09-15-2013, 05:55 AM
*The scene opens to a picturesque view of the Manhattan skyline. In the darkness the warm glow of lights from a jungle of skyscrapers looks like pure artwork. Standing proudest of them all is the Empire State Building, but even that great monument is starting to be dwarfed by the almost complete One World Trade Center. The image of this very building floods back memories from the moving tributes to that fateful day that have adorned the XWF screens all week long. But while the camera most pauses a moment and lets us draw in this beautiful sight those marvels of engineering are not our man focus. Soon the shot pans in on New York, all the way up until we find ourselves directly between two towers. A sharp turn downwards quickly changes the scene entirely. No more is the beauty of the Big Apple on show, instead the stark reality of the city’s underbelly is evident.*
*The alleyway is dank and dirty. Trash cans are overturned in multiple places along it, with the garbage spilling out over the pavement for man and animal alike to rummage through. Totally free of the bright lights of the city that never sleeps, only one solitary source of illumination is present at the end of the lane. A barely functioning neon sign reads “BAR” and it is within this door that we find Kale Hartmann taking pride of place on the main stool. The inside of this decrepit watering hole is near as dark as it is outside. Apart from a few dim fluorescent lights only the glow from the decades old television set hung over the bar breaks through the shadows. Kale is in his usual blue jeans and a plain coloured tee, only this time he wears his black leather ring jacket over the top, complete with the ever so tasteful Confederate flag patch on the back. Taking a sip from an unidentifiably branded beer bottle Kale finally turns to address the camera.*
Kale: I told ya’ll exactly what was going to happen.
*With another calm sip of his beer Kale tips his black hat upwards so his eyes become visible. His face shows some signs of his debut match in XWF from this past Monday but on the whole he remains relatively unscathed.*
Kale: I told you that I was going to give a taste of the special brand of violence Kale Hartmann brings along. It may have been jerking the curtain but I still busted my way through three others guys while barely breaking a sweat. And what did I get for my troubles? Apart from a couple dollars at the pay window I got myself a shot at someone who actually has a bit of a name for themselves in this place. Several silly little nicknames in fact but when I look at the card for Madness this week it says I’m facing a fella called John Austin.
Heck ol’ Johnny boy’s even already seen fit to open his mouth a couple times about me! And while I might not exactly be what you’d call a student of the game, you better believe I was listening. Weak insults and crappy humour aside all I saw was the ramblings of one very confused man.
*Through the dust covered cathode ray screen hung over Kale’s shoulder we can see the TV is tuned to some low grade college football match. Fortunately the picture quality is a poor as the players so the multiple fumbles, missed blocks and dropped passes can barely be made out. No one in the place seems concerned however; the only two patrons besides Kale are some obviously seasoned drinkers silently taking turns pouring shots off some of coloured brown spirit and the barkeep is nowhere to be seen. Equally unfazed by the game or the other men Kale continues to address the XWF audience.*
Kale: You can say all you want about me John, but one thing’s for damned sure, Kale Hartmann knows exactly what he is. I am a dirty redneck from Alabama. I like my booze cheap and my boots grimy but that’s far from a weakness. My teeth may not be white but you can be certain every one of them is still accounted for. No man’s ever gotten close enough to knock one out and don’t be thinking you’re gonna be the first. The old south may well have done those things to me but you missed one pretty important detail. I’m not the old south; Kale Hartmann is the very picture of the New South. That means I’m no horseback riding outlaw, I’m no gun toting cowboy, heck I’m not even a back road moonshine peddler. The New South is quite simply the home of the toughest S.O.B.’s walking this fine country today. The only beating that comes close to the one I can dish out is the one I can take and from everything you’ve shown me boy, its plain that you just can’t match that.
How could you Johnny, when you don’t even know what kind of a man you are. You want to call yourself Mr Rock and Roll but then spout off some fancy radio show about rap music? You want to call yourself Mister 22624 but then denounce your roots in little old Virginia and run a Los Angeles tourism campaign? But worst of all you want to call yourself a man of the people and then spend all your time running down the very fans you’re meant to kiss up to! I’m not too sure if you’ve checked a calendar or a map lately Mister but this little fight of ours next week is in the grand old state of Oklahoma so I’d wager more than a couple of your ‘hicks’, ‘inbreds’ and ‘redneck fans’ will be in attendance. Damnit boy that little spiel of yours might have even come close to getting just one of those fans to cheer for ol’ Kale Hartmann. So at the very least you could have that to hang your hat on at the end of Monday night. Good luck feeding off the fan’s energy and chants while they’re all busy throwing your soap and toilet paper back into your face.
*All of a sudden the first stirring within the bar since we arrived is heard. Panning to the two old booze hounds sharing the table on the far side of the room it appears one of them tried to sneak a second shot out of turn and his drinking partner still had the wherewithal to notice and take umbrage. Neither man looks to be in a state to rationally discuss the matter and in a masterful display of communication they resolve the issue with a series of grunts and unintelligible mutterings with the second booze hound getting to take his two drinks before the slow trading of the bottle picks up just as it left off.*
Kale: But you see Austin, I’ve worked out exactly what you are. You want to talk about your experience in XWF and how it separates you and me? Well you’re spot on there boy but not in how you were planning it. Your XWF history tells a simple story, you’re a bit player. You’re a man who fills in the numbers in the bottom of the card. Sure you might have managed a ‘W’ or two when you had a partner to hold your sorry ass up, but once they leave you to stand on your own two feet you fold fast Johnny. What kind of a man lists the names of his failures as a boast? All you showed is that you can’t cut it with the big dogs Austin; you’re a stepping stone to bigger and better things. You don’t cry and complain because deep down you know you’re damned lucky to have the spot to begin with. Difference between you and I is that Kale Hartmann doesn’t capitulate, he doesn’t fail. After this Monday John you can another name to the list of men that have walked past you on their way up the card. You best keep that tooth brush and toilet paper handy Mister, because when I leave you stomped into the canvas at Madness the ref’s gonna need them to clean your blood and piss from the ring while I celebrate with a beer.
*In a preview of Monday’s closing scene Kale stands up and downs the remainder of his beer in one solid gulp before slamming the bottle forcefully down onto the bar before him. However the sound is muffled by a much more substantial kerfuffle erupting from our friends in the back. It seems they have reached the final swig in their bottle of whiskey and the discussion of whose turn it actually is has quickly turned desperate. The wino’s both know it could be their last taste of liquor for weeks and they quite literally start fighting tooth and nail for it. It’s only once their skirmish sends the pair crashing through a table that the bar keep finally shows his face. Or more accurately he shows his double barrelled shotgun. As they hear the click of the pump action the two men freeze. Kale takes a moment to survey the situation and as the other three men stand frozen Hartmann calmly walks over to the bottle that started it all and takes it in his hand. One of the men on the floor begins to protest but a lightning quick and steely gaze from Kale puts him back in his place. One swallow and the situation is settled but a stoic and nonchalant Kale before he walks back to the bar and picks up his hat from next to a pile of empty beer bottles. After running back his jet black and greasy hair with his free hand Kale puts the hat back on his head and heads for the door.*
Kale: So bring your ass whopping Mr Austin and I’ll show you and the rest of XWF that I can dish one back that no man can rival. You’re coming with me this Monday Johnny,
and we’re Going South.
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