02-27-2013, 03:53 PM
{Scene Opens…
The hustle and buzz of the gangway hits us with a right hook of a punch, the industrial like setting a swarm of activity as the worker ants of XWF jostle their way past each other to carry out the roles they have been given. Each owning an individual voice, but as the bark, holler and gripe their feelings nothing is truly heard except a conglomerate of noise. Sound engineers heave wheeled boxes through the scene, scattering those in their path, an enclave of EMTs pin themselves to the concrete of the concourse’s walls, slender, young clipboard wielding PAs show their resolve, their attitudes out of place in their world of neat pen holding hairstyles and pin striped dresses, they are immune to the vibrancy now, a world away from humdrum office work, they no longer mind nor care as they meld seamlessly into the image before us. It’s living, it’s progress at a frantic pace, it’s a combined effort of grand proportions, it’s the unsung heroes grafting their way to showtime.
A huddle of referees shift their position to a watercooler and finally we see a glimpse of rigidity. Standing firm, yet somewhat dazed is Crooks, his motionless frame a blot on the landscape of pace. His windswept hoodie and fading worn jeans a contrast to the professionalism around him as he clutches dearly to his holdall like a child clamping their fists around their safety blanket, as through the din of noise we finally hear our first true words spoken
Crooks: “This looks bigger than I thought it would be!”
He draws his free hand up across his face, his thumb and forefinger press at his temples, circling to somehow sooth, before it slips into hair line and awkwardly strokes its way through the short cropped hair that sits jaggedly and tiresomely on the head of the XWF newcomer.
A PA shifts in the foreground and spots the rock amid the river of activity, her hand bolts upright and straight, her fingers clicking at speed with a snap each time before she juts from her troupe and arcs her dainty and familiar body towards Crooks’ position}
Pippa: “Mr Crooks! Mr Crooks! That is you Crooks?”
Crooks: “Yeah, I’m Crooks, you the lady from my hotel room a few days back?”
Pippa: “I am indeed Mr Crooks…”
Crooks: “…call me Owen…”
Pippa: “I prefer the less personal touches Mr Crooks, what are you doing here?”
Crooks: “I thought you said I had a match today?!”
Pippa: “Yes Mr Crooks you do, but it’s in seven hours time, in-ring staff normally don’t show up till a few hours before!”
Crooks: “Thought I’d come early, beats sitting alone in my room, hoping to take in as much of the atmosphere as possible … soak it up like, it’s my first time in an arena, want to make it last, want to make it special, need to see a blank canvas evolve into my new territory.”
Pippa: “I see, that’s all fine and dandy Mr Crooks but there’s work afoot here, we sincerely could do without rookies…”
Crooks: “I’m not a rookie!”
Pippa: “Sorry, my mistake, ”New Recruits”, we could do without them getting in our way.”
Crooks: “I didn’t realise I’d be a burden”
Pippa: “Well steer clear of everything Mr Crooks and don’t be that burden. What the hell could we do with you to keep you from trouble? Bare with me…”
{Pippa turns her back on Crooks, before rifling her way through her prim blazer pocket and drawing from it a small radio, she holds a button down firm and raises it to her mouth}
Pippa: “Papa Alpha sixteen to Audio Visual Department…”
Radio: “AV go ahead”
Pippa: “Hey AV, we got new start Owen Crooks here, can you do anything with him, he’s cluttering up the main concourse for production to work their magic”
Radio: “Eager eh? We have no front of camera staff present yet … erm … bring him round he can do a standalone to camera I suppose, not sure a Crooks piece has been scheduled to air, but screw it, it may help with lighting and sound checks! ”
Pippa: “Cheers AV, he’ll be there in ten … Now Mr Crooks, follow me, I’ll take you to a changing room and you can put your promo clothes on”
Crooks: “Promo clothes? All I have is what I’m wearing, my tights, boots and shower kit”
Pippa: “No smart dress at all? *tut* not a problem, dress for the ring, I’ll steal away a Warfare shirt … who knows, maybe being kitted out all day in your ring gear will help you ”soak it up”? Now follow me, and PLEASE stay out of the way of everyone.”
{The scene fades to black as the pair hurry their way off shot…
… fading from black, we are met with a promo styled shot. Crooks stands before us, his Warfare shirt adorned frame as awkward as the clearly visible creases that have worked their way onto the shirt he wears from only recently being pulled from the packet, Crooks is shaking his head as we hear a voice from out of shot}
Man: “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!, Jesus Christ, what did you eat for breakfast today? The anthology of bland wrestling clichés whilst swilling it down with a glass of monotone mumbles? Get a grip here, this is T … V… it’s not some youtube video filmed by a ten year old”
Crooks: “I’m not used to this? I’m a fighter, not an actor, I’m here to hurt people not pander to the celebrity driven mess this business has become!”
Man: “Emote at least, emote, I’m not hear to listen to drivel, I’m here to film passion”
Crooks: “I have passion!”
Man: “Well do us all a favour and show us some. Sound, you got levels sorted? Good, hey Jibby, we got another one here”
Crooks: “Another what?”
Man: “No disrespect Crooks, but I’ve seen your type before, let me guess, your nickname is “The man of a trillion moves”, no it’s “The Machine” whatever it is, your type, the wrestler not the showman type, you get swallowed up here at XWF … you can’t emote … typical, constantly sending me dross!”
Crooks: “Emotion? OK! Stand by … you ready?”
Man: “I was ready 45 minutes ago … ok roll it”
Crooks takes a deep breath in…
Crooks: “The drawing board has been aligned, the squares have been set, and the pencil scrawls its way across the heavy set blue of the paper, cutting lines of white … and when it stops it shows one thing, one direction, one name … Owen Crooks, the blueprint for the future of XWF and professional wrestling as a whole.
Stare into these eyes and see nothing, search to find a soul within my granite nature and come up grasping emptiness, look for a heart and discover a coldness that hurts to touch . But a feeling does course through this body, an impulse does indeed dart through my veins and a fire so magnamanous burns with an unruly disposition.
I’m not here for fun, I’m not here for frivolity, I’m not here for merry japes at the expense of others. I’m here to make a name.
I see a roster, a group of adults and not one appears to feel what I feel, crave what I crave, I want to own a wrestling ring. I see none of that here at XWF, instead I see a fixation for Hollywood to call their name, for TMZ to run their headlines … I see fame hungry egotists.
And I find it highly ironic, yet somewhat apt, that XWF place me in my first match with a man more besotted on image and the platitude of fans and cameras than putting his all into the sport he has chosen.
Crave away at tedious attempts for fame Cheapshots, clambour your way up those Hollywood hills to your promised land, believe this sport has been turned into a media circus and you’re the beacon of perfection to guide everyone else in your direction of filthy, incredulous, thinly veiled adoration.
But know this, as I stare down this rotten and cancerous black mirror into your world of showbiz, as I tell you and the world, when the bell rings to end our bout, you’ll be breathing heavy, that chiselled playboy face will be bruised and swollen, your prissy styled hair will be laden with sweat and blood, and it won’t be the bright lights of fame that you see, it’ll be the lights in the rafters.”
{The scene fades to black}
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