Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Apr 7, 2012 3:29:25 GMT -6
A light. Andrew’s sitting on the couch again, watching yet another Collision segment, this time the one from the prior week. His confident grin is gone, replaced by a cold, determined stare. Around him lay the various Best of Steve Awesome DVDs he’s been able to find. A list of matches is written in a notebook to his side. About two-thirds are crossed off. Danielle Chase comes walking downstairs wearing sweatpants and a large T-shirt, rubbing her eyes blearily and looking at Andrew.
”Andy, go to bed. It’s 4:30. You can watch these matches in the morning if they’re so damn important to get in.”
Andrew pauses and looks over, shaking his head and speaking calmly, as if the fatigue isn’t getting to him.
”Nope. I want these watched and committed to memory ASAP. I want to know how Steve moves in the ring, his tells. I need to dissect him bit by bit and get inside his head. Even if all I find is dust bunnies and a few weathered issues of Hustler, I need to know what makes him tick.”
Dani shakes her head, taken aback for a moment.
”Wha…i-it’s Steve Awesome, he runs on ego and sex. Now shut the dang TV off and come to bed. You woke my ass up, and I’m being pretty good about it. Please?”
Andrew looks back at Danielle, shaking his head curtly.
”Any other match, any other night, I would say yes in a heartbeat. But this is too important to just cut and run like that. I need to give this my utmost attention. If that means you feel a little neglected, fine. Just pop some earplugs in and deal with it.”
Danielle puts her hands on her hips, glaring at AJ.
”Deal with it? Really? That’s all you have to say to…you know what, f*** it. I’m too tired to try and argue with you. We’ll talk about this in the morning. Just work out your crazy psycho match-watching and get some sleep. You aren’t gonna win a damn thing if you’re zonked out in bed.”
She turns around, walking up the stairs and muttering something obscene under her breath. Andrew shakes his head, looking back to the screen and sighing.
”Women just don’t get it…”
Fade.
”We’re even.”
“That kick? We’re even now. This match is so much more than just getting your ass to stay here. This is another chance. For my sake. I wanted this match for a lot of reasons, Steve. One of them is pretty mercenary. Like it or not, and I really don’t like it at all, people pay money to see Steve Awesome. Whether it’s you emerging triumphant or what’ll be the outcome Sunday, you getting beat half to death, people want to see you. And when more people buy tickets or pay-per-views, we all walk away with that little extra in our pocket.”
“But more importantly, this isn’t about Steve Awesome the marketing icon. This is about Steve Awesome, the wrestler. Steve Awesome, the in-ring competitor. You stand in a class of your own as far as what you’ve done in that ring. You’re one of the best there is, and your match history proves it. I want to see more, as a fan. Not just as a wrestler, but as someone who likes wrestling, I want to see more Steve Awesome on my television. Is that selfish? You’re damn right it is, and I wouldn’t put it any other way.”
“Steve, you want to go home and…what? Run another crappy reality show? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have anyone’s family you want to ruin today, so that’s off the list. Do some male modeling? Star in Behind Enemy Lines 5: Malibu Edition? Endorse crappy protein shakes? Face it, Steve: as much as you might want to move on from professional wrestling, it’s not gonna be a good call. You were made to be in that ring, and your prospects once you can’t get by on leglocks and good abs alone aren’t all that bright.”
“As I’ve said, I’m not talking about Steve Bates, that limp-wristed commitment-phobe. I want the Face of the Franchise, the man that makes the ladies blush and the girls scream. I want the man mothers warn their daughters about, the guy that people fear. I want Steve mothereffing Awesome. I don’t want you going through the motions because you don’t want to be here, doing this match. Your apathy isn’t my concern. You want to walk out that door? I’m hauling you kicking and screaming back into the world of nCw, and there isn’t a damn thing you’re going to be able to do but like it.”
“The stakes have never been higher. This is your career on the line. And you want to give it up. You want to run away because you’re bored and you need a shiny new toy to play with. You’re not getting anything shiny unless you get another title shot. What you will get is a nice boot straight to the teeth, courtesy of me. It ain’t fancy, and it’s not overly pretty, but it’s damn effective and that’s what I care about more than anything else.”
“You used to be such a great. You had fire, panache, balls! You were a god among mere mortals! Now? You’re a joke. You’re a completely humiliating shadow of your former self…and it’s all because you decided you don’t care anymore. Sunday, I’m going to make you care. Not just because you’ll have to sign on the dotted line once again, but because you’ll be asking yourself…’How did this kid beat me? I thought I knew him.’ You don’t know me, Steve. But you’ll know all too soon, nothing is going to stop me. Not you, not anyone else. This Sunday…you’re all mine...better get ready.”
Open backstage on Andrew, warming up for practice. He’s in his ring gear, pulling on one of his gloves, and he looks around, grinning slightly as he sees everyone walking around and getting things set up for the pay-per-view. The camera pans over slightly to show Brent Sampson walking up on Andrew, a disingenuous grin on his face. Andrew looks behind himself, instinctively, and stifles a groan as the head of Talent Relations walks up to him, offering a handshake.
”Andrew Jacobsen! Just the man I wanted to see. I trust the training’s been going well for your match?”
Andrew looks at his hand for a moment, and Sampson retracts it, shaking his head. Andrew nods, wary of Sampson’s intent.
”Yeah, it’s gone fine. What do you want, Brent? I’m a busy guy. I kind of have the match of my career coming up, and I don’t want to be too distracted from it. Big pressure, y’know.”
Sampson nods, faux-understandingly, and puts a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. AJ brushes it off casually, and Brent nods, continuing as if nothing had happened.
”I do understand that, and I wanted to wish you the best of luck. I also wanted to assure you that you have the full support of nCw management on this. If you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t you hesitate to ask. I’m more than willing to help out with nCw’s next rising star.”
Andrew looks at him oddly, shaking his head and trying to wrap his head around what Brent’s offering.
”Back up. So what exactly do you mean, ‘anything’? I mean, I can use nCw training facilities, and that’s all I’ve really needed so far. Well, besides the tape library, and I’ve got access to that, so…”
Brent chuckles, shaking his head again, and looks up at Andrew.
”I don’t just mean materials. I mean anything. Say, for example, if you need the ref to stop moving so glacially, just give the word and I personally guarantee you’ll see them speed up…or if you want them to slow down, stop trying to count you out in three seconds flat? Done. Like I said, nothing is too much for a potential megastar like you. I’m not going to blow this.”
Andrew turns, looming over Sampson as best he can given his average height and frame. He speaks with even but clearly restrained anger in his voice.
”Listen to me, Brent. I’m only going to say this once. I want to win this match fairly. I don’t need biased referees. Let me train, please. I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for me. For my sake. And for the fans. Now, go hassle the sound guys or something. I’ve got a match to prep for.
Brent nods understandingly, patting him on the shoulder again. Andrew looks at him with a mixture of disgust and pity, and Brent shrugs it off.
”I understand. You’re a busy man. Places to go, people to see, people to beat. Not gonna hold you up any longer. Just…keep it in mind, okay? Offer’s still on the table.”
Brent turns and walks off, the same disingenuous grin on his face. Andrew watches him go, a troubled expression crossing his face. He appears to be pondering something, rubbing the bridge of his nose as we fade to black.
”Andy, go to bed. It’s 4:30. You can watch these matches in the morning if they’re so damn important to get in.”
Andrew pauses and looks over, shaking his head and speaking calmly, as if the fatigue isn’t getting to him.
”Nope. I want these watched and committed to memory ASAP. I want to know how Steve moves in the ring, his tells. I need to dissect him bit by bit and get inside his head. Even if all I find is dust bunnies and a few weathered issues of Hustler, I need to know what makes him tick.”
Dani shakes her head, taken aback for a moment.
”Wha…i-it’s Steve Awesome, he runs on ego and sex. Now shut the dang TV off and come to bed. You woke my ass up, and I’m being pretty good about it. Please?”
Andrew looks back at Danielle, shaking his head curtly.
”Any other match, any other night, I would say yes in a heartbeat. But this is too important to just cut and run like that. I need to give this my utmost attention. If that means you feel a little neglected, fine. Just pop some earplugs in and deal with it.”
Danielle puts her hands on her hips, glaring at AJ.
”Deal with it? Really? That’s all you have to say to…you know what, f*** it. I’m too tired to try and argue with you. We’ll talk about this in the morning. Just work out your crazy psycho match-watching and get some sleep. You aren’t gonna win a damn thing if you’re zonked out in bed.”
She turns around, walking up the stairs and muttering something obscene under her breath. Andrew shakes his head, looking back to the screen and sighing.
”Women just don’t get it…”
Fade.
”We’re even.”
“That kick? We’re even now. This match is so much more than just getting your ass to stay here. This is another chance. For my sake. I wanted this match for a lot of reasons, Steve. One of them is pretty mercenary. Like it or not, and I really don’t like it at all, people pay money to see Steve Awesome. Whether it’s you emerging triumphant or what’ll be the outcome Sunday, you getting beat half to death, people want to see you. And when more people buy tickets or pay-per-views, we all walk away with that little extra in our pocket.”
“But more importantly, this isn’t about Steve Awesome the marketing icon. This is about Steve Awesome, the wrestler. Steve Awesome, the in-ring competitor. You stand in a class of your own as far as what you’ve done in that ring. You’re one of the best there is, and your match history proves it. I want to see more, as a fan. Not just as a wrestler, but as someone who likes wrestling, I want to see more Steve Awesome on my television. Is that selfish? You’re damn right it is, and I wouldn’t put it any other way.”
“Steve, you want to go home and…what? Run another crappy reality show? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have anyone’s family you want to ruin today, so that’s off the list. Do some male modeling? Star in Behind Enemy Lines 5: Malibu Edition? Endorse crappy protein shakes? Face it, Steve: as much as you might want to move on from professional wrestling, it’s not gonna be a good call. You were made to be in that ring, and your prospects once you can’t get by on leglocks and good abs alone aren’t all that bright.”
“As I’ve said, I’m not talking about Steve Bates, that limp-wristed commitment-phobe. I want the Face of the Franchise, the man that makes the ladies blush and the girls scream. I want the man mothers warn their daughters about, the guy that people fear. I want Steve mothereffing Awesome. I don’t want you going through the motions because you don’t want to be here, doing this match. Your apathy isn’t my concern. You want to walk out that door? I’m hauling you kicking and screaming back into the world of nCw, and there isn’t a damn thing you’re going to be able to do but like it.”
“The stakes have never been higher. This is your career on the line. And you want to give it up. You want to run away because you’re bored and you need a shiny new toy to play with. You’re not getting anything shiny unless you get another title shot. What you will get is a nice boot straight to the teeth, courtesy of me. It ain’t fancy, and it’s not overly pretty, but it’s damn effective and that’s what I care about more than anything else.”
“You used to be such a great. You had fire, panache, balls! You were a god among mere mortals! Now? You’re a joke. You’re a completely humiliating shadow of your former self…and it’s all because you decided you don’t care anymore. Sunday, I’m going to make you care. Not just because you’ll have to sign on the dotted line once again, but because you’ll be asking yourself…’How did this kid beat me? I thought I knew him.’ You don’t know me, Steve. But you’ll know all too soon, nothing is going to stop me. Not you, not anyone else. This Sunday…you’re all mine...better get ready.”
Open backstage on Andrew, warming up for practice. He’s in his ring gear, pulling on one of his gloves, and he looks around, grinning slightly as he sees everyone walking around and getting things set up for the pay-per-view. The camera pans over slightly to show Brent Sampson walking up on Andrew, a disingenuous grin on his face. Andrew looks behind himself, instinctively, and stifles a groan as the head of Talent Relations walks up to him, offering a handshake.
”Andrew Jacobsen! Just the man I wanted to see. I trust the training’s been going well for your match?”
Andrew looks at his hand for a moment, and Sampson retracts it, shaking his head. Andrew nods, wary of Sampson’s intent.
”Yeah, it’s gone fine. What do you want, Brent? I’m a busy guy. I kind of have the match of my career coming up, and I don’t want to be too distracted from it. Big pressure, y’know.”
Sampson nods, faux-understandingly, and puts a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. AJ brushes it off casually, and Brent nods, continuing as if nothing had happened.
”I do understand that, and I wanted to wish you the best of luck. I also wanted to assure you that you have the full support of nCw management on this. If you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t you hesitate to ask. I’m more than willing to help out with nCw’s next rising star.”
Andrew looks at him oddly, shaking his head and trying to wrap his head around what Brent’s offering.
”Back up. So what exactly do you mean, ‘anything’? I mean, I can use nCw training facilities, and that’s all I’ve really needed so far. Well, besides the tape library, and I’ve got access to that, so…”
Brent chuckles, shaking his head again, and looks up at Andrew.
”I don’t just mean materials. I mean anything. Say, for example, if you need the ref to stop moving so glacially, just give the word and I personally guarantee you’ll see them speed up…or if you want them to slow down, stop trying to count you out in three seconds flat? Done. Like I said, nothing is too much for a potential megastar like you. I’m not going to blow this.”
Andrew turns, looming over Sampson as best he can given his average height and frame. He speaks with even but clearly restrained anger in his voice.
”Listen to me, Brent. I’m only going to say this once. I want to win this match fairly. I don’t need biased referees. Let me train, please. I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for me. For my sake. And for the fans. Now, go hassle the sound guys or something. I’ve got a match to prep for.
Brent nods understandingly, patting him on the shoulder again. Andrew looks at him with a mixture of disgust and pity, and Brent shrugs it off.
”I understand. You’re a busy man. Places to go, people to see, people to beat. Not gonna hold you up any longer. Just…keep it in mind, okay? Offer’s still on the table.”
Brent turns and walks off, the same disingenuous grin on his face. Andrew watches him go, a troubled expression crossing his face. He appears to be pondering something, rubbing the bridge of his nose as we fade to black.