebear: Leaving carnage and destruction wherever you go, breaking things up with the power of your fist, strike the ground with the impact of a space-born meteor... By Golly, this is what the fans paid to see!!! And the American Freebear gladly obliges. When I step inside the ring, people gasp as my opponents tremble in fear. Somewhere in the pit of their belly, realization sets in about how they ain't gonna exit the ring in one piece. Look at me Big Nasty: they ain't gonna find enough of you to fill a CHAMPAGNE GLASS!!! They call it a tryout match against the giant 7 footer at Overdrawn at the Memory Bank on October 14th... But he ain't no one-man demolition crew like I am... He ain't the only bear that flies.
[The smiles grows larger still as Dan Clear seems to fade entirely away from view: camera with a full close-up on Freebear's pearly whites. Beady little eyes peer through the tangle of chestnut-colored hair coming down his brow, shining in anticipation at the single-minded slaughter to follow!]
Freebear: Big Nasty, seven feet tall, real impressive! What have you done with all those feet, Big Nasty? Dunk some ball into a tiny little net over the ground? Oh that's rich Big Nasty, that's frikkin HIGH-LARIOUS!!! You wanna do wrestling like the big boys, try a little football like your's truly. Get a reputation for bone-crunching tackles, cutting off little runners at the pass, destroy everything in your way!!
[He pauses, shaking his head.]
Freebear: It's slow and plodding and I didn't like it one bit. I don't regret my time on the gridiron, but you get tired of grinding through the mud for a couple of hours. I tried wrestling later on and let me tell you that the first time I lept from the top rope trying to do that moonsault was the happiest moment in my life!!! I learned I wouldn't have to go through life mucking about in the mud, trudging every step of the way... I had the option to go above all this misery in the world and fly as free as a bird... Or at least like a bear, in my case! Big Nasty, when we face each other in the ring, you ain't just taking on another heavy, you are taking on someone who tasted the sweet bliss of soaring effortlessly across the sky... Before crushing everything underneath!
Dan: Ladies and Gentlemen, the latest superstar to be hired by the DCWL, the Flyin' Ursine, the one of a kind AMERICAN FREEBEAR!!!
[The camera suddenly turned towards Dan Clear, so that he might have his lion share of the spotlight. The American Freebear is not amused. He snaps the microphone from Dan and angrily speaking into it, points directly at the camera to directly address his opponent of the night!]
Freebear: I'm the American Freebear, the only bear that flies. I come from a background of crushing people into the mud. I love to fly inside the ring and across the world. I float like a butterfly and swing like a MONSTER TRUCK. I like Lynard Skynard and the Seminoles at Florida State U. I'm here in DCWL, bringing power games BACK into the wrestling ring! And like the song goes... This bear you cannot change!!!
[The Freebear casually drops the microphone into Dan Clear's hands as we fade to black.]
*Clap*
*Clap*
*Clap*
[The scene opens to a clapping Mike Anderson. The cocky smirk spread across his face shows that the claps are not sincere, but mocking. The young DCWL superstar in decked out in a white suit, white shirt, pink tie and white leather shoes. A watch dripping with diamonds hangs from his left wrist, while a single big diamond ring fits snug on his pinkie finger. Anderson slowly stops clapping then pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head.]
MA: Congratulations Max Turbo. [sneers] Congratulations on making everything I said a reality. Thank you for proving that what Mike Anderson says-is gospel.
[ Anderson nods in satisfaction. The cocky sneer still on his face.]
MA: I told everyone that your were nothing more then a side show, Max. I told the people that your circus act and 80's wannabe charade, was nothing more then smoke and mirrors to hide the fact that underneath it all… you were nothing but a talent less piece of trash.
I also told the people I had no desire to win a title that was around your waist, for the simple fact that if an imbecile like you could win it [shrugs] It wasn't worth the leather that piece of tin was strapped too. But you fixed that yourself didn't you Max Turbo..
[smirks]
Mario Speedwagon?
[Mike Anderson begins to laugh. One that oozes smugness. One of those smart ass laughs, where just want to grab the guy and put his face through a wall. Anderson pretends to get his composure back before continuing.]
MA: I mean seriously Max, how can you look at yourself in the mirror after being beat by a guy like that? Not only beat Max… [shakes head] but dominated by a punk who couldn't tie my boots let alone defeat me for a title.
[smirk]
Did I get into your head last week Max?
Is that the excuse you are going to use for that pathetic defeat?
[spits]
MA: Well you can use whatever excuse you want Turbo, but at the end of the day it's not going to matter. It's not going to matter because the losing streak your on is going to continue. The humiliation you felt after that defeat is going to be two fold after I am done embarrassing you in the middle of that ring!
[Mike tugs at his suit jacket and straightens his tie. Obviously not wanting to lose his composure and sweat in his expensive suit. That cocky smirk creeps back across his face.]
MA: You see Max; you're my stepping stone to the elite of DCWL. Once I defeat the former Dangerous champion, then nobody can pretend any longer that Mike Anderson doesn't exist. Once I put your shoulders to the mat for the three, Max Turbo, then everybody will have to be very aware that whether they like it or not, Mike Anderson will be their next champion.
The difference between you and me is Max, what I say I'm going to do- I go out and do it. The promises I make, I come through on. You can brag about you being the former Dangerous champion Max Turbo, but let's get one thing perfectly clear for everyone. The only thing 'Dangerous' about you Max Turbo…
Was the title of the belt that YOU LOST to a flash in the pan has-been Mario Speedwagon.
And here's something you can sleep on and try to figure out Max…
[dead pan]
If Mario Speedwagon did that to you…
[close up of Anderson 's snarling face.]
Then just imagine what I'm going to do.
[FTB]
[He steps onto the screen, a golden sledgehammer with a black lacquered handle propped upon a sweat drenched shoulder and firmly clenched within the confines of a taped fist. It was Leon Corella, decked out in full ring attire, standing in the middle of a dimly lit concrete room with a dangerous, psychotic grin decorating his face.]
Corella- You know, Native, I watched your little publicity video on the public forum... All your little steps like Prepare for the Upcoming war...
[...With his free hand he began counting them off one finger at a time with his free hand...]
Learn from the past.... Prove that Dumb Luck Doesn't exist...
[...He stopped there and dropped the hand...]
You skipped the real first step Maurice...
[Sliding the hammer across the back of his neck Corella rests those taped wrists upon the head and butt of the rich man's brick smasher...]
...You have to beat me to get to Beckson, and while I'm not too thrilled to have a white supremacist as champion...
[...He shrugs his shoulders a bit, a dismissive look briefly flashing across his face...]
... them's the breaks. It'll just make it all that much sweeter when it's my turn in the bucket against him.
[...taking the hammer off his shoulders he props the butt upon the floor, leaning upon the head of the weapon as if it were a cane...]
...but make no mistake, Native, you're going to be put through the biggest ringer of you career to get that opportunity against him. When you faced me at Fast Cars, Danger, Knives, and Fire, you were facing a man spent and beaten down after eliminating four other competitors almost single handledly...
[...He leans forward on that sledgehammer...]
...I paved the way and you got an easy victory Maurice, and what happened?
[...A disgusted sneer creases his lips and furrows his brow...]
...You took the opportunity to write your name in legend and BLEW IT!!! and It's because you blew your shot...
[...He points an accusatory finger at the camera now...]
...That we have a fucking Anarchistic Nazi douchebag as our champion. It is because of your failure, that I fully intend to make your night as brutal, painful, and bloody as I am capable of.
[...Slowly the finger lowers, Corella hiking the hammer up into his hand and stepping directly towards the camera, his face an intense, angry scowl that would wither even the most steel-willed competitor.]
...Your loss not only cost you an opportunity handed up to you on a silver platter, but it brought shame upon the house of DCWL and the Grand Championship. You're supposed to be this badass anti-racism warrior, and yet when faced with your polar opposite, you folded like a cheap deck of cards and lost the battle.
[...He spits upon the ground at the camera with disdain...]
...You allowed this to happen, and had I the same opportunity you were so graciously given by the grace of good timing, and great fortune, there would be a good chance that Julian Beckson would be still be recovering from a crushing and painful defeat at my hands, and I would have in my hands that which is rightfully mine....
[...Corella now held the sledgehammer with both hands before him, as a warrior would during some sort of ceremony, that intense scowl never dying even in the slightest...]
...The DCWL Grand... Champion...ship....
[...His eyes close and he presses his forehead against the lacquered handle of the hammer...]
...I will cleanse the DCWL of this stain, but first, I have to begin with the man who let it happen...
[...After a few short seconds of him standing there, he slowly lowers the gold hammer, his eyes flicking open to look back into the camera once more...]
...Prepare yourself, Native. Prepare for the war of a lifetime, because I'm bringing everything that I have into this fight and I'm going to make damn sure you don't walk out of that ring under your own power. I do this, not because I'm white and your black. I do this not because you're different than me....
[...He smirks...]
...I do this not with the spirit of oppression or because I'm...
[...Corella throws up his hands, giving a qoutation gesture...]
"Tha' Man out to get you, Brotha'"
[...Those hands slowly lower and his head tilts back, looking down upon the camera as if it were something seemingly beneath him...]
...but because you made a mockery out of me by not defeating Beckson. You made a mockery out of every man who you have beaten, by losing such a great prize to such a worthless human being. It is because of this, that I will make you suffer....
[...It was on that very note that Corella rears that hammer back, and brought it crashing down on the camera. The scene instantly goes to static and fades to black...]
e-mail: dcwlwrestling@yahoo.com
http://dangerouswrestling.blogspot.com
http://dangerouswrestling.proboards.com
[A typical mid-90s day in the busy city of Phoenix, Arizona. A moderately sized apartment complex, is off in the near distance. Not too much excitement or sign of disturbance is in the atmosphere, other than a few tenants walking their dogs across parts of the lawn.]
#ZOOM#
[Our camera turns just in time to catch glimpse of a speeding Silver 2000 Toyota Corolla, passing by. As the car passes out of sight, we are taken into the passengers seat looking directly at the driver. The young Maurice Thompson drives, black sunglasses, a loose white t-shirt, and black training shorts, with matching knee pads. He looks down at the clock on his radio.]
Thompson: Four-Thirty? I'm already ten minutes late…
["Messiah" from Dead Celebrity Status plays from Thompson's self installed CD player. He continues speeding along the road, in an obvious hurry to reach his destination. From the looks of his previously stated attire, it looks as if he is on his way to a training session. His body language reads anxiety as he gets stuck behind a line at a stop light. Maurice taps his right thumb and index finger on the steering wheel either to the beat of the music or in an attempt to hurry along the light.]
[His patience wears thin as another thirty seconds pass with no change in the light. Thompson huffs before leaning back in his chair with disgust. His right hand raises, quickly brushing across his forehead. Maurice begins driving after another few pain staking moments. He reaches his right hand down, seemingly to change the song, as "Somebody Turn The Lights Out" another song from Dead Celebrity Status rings through his car.]
Thompson: Blood and Mike are going to kill me…
[We now are looking out of the front windshield in time to see Maurice make a sharp left turn. He continues speeding through the streets, luckily for him the Vision Quest Gym isn't located near the busier parts of the city. After another right turn Maurice begins to slow down as our view shifts to outside his Corolla. The Vision Quest Gym is very modest, nothing more than a garage. While in good shape without any noticeable rust, cracks, or major defects. A plane white sign with black lettering reads, "Vision Quest Gym" over the front door. Again, nothing that is visually stimulating, just a plain looking garage building.]
[Our focus changes back to the Corolla, our first good look at the vehicle. A single scratch is visible just below the rear view window on the drivers side. Thompson abruptly pounces out of the car, slamming the door shut behind them. He jogs towards the front door in a hurried fashion. Thompson rushes through the door, to his surprise "The Amazing" Cold Blood and "Storm Warrior" Michael Navarro standing in front of the ring with their arms folded. They simply glare towards Maurice before Cold Blood turns towards his tag team partner.]
Blood: I'll let you take care of this…
[Cold Blood walks out of sight, Navarro stands still…glaring…piercing a hole through one of his protégées. In the distance we hear a door slam shut, almost simultaneously Navarro marches directly towards Thompson getting right into his face.]
Navarro: How Dare You Disrespect My Gym!? Waste _MY Time! Waste Blood's Time! All This _AFTER_ You Wrestle The Worst Damn Match You Could Have Against That Fucking Bigot!
DO YOU NOT HAVE ANY SELF RESPECT?!?!?!?!!
[Silence drops between the two. Thompson stands there, taking the verbal lashing. His hands placed firmly on his hips, while his head hangs slightly. Navarro stares straight where Thompson's eyes would be if he were looking his mentor in the eye.]
Navarro: What Did I Tell You About Hanging Your Head?! Take Those Damn Sunglasses Off And Look Me In The Eye Like A Man!
[Thompson stands still, not moving an inch.]
Navarro: LOOK AT ME LIKE A HIDATSA WARRIOR!! OR ARE YOU NOT EVEN THAT?!?!
[Upon hearing those words Thompson immediately whips off his sunglasses, throwing them to the ground. His eyes burn with passion as Navarro glares directly back at him.]
Navarro: So that's what it takes to get that look in your eyes Maurice? Where was that when you were standing across from Beckson!? He _IS_ EVERYTHING WE STAND AGAINST!!
HOW DARE YOU SHOW UP LATE AFTER YOU DIDN'T EVEN GIVE YOUR BEST EFFORT AGAINST THAT PIECE OF SHIT?!?!
DO YOU ENJOY BEING LOOKED DOWN ON!?!
DO YOU ENJOY HAVING COLD BLOOD AND I BEING LOOKED DOWN ON!?!
DO YOU ENJOY A RACIST PIECE OF SHIT LOOKING DOWN ON YOUR PARENTS!?!?
[Thompson shakes his head slowly.]
Navarro: I Didn't Think So! There's Nothing And I Mean _ NOTHING_ That Can Be Done About It Right Now! When The Time Comes Again You Had Better Show Some Spirit When You're Standing Across From Beckson…
[Navarro calms down slightly. He takes a step back, keeping both eyes focused on Thompson.]
Navarro: You have to worry about the present. We both know you have Leon Corella waiting to tear you apart, wanting to prove that you pinning him was a joke…Quite frankly, if you follow this recent pattern of not being dedicated..
He's absolutely right!
I don't think you winning that match was a fluke…Do you think so Maurice?
[Maurice slowly shakes his head once more.]
Navarro: It can't feel good knowing someone is doubting you. Maurice, I want you to look directly in that camera and tell Leon Corella _EXACTLY_ What You're Thinking!
[Navarro steps away from Thompson. Maurice's eyes are intense, his breathing is rapid, his body language reads of disappointment and determination. He simply stares at the camera, allowing you to read all the emotion running through his body.]
Thompson: Corella, I don't even know where I should start. It's hard to take you seriously, since I've accomplished more in three months of my career than you have in thirteen years! Who are _YOU_ to say you will break me?! You already had one opportunity to prove yourself in the ring against me, but you came up short. Instead of admitting your defeat, you decide to make excuses just like Beckson has done with his whole life!
[Thompson continues starring forward, the emotion still seeping from his eyes.]
Thompson: He Blames Anyone Who Isn't White For Ruining The Planet! He Can't Come To Terms With The Fact That He Just Isn't Good Enough To Accomplish Anything In His Life! He Defeated Me Once, But I Stand Here Today And Promise That Will Never Happen Again!
[Thompson slaps his chest, the sound echoes through the gym. A dull imprint of his hand remains on his chest. His voice lowers slightly as points at the camera.]
Thompson: What's your excuse Corella? Are you that ashamed of your past that you will do anything in DCWL to rectify your career? Is this some kind of game to you? Your words mean nothing to me Corella, the only thing that is of any worth to me is how you show yourself in the ring. I've done my homework, and you haven't been impressive until you stepped into the DCWL. Even then, it still wasn't enough for you to defeat me.
[Thompson pauses slightly as his breathing calms down.]
Thompson: I am going to defeat you again Corella, there's no doubt in my mind. You will painfully learn that Leon Corella…
Will _NEVER_ Defeat A Hidatsa Warrior!
[The Scene Fades.]
[Within the DCWL Sportscenter studio awaits a most incredible sight, for standing besides investigative reporter Dan Clear is a huge mountain of a man; a hairy mountain that's all beefy and smiles! Our very first look at what is the American Freebear: big and imposing, not to mention impatient over showing us his talent, the Freebear came to the show with only a XXXL flight jacket over his wrestling singlet: red, white and blue like the colors of our country!]
Dan: Dear Lord, what a man, what a bear of a man do I have for you tonight! Wrestling for a tryout in the DCWL, he stands six feet four inches tall, weighs 338 pounds and comes to us as a highly regarded champion of the Mid-South region! Fans I've seen this man in action, he totally DEMOLISHES everything in his way: he claws his foes, mauls his opponents... Before climbing up to the top to unleash his INCREDIBLE finisher!
[The American Freebear remains all smiles and beards. Hirsute hair flowing all around as meaty hamhock-sized paws press over the reporter's desk, eyes shining with a wild glimmer (maybe a hint of Seminole blood inside the big Floridian?)! And that beard... That ungodly beard running around the Freebear's face without a care in the world! This giant of a man stands there and remains all smiles.]
Dan: The Bear Force One, flying moonsault from the top rope!! Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you... THE AMERICAN FREEBEAR!
[Finally, the big man speaks.]
Freebear: It's an honor to come to the DCWL, Dan. Let me just say, I'm looking around the world and noticin' how all the wrestlers goin' around have SHRUNK. They now talk about their technical skills, their "workrate", their knowledge and work ethic inside the ring. That's all real nice. That's quaint, even. But lemme tell you: wrestling is, and has always been... about POWER.
[Hands slam across the desk, making the whole thing rumble!]
Freebear: Leaving carnage and destruction wherever you go, breaking things up with the power of your fist, strike the ground with the impact of a space-born meteor... By Golly, this is what the fans paid to see!!! And the American Freebear gladly obliges. When I step inside the ring, people gasp as my opponents tremble in fear. Somewhere in the pit of their belly, realization sets in about how they ain't gonna exit the ring in one piece. Look at me Big Nasty: they ain't gonna find enough of you to fill a CHAMPAGNE GLASS!!! They call it a tryout match against the giant 7 footer at Overdrawn at the Memory Bank on October 14th... But he ain't no one-man demolition crew like I am... He ain't the only bear that flies.
[The smiles grows larger still as Dan Clear seems to fade entirely away from view: camera with a full close-up on Freebear's pearly whites. Beady little eyes peer through the tangle of chestnut-colored hair coming down his brow, shining in anticipation at the single-minded slaughter to follow!]
Freebear: Big Nasty, seven feet tall, real impressive! What have you done with all those feet, Big Nasty? Dunk some ball into a tiny little net over the ground? Oh that's rich Big Nasty, that's frikkin HIGH-LARIOUS!!! You wanna do wrestling like the big boys, try a little football like your's truly. Get a reputation for bone-crunching tackles, cutting off little runners at the pass, destroy everything in your way!!
[He pauses, shaking his head.]
Freebear: It's slow and plodding and I didn't like it one bit. I don't regret my time on the gridiron, but you get tired of grinding through the mud for a couple of hours. I tried wrestling later on and let me tell you that the first time I lept from the top rope trying to do that moonsault was the happiest moment in my life!!! I learned I wouldn't have to go through life mucking about in the mud, trudging every step of the way... I had the option to go above all this misery in the world and fly as free as a bird... Or at least like a bear, in my case! Big Nasty, when we face each other in the ring, you ain't just taking on another heavy, you are taking on someone who tasted the sweet bliss of soaring effortlessly across the sky... Before crushing everything underneath!
Dan: Ladies and Gentlemen, the latest superstar to be hired by the DCWL, the Flyin' Ursine, the one of a kind AMERICAN FREEBEAR!!!
[The camera suddenly turned towards Dan Clear, so that he might have his lion share of the spotlight. The American Freebear is not amused. He snaps the microphone from Dan and angrily speaking into it, points directly at the camera to directly address his opponent of the night!]
Freebear: I'm the American Freebear, the only bear that flies. I come from a background of crushing people into the mud. I love to fly inside the ring and across the world. I float like a butterfly and swing like a MONSTER TRUCK. I like Lynard Skynard and the Seminoles at Florida State U. I'm here in DCWL, bringing power games BACK into the wrestling ring! And like the song goes... This bear you cannot change!!!
[The Freebear casually drops the microphone into Dan Clear's hands as we fade to black.]
*Clap*
*Clap*
*Clap*
[The scene opens to a clapping Mike Anderson. The cocky smirk spread across his face shows that the claps are not sincere, but mocking. The young DCWL superstar in decked out in a white suit, white shirt, pink tie and white leather shoes. A watch dripping with diamonds hangs from his left wrist, while a single big diamond ring fits snug on his pinkie finger. Anderson slowly stops clapping then pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head.]
MA: Congratulations Max Turbo. [sneers] Congratulations on making everything I said a reality. Thank you for proving that what Mike Anderson says-is gospel.
[ Anderson nods in satisfaction. The cocky sneer still on his face.]
MA: I told everyone that your were nothing more then a side show, Max. I told the people that your circus act and 80's wannabe charade, was nothing more then smoke and mirrors to hide the fact that underneath it all… you were nothing but a talent less piece of trash.
I also told the people I had no desire to win a title that was around your waist, for the simple fact that if an imbecile like you could win it [shrugs] It wasn't worth the leather that piece of tin was strapped too. But you fixed that yourself didn't you Max Turbo..
[smirks]
Mario Speedwagon?
[Mike Anderson begins to laugh. One that oozes smugness. One of those smart ass laughs, where just want to grab the guy and put his face through a wall. Anderson pretends to get his composure back before continuing.]
MA: I mean seriously Max, how can you look at yourself in the mirror after being beat by a guy like that? Not only beat Max… [shakes head] but dominated by a punk who couldn't tie my boots let alone defeat me for a title.
[smirk]
Did I get into your head last week Max?
Is that the excuse you are going to use for that pathetic defeat?
[spits]
MA: Well you can use whatever excuse you want Turbo, but at the end of the day it's not going to matter. It's not going to matter because the losing streak your on is going to continue. The humiliation you felt after that defeat is going to be two fold after I am done embarrassing you in the middle of that ring!
[Mike tugs at his suit jacket and straightens his tie. Obviously not wanting to lose his composure and sweat in his expensive suit. That cocky smirk creeps back across his face.]
MA: You see Max; you're my stepping stone to the elite of DCWL. Once I defeat the former Dangerous champion, then nobody can pretend any longer that Mike Anderson doesn't exist. Once I put your shoulders to the mat for the three, Max Turbo, then everybody will have to be very aware that whether they like it or not, Mike Anderson will be their next champion.
The difference between you and me is Max, what I say I'm going to do- I go out and do it. The promises I make, I come through on. You can brag about you being the former Dangerous champion Max Turbo, but let's get one thing perfectly clear for everyone. The only thing 'Dangerous' about you Max Turbo…
Was the title of the belt that YOU LOST to a flash in the pan has-been Mario Speedwagon.
And here's something you can sleep on and try to figure out Max…
[dead pan]
If Mario Speedwagon did that to you…
[close up of Anderson 's snarling face.]
Then just imagine what I'm going to do.
[FTB]
[He steps onto the screen, a golden sledgehammer with a black lacquered handle propped upon a sweat drenched shoulder and firmly clenched within the confines of a taped fist. It was Leon Corella, decked out in full ring attire, standing in the middle of a dimly lit concrete room with a dangerous, psychotic grin decorating his face.]
Corella- You know, Native, I watched your little publicity video on the public forum... All your little steps like Prepare for the Upcoming war...
[...With his free hand he began counting them off one finger at a time with his free hand...]
Learn from the past.... Prove that Dumb Luck Doesn't exist...
[...He stopped there and dropped the hand...]
You skipped the real first step Maurice...
[Sliding the hammer across the back of his neck Corella rests those taped wrists upon the head and butt of the rich man's brick smasher...]
...You have to beat me to get to Beckson, and while I'm not too thrilled to have a white supremacist as champion...
[...He shrugs his shoulders a bit, a dismissive look briefly flashing across his face...]
... them's the breaks. It'll just make it all that much sweeter when it's my turn in the bucket against him.
[...taking the hammer off his shoulders he props the butt upon the floor, leaning upon the head of the weapon as if it were a cane...]
...but make no mistake, Native, you're going to be put through the biggest ringer of you career to get that opportunity against him. When you faced me at Fast Cars, Danger, Knives, and Fire, you were facing a man spent and beaten down after eliminating four other competitors almost single handledly...
[...He leans forward on that sledgehammer...]
...I paved the way and you got an easy victory Maurice, and what happened?
[...A disgusted sneer creases his lips and furrows his brow...]
...You took the opportunity to write your name in legend and BLEW IT!!! and It's because you blew your shot...
[...He points an accusatory finger at the camera now...]
...That we have a fucking Anarchistic Nazi douchebag as our champion. It is because of your failure, that I fully intend to make your night as brutal, painful, and bloody as I am capable of.
[...Slowly the finger lowers, Corella hiking the hammer up into his hand and stepping directly towards the camera, his face an intense, angry scowl that would wither even the most steel-willed competitor.]
...Your loss not only cost you an opportunity handed up to you on a silver platter, but it brought shame upon the house of DCWL and the Grand Championship. You're supposed to be this badass anti-racism warrior, and yet when faced with your polar opposite, you folded like a cheap deck of cards and lost the battle.
[...He spits upon the ground at the camera with disdain...]
...You allowed this to happen, and had I the same opportunity you were so graciously given by the grace of good timing, and great fortune, there would be a good chance that Julian Beckson would be still be recovering from a crushing and painful defeat at my hands, and I would have in my hands that which is rightfully mine....
[...Corella now held the sledgehammer with both hands before him, as a warrior would during some sort of ceremony, that intense scowl never dying even in the slightest...]
...The DCWL Grand... Champion...ship....
[...His eyes close and he presses his forehead against the lacquered handle of the hammer...]
...I will cleanse the DCWL of this stain, but first, I have to begin with the man who let it happen...
[...After a few short seconds of him standing there, he slowly lowers the gold hammer, his eyes flicking open to look back into the camera once more...]
...Prepare yourself, Native. Prepare for the war of a lifetime, because I'm bringing everything that I have into this fight and I'm going to make damn sure you don't walk out of that ring under your own power. I do this, not because I'm white and your black. I do this not because you're different than me....
[...He smirks...]
...I do this not with the spirit of oppression or because I'm...
[...Corella throws up his hands, giving a qoutation gesture...]
"Tha' Man out to get you, Brotha'"
[...Those hands slowly lower and his head tilts back, looking down upon the camera as if it were something seemingly beneath him...]
...but because you made a mockery out of me by not defeating Beckson. You made a mockery out of every man who you have beaten, by losing such a great prize to such a worthless human being. It is because of this, that I will make you suffer....
[...It was on that very note that Corella rears that hammer back, and brought it crashing down on the camera. The scene instantly goes to static and fades to black...]
e-mail: dcwlwrestling@yahoo.com
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