Post by A.C. Smith on Oct 15, 2011 15:13:36 GMT -5
(Our scene opens today in a fairly-familiar setting: The New York City penthouse of the Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith. We're not in the picturesque living room or even in the crammed-in trophy room, though. Rather, we're in a room we haven't seen much since his days in the AWA: A.C.'s own home gym.
The hard-wood floor is stained with sweat, and we look around to see a facility complete with Nautilus gym equipment, a basketball hoop, and a row of treadmills that look out a window with a vantage point overlooking the city that never sleeps. We hear clanging off to the right side of our screen, and we pan over to see the man himself bench-pressing a weight with plenty of barbells on each side.
He's flanked by his two longtime friends, Bobby the Bavarian Man--ACW Forced Censored- and Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker, who are acting as his spotters. However, as a shirtless A.C. belts out the bench-presses with machine-like precision, the two men stand slouched over the bar, hands at their side and with nothing to do except count the times the weight is pressed up, then down, then back up again.)
Bobby: “27...28...29...”
Stevie: “Why are we even here anyway? You do this every single day, what makes this workout so much different than anything else?”
Bobby: “28...29...DAMMIT STEVIE, STOP THROWING ME OFF!”
(Despite the high comedy being displayed around him, Smith belts out several more presses before putting the weight on the bar without the aid of his spotters. While Stevie is cackling with delight and Bobby is seething with rage, A.C.'s face is devoid of any emotion.
He sits up on the bench, with sweat dripping off his face and arms and down over his washboard abdominal muscles. The back of Smith's hand goes across his broad forehead, and we see the veins popping out of his biceps and neck as he opens his mouth to speak.)
A.C.: “Relax, boys. You should know by now that there's a reason for everything that I do. Did you happen to see what my opponent this week, Derryk Aires, had to say about me and my training regimen?”
Bobby: “Yeah, he essentially said you don't have one.”
A.C.: “How long have you guys known me?”
Stevie: “Since you joined the NYPD in '97. What are you getting at?”
A.C.: “I'm getting there. And how long have I worked out like this every day, sometimes twice a day?”
Bobby: “You always have.”
A.C.: “You haven't seen any magic wand giving me one of the best physiques in the world, right? And you haven't seen any potions guaranteed to make whoever takes it one of the best wrestlers in recent history?”
Stevie: “Nope. All you and the work you've put in.”
A.C.: “That's all I needed. You guys can go now.”
(Smith allows a look of satisfaction to crack his face. Befuddled, Bobby and Stevie shrug their shoulders and leave as A.C. reaches offscreen, grabbing a plastic water bottle and chugging it. He swallows, burps quietly, and refocuses intensely on the camera lens, the momentary appearance of content now far gone as the brown door we came in through is slammed by the other two members of Asskicker's Anonymous.)
A.C.: “Derryk Aires. I've seen a lot. I've seen people tell me I've gotten where I am strictly by luck and chance. I've heard people tell me I'm a big, dumb oaf. But how dare you...HOW, DARE, YOU...criticize how hard I've worked to get where I am today? Somewhere you'd kill to be, but somewhere you clearly lack the maturity to reach at this stage of your career?
I already know you think I got where I am by luck and chance. You said that last month, right before I tore you limb from limb exactly how I TOLD you I was going to, drove you into the ground with the Big Apple Slam, and pinned you clean as a sheet. You were clearly wrong going in, you get another crack at me this weekend in Atlanta...and yet, not much has changed, at least, not nearly as much as you think it has.
I'm not surprised. Compared to me, you're a naïve kid with no experience who thinks ACW is yours for the taking, regardless of how anyone else sees the world. I was like you once. Only once that bell sounded, and once all the talking was over, I knew how to back it up. With me? It led to winning my first promotion's World title five times. With you? It's going to lead to pure, unadulterated destruction for the second time in a month.”
(Unfazed and as poised as can be, Smith puts the plastic bottle down in front of him on his bench. The sweat we saw on his bronzed skin is largely gone, but A.C. wipes the last of it off his cheek with his left hand before going onward.)
A.C.: “You seem to think you're able of beating me on this go-round. I'm not going to tell you it isn't possible, because I've made a career out of proving that assumption dead wrong against guys who got complacent. But where you fall off the wagon is in how to make up the deficit that existed previously. If you're going to beat someone who kicked your ass just a short time beforehand, you need to get better in every facet of your technique, both physical and mental.
You went to train with a few buddies. Fine and dandy. That's not something you did before. You smoked cigarettes in a hotel room, waited for me to make a rookie mistake I'd never allow myself to make, and it cost you. I give you credit where it's due: From a physical standpoint, it seems like you actually give a crap this time around. Where you're still all screwed up, though, is between the ears. Somewhere along the line, you allowed yourself to think you were smarter than me. Above me somehow. And in doing so, you've joined the long, distinguished list of people who have drastically underestimated me despite a career that stacks up pretty well with some of the best that have ever stepped foot in an ACW ring.
Snake. Mike Voland. Logan Alexander. Hyena. Carnage. Kyle Travis. Those six guys, all former ACW World Heavyweight Champions, most of whom could conceivably be Hall of Famers when all's said and done, found that lesson out the hard way. I countered the Constrictor. I beat the Devil of the Skies at his own game. I sent Logan Alexander and Hyena crying and howling to their mommies after knocking them off their lofty perches, and Carnage and Kyle Travis still haven't gotten over being embarrassed by yours truly.
But oh, Derryk Aires, I CLEARLY haven't worked AT ALL to get where I am. Everything I've done has totally been through luck and chance. I don't deserve any accolades. In fact, why don't we just go back in time, erase all the wins you'd kill to have, and hell, why don't I just not show up at Shockwave since I've TOTALLY been killing time this week sitting on my couch and eating Bon-Bons like Peggy Bundy in 'Married, With Children?'”
(The biting sarcasm has left A.C. on edge, with nostrils flaring and his eyebrows higher up his forehead than usual. Smith lets his words resonate around the room for a moment, finishing off the last of his bottled water and slamming the bottle down onto the ground with authority before refocusing on the camera.)
A.C.: “Bullshit. That's what I have to say on behalf of all the ACW fans out there that have functioning brain cells after your clueless diatribe earlier this week, Derryk Aires. It's clear that you're grasping at straws, looking for an edge SOMEWHERE where you're clearly up against someone smarter than you, more experienced than you, and just plain BETTER than you.
You have no edge over me in the training department, and you know it. If these walls could talk, it'd tell you the story of a man who's never allowed himself to be in anything less than perfect shape, of a man who pushes his body to its limits because he knows he has to to stay in the top one percent of wrestlers everywhere. Don't believe me? If you'd like, Derryk, I can show you the tapes of the surveillance cameras I have set up by some of my buddies in security. Unlike you, Derryk, I can actually PROVE what I say to be true.
Or maybe I should show you my film room, the one I've shown several times in the past year and a half when scouting opponents. How about my trophy room, filled with honors from all over the world from title belts to 'Most Popular Wrestler' awards to pictures with dignitaries to letters from celebrities wanting autographs for their kids? Every edge you say you have, Derryk, evaporates simply by taking a walk around my New York City penthouse.
As I proved last month, I'm better than you in the ring. As I'm proving right now, you can't TOUCH my focus on training and improving myself. And as I will stop at NOTHING to prove this Sunday in Atlanta, the little belief you have about me coasting in on the philosophy of, 'if it's not broken, don't fix it?' Yeah, remember the eight-letter expletive I fired off a minute ago? Refer to it again.”
(Smith stands up, rising to his full 6'8” height and stretching out his legs in the process. We now see his red gym shorts are stained with sweat, and he reaches for a towel to try and dry them off a bit.)
A.C.: “You questioned my resolve since I lost the ACW World Heavyweight Championship. Complete, utter, and total nonsense. Just because I reached my boyhood dream, just because I got to the top once, doesn't mean I'm done. Once again, Derryk, you're talking out of your rear end on something you know NOTHING about since you've never even been close to winning the most prestigious prize in our business, and once again, it's going to come back to bite you.
You brought up how you training since you've been a kid is going to somehow help you because I've ahem, 'only,' been in the business for nine years. Well, that factor certainly didn't do you much good the first time around, now did it? Nor were you screaming it from the mountaintops last month, now were you? Here's one of many relevant questions I have for you that you either don't HAVE an answer for or want to dodge completely. What's an extra month going to do when, in the only match of note you've had of late besides the tango with me, you get destroyed by Evan Harrison, who in tune got steamrolled by yours truly at Struggle for Supremacy, an event you never even got INVITED to? Sure, you were on the winning side of a multi-wrestler match, but only because the woman you were teamed with did what she was supposed to do, something you've never done.
You mentioned how me bringing that up would make me look like an idiot. In fact, YOU'RE the fool for thinking that, since it's actually a bit of logic that makes sense, something you're completely unfamiliar with. I didn't just beat Evan Harrison with a small package after he ran circles around me for 20 minutes and let his guard down. I beat him from pillar to post, never letting one of the most exciting men in our sport, and one of the many members of the ACW roster that rightfully treats you like a doormat, get any momentum en route to advancing to the tournament's semifinal round, where it took the guy who vanquished Gryphon and eventually won the damn thing to stop me.
Derryk Aires, you're no Devon Mayhem. In fact, it's not even close. You have this view of the world that nobody else has, one where logic may as well be unconstitutional. It's as wrong as wrong can be, Derryk. I proved it last month, and instead of pulling your head out of your ass, getting on the right track, and giving yourself a chance to make some headway, you went right back to the rationalizations, the half-truths, the no-truths, and the, 'wait, did he REALLY just say that?,' comments. And this Sunday night, I'm going to give you another harsh reality check. Maybe this time, you'll allow the truth to sink in. Maybe this time, you'll finally GET IT.
Nah, on second thought, that's asking too much.”
(Smith walks to the door, and opens it, but instead of leaving, he leans up against the mahogany, using it for support as he stands in the doorway.)
A.C.: “Let's just run through the many nonsensical statements you uttered earlier this week before I go, Derryk. You think I don't train when I've given myself the best body in the business, and one of the best minds in it as well. You think my LACK of training cost me my title at Struggle for Supremacy, not running into a human buzzsaw whose jock you couldn't carry. You think losing the belt makes me more vulnerable and lack balance when I'm, in fact, more driven than ever to get back to the top after being there once before. You think that me tearing up Evan Harrison like tissue paper at Struggle for Supremacy is irrelevant, even though he made you look like a damned fool just a short time before that. And you think me being a cop in the late-1990's and early-2000's hurts me when it sure as HELL didn't last month.
Derryk, I'm no genius. But to me, that doesn't sound like someone in position to make a big leap forward against a guy he had no answer for just a few weeks ago. It sounds like someone who had the cold hard truth drilled into his head, but couldn't accept it. It sounds like someone perfectly content to keep rationalizing things when the facts are he's just not at the level of American Championship Wrestling's top talent.
And it sounds, Derryk Aires, like you're in for a world of hurt this weekend.”
(Smith exits his workout room, shutting the door behind him as the scene fades to black.)
The hard-wood floor is stained with sweat, and we look around to see a facility complete with Nautilus gym equipment, a basketball hoop, and a row of treadmills that look out a window with a vantage point overlooking the city that never sleeps. We hear clanging off to the right side of our screen, and we pan over to see the man himself bench-pressing a weight with plenty of barbells on each side.
He's flanked by his two longtime friends, Bobby the Bavarian Man--ACW Forced Censored- and Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker, who are acting as his spotters. However, as a shirtless A.C. belts out the bench-presses with machine-like precision, the two men stand slouched over the bar, hands at their side and with nothing to do except count the times the weight is pressed up, then down, then back up again.)
Bobby: “27...28...29...”
Stevie: “Why are we even here anyway? You do this every single day, what makes this workout so much different than anything else?”
Bobby: “28...29...DAMMIT STEVIE, STOP THROWING ME OFF!”
(Despite the high comedy being displayed around him, Smith belts out several more presses before putting the weight on the bar without the aid of his spotters. While Stevie is cackling with delight and Bobby is seething with rage, A.C.'s face is devoid of any emotion.
He sits up on the bench, with sweat dripping off his face and arms and down over his washboard abdominal muscles. The back of Smith's hand goes across his broad forehead, and we see the veins popping out of his biceps and neck as he opens his mouth to speak.)
A.C.: “Relax, boys. You should know by now that there's a reason for everything that I do. Did you happen to see what my opponent this week, Derryk Aires, had to say about me and my training regimen?”
Bobby: “Yeah, he essentially said you don't have one.”
A.C.: “How long have you guys known me?”
Stevie: “Since you joined the NYPD in '97. What are you getting at?”
A.C.: “I'm getting there. And how long have I worked out like this every day, sometimes twice a day?”
Bobby: “You always have.”
A.C.: “You haven't seen any magic wand giving me one of the best physiques in the world, right? And you haven't seen any potions guaranteed to make whoever takes it one of the best wrestlers in recent history?”
Stevie: “Nope. All you and the work you've put in.”
A.C.: “That's all I needed. You guys can go now.”
(Smith allows a look of satisfaction to crack his face. Befuddled, Bobby and Stevie shrug their shoulders and leave as A.C. reaches offscreen, grabbing a plastic water bottle and chugging it. He swallows, burps quietly, and refocuses intensely on the camera lens, the momentary appearance of content now far gone as the brown door we came in through is slammed by the other two members of Asskicker's Anonymous.)
A.C.: “Derryk Aires. I've seen a lot. I've seen people tell me I've gotten where I am strictly by luck and chance. I've heard people tell me I'm a big, dumb oaf. But how dare you...HOW, DARE, YOU...criticize how hard I've worked to get where I am today? Somewhere you'd kill to be, but somewhere you clearly lack the maturity to reach at this stage of your career?
I already know you think I got where I am by luck and chance. You said that last month, right before I tore you limb from limb exactly how I TOLD you I was going to, drove you into the ground with the Big Apple Slam, and pinned you clean as a sheet. You were clearly wrong going in, you get another crack at me this weekend in Atlanta...and yet, not much has changed, at least, not nearly as much as you think it has.
I'm not surprised. Compared to me, you're a naïve kid with no experience who thinks ACW is yours for the taking, regardless of how anyone else sees the world. I was like you once. Only once that bell sounded, and once all the talking was over, I knew how to back it up. With me? It led to winning my first promotion's World title five times. With you? It's going to lead to pure, unadulterated destruction for the second time in a month.”
(Unfazed and as poised as can be, Smith puts the plastic bottle down in front of him on his bench. The sweat we saw on his bronzed skin is largely gone, but A.C. wipes the last of it off his cheek with his left hand before going onward.)
A.C.: “You seem to think you're able of beating me on this go-round. I'm not going to tell you it isn't possible, because I've made a career out of proving that assumption dead wrong against guys who got complacent. But where you fall off the wagon is in how to make up the deficit that existed previously. If you're going to beat someone who kicked your ass just a short time beforehand, you need to get better in every facet of your technique, both physical and mental.
You went to train with a few buddies. Fine and dandy. That's not something you did before. You smoked cigarettes in a hotel room, waited for me to make a rookie mistake I'd never allow myself to make, and it cost you. I give you credit where it's due: From a physical standpoint, it seems like you actually give a crap this time around. Where you're still all screwed up, though, is between the ears. Somewhere along the line, you allowed yourself to think you were smarter than me. Above me somehow. And in doing so, you've joined the long, distinguished list of people who have drastically underestimated me despite a career that stacks up pretty well with some of the best that have ever stepped foot in an ACW ring.
Snake. Mike Voland. Logan Alexander. Hyena. Carnage. Kyle Travis. Those six guys, all former ACW World Heavyweight Champions, most of whom could conceivably be Hall of Famers when all's said and done, found that lesson out the hard way. I countered the Constrictor. I beat the Devil of the Skies at his own game. I sent Logan Alexander and Hyena crying and howling to their mommies after knocking them off their lofty perches, and Carnage and Kyle Travis still haven't gotten over being embarrassed by yours truly.
But oh, Derryk Aires, I CLEARLY haven't worked AT ALL to get where I am. Everything I've done has totally been through luck and chance. I don't deserve any accolades. In fact, why don't we just go back in time, erase all the wins you'd kill to have, and hell, why don't I just not show up at Shockwave since I've TOTALLY been killing time this week sitting on my couch and eating Bon-Bons like Peggy Bundy in 'Married, With Children?'”
(The biting sarcasm has left A.C. on edge, with nostrils flaring and his eyebrows higher up his forehead than usual. Smith lets his words resonate around the room for a moment, finishing off the last of his bottled water and slamming the bottle down onto the ground with authority before refocusing on the camera.)
A.C.: “Bullshit. That's what I have to say on behalf of all the ACW fans out there that have functioning brain cells after your clueless diatribe earlier this week, Derryk Aires. It's clear that you're grasping at straws, looking for an edge SOMEWHERE where you're clearly up against someone smarter than you, more experienced than you, and just plain BETTER than you.
You have no edge over me in the training department, and you know it. If these walls could talk, it'd tell you the story of a man who's never allowed himself to be in anything less than perfect shape, of a man who pushes his body to its limits because he knows he has to to stay in the top one percent of wrestlers everywhere. Don't believe me? If you'd like, Derryk, I can show you the tapes of the surveillance cameras I have set up by some of my buddies in security. Unlike you, Derryk, I can actually PROVE what I say to be true.
Or maybe I should show you my film room, the one I've shown several times in the past year and a half when scouting opponents. How about my trophy room, filled with honors from all over the world from title belts to 'Most Popular Wrestler' awards to pictures with dignitaries to letters from celebrities wanting autographs for their kids? Every edge you say you have, Derryk, evaporates simply by taking a walk around my New York City penthouse.
As I proved last month, I'm better than you in the ring. As I'm proving right now, you can't TOUCH my focus on training and improving myself. And as I will stop at NOTHING to prove this Sunday in Atlanta, the little belief you have about me coasting in on the philosophy of, 'if it's not broken, don't fix it?' Yeah, remember the eight-letter expletive I fired off a minute ago? Refer to it again.”
(Smith stands up, rising to his full 6'8” height and stretching out his legs in the process. We now see his red gym shorts are stained with sweat, and he reaches for a towel to try and dry them off a bit.)
A.C.: “You questioned my resolve since I lost the ACW World Heavyweight Championship. Complete, utter, and total nonsense. Just because I reached my boyhood dream, just because I got to the top once, doesn't mean I'm done. Once again, Derryk, you're talking out of your rear end on something you know NOTHING about since you've never even been close to winning the most prestigious prize in our business, and once again, it's going to come back to bite you.
You brought up how you training since you've been a kid is going to somehow help you because I've ahem, 'only,' been in the business for nine years. Well, that factor certainly didn't do you much good the first time around, now did it? Nor were you screaming it from the mountaintops last month, now were you? Here's one of many relevant questions I have for you that you either don't HAVE an answer for or want to dodge completely. What's an extra month going to do when, in the only match of note you've had of late besides the tango with me, you get destroyed by Evan Harrison, who in tune got steamrolled by yours truly at Struggle for Supremacy, an event you never even got INVITED to? Sure, you were on the winning side of a multi-wrestler match, but only because the woman you were teamed with did what she was supposed to do, something you've never done.
You mentioned how me bringing that up would make me look like an idiot. In fact, YOU'RE the fool for thinking that, since it's actually a bit of logic that makes sense, something you're completely unfamiliar with. I didn't just beat Evan Harrison with a small package after he ran circles around me for 20 minutes and let his guard down. I beat him from pillar to post, never letting one of the most exciting men in our sport, and one of the many members of the ACW roster that rightfully treats you like a doormat, get any momentum en route to advancing to the tournament's semifinal round, where it took the guy who vanquished Gryphon and eventually won the damn thing to stop me.
Derryk Aires, you're no Devon Mayhem. In fact, it's not even close. You have this view of the world that nobody else has, one where logic may as well be unconstitutional. It's as wrong as wrong can be, Derryk. I proved it last month, and instead of pulling your head out of your ass, getting on the right track, and giving yourself a chance to make some headway, you went right back to the rationalizations, the half-truths, the no-truths, and the, 'wait, did he REALLY just say that?,' comments. And this Sunday night, I'm going to give you another harsh reality check. Maybe this time, you'll allow the truth to sink in. Maybe this time, you'll finally GET IT.
Nah, on second thought, that's asking too much.”
(Smith walks to the door, and opens it, but instead of leaving, he leans up against the mahogany, using it for support as he stands in the doorway.)
A.C.: “Let's just run through the many nonsensical statements you uttered earlier this week before I go, Derryk. You think I don't train when I've given myself the best body in the business, and one of the best minds in it as well. You think my LACK of training cost me my title at Struggle for Supremacy, not running into a human buzzsaw whose jock you couldn't carry. You think losing the belt makes me more vulnerable and lack balance when I'm, in fact, more driven than ever to get back to the top after being there once before. You think that me tearing up Evan Harrison like tissue paper at Struggle for Supremacy is irrelevant, even though he made you look like a damned fool just a short time before that. And you think me being a cop in the late-1990's and early-2000's hurts me when it sure as HELL didn't last month.
Derryk, I'm no genius. But to me, that doesn't sound like someone in position to make a big leap forward against a guy he had no answer for just a few weeks ago. It sounds like someone who had the cold hard truth drilled into his head, but couldn't accept it. It sounds like someone perfectly content to keep rationalizing things when the facts are he's just not at the level of American Championship Wrestling's top talent.
And it sounds, Derryk Aires, like you're in for a world of hurt this weekend.”
(Smith exits his workout room, shutting the door behind him as the scene fades to black.)