It’s Christmas eve in Bethlehem Pennsylvania. The streets are crowded with last minute shoppers and their families, but we’re not focused on the busy streets. We’re in a public park, looking at an ordinary park bench. It’s old, worn, covered in dry bird droppings and made of wood. It’s also occupied by a figure playing an almost equally old and battered looking Squier acoustic guitar. The male has his head down, thus hiding his identity but there are several clues scattered about.

Firstly, his long brown hair is tied into a ponytail. That’s not a massive clue as a lot of men have long hair tied into a ponytail and brown is a fairly common hair colour. The second clue is the fact that the man is dressed entirely in black. Black leather jacket, black t-shirt, black jeans and black motorcycle boots. Thirdly, he’s left handed and is playing the guitar strumming with his left hand and fingering the frets with his right. Fourth, there’s the glint of a weak and watery sun from the frames of a pair of Rayban sunglasses which can just be seen with the angle of the man’s head. Finally, there’s a half finished bottle of Pepsi on the ground by the man’s left foot. Figured out who it is yet? The man lifts his head revealing it to be David Stone, sitting alone in a park on this important day and playing a guitar.

Stone stops playing the Chris Rear song Driving home for Christmas and places the guitar in its case which is also by his left foot. He then stands, stretches his arms and back and then sits down again before removing a packet of Marlborough red cigarettes from his left breast pocket. He opens the packet, removes a cigarette and then places it between his lips. He then replaces the packet and removes a silver Zippo lighter from the same pocket and flicking open the lid with his thumb, sparks the flame and lights his cigarette. Taking a deep drag on the smoke, a cocky smirk appears on Stone’s face as he begins to speak.

“Well well, looks like we’re going to do this again doesn’t it Drezdin? Didn’t you learn enough last week? Hell, more to the point, didn’t Vinnie Lane learn last week that Ronnie and I are what we say we are? Didn’t the entire fucking XWF locker room learn? Clearly not because here we are again. Only this time, there are just 2 teams. There’s Bad attitude, a team that have been friends for almost 30 years and tag partners for 18 and a half of those 30 years. Then there’s you. You’ve been tagged with some random Italian stoner who apparently thinks that because of my size and Ronnie’s for that matter we take steroids. Now I’ll come back to that in a minute but as for you Drezdin, let me address a point that you made last week. And yes, I know Ronnie already mentioned it but now it’s my turn.”

Stone takes another drag on his cigarette. Exhaling the smoke he blows a smoke ring before repeating the process 2 or 3 more times. He then continues to speak.

“Ronnie Cage and I are not rookies. Didn’t I just tell you we’ve been a tag team for almost 19 years? Does that salient fact not register in the concrete block which we know resides inside your skull in place of a brain? I’m guessing not because if it did, then you would have altered your statements last week wouldn’t you? Let me take you on a short highlight trip down memory lane. Give you a short history lesson on my life if you will.”

Stone takes yet another drag on his cigarette and then exhales. He then flicks away the ash and takes one more drag before continuing to speak.

“I was born into the world of professional wrestling some 33 years ago. My parents were involved on a local scale as my father was a part-time wrestler and a full-time mechanic. It was because of that connection that my father somehow became friends with some of the biggest names in professional wrestling at the time when I was around 2 years old. Who were those big names? Only the biggest my friend. Those names were Flair, Anderson, Anderson and Blanchard. Those men were the fucking Horsemen and I grew up calling them all uncles. Not only that, when I was 12 years old I began training with my father who gave me the basic tools of a professional wrestler. He and those 4 men then continued my training until I made my in-ring debut when I was 14. So for 20 years I’ve been wrestling. For 20 years I’ve been pouring out my blood, sweat and tears all over Europe, North America and Japan. I’ve won my fair share of titles; I’m even in some company halls of fame. I’ve won titles both on my own and as a member of a tag team. And you have the nerve, the audacity to call me a fucking rooky! You’re lucky I didn’t tear you in half last week. You’re lucky that you’re still able to travel here tonight to take another beating because Brandon, Ronnie and I went easy on you last week. But don’t think it’ll be the same tonight. Don’t think I’ll be going easy on you when we step between those ropes on Savage because I won’t be. Tonight there will only be one thing that will satisfy me for your admirable but misplaced stones in calling me a rooky last week. That one thing will be the sound of you screaming in pain, tapping the matt like the little bitch you are as I twist your ankle more and more until I hear a crack and an even louder scream of pain. That’s the only thing that will satisfy me.”

Stone takes the final drag on his cigarette, crushes it out under his right foot and then picks up the bottle and takes a swig. Strangely, the smirk reappears on his face once more as he speaks yet again.

“As for you Mr. Aldo Nardozzi, who the fuck are you anyway? Why should I even take notice of you at all? Do you think that you could take out a team as closely bonded and almost telepathic as Ronnie and I? Don’t make me laugh kid. Seriously, don’t make me laugh. There’s only a public facility here and I wouldn’t let the feral dogs I see and mainly kick, but that is beside the point. I wouldn’t let them take a piss or a shit in a public toilet. I mean, seriously. I’ve seen and battered men who were far better wrestlers than you. I’ve taken once promising rookies and reduced them to crying, quivering lumps of human flesh when I’ve been finished with them and all that without juicing once. Yeah, I dabbled a little when I was in my teens but I was young and stupid back then. So that’s why I’m sure you must be suffering some form of brain damage from all that weed. See you need to come up with some actual evidence before making an accusation like that. And do you have any evidence? No you sure as hell don’t. You just have your own mind to go on and that’s clearly fucking distorted by the amount of marijuana you smoke.”

Stone pauses here and takes another second to pick up his bottle of Pepsi, remove the cap and take another large swig of the contents. Seeing that his bottle is now empty, Stone places it in the pocket of his jacket. Yeah, the guy might be an arrogant piece of work, but he doesn’t leave litter. He then continues to speak in a calm, measured tone of voice.

“So what I’m going to do to you, let alone what Ronnie is going to do is going to be to deliver a lesson in tag team wrestling. I’m going to toss you around the ring like a fucking rag doll simply because I can. You have nothing on me. You are nothing. Hell, you’re beneath my notice really. I wouldn’t notice you at all were it not for tonight, but after the final bell rings and Ronnie and I have our hands raised in victory then I’ll go back to not noticing you.”

Stone then removes his sunglasses. Placing them in the left breast pocket of his jacket next to his cigarettes and lighter, he stares directly into the view of the camera with a menacing look in his eyes. He then continues to speak once more.

“So gentlemen if you want my advice, I’d say don’t turn up tonight. Don’t put yourself through the humiliation of having to face Bad attitude at what we do best. I’ve already pointed out how long Ronnie has been my tag partner so by dint of a simple process of elimination it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to work out that you’re both outclassed. A fresh team who have never tagged together against a team who have almost 20 years of experience in the ring and 30 years of experience outside it. You know you can’t match that so why even try? But you know what? It doesn’t matter why, because it won’t happen. Not tonight, not ever. So gentlemen, I wish you luck in actually being able to leave the hospital when we’re through. Because the personification of perfection is coming. And I’m coming for you, bitch!”

With that, Stone stands up, collects his guitar case and walks away. Once again we are left looking only at the crushed cigarette end in the grass before the screen fades to black.

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