Post by defunctlies on Jun 14, 2008 16:38:24 GMT -6
The scene opens on what appears to be Jack Hammond, looking in quite a state, his hair unkempt and his clothes looking quite tatty. He's sitting outside on a plastic chair, next to what appears to be a porta-cabin. He looks up at the camera and manages to shoot off a rather exhausted-looking smile.
"Coming in at the 11th hour to stave off the taunts of my opponent with a promo delivered the day before a match is not something that's new to me. It can show character and a type of confidence that you don't need to respond to all the name-calling and thinly-veiled threats of violence until one day before they kick the tar out of you."
Jack pauses before shrugging.
"Alternatively, it could be laziness. And considering the state of me, I think you'd go for option 'b'."
He coughs before scratching his stubble and making a face.
"But, like the schoolboy running to the teacher with a sick-note, I have an excuse."
He folds his arms and grins as the scene fades out to black, a white title reading 'earlier in the week', before the scene fades back in, to Hammond sitting on the bonnet of an old banger, looking a little pale. The sun beats mercilessly down onto the area, and in the background there seems to be a large crowd passing back and forth. Other people are also rushing about, and some other old bangers seem to be parked up nearby. Jack finally looks at the camera.
"Earlier this week, I agreed to take part in a race that was happening just outside Lexington, because someone had seen a flyer for one and decided it might be a good idea for me to take part and see how much of a driver I really am. Now I'll admit, I haven't actually been in a 'real' race before, and this is perhaps the best way for me to prove all of those naysayers wrong."
He shifts uncomfortably.
"So, the fool I am, I agreed to take part. I even bought some racing overalls and a helmet to look the part."
He looks down at himself in his blue racing overalls, an nCw logo placed on the chest, a s**te helmet in his hand.
"However, what I thought was going to be an exciting afternoon going round a track and seeing what Kentucky's finest have to offer in terms of competition...isn't that. Instead of saying 'okay' I should have asked for the fine print. Well, as it turns out, I should have asked for the bold print, as I turned up today, and if we can just pan around to the sign that welcomed me?"
The camera jerkily pans around to focus on a sign hanging over the entrance, focussing slowly, Jack also reading it out as the words come into focus.
"'The Kentucky 24 Hour Stock Car Race'."
There's an audible pause and the camera pans back around to Jack who still looks pale.
"24 hours. In an old banger. Around an oval. In this weather."
Jack holds his face in his hands and sighs.
"And I've got less than thirty minuites until I have to get in and go. And I've met the organizer, a very nice bloke, who said I could pull out if I needed to, as I've got a match in a few days. However, being the berk I am, I decided to give it a go."
He pauses and tries to smile.
"I mean, it's only 24 hours in a car in a circle. How hard can it be?"
He shrugs and tries to hold his smile, cracking slightly as the scene fades out to another title that reads '24 Hours To Go'. The scene fades back in on Jack in the driver's seat, helmet now in place as he drives along slowly, other stock cars following behind, only his eyes visible. The sound of the engine dominates the noises that can be heard, Jack having to shout slightly.
"Right! I'm starting off in 15th place out of 40 starters. We're just doing our parade lap, and I suppose I could take some time to talk about the car. It's an old Ford Crown Victoria, and it used to be a police car. But then it was auctioned off and was converted into a stock car, hence the rollcage and lack of lights on the top. I suppose keeping the lights and siren may have helped to let me pass some of the other drivers, but I suppose I can't complain."
He looks out the side window and jerks a thumb behind him.
"Behind me and in front of me, it's a mish-mash of what you could call stock cars; some newer than others, some more powerful than others, and some who have gotten what they drive to and from work and just pained a number on the side. I'm not kidding when I say I saw a child booster seat in the back of one of the cars behind me."
The noise increases as Jack presses on the pedal and jack whoops.
"And we are racing! I'm already up behind 14th place!"
The camera cuts to outside, showing a few cool shot of Jack's car zooming by, passing a couple of cars, and taking a few of the banked turns. These shots are interspersed with Jack concentrating on the track and the race, and some fast-paced rock music. This last for a a few seconds before it stops dead and goes to Jack in his seat. His voice comes over the action.
"Now, whilst I've made that look exciting with some pretty snazzy camera angles, fast-paced cuts and some rock music, let me show you how boring things started to get for me around say lap 10."
The action is sped up slightly a little 'x3' popping up in the corner. Jack seems to be making very little movement no cars passing him or being passed as he drives a full lap.
"As you can see, the part of my body that's doing the most movement whilst I'm driving there are my eyelids. The car is going flat out, but it's not too fast that I really need to lay off the throttle to slow down for the corners. And the corners themselves are banked, so I just need to inch the wheel slightly to the right."
The camera speed returns to normal as Jack shouts over the constant roar of the engine.
"That's another lap down. How much longer have I got to go?"
A voice comes over his intercom in his ear and his eyebrow twitches.
"22 hours and 32 minuites?! I'm sorry, soon I'm going to have to crash just so I don't die of boredom in here!"
The scene fades out to a title: 20 Hours to Go and then fades back in. The car is still driving along with Jack looking thoroughly bored now, but something comes over the intercom that seems to make him perk up.
"I've just been told I need to come in for a pit stop. This means I get a break for a bit as well, which in turn means I can do something other than drive on this bloody oval."
He turns into the pits and pulls up, stepping out of the car as the mechanics prep the car for the second driver, fitting new wheels and filling the tank. Jack pulls off his helmet and lets out a long sigh. He stretches his limbs and then watches as the car roars away, waving. A cut later and he's biting into a hamburger, chewing away, sucking down a couple of sodas. Another cut and he's sitting next to the pits, looking at the camera.
"Right, well now I've got some time, so I guess I can actually get to the 'meat' of this promo. This Sunday, I'm going to have the chance to win actual Gold; the nCw Xtreme Title. My first chance to make a proper name for myself...well other than 'The Hamster' of course."
He shrugs.
"But in order to do that, I have to face three opponents I've never gone up against before, and each man has a reputation to uphold, that demands nothing less than a win on their parts. Each man holds right over that Title, and despite all my bravado and tomfoolery, I am crapping myself at the prospect of going in on Sunday and having to go toe-to-toe with all of them; The Ace, Reckoning and Davey Ortega."
Jack sighs, watching a couple of cars roar past as he tries to collect his thoughts.
"Sure, I managed to beat Dark Prophet when he held the title. That in itself perhaps showed what I'm capable of, and should be a confidence booster; I beat the Xtreme Title holder. But that was a one-on-one, and not an Xtreme Rules Match. This Sunday, it isn't a one-on-one, but it is a match that's going to see blood spilt and brutal moments that make me think twice about even going near the arena."
Jack rubs his chin.
"Reckoning. Whilst his gimmick is more familiar with those of you who enjoyed music circa 2000-2002, and think white rappers aren't just kids who need a proper job and perhaps a good beating around the head, he is quite the brawler. Perhaps the most proficient for this kind of match, he's got a track record when it comes to beating people over the head with something heavy. It's just a little unfortunate that he seems to have gone a little loopy recently, with father troubles. I just hope that won't come into play in this match and he can keep is head in the game, and perhaps a hold on that title of his."
Jack holds up a second finger.
"The Ace. Possibly one of the most egotistical members of the Corporate Empire, and indeed in the nCw. With that rather...odd, wife of his in his corner, he seems to be the favorite coming into this match on Sunday. He's been harping on about his previous accomplishments and the statistics of being able to come out with a win in this fatal four way."
He deadpans.
"I didn't realise that maths could beat a couple of knees to the face, so I guess I'll have to bring my calculator to the ring with me. And gambling on a win in which you're facing three men who want to win that gold just as badly as you do...I'd say your odds probably aren't as good as you may think. You may be on a roll with the wins at the moment, but I'd like to think you had a bit of a handicap on your side what with your Empire cronies lending a helping hand for you to gain some sort of advantage. Will they come and run down that ramp to help you out when there's three opponents this time?"
Jack pauses and blinks.
"Well, I hope not...that'd just be unfair."
He shrugs and grins.
"Needless to say, I'm aware of the man's ability, as well as his groan inducing puns; 'A Jack can never trump an Ace', for example, and in all seriousness, that 'favourite' plastered on his head is justified. But with the amount of disrespect he's been throwing in my direction, I think I have to make a stand. Sure, he's beaten everyone else who happens to have the name 'Jack' in this business...but on that basis alone, it does not mean that I'm going to be like the rest. Saying you can beat me based upon my name is like a football team saying they're going to beat every other team that has the letter 'a' in their names; it's stupid."
Jack sighs and massages his temples, the constant roar of cars going past making his head hurt.
"You say you'll spill my blood but you won't like it? Well I'll happily dye the canvas red with yours, countryman or not. You've made the mistake so many other people have made in the nCw; they've shown me no respect, and often paid for it. Sure, it hasn't meant I've come away with a win, but I've made them eat their words, and make sure they're not as complacent next time. Unless you decide to take me seriously at Picture Perfect, Davey Ortega is going to be the least of your troubles."
Jack pauses before chuckling.
"Speaking of more Egotistical arseholes, we come right onto the man who used to have everything, but then lost it all, and now he's getting it back."
Jack pauses.
"Sounds like a new film starring Denzel Washington."
He waves his hands and coughs.
"Needless to say, he is indeed the man to beat. His impressive win over Joe Everyman was a match that I've watched a few times again after seeing it the first time. A triumphant return to form for Mr. Ortega indeed. If only he had some people whom he could trust to celebrate with, then perhaps it would have been a good party."
Jack grins but shakes his head.
"All kidding aside, I'm really looking forwards to this match, just for the chance to face this man. Even if he may doubt my mentality coming into this match, something that my wife has questioned ever since I decided to throw myself around and get hit in the face for fun for a job, I respect him immensely. Perhaps, as he says, I will lose. Though he has got one thing right. I will fight the hardest I can, and hold my own. And maybe, just maybe, instead of being 'the guy who was beaten by Davey Ortega', I can be 'the guy who beat Davey Ortega'."
He shrugs and then sighs, looking over his shoulder at a clock and making a face.
"Who knows? But right now, I've got to go another 4 hours in a circle. Joy."
He stands up and pops his helmet on, walking over to the pit lane. His car pulls up, and the mechanics refill the petrol tank and replace the shredded tyres as he swaps places with the second driver. As soon as everything's set, he roars off onto the track. The scene fades out.
"Coming in at the 11th hour to stave off the taunts of my opponent with a promo delivered the day before a match is not something that's new to me. It can show character and a type of confidence that you don't need to respond to all the name-calling and thinly-veiled threats of violence until one day before they kick the tar out of you."
Jack pauses before shrugging.
"Alternatively, it could be laziness. And considering the state of me, I think you'd go for option 'b'."
He coughs before scratching his stubble and making a face.
"But, like the schoolboy running to the teacher with a sick-note, I have an excuse."
He folds his arms and grins as the scene fades out to black, a white title reading 'earlier in the week', before the scene fades back in, to Hammond sitting on the bonnet of an old banger, looking a little pale. The sun beats mercilessly down onto the area, and in the background there seems to be a large crowd passing back and forth. Other people are also rushing about, and some other old bangers seem to be parked up nearby. Jack finally looks at the camera.
"Earlier this week, I agreed to take part in a race that was happening just outside Lexington, because someone had seen a flyer for one and decided it might be a good idea for me to take part and see how much of a driver I really am. Now I'll admit, I haven't actually been in a 'real' race before, and this is perhaps the best way for me to prove all of those naysayers wrong."
He shifts uncomfortably.
"So, the fool I am, I agreed to take part. I even bought some racing overalls and a helmet to look the part."
He looks down at himself in his blue racing overalls, an nCw logo placed on the chest, a s**te helmet in his hand.
"However, what I thought was going to be an exciting afternoon going round a track and seeing what Kentucky's finest have to offer in terms of competition...isn't that. Instead of saying 'okay' I should have asked for the fine print. Well, as it turns out, I should have asked for the bold print, as I turned up today, and if we can just pan around to the sign that welcomed me?"
The camera jerkily pans around to focus on a sign hanging over the entrance, focussing slowly, Jack also reading it out as the words come into focus.
"'The Kentucky 24 Hour Stock Car Race'."
There's an audible pause and the camera pans back around to Jack who still looks pale.
"24 hours. In an old banger. Around an oval. In this weather."
Jack holds his face in his hands and sighs.
"And I've got less than thirty minuites until I have to get in and go. And I've met the organizer, a very nice bloke, who said I could pull out if I needed to, as I've got a match in a few days. However, being the berk I am, I decided to give it a go."
He pauses and tries to smile.
"I mean, it's only 24 hours in a car in a circle. How hard can it be?"
He shrugs and tries to hold his smile, cracking slightly as the scene fades out to another title that reads '24 Hours To Go'. The scene fades back in on Jack in the driver's seat, helmet now in place as he drives along slowly, other stock cars following behind, only his eyes visible. The sound of the engine dominates the noises that can be heard, Jack having to shout slightly.
"Right! I'm starting off in 15th place out of 40 starters. We're just doing our parade lap, and I suppose I could take some time to talk about the car. It's an old Ford Crown Victoria, and it used to be a police car. But then it was auctioned off and was converted into a stock car, hence the rollcage and lack of lights on the top. I suppose keeping the lights and siren may have helped to let me pass some of the other drivers, but I suppose I can't complain."
He looks out the side window and jerks a thumb behind him.
"Behind me and in front of me, it's a mish-mash of what you could call stock cars; some newer than others, some more powerful than others, and some who have gotten what they drive to and from work and just pained a number on the side. I'm not kidding when I say I saw a child booster seat in the back of one of the cars behind me."
The noise increases as Jack presses on the pedal and jack whoops.
"And we are racing! I'm already up behind 14th place!"
The camera cuts to outside, showing a few cool shot of Jack's car zooming by, passing a couple of cars, and taking a few of the banked turns. These shots are interspersed with Jack concentrating on the track and the race, and some fast-paced rock music. This last for a a few seconds before it stops dead and goes to Jack in his seat. His voice comes over the action.
"Now, whilst I've made that look exciting with some pretty snazzy camera angles, fast-paced cuts and some rock music, let me show you how boring things started to get for me around say lap 10."
The action is sped up slightly a little 'x3' popping up in the corner. Jack seems to be making very little movement no cars passing him or being passed as he drives a full lap.
"As you can see, the part of my body that's doing the most movement whilst I'm driving there are my eyelids. The car is going flat out, but it's not too fast that I really need to lay off the throttle to slow down for the corners. And the corners themselves are banked, so I just need to inch the wheel slightly to the right."
The camera speed returns to normal as Jack shouts over the constant roar of the engine.
"That's another lap down. How much longer have I got to go?"
A voice comes over his intercom in his ear and his eyebrow twitches.
"22 hours and 32 minuites?! I'm sorry, soon I'm going to have to crash just so I don't die of boredom in here!"
The scene fades out to a title: 20 Hours to Go and then fades back in. The car is still driving along with Jack looking thoroughly bored now, but something comes over the intercom that seems to make him perk up.
"I've just been told I need to come in for a pit stop. This means I get a break for a bit as well, which in turn means I can do something other than drive on this bloody oval."
He turns into the pits and pulls up, stepping out of the car as the mechanics prep the car for the second driver, fitting new wheels and filling the tank. Jack pulls off his helmet and lets out a long sigh. He stretches his limbs and then watches as the car roars away, waving. A cut later and he's biting into a hamburger, chewing away, sucking down a couple of sodas. Another cut and he's sitting next to the pits, looking at the camera.
"Right, well now I've got some time, so I guess I can actually get to the 'meat' of this promo. This Sunday, I'm going to have the chance to win actual Gold; the nCw Xtreme Title. My first chance to make a proper name for myself...well other than 'The Hamster' of course."
He shrugs.
"But in order to do that, I have to face three opponents I've never gone up against before, and each man has a reputation to uphold, that demands nothing less than a win on their parts. Each man holds right over that Title, and despite all my bravado and tomfoolery, I am crapping myself at the prospect of going in on Sunday and having to go toe-to-toe with all of them; The Ace, Reckoning and Davey Ortega."
Jack sighs, watching a couple of cars roar past as he tries to collect his thoughts.
"Sure, I managed to beat Dark Prophet when he held the title. That in itself perhaps showed what I'm capable of, and should be a confidence booster; I beat the Xtreme Title holder. But that was a one-on-one, and not an Xtreme Rules Match. This Sunday, it isn't a one-on-one, but it is a match that's going to see blood spilt and brutal moments that make me think twice about even going near the arena."
Jack rubs his chin.
"Reckoning. Whilst his gimmick is more familiar with those of you who enjoyed music circa 2000-2002, and think white rappers aren't just kids who need a proper job and perhaps a good beating around the head, he is quite the brawler. Perhaps the most proficient for this kind of match, he's got a track record when it comes to beating people over the head with something heavy. It's just a little unfortunate that he seems to have gone a little loopy recently, with father troubles. I just hope that won't come into play in this match and he can keep is head in the game, and perhaps a hold on that title of his."
Jack holds up a second finger.
"The Ace. Possibly one of the most egotistical members of the Corporate Empire, and indeed in the nCw. With that rather...odd, wife of his in his corner, he seems to be the favorite coming into this match on Sunday. He's been harping on about his previous accomplishments and the statistics of being able to come out with a win in this fatal four way."
He deadpans.
"I didn't realise that maths could beat a couple of knees to the face, so I guess I'll have to bring my calculator to the ring with me. And gambling on a win in which you're facing three men who want to win that gold just as badly as you do...I'd say your odds probably aren't as good as you may think. You may be on a roll with the wins at the moment, but I'd like to think you had a bit of a handicap on your side what with your Empire cronies lending a helping hand for you to gain some sort of advantage. Will they come and run down that ramp to help you out when there's three opponents this time?"
Jack pauses and blinks.
"Well, I hope not...that'd just be unfair."
He shrugs and grins.
"Needless to say, I'm aware of the man's ability, as well as his groan inducing puns; 'A Jack can never trump an Ace', for example, and in all seriousness, that 'favourite' plastered on his head is justified. But with the amount of disrespect he's been throwing in my direction, I think I have to make a stand. Sure, he's beaten everyone else who happens to have the name 'Jack' in this business...but on that basis alone, it does not mean that I'm going to be like the rest. Saying you can beat me based upon my name is like a football team saying they're going to beat every other team that has the letter 'a' in their names; it's stupid."
Jack sighs and massages his temples, the constant roar of cars going past making his head hurt.
"You say you'll spill my blood but you won't like it? Well I'll happily dye the canvas red with yours, countryman or not. You've made the mistake so many other people have made in the nCw; they've shown me no respect, and often paid for it. Sure, it hasn't meant I've come away with a win, but I've made them eat their words, and make sure they're not as complacent next time. Unless you decide to take me seriously at Picture Perfect, Davey Ortega is going to be the least of your troubles."
Jack pauses before chuckling.
"Speaking of more Egotistical arseholes, we come right onto the man who used to have everything, but then lost it all, and now he's getting it back."
Jack pauses.
"Sounds like a new film starring Denzel Washington."
He waves his hands and coughs.
"Needless to say, he is indeed the man to beat. His impressive win over Joe Everyman was a match that I've watched a few times again after seeing it the first time. A triumphant return to form for Mr. Ortega indeed. If only he had some people whom he could trust to celebrate with, then perhaps it would have been a good party."
Jack grins but shakes his head.
"All kidding aside, I'm really looking forwards to this match, just for the chance to face this man. Even if he may doubt my mentality coming into this match, something that my wife has questioned ever since I decided to throw myself around and get hit in the face for fun for a job, I respect him immensely. Perhaps, as he says, I will lose. Though he has got one thing right. I will fight the hardest I can, and hold my own. And maybe, just maybe, instead of being 'the guy who was beaten by Davey Ortega', I can be 'the guy who beat Davey Ortega'."
He shrugs and then sighs, looking over his shoulder at a clock and making a face.
"Who knows? But right now, I've got to go another 4 hours in a circle. Joy."
He stands up and pops his helmet on, walking over to the pit lane. His car pulls up, and the mechanics refill the petrol tank and replace the shredded tyres as he swaps places with the second driver. As soon as everything's set, he roars off onto the track. The scene fades out.