â€Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.†–Martin Luther King, Jr.
April 16th, 2014 – Drake’s Mountain House; Bakersfield, CA – 2:00 PM
[The camera fades in on the exterior of Drake’s home in the Tehachapi Mountains. A deep fog settles over the gravel driveway leading up to the rather large wood and stone home nestled between a wide clearing in the mountain. The cool April air sends a slight mist through the atmosphere as a white Chevrolet Impala pulls up the long gravel driveway. The sedan pulls past the three garage doors and makes its way to the front of the house, coming to a stop in front of the tall double doors in the front of the house. The driver turns the ignition off and flops the keys on to the front passenger seat of what is obviously a rental car. He opens the driver door and steps out with his heavy boots before standing and stretching tall, signifying the end to what seems like a long journey. The middle-aged man stands tall in tight blue jeans and a lightly blue, barely button shirt. His denim jacket matches his designer jeans as if they were meant to be together. He rubs gray stubble covered chin with his callous hand before looking over at the large double doors. He smiles a bit as the camera pulls out and we can see who he is; Max Proffo.
He steps up toward the door and rings the door bell. After a moment of impatient waiting he begins to knock on the door. After the fourth or fifth knock, the door slowly pulls open. Standing in the doorway is Drake Green, or the shadow that is left of him. His face unshaven and overgrown, he stands short in pajamas and a bathrobe. The ice in the glass of scotch that he’s holding is clicking and clanking as a look of surprise quickly turns to a look of anger.]
Drake: What do you want?
Max: Is that any way to greet a friend?
Drake: If I was greeting a friend maybe…
Max: Come on, D.
Drake: I’ll ask you again, what do you want?
Max: How about a ‘hello’?
Drake: Fine. Hello. Now why the fuck are you here?
Max: You gonna let me in or what?
[Drake looks at him for a moment and then rolls his eyes before turning around and walking towards his living room leaving the door open for Max to walk through.]
Max: Love what you’ve done with the place.
[Max sarcastically remarks as he looks around the mess that has become Drake’s home. Empty booze bottles are flung around the living room and piles of dirty laundry are heaped up. Drake walks over, sipping his scotch, to the large floor to ceiling windows and stares out to the meadow that resides in his back yard.]
Drake: For the third time, Max. Why are you here?
Max: I was worried, kid. Thought I’d come check up on ya.
Drake: Well I’m fine.
Max: I can see that.
Drake: If you’re to judge me then you can just get the fu-
[Max interrupts him.]
Max: Enough with the dramatics, D. Your sister called me and told me you declined the surgery. What’s going on?
Drake: What’s the point? It’s not like I can go back. It’s over, Maxy. Everything I ever lived for died out there with Sean Jackson; all of it. The only thing that’s left over is this…a bottomless bottle of scotch and eternity knowing that I couldn’t get it done. That Mark Ward got me and it’s over. Surgery ain’t gonna fix that, pal.
[Max walks over and puts his hands on Drake’s shoulders.]
Max: Who the fuck cares, man?
[Drake stares with a bit of confusion.]
Max: I spent my whole life wrapped up in that business. A business that that killed the best friend I ever had, a business that practically drove your brother to his death…I’m not gonna watch the only son I’ve got left…blood or no blood…live like this. It’s not worth it, D. I thought there was nothing else out there and I was wrong.
Drake: Oh yeah, what’s out there?
Max: Life. Life is out there, kid.
[Drake and Max share in a hard stare with one another. After a moment of no talking, Drake breaks the silence.]
Drake: I’m happy for you, Max. No sarcasm, no bullshit…I really am. But I can’t just move on. It’s too engrained in who I am. Having that surgery seals that fate for me. If I have it done then I can’t go back. I’m not ready.
Max: So what are you going to do then, Drake? Just sit here and get drunk until your neck magically fixes it self? Or better yet, maybe you’ll get so depressed that you’ll just kill yourself. You think I don’t know what it’s like to be depressed. I spent twenty years blaming myself for your father’s death. I pigeon holed you and your brother into this career because I didn’t know how to raise a kid and that miserable stepmother of yours couldn’t be bothered to help. I blamed myself for a long time, D.
Drake: So what changed?
Max: That changed.
[Max points to the glass of scotch in Drake’s hand.]
Max: If you want change, real change, that’s how you do it.
[Drake rolls his eyes.]
Drake: Give me a fucking break.
Max: Don’t do this, D. Don’t waste your life like I did, I’m begging you. There is so much more out there than this.
[Drake stands for a moment in more silence. He looks up at Max with a small tear in his eye and a look on his face like he just figured something out.]
Drake: I don’t know how to stop, Maxy. I swear to God I don’t.
Max: I can help you. I can move back and be here with you.
Drake: What about Carmen?
Max: She’ll understand.
Drake: Fuck that, I’m moving in with you. I’d rather recover from neck surgery in Hawaii than Bakersfield fucking California.
[Max smiles.]
Max: So you’re gonna do it, is that a yes?
[Drake smiles back.]
Drake: Yeah, Maxy, I’ll do it, as long as I don’t have to sleep on the couch.
Max: I’ll buy you a bed.
Drake: You’ll actually buy something? Restaurant is doing well?
Max: Nah it’s tanking big time. I was gonna use your credit card.
[Drake and Max share a laugh. Drake sets down his glass and puts his hand on Max’s shoulder.]
Drake: I’m sorry for not being at your wedding. That was a dick move.
Max: Yeah, it was. But I’m glad you’re ok.
Drake: Thanks for coming, Maxy. I’m sorry if I let you down.
Max: You never let me down, kid. I’m so proud of you.
[The two share a father-son like embrace. Drake pulls away and wipes away a few tears.]
Drake: You’re the best friend I’ve got.
[Max wipes away a tear of his own.]
Max: You’re the only one I’ve got, D.
[The two share another embrace as the scene fades out.]
April 21st, 2014 – Presbyterian University Hospital ; Pittsburgh, PA – 9:00 AM
[The camera fades in to a small, square hospital room. The walls are covered in white tiles and plaster. The loud sound of beeping echoes through the room as the camera focuses in on Max and Jenny Green standing in front of a stretcher. Max is wearing a white t shirt and blue jeans and Jenny stands in black yoga pants and a faded orange ‘Main Event’ t-shirt. Lying in the stretcher is Drake. His face is now somewhat groomed and his eyes are a bit droopy as he stares up at his frined and sister. An intravenous drip sits stuck in his left arm, right above the tattoo of the ‘Male’ symbol on his inner forearm.]
Max: You tired?
Drake: How long am I gonna have to sit here? I wanna get this show on the road so I can get to Kauai and meet all of Carmen’s friends.
Max: It should be soon. I’ll go see if I can find a nurse.
[Max pats Drake on the leg before heading out of the room. As Max leaves, Jenny moves in closer and sits on the gurney next to her brother. She takes Drake’s hand in her own and smiles a bit at him.]
Drake: What are you smiling at?
Jenny: You’re an idiot.
Drake: What? Why?
Jenny: You know why.
Drake: Clearly I do not.
Jenny: Look, I just want to say one thing-
[Drake cuts her off.]
Drake: Where did you get that t-shirt?
[Jenny and Drake both look down at her orange ‘Main Event’ t-shirt, the moniker of Drake’s tag team with his brother Nick.]
Jenny: I’ve had it forever. Kinda faded huh?
Drake: Yeah…
Jenny: What made you guys pick orange, anyway? It’s hideous.
Drake: It was Nick’s favorite color. I hated it too.
[Drake smiles at Jenny.]
Drake: What were you going to say?
Jenny: I wanted to tell you not to be an asshole. There are some people who care about you in this world and you shouldn’t push them away. Max and me are family but some of them don’t have to stick around ok?
Drake: I…uh-
[Jenny cuts him off.]
Jenny: Just shut up. Some body wants to say hello before you go under the knife, ok?
[Jenny stands up and walks over to the door to Drake’s hospital room. She opens the door and in walks Misty. Drake has a near shocked look on his face as he sees her. She walks over to him with a pissed off look on her face.]
Jenny: I’ll leave you two alone.
Drake: Gee, thanks.
[Misty cracks a very faint smile at Drake’s sarcasm. She waits patiently for Jenny to shut the door and when she finally does, she winds up and punches Drake in the arm.]
Drake: Ow! What the hell?!
Misty: What? You don’t deserve it?
Drake: Maybe a little…
Misty: You did, and a lot more too.
Drake: Look, about that. I’m sorry.
Misty: It’s ok. I know you were going through a tough time.
Drake: I was but I think it’s gonna be ok for a while.
Misty: Jenny tells me you gave up drinking?
Drake: Yes ma’am, four whole days sober. Are you my prize?
Misty: Don’t even…
Drake: What are you doing here anyway?
Misty: Well…
[Misty plops down on the bed next to Drake and runs her hand through his longer than usual hair.]
Misty: Jenny called me and told me what was going on and I thought I’d come by and send you off to the doctor.
Drake: You flew all the way out here just for me? I’m flattered.
Misty: Well I also had an autograph signing in Philadelphia…
[They both smile.]
Drake: Are we going to be ok?
Misty: Us? Sure. We’re friends right?
[Drake stares a Misty for a moment before responding to her.]
Drake: Yeah, friends. But I-
[Before Drake can finish his sentence, two nurses walk in.]
Nurse: Ok, Mr. Green. It’s time.
[Drake turns to Misty.]
Drake: Will you still be here when I’m done?
Misty: I won’t but call me. We’ll talk.
Drake: Ok.
[Misty leans in and kissed Drake on the forehead. She smiles down at him as he goes to say something.]
Drake: I l…
[Misty eye’s perk up as her interest in what he is about to say shows through.]
Drake: I’m glad you came.
[Misty’s eyes show a bit of disappointment before she ultimately smiles at him again.]
Misty: Me too, good luck.
Drake: Thanks.
[She walks over to the door and opens it. She turns back and gives Drake one last smile before she leaves as the nurses begin to prep Drake for surgery. The camera fades she closes the door.]
â€Surgery was scary. There was a part of me that actually believed that Dr. Maroon was going to slip with his scalpel and I would never walk again. I was terrified of going in, under a knife, and not having any control of the outcome. It was almost the most scared I’ve ever been…almost.
Sean Jackson is a name that does not ring hollow with me. He’s not your prototypical wrestler. He’s not six foot five and doesn’t weigh two hundred and fifty pounds. He shorter and a bit lighter than me and he scares the living shit out of me. He’s not out for the three count. I don’t know if he really cares about winning either. I know he says he does and I know he talked about how I beat him so many months ago and that it had stung him, but the truth behind his eyes seems to sing a different tune.
He thrives on blood. He excels at inflicting pain and he gets off on watching others suffer. These are not normal human tendencies. There is something off putting about him and it goes deeper than just his desire to hurt. I truly believe that if he could get away with it, he would kill his opponents after he beat them. He would sacrifice them to his evil witch Vanessa in some ungodly ritualistic way that would send the people, my people, running from the bleachers. I could almost picture him ripping my heart out after the end of that Blaze of Glory match. I could almost see the smile he would’ve had across his evil face. His beady eyes would stare in excitement as I had my last breath. Yeah, he IS that evil. I know what you’re thinking. ‘This anesthesia is starting to go to Drake’s head, are you sure he’s getting enough oxygen?’ The man is certifiable, it’s a fact.
As I lay here, during an operation that I secretly hope will let me wrestle again, I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I beat Mark Ward back at ‘My Bloody Valentine’. If I wasn’t robbed of my ACW title. Would all of this been inevitable anyway? Would Sean figure out a way to get his hands on my title? Would he have set his sights on ruining my career anyway? What if I never lost to Goth? What if I was strong enough to keep my head in the game then? Where would I be now? Is this all just a bad dream? Am I going to wake up and have to get ready for a return match with Kevin Carter?! Maybe the anesthesia is getting to me…
I’ll never not regret ending my career the way I did. I’ll never get over letting Sean Jackson and Mark Ward get the best of me the way they did. I hope deep down inside that a miracle happens in Pittsburgh while I’m under the knife because what I want more than anything is to get back into the ring one more time and get back what was mine. No, not the ACW title, and not even the SCW title. I want my life back. I want my career back. I want to be Mr. Showtime again…â€
June 15th, 2014 – William Pecole Park; Reno, NV – 10:15 PM
[The camera fades back in to a dressing room back stage at Climax Control. Max, wearing a dark gray suit, is pacing back and forth after just witnessing on the television monitor the ‘Drake Green Appreciation Night’ segment where Drake agreed to get back in the ring, despite his surgically repaired neck, and face Sean Jackson for a chance to challenge for the SCW title. He paces back and forth furiously as he waits for his friend.
SLAM!
The door flies open and in walks Drake Green in a fury. He rips off his designer suit jacket and flings it against the wall with all his might. His bright orange tie flails in the air as Drake lurks forward and slams his fist against the wall.]
Max: Alright! I get it, you’re pissed off. Well so am I, D. What the hell?
Drake: What did you want me to, Max? Just sit there and take it, all of it? Let him talk about my Dad, and you, and Nick like that?
Max: Yes, Drake that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do because you can’t FUCKING wrestling anymore. It’s only been three months since the surgery and you’re supposed to wait six months before carrying more than fifty pounds! What the fuck were you thinking?
Drake: Apparently I wasn’t.
Max: Clearly. I’ll call Barry in the morning and get all this taken care of. We can go back to Hawaii if you want.
Drake: No.
Max: Ok, fine. Stay in Bakersfield but I miss the beach.
Drake: I meant don’t call Barry.
Max: What-
[Drake cuts him off.]
Drake: I want this. I want Jackson in the ring.
Max: Have you lost your mind? What about ‘YOU CAN’T WRESLTE ANYMORE’ do you not understand?
Drake: I need this, Maxy. I do.
Max: Oh do you? Well that makes it all ok then. This isn’t a game, Drake. He can fucking kill you in there. In fact, I’m pretty sure he would actually like to kill you in there. This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. You’re not gonna do this.
Drake: Is it really? Dr. Maroon said I was way ahead of schedule. You were there, were you not?
Max: Ahead of schedule to start running again, not get piledriven into a set of steel steps which is exactly what Sean Jackson will try to do to you. I know you feel like you need to prove something, Drake, but you do not. It’s all over.
Drake: I don’t want it to be!
Max: So what? You’d rather die in the ring? I already watched a member of the Green family die in the ring and I’m sure as hell not gonna do it again.
Drake: Max, please. One match. If I lose it’s over. I’ll sell the house and move to Hawaii with you, I swear. We’ll get fat on the beach together.
Max: Drake, its just fucking stupid. It doesn’t make any goddam sense!
Drake: Sure it does. What was your last match?
Max: It was a loss against an old timer from the NWA, guy named Mike Bell.
Drake: And?
Max: And what?
Drake: How did it feel?
Max: It was a loss, it felt like shit. What do you want me to say that it still eats at me?
Drake: Yes.
Max: Of course it still eats at me. It was my last match but that’s different.
Drake: Why?
Max: Because I couldn’t have gotten killed, that’s why!
Drake: Don’t give me that shit. My Dad was perfectly healthy and look what happened to him. It sucks and it’s terrible but I can die driving back to my fucking hotel, Maxy. I’m not some perfume ad guy. Great it pays the bills but it’s not who I am. I’m a fighter and a showman and I only know how to do one thing. It’s who I am Maxy and I’m not letting it get taken away from me.
[Max stares at Drake for a second and after a moment his eyes widen.]
Max: You knew this would happen. That’s the whole reason you even agreed to come on the show tonight.
Drake: What?
Max: You knew that evil fuck Sean Jackson would try to goad you into this match. You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist himself.
Drake: What are you talking about?
Max: You know what I’m talking about.
Drake: You’re crazy.
Max: Am I? It’s what you wanted isn’t it? This was all a show. You knew what Jackson would do and you were betting on Mark Ward letting his arrogance get the better of him. You knew that if you kept saying no that he would eventually dangle that SCW title in front of you, didn’t you? Didn’t you?
[Drake stays silent for a moment. He looks down to the ground and lets out a deep sigh before looking back up at Max with a wide, twisted smile on his face.]
Drake: You got me.
Max: You son of a bitch. And you asked me to fly from Hawaii to be here with you because you thought if I was here I wouldn’t be able to say no to you when you asked me to train you.
Drake: Was I right?
Max: Yeah, you were right.
Drake: YES!
[Drake runs over and grabs Max and hugs him tightly.]
Max: Ok, ok.
[Max playfully shoves Drake off.]
Max: One match, D. That’s it.
Drake: What if I win? Then we got the title.
Max: Well…if we’ve got the title…
[Max smiles and Drake smiles back at him.]
Max: Your sister is gonna kill me.
Drake: Ooh, yeah, I forgot about her. Maybe we can Barry to help with her.
[Max laughs.]
Max: I don’t even think Barry can stop her.
Drake: Maybe we should go to Hawaii…
[Both men laugh as the scene fades out.]
â€I know you think you’re some sort of maniac out there, Sean. I know you view yourself as the best there ever was. I know that your victory over me is something you feel has propelled you in to some other level of greatness but the reality of it is, it was a fluke. You haven’t done anything. You haven’t accomplished anything that would make me believe otherwise. All I really see is a whiny little brat.
Sure I think you’re mean. I think you’re an awful person who doesn’t hold anyone else’s well being in any regard let alone a high one. But does that make you great? No, it just makes you a criminal. I’ve beaten you before and I will again. This time you won’t have Mark Ward and his cronies by your side. It’s just going to be and you and the canvas, nothing between us except a referee. When the people out there chant my name, because they will chant my name Sean, I want you take it all in. I want you to relish in all of it because on Sunday night you will know what great really is.
I want you to think about that night back in March of last year when you saw your Empire state title taken from you. I want to remember what the feeling felt like when you heard that ref slap his down for third time and came to that realization that you were just bested. That someone with more talent, and more charisma in his left pinky than you have in your whole body beat you and did it with ease. I am a SCW Champion and I accomplished that all on my own. I didn’t have Mark Ward shoving me down people’s throats and pushing me up the card because I wasn’t talented enough to get there. Mark Ward had to hold me back because he couldn’t contain me.
I know how things can end up on Sunday. Don’t take this as me under estimating you. I know how dangerous you can be Sean. I know that streak of pure evil is hiding inside of you and that you are the ultimate opportunist. I’m aware that if I let my guard down for too long that you wouldn’t hesitate to send me right back in to the operating room. I know you Sean. I’ve taken the best of your punches before. I know how you move, I know how you think, and I know what makes you tick. Come Sunday you’ll see first hand what makes me tick. You’ll know, finally after all these months, why I am better than you. Why I truly am the Man of the People and why Climax Control really is my show. See you in Tempe…â€
