Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Jul 29, 2011 0:22:50 GMT -6
Scene: The Young Guns locker room, late afternoon. Andrew Jacobsen is seated on one of the benches, reviewing fan mail (yes, they get fan mail, shocker) and hate mail (mostly directed at him and Sense, though there is one amusing piece simultaneously supporting the Guns and accusing Alex Jones of being a serial goatnapper.) He rubs the bridge of his nose, sighing, and looks up to the mirror. Andrew grins wryly at his reflection.
“You're a leader? You gotta be ****tin' me...you couldn't lead yourself out of a paper bag...”
“That what you really think?”
Andrew doesn't turn, seeing Danielle Chase reflected in the mirror, and instead addresses her reflection.
“It's what I hear day in and day out. Nobody seems to have faith in me except the men I lead...I never asked for this job, but I promised myself I'd do my best. For them AND for me. Am I Venom or Charlie? No, damn right I'm not. But I feel obligated to at least try to live up to that standard. Is that so wrong?”
Danielle shakes her head, smiling. She sits next to him, putting an arm around Jacobsen.
“No, of course not. But your doubt is Alex's greatest weapon. You have to go into this match knowing you'll win. 100% throttle, no letting up no matter what. Make him pay for doubting you. Stride in and etch that W into the books. You can't entertain the possibility of losing. He gets that toehold in your mind, it'll eat you alive until it lets him snatch the National Title from you again. Are you going to let that happen? Are you?”
Andrew shakes his head, annoyed.
“Why do you always antagonize me? It's getting kind of obnoxious. I don't need to pay you to abuse me, after all. There are tens of thousands of people out there dying to abuse me, chief among them that smug prick Jones. Why keep this up? Explain that to me.”
Danielle narrows her eyes.
“You want to know why, Andrew? Because everything you say, I see and more. I see a World Champion, a Hall of Famer, a future legend. You could be huge. But you're holding yourself back. Those gnawing insecurities are keeping you from being who you could be. Put simply, Andrew,I firmly believe that you are better than you realize, and I am going to make you realize that even if I have to tattoo it on your skull with a pair of brass knuckles. You want to be the man? Or do you want to rot at the bottom of the heap and prove them RIGHT?”
“No. Not happening. I won't let him. This is my time, my shot at glory, and it's for damn sure going to be a bullseye. I've got to get back to work. Sitting around and moping isn't going to do anything for me. Thanks again, Dani. Check's in the mail.”
He stands, grinning widely, and heads out of the room. Danielle chuckles to herself, shaking her head, and looks back into the mirror as we fade out on one statement.
"Damn, I'm good."
_____________________________________
“To paraphrase the one and only Muhammad Ali...is that all ya got, Alex?”
We open on Andrew Jacobsen, standing in a gym complex. He's wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt depicting the Resistance, another stable of nCw's past. Anybody remember the Resistance? No? What a shame. Andrew leans on a weight rack, hands on the bar and eyes looking dead ahead at the camera.
“You accuse me of distorting and warping the facts, and then turn around and tell a blatant lie? You call me a coward and then hide behind the fact that you took your eye off the ball and it cost you? You want to go on about how I love whining and bitching and moaning and running? I never told Lex to lie down, you jackass. I said, and I quote...know what? Roll the tape.”
The large, room-length mirror behind him shimmers, before playing the footage of Andrew speaking to Danielle two weeks ago.
The image fades away, leaving Andrew staring daggers at the camera with an annoyed expression on his face.
“Is that unambiguous enough for you? Or are you going to find a way to twist 'if he wants to make a move, he better f***ing make it' into something completely different? This might seem patronizing, but I'm telling you this because you apparently didn't get the picture the first time, Alex. This isn't about Venom. This isn't about the Guns, or Flashbang, or any petty factional squabbles. This is about redemption. This is about vindication. This is me becoming what I've always said I am...a champion.”
He stands up, standing before a large, room-length mirror. He clasps his hands behind his back, looking ahead with a completely calm expression. As Jacobsen speaks, images appear on the mirror behind him.
“I'm here because I want to prove that I can climb that ladder to success more than once. I'm here to prove that I am a Gladiator, a Rioter, more than some punchline for guys like you. I'm not going to hide anymore. If you think you would have had me? Okay, you can think that. But if we do nothing but dwell, we get nothing done. There was a time that Kelly Knite was the one singing my praises, that I was looked at as a potential future World Champion. Been there before, Alex? Of course you have. And if I can refer back to Miss Knite's column...even she had to admit that I wanted it more. You seem to want to just brush me off and be done with it...”
Andrew shakes his head, eyes flashing. He paces back and forth, every word carrying with it a weight that seems to hit like a right hook.
“But not me. I want this because I KNOW that I wasn't just talking myself up. I'm going to be World Champion one day, and the road to that title starts July 31st, in Boston, when I climb the X and rip down that title. Because even though not everything revolves around the titles...if you aren't in this to be a champion, then you need to get the f*** out of my ring.”
He smirks to himself, sitting down again.
“Nothing has changed with me, Alex. I'm still out here fighting for the little guy. I'm fighting for the oppressed minority, the ones that the brass don't approve of, the ones that are overlooked. My MO from Day One has been to be the best wrestler in the world, and through all of this that remains constant. But your problem is different. You don't like being the hero. You love it when you can rip into people like this, ignore all standards of decency and respect and just be the vile-hearted bastard you really are. We both know you're no hero. Just like I'm miscast as a villain, you are certainly no hero.”
Andrew stands, as images of the two AJs flash on the mirrors behind him: Andrew celebrating atop a ladder with the X-Division Title, Andrew in the Warfare Match and standing with the Frontline, Alex Pillmanizing Angel's throat, Alex hoisting the National Title above his head at A Night To Remember, and in the middle of it all, Andrew and Alex staring each other down at A Night To Remember.
“Every time I step between those curtains and I hear the crowd booing, it hits like a sledgehammer to the gut. I used to feed off the crowd, hearing their cheers and having them bolster me. I LIVED for them. I loved them, and they loved me. Then, I reached a crossroads...one that would destroy that dynamic, maybe forever.”
Images of Jacobsen and Venom with their hands raised at Sovereign, Ander Carvetti getting pinned in the Coliseum, and Roxxxie tearing the name off the Rat Pack locker room door flash behind him. His voice is a bit regretful, even mournful, but that only lasts a moment.
“I had to choose. Did I stick with a man like Ander, who wasn't going anywhere any time soon and in fact would injure himself the same ***damn night? Did I hitch myself to the stigma already associated with the Rat Pack name? Or did I take the chance to work with a champion and a man who ruled the roost in a certain other promotion? It wasn't a choice for me. I couldn't, no matter how much I wanted to, stick with the Rat Pack. It was tantamount to committing career suicide...and then I found out that I was damned either way.”
Andrew's entrances with the Young Guns flash on screen, initially showing his reluctance and discomfort, but that fades away as the weeks pass, until by the time Reborn rolls around he's practically waving the boos on.
“I had to learn to accept it. My actions were unpalatable to the public, and no amount of self-defense would vindicate me. I would become the hero they deserved, not the hero they need right now. And meanwhile, I see you, smirking, disrespectful and full of yourself, becoming this beloved figure. You and Rob...I don't get it. Time was, being a champion meant you had to adhere to a code of behavior and respect. You? I don't think you'd understand that idea if I smashed you over the head with it repeatedly. You claim that you're a better man than me, and that we're on completely different planets. That second bit I'll give you. You're obviously not only out of this world, but out of your mind if you think that your ****-talking, straight outta '98 act is going to get you anywhere further.”
Andrew stands before the weight rack again, looking almost contrite as he speaks again. The images behind him fade into a shot of Andrew holding the National Title over a prone Jones.
“I wish I could say this isn't anything personal. But it is. You made it personal, and I'm going to finish it. July 31st, in Titletown, the National Title comes back to the Young Guns. Finally, I'll have that closure that I've tried to hit for so long. I refuse to be another casualty to society. Alex, it's my time to shine...and your time to burn.”
He grins as the lights go out, plunging the gym into darkness. Cut to black on that shot.
“You're a leader? You gotta be ****tin' me...you couldn't lead yourself out of a paper bag...”
“That what you really think?”
Andrew doesn't turn, seeing Danielle Chase reflected in the mirror, and instead addresses her reflection.
“It's what I hear day in and day out. Nobody seems to have faith in me except the men I lead...I never asked for this job, but I promised myself I'd do my best. For them AND for me. Am I Venom or Charlie? No, damn right I'm not. But I feel obligated to at least try to live up to that standard. Is that so wrong?”
Danielle shakes her head, smiling. She sits next to him, putting an arm around Jacobsen.
“No, of course not. But your doubt is Alex's greatest weapon. You have to go into this match knowing you'll win. 100% throttle, no letting up no matter what. Make him pay for doubting you. Stride in and etch that W into the books. You can't entertain the possibility of losing. He gets that toehold in your mind, it'll eat you alive until it lets him snatch the National Title from you again. Are you going to let that happen? Are you?”
Andrew shakes his head, annoyed.
“Why do you always antagonize me? It's getting kind of obnoxious. I don't need to pay you to abuse me, after all. There are tens of thousands of people out there dying to abuse me, chief among them that smug prick Jones. Why keep this up? Explain that to me.”
Danielle narrows her eyes.
“You want to know why, Andrew? Because everything you say, I see and more. I see a World Champion, a Hall of Famer, a future legend. You could be huge. But you're holding yourself back. Those gnawing insecurities are keeping you from being who you could be. Put simply, Andrew,I firmly believe that you are better than you realize, and I am going to make you realize that even if I have to tattoo it on your skull with a pair of brass knuckles. You want to be the man? Or do you want to rot at the bottom of the heap and prove them RIGHT?”
“No. Not happening. I won't let him. This is my time, my shot at glory, and it's for damn sure going to be a bullseye. I've got to get back to work. Sitting around and moping isn't going to do anything for me. Thanks again, Dani. Check's in the mail.”
He stands, grinning widely, and heads out of the room. Danielle chuckles to herself, shaking her head, and looks back into the mirror as we fade out on one statement.
"Damn, I'm good."
_____________________________________
“To paraphrase the one and only Muhammad Ali...is that all ya got, Alex?”
We open on Andrew Jacobsen, standing in a gym complex. He's wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt depicting the Resistance, another stable of nCw's past. Anybody remember the Resistance? No? What a shame. Andrew leans on a weight rack, hands on the bar and eyes looking dead ahead at the camera.
“You accuse me of distorting and warping the facts, and then turn around and tell a blatant lie? You call me a coward and then hide behind the fact that you took your eye off the ball and it cost you? You want to go on about how I love whining and bitching and moaning and running? I never told Lex to lie down, you jackass. I said, and I quote...know what? Roll the tape.”
The large, room-length mirror behind him shimmers, before playing the footage of Andrew speaking to Danielle two weeks ago.
“Do you think Sense is going to do something in the match? What happens if you're both tagged in?”
“...we fight. The better man wins. That's a stupid question, Danielle. If he makes a statement with me as the centerpiece, then he makes it. You can't wait for your time to float by like a piece of flotsam in a river. You have to reach out and seize it. Sense wants to make a move? He better f***ing make it. I'd be pissed if he didn't.”
“...we fight. The better man wins. That's a stupid question, Danielle. If he makes a statement with me as the centerpiece, then he makes it. You can't wait for your time to float by like a piece of flotsam in a river. You have to reach out and seize it. Sense wants to make a move? He better f***ing make it. I'd be pissed if he didn't.”
The image fades away, leaving Andrew staring daggers at the camera with an annoyed expression on his face.
“Is that unambiguous enough for you? Or are you going to find a way to twist 'if he wants to make a move, he better f***ing make it' into something completely different? This might seem patronizing, but I'm telling you this because you apparently didn't get the picture the first time, Alex. This isn't about Venom. This isn't about the Guns, or Flashbang, or any petty factional squabbles. This is about redemption. This is about vindication. This is me becoming what I've always said I am...a champion.”
He stands up, standing before a large, room-length mirror. He clasps his hands behind his back, looking ahead with a completely calm expression. As Jacobsen speaks, images appear on the mirror behind him.
“I'm here because I want to prove that I can climb that ladder to success more than once. I'm here to prove that I am a Gladiator, a Rioter, more than some punchline for guys like you. I'm not going to hide anymore. If you think you would have had me? Okay, you can think that. But if we do nothing but dwell, we get nothing done. There was a time that Kelly Knite was the one singing my praises, that I was looked at as a potential future World Champion. Been there before, Alex? Of course you have. And if I can refer back to Miss Knite's column...even she had to admit that I wanted it more. You seem to want to just brush me off and be done with it...”
Andrew shakes his head, eyes flashing. He paces back and forth, every word carrying with it a weight that seems to hit like a right hook.
“But not me. I want this because I KNOW that I wasn't just talking myself up. I'm going to be World Champion one day, and the road to that title starts July 31st, in Boston, when I climb the X and rip down that title. Because even though not everything revolves around the titles...if you aren't in this to be a champion, then you need to get the f*** out of my ring.”
He smirks to himself, sitting down again.
“Nothing has changed with me, Alex. I'm still out here fighting for the little guy. I'm fighting for the oppressed minority, the ones that the brass don't approve of, the ones that are overlooked. My MO from Day One has been to be the best wrestler in the world, and through all of this that remains constant. But your problem is different. You don't like being the hero. You love it when you can rip into people like this, ignore all standards of decency and respect and just be the vile-hearted bastard you really are. We both know you're no hero. Just like I'm miscast as a villain, you are certainly no hero.”
Andrew stands, as images of the two AJs flash on the mirrors behind him: Andrew celebrating atop a ladder with the X-Division Title, Andrew in the Warfare Match and standing with the Frontline, Alex Pillmanizing Angel's throat, Alex hoisting the National Title above his head at A Night To Remember, and in the middle of it all, Andrew and Alex staring each other down at A Night To Remember.
“Every time I step between those curtains and I hear the crowd booing, it hits like a sledgehammer to the gut. I used to feed off the crowd, hearing their cheers and having them bolster me. I LIVED for them. I loved them, and they loved me. Then, I reached a crossroads...one that would destroy that dynamic, maybe forever.”
Images of Jacobsen and Venom with their hands raised at Sovereign, Ander Carvetti getting pinned in the Coliseum, and Roxxxie tearing the name off the Rat Pack locker room door flash behind him. His voice is a bit regretful, even mournful, but that only lasts a moment.
“I had to choose. Did I stick with a man like Ander, who wasn't going anywhere any time soon and in fact would injure himself the same ***damn night? Did I hitch myself to the stigma already associated with the Rat Pack name? Or did I take the chance to work with a champion and a man who ruled the roost in a certain other promotion? It wasn't a choice for me. I couldn't, no matter how much I wanted to, stick with the Rat Pack. It was tantamount to committing career suicide...and then I found out that I was damned either way.”
Andrew's entrances with the Young Guns flash on screen, initially showing his reluctance and discomfort, but that fades away as the weeks pass, until by the time Reborn rolls around he's practically waving the boos on.
“I had to learn to accept it. My actions were unpalatable to the public, and no amount of self-defense would vindicate me. I would become the hero they deserved, not the hero they need right now. And meanwhile, I see you, smirking, disrespectful and full of yourself, becoming this beloved figure. You and Rob...I don't get it. Time was, being a champion meant you had to adhere to a code of behavior and respect. You? I don't think you'd understand that idea if I smashed you over the head with it repeatedly. You claim that you're a better man than me, and that we're on completely different planets. That second bit I'll give you. You're obviously not only out of this world, but out of your mind if you think that your ****-talking, straight outta '98 act is going to get you anywhere further.”
Andrew stands before the weight rack again, looking almost contrite as he speaks again. The images behind him fade into a shot of Andrew holding the National Title over a prone Jones.
“I wish I could say this isn't anything personal. But it is. You made it personal, and I'm going to finish it. July 31st, in Titletown, the National Title comes back to the Young Guns. Finally, I'll have that closure that I've tried to hit for so long. I refuse to be another casualty to society. Alex, it's my time to shine...and your time to burn.”
He grins as the lights go out, plunging the gym into darkness. Cut to black on that shot.