Post by The Ace on Jun 14, 2013 14:23:49 GMT
Jake Conway was sat in the large kitchen of his luxurious family home in Las Vegas, Nevada. He has his youngest daughter in his lap at the family dining table, Solitaire is sat next to her father, between him and Caleb Lockwood, who in turn is sat next to IWF's newest interviewer, Tiffany Jones around the table. The other side of Jake is an empty chair as Kathy was currently looking in the refrigerator.
Jake: So this is nice huh? Just a simple home-cooked family breakfast.
Caleb looks up from buttering his toast with the edge of a knife.
Caleb: Definitely. Makes such a change, especially on Pay Per View week. Things tend to get so hectic in the hotels with the guys all on edge about their big matches.
Jake chuckles as he pours himself a glass over orange juice.
Jake: Yeah, I remember those days. That's why I'm glad Simon was reasonable in negotiating my contract. I think we have an understanding and will get on just fine, must be because we're both british. I was quite adamant that if he wanted to contract my services, they'd be on my terms...and one of those terms was spending as much time at home with my family. Since that was essentially part of my NCW deal too, Simon decided the best decision for everybody was simply to honor those terms...
Tiffany: Well, you must be on good terms if you're on a first name basis with Mr de Montford.
Kathy shuts the refrigerator, and walks by the table with a carton of six fresh eggs.
Kathy: If there's one thing we Conways know, its how to do good business...
Tiffany turns her head after taking a bite of her toast and raises an eyebrow at her elder sister.
Tiffany: We?
Kathy looks over her shoulder at her younger sister and answers with a smirk.
Kathy: If there's one thing I know, its how to take care of my baby...
Caleb: So was the customized limo part of the deal?
Jake takes a sip of his juice before smiling at Caleb.
Jake: Naturally...
Caleb takes a bite of his toast and swallows before facing the veteran.
Caleb: What about your first match being on a Pay Per View for the Heavyweight Championship?
If there was a record playing now, you would have heard it scratch as everybody looked at the exciting young IWF star through narrowed eyes, even young Solitaire who looked up from her bowl of Coco Puffs. Caleb wished he could disappear as he looked over his shoulder and noticed that even the two family cats, Casino and Snowdrop had looked up from their food bowls and were staring at him. Caleb then turns to Jake and a small chuckle escaped him. He should have known better than to imply that the guy who had taken him in was above actually working for everything that he ever achieved and titles were no exception.
Jake: My father taught me the value of two things in life. Money....
Tiffany: ...And hard work, we know, we know, we've heard you tell the story a million times.
Jake: Well maybe I need to tell it a million more times. And you can stop defending him Tiff. Maybe Caleb needs to hear one more time about the fact that I come from a hard-working family, who were never handed any -
Kathy looks over at her husband, interrupting him and saving him from the story of Jake's upbringing. The relief on Caleb's face is evident.
Kathy: How would you like your eggs honey?
________________________________________
In the darkness the guitar wail of 'Out To Get Me' by Clawfinger accompanies the blinking yellow diamond which frames the four Ace playing cards on the back of his jacket, and just before the lyrics begin, the lights in the room are raised to normal levels and the ten year veteran with the blonde hair that hangs just below his shoulders is revealed, with his back towards the camera and his arms outstretched either side of him, resembling every bit the Jesus that so many of his harshest critics wanted to nail to the cross and crucify just because he had made a career out of being the most honest man on this or any roster.
Scramble. Apparently it isn't just how I like my eggs anymore. No, thanks to Will Washington, Mr Head of Heavyweight Division, the Patriotic Patsy or whatever he wants to call himself these days, the concept has been adopted to decide who out of the five men chosen to be in this thing will be the first ever IWF Heavyweight Champion...and now that I've had a few days to digest what lies ahead of me, it occurs to me just how damn appropriately named this match concept really is. Because really that's all you lucky, lucky few, you chosen pioneers of a brand new division and a brand new opportunity have done, are doing and will continue to do as you approach this match, and the saddest part of all this is that I know for most of you, nothing I will do or say here today will change any of that. You've each adopted a tried and tested approach to this match and each of you are hoping against hope, nervously crossing your fingers and hoping that whatever you have to bring to the table this Sunday will be enough, and the reality of the situation you're walking into is that no matter how adamantly each of us puff out our chests, no matter how passionately each of us make a case for why we each believe we should be the first, four of us will be proven wrong, four of us will come close and be beaten not by the better man, but by the clock. Xander only has as much liberty in this match as time will allow.
It is rather cliche to ask you each at this point to ask each of you what you're fighting for in this match. Some of you will look at me with blank stares and tell me that you're fighting for the Heavyweight Championship, for some of you it really is that simple, some of you cannot see any further than your nose or that fifteen pounds of gold. For others, you're fighting for redemption, a chance to escape your past failures and start over and that kind of motivation, whilst admirable, never fails to bring a smile to my face, because while you're trying to be reborn, to rise from the ashes of your mediocrity, to just be given another chance to start over, you will not give anybody else the same chance you're asking for. You want us all to move on, to forget your past failures and let you lay the roots of a new legacy in IWF, yet when it comes time to step up to this little lens and obligatorily run down your opposition, you cannot help yourself. You cannot help but continue to define your competition by their pasts.
As I said earlier, this match is aptly named because it is quite clear that some of you are just scrambling to find the words, you have an obligation to fill your airtime, yet you have nothing to say. This match to me is a wonderful allegory for life, because let's face it, what is life but an attempt by each of us to try and outrun the clock for as long as we can? Hoping and praying that by the end of it all that we have something, anything meaningful to show for it. To leave something behind before they put you in the ground. You each want to be remembered for something, and for that you will scurry around like rats in a barrel and you will scramble over each other in this rat race. You guys will eat each other, trying to get to the little piece of cheese before the timer runs down.
And you guys are supposed to be the good guys here. The heroes. You're supposed to be the fan favourites. The guys who love to pose for the goofy photo opportunities and signing the posters and pictures. You're supposed to be the role models, to set an example and yet even all of you, as self-righteous as you are, you're all ultimately slaves to the very same vices you hold against me. You're all slaves to your own egos and your own greed. The only difference between all of you and a person like me is that you're all forced to hide it behind goofy smiles and sincere hugs as you kiss the babies and visit the hospital wards. That's the life you chose, and now that's the life you're bound by. And that's why you all hate a guy like me.
I have the kind of freedom I know that you all crave, but for the sake of saving face, you'll never openly admit it - at least not without letting the veil fall and showing the world who you all really are. You're all just as ready, willing and able as I am to step over each other for glory as I am, you just hide it better and the truth of the matter is that I don't have to. I am hated by the masses of the bleating sheep because I've made my life and I've made my name. I am not looking to redefine myself like so many of you because for the most part I'm happy with my lot in life. I'm happy with all I have achieved in my career over the past decade. I don't try to bury it, I flaunt it. And that's what neither all of you nor all of your fans can stand. Everybody knows who I am and what I'm capable of. The thousands who will be in attendance and watch us go to war live at Bloody Assizes, and the millions more watching at home will rise up out of their seats waving their paper cups and hot dog wrappers in disgust calling for all of you to kick my ass because I'm the entire reason that they bought the tickets in the first place, I'm the reason they're ordering the Pay Per View.
They want to see four of their idols kick my ass and become the first IWF Heavyweight Champion, and many of them don't care which one of you make it, at this point all they want to see, the one thing that would be worth the price of admission alone to them would be if I am stopped from taking the little egg basket that you carry around from you. That little egg basket which contains all of your hopes, dreams and ambitions to make sure that yours is the golden egg which comes first. It once again falls to me to be less goose and more gooseberry in this scenario, to take each of your little eggs and throw them back at each of you as vehemently as you and all of the people behind you would throw them at me. Duck them if you like, I'll still end up breaking them and leaving them for you to recover them, get back on your moral high horse and teach all the little five year olds who look at you with starry eyes the importance of the life lesson that if at first you don't succeed, try try again. And that really is about as golden as the pot at the end of your rainbow will get, and that's about as silver as the lining on each of your clouds will get.
Be thankful that this is only your first shot at greatness.
And not your last.
Make the most of the silver line, because this golden opportunity is yours and yours alone to lose.
Jake: So this is nice huh? Just a simple home-cooked family breakfast.
Caleb looks up from buttering his toast with the edge of a knife.
Caleb: Definitely. Makes such a change, especially on Pay Per View week. Things tend to get so hectic in the hotels with the guys all on edge about their big matches.
Jake chuckles as he pours himself a glass over orange juice.
Jake: Yeah, I remember those days. That's why I'm glad Simon was reasonable in negotiating my contract. I think we have an understanding and will get on just fine, must be because we're both british. I was quite adamant that if he wanted to contract my services, they'd be on my terms...and one of those terms was spending as much time at home with my family. Since that was essentially part of my NCW deal too, Simon decided the best decision for everybody was simply to honor those terms...
Tiffany: Well, you must be on good terms if you're on a first name basis with Mr de Montford.
Kathy shuts the refrigerator, and walks by the table with a carton of six fresh eggs.
Kathy: If there's one thing we Conways know, its how to do good business...
Tiffany turns her head after taking a bite of her toast and raises an eyebrow at her elder sister.
Tiffany: We?
Kathy looks over her shoulder at her younger sister and answers with a smirk.
Kathy: If there's one thing I know, its how to take care of my baby...
Caleb: So was the customized limo part of the deal?
Jake takes a sip of his juice before smiling at Caleb.
Jake: Naturally...
Caleb takes a bite of his toast and swallows before facing the veteran.
Caleb: What about your first match being on a Pay Per View for the Heavyweight Championship?
If there was a record playing now, you would have heard it scratch as everybody looked at the exciting young IWF star through narrowed eyes, even young Solitaire who looked up from her bowl of Coco Puffs. Caleb wished he could disappear as he looked over his shoulder and noticed that even the two family cats, Casino and Snowdrop had looked up from their food bowls and were staring at him. Caleb then turns to Jake and a small chuckle escaped him. He should have known better than to imply that the guy who had taken him in was above actually working for everything that he ever achieved and titles were no exception.
Jake: My father taught me the value of two things in life. Money....
Tiffany: ...And hard work, we know, we know, we've heard you tell the story a million times.
Jake: Well maybe I need to tell it a million more times. And you can stop defending him Tiff. Maybe Caleb needs to hear one more time about the fact that I come from a hard-working family, who were never handed any -
Kathy looks over at her husband, interrupting him and saving him from the story of Jake's upbringing. The relief on Caleb's face is evident.
Kathy: How would you like your eggs honey?
________________________________________
In the darkness the guitar wail of 'Out To Get Me' by Clawfinger accompanies the blinking yellow diamond which frames the four Ace playing cards on the back of his jacket, and just before the lyrics begin, the lights in the room are raised to normal levels and the ten year veteran with the blonde hair that hangs just below his shoulders is revealed, with his back towards the camera and his arms outstretched either side of him, resembling every bit the Jesus that so many of his harshest critics wanted to nail to the cross and crucify just because he had made a career out of being the most honest man on this or any roster.
"Forgive Them Father For They Know Not What They Do."
The Ace spins around on his heels to face the camera with a confident grin and his yellow-tinted shades over his eyes. Under his flashy jacket, he is wearing the white version of the newest Seth Evans T-shirt and as such across the front in bold black letters we see the greatest unanswered question of our time:UMADBRO?
Scramble. Apparently it isn't just how I like my eggs anymore. No, thanks to Will Washington, Mr Head of Heavyweight Division, the Patriotic Patsy or whatever he wants to call himself these days, the concept has been adopted to decide who out of the five men chosen to be in this thing will be the first ever IWF Heavyweight Champion...and now that I've had a few days to digest what lies ahead of me, it occurs to me just how damn appropriately named this match concept really is. Because really that's all you lucky, lucky few, you chosen pioneers of a brand new division and a brand new opportunity have done, are doing and will continue to do as you approach this match, and the saddest part of all this is that I know for most of you, nothing I will do or say here today will change any of that. You've each adopted a tried and tested approach to this match and each of you are hoping against hope, nervously crossing your fingers and hoping that whatever you have to bring to the table this Sunday will be enough, and the reality of the situation you're walking into is that no matter how adamantly each of us puff out our chests, no matter how passionately each of us make a case for why we each believe we should be the first, four of us will be proven wrong, four of us will come close and be beaten not by the better man, but by the clock. Xander only has as much liberty in this match as time will allow.
It is rather cliche to ask you each at this point to ask each of you what you're fighting for in this match. Some of you will look at me with blank stares and tell me that you're fighting for the Heavyweight Championship, for some of you it really is that simple, some of you cannot see any further than your nose or that fifteen pounds of gold. For others, you're fighting for redemption, a chance to escape your past failures and start over and that kind of motivation, whilst admirable, never fails to bring a smile to my face, because while you're trying to be reborn, to rise from the ashes of your mediocrity, to just be given another chance to start over, you will not give anybody else the same chance you're asking for. You want us all to move on, to forget your past failures and let you lay the roots of a new legacy in IWF, yet when it comes time to step up to this little lens and obligatorily run down your opposition, you cannot help yourself. You cannot help but continue to define your competition by their pasts.
As I said earlier, this match is aptly named because it is quite clear that some of you are just scrambling to find the words, you have an obligation to fill your airtime, yet you have nothing to say. This match to me is a wonderful allegory for life, because let's face it, what is life but an attempt by each of us to try and outrun the clock for as long as we can? Hoping and praying that by the end of it all that we have something, anything meaningful to show for it. To leave something behind before they put you in the ground. You each want to be remembered for something, and for that you will scurry around like rats in a barrel and you will scramble over each other in this rat race. You guys will eat each other, trying to get to the little piece of cheese before the timer runs down.
And you guys are supposed to be the good guys here. The heroes. You're supposed to be the fan favourites. The guys who love to pose for the goofy photo opportunities and signing the posters and pictures. You're supposed to be the role models, to set an example and yet even all of you, as self-righteous as you are, you're all ultimately slaves to the very same vices you hold against me. You're all slaves to your own egos and your own greed. The only difference between all of you and a person like me is that you're all forced to hide it behind goofy smiles and sincere hugs as you kiss the babies and visit the hospital wards. That's the life you chose, and now that's the life you're bound by. And that's why you all hate a guy like me.
I have the kind of freedom I know that you all crave, but for the sake of saving face, you'll never openly admit it - at least not without letting the veil fall and showing the world who you all really are. You're all just as ready, willing and able as I am to step over each other for glory as I am, you just hide it better and the truth of the matter is that I don't have to. I am hated by the masses of the bleating sheep because I've made my life and I've made my name. I am not looking to redefine myself like so many of you because for the most part I'm happy with my lot in life. I'm happy with all I have achieved in my career over the past decade. I don't try to bury it, I flaunt it. And that's what neither all of you nor all of your fans can stand. Everybody knows who I am and what I'm capable of. The thousands who will be in attendance and watch us go to war live at Bloody Assizes, and the millions more watching at home will rise up out of their seats waving their paper cups and hot dog wrappers in disgust calling for all of you to kick my ass because I'm the entire reason that they bought the tickets in the first place, I'm the reason they're ordering the Pay Per View.
They want to see four of their idols kick my ass and become the first IWF Heavyweight Champion, and many of them don't care which one of you make it, at this point all they want to see, the one thing that would be worth the price of admission alone to them would be if I am stopped from taking the little egg basket that you carry around from you. That little egg basket which contains all of your hopes, dreams and ambitions to make sure that yours is the golden egg which comes first. It once again falls to me to be less goose and more gooseberry in this scenario, to take each of your little eggs and throw them back at each of you as vehemently as you and all of the people behind you would throw them at me. Duck them if you like, I'll still end up breaking them and leaving them for you to recover them, get back on your moral high horse and teach all the little five year olds who look at you with starry eyes the importance of the life lesson that if at first you don't succeed, try try again. And that really is about as golden as the pot at the end of your rainbow will get, and that's about as silver as the lining on each of your clouds will get.
Be thankful that this is only your first shot at greatness.
And not your last.
Make the most of the silver line, because this golden opportunity is yours and yours alone to lose.
Well howdy there pardner.