“Since day one in SCW all I've ever wanted was a chance to face and beat the best.”
Fade in on Blade Alexander. He's sitting... somewhere. It's a locker room, but who knows what one or where it is. It's pretty much the same as every other locker room in every other town.
“One rare occasions I've actually had that opportunity. Think back to the very first Climax Control. I was in the main event, and I won that match. But it seems every since then SCW has found a way to bury me and push me aside.”
The room is a dirty off white color, the benches are a light grey and the concrete floor was once orange, but most of that has worn away to the bare floor below.
“Night after night I find myself somewhere floating on the card. I'm just there, in the middle, working my ass off being the best and what do I get for my troubles? Yet another match against whomever is pretty new to SCW and the top brass wants to see if they'll sink or swim. Most of the time they don't. Most of the time they're guys with a bit of buzz going for them or they're the son of whomever and to see if there's anything to them SCW puts them in the ring with me and the inevitable happens and they get beat.”
He's dressed in his wrestling gear. Black trunks, red knee pads, red and white boots.
“Chances are these people are never going to be seen or heard from again.”
“But then there are those guys who are kept away from me at all costs. Surprisingly Nick Jones and I have been in the ring together, though he still owes me a rematch from way back. But there are other guys who run. Take Rage for instance. He took exception to what I was saying and sucker punched me like a bitch and ran so far away he's getting beaten by drama queens. That's life.”
“On the other hand there are guys like Gabriel or that kid... All parts of that same group. They call themselves sinners but the only thing their guilty of is stealing money that could be going to someone who actually deserves to be paid. For some reason people love them, but people are fucking sheep. Put something on the internet and they'll believe it. Say a celebrity does it and it'll be the hottest fad.”
“Some people would blame me. Maybe it's all my fault right. The only reason I've been stuck in the middle of the pack is just because that's where I belong. I certainly don't belong there, but if that's what anyone thinks, maybe it is partly my fault.”
“From day one in SCW we've played a nice little game. We've sat back and played promise. You want opportunity and they promise it to you so you're happy. You want title matches and they promise them to you so you're happy. But then you find out you're in the opening match. Or then you find out you're against some guy in his first match. Well what happened to what I was promised?”
“Oh it's coming, it's coming, just do this one thing for me first.”
“Then you do it, and you find out your shot that you've been waiting for has gone to someone else who bitched on Twitter.”
“I shook my head at stuff like that. I took people at their word. I shook my head, bit my tongue and kept on doing just what they wanted.”
“The only thing I ever ended up getting from biting my tongue was a swollen tongue.”
He sighs and stands up. For a moment he just stands there, but then begins pacing back and forth, looking down at the floor.
“I waited and waited. I wanted my chance, my turn, but after seeing so many chances go by I got pretty dis-heartened. I was living in Las Vegas and you know what you do when you're in Las Vegas and your unhappy? You gamble. You go see strip shows. You gamble more, you drink.”
“You know that saying, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? Well when you're the thing that stays in Vegas then you get pretty fucking tired of whats happening in Vegas.”
“So I went home.”
“I went home and for a bit I stay with my grandfather. A simple old man living in a nice home in the country. I went swimming in the river I swam in as a kid. I explored the woods that were a whole universe to me once. It was a welcomed escape.”
“Then I found a box of old wrestling toys in the basement. They were of my dad and the guys he used to wrestle with.”
“I always wanted a wrestling figure of myself. I thought was the best thing you could get out of life when I was young, to actually BE an action figure.”
He finally stops pacing and looks at the camera again.
“So I thought it was high time to get back in touch with my old man.”
“I'll spare you all of the personal details because, quite frankly, they're none of your business, but it was pretty emotional.”
“Eventually though we got around to talking about wrestling. We even sat down to watch some of my dad's old stuff again. Not just his stuff, whole shows. I watched guys fight, guys wrestle, and I watched guys talk. Boy did they ever talk. That's when things started coming back together.”
“I told my dad about all the stuff I was being promised and never got, and his response was never trust a fucking promoter. They'll promise you the moon, but wont give you a grain of sand. I told him how I went along with things knowing my time was coming. He said if you keep going along your time is going to pass you by before you even know it gets there.”
“I told him to stop talking like an arm-chair philosopher.”
“He told me to stop filling my head with pipe dreams. He told me to stop living in the fantasy of being a wrestler and start being the best fucking wrestler alive. I told him I already was and he just laughed.”
“What I'm really trying to say here is what I needed most was to step away from it all to see just what it was I was trying to look at.”
“I watched tapes of an era by gone. I watched show after show from times when he was the biggest thing in wrestling. Times when guys like Mark Ward was an up and comer. Times when a guy like Jordan Williams was starting to make a name for himself.”
“You know what I didn't see? Cross dressers, transvestites, wanna be models, B list actors, or anyone else like that climb into the ring and try to become famous through wrestling. What I did see was men and women who LIVED and BREATHED the sport of professional wrestling and would have beaten you clear to death if you ever called them an entertainer. I saw each and every one of them pour out their souls in each and every match just so they could call themselves the BEST. I didn't millionaires carting their fucking brats off to overly-expensive private schools and bitch about how much it cost. NO ONE GAVE A SHIT ABOUT THAT! What I saw was those men and women trying to fucking burn down their opponents houses just to get ahead! Wrestling was all that god-damned mattered. Anything else... being rich, being famous, being a good husband and father was all second to being the greatest.”
“That's what I want. I don't want to be part of some god-aweful Vegas show. I don't want to be part of a carnival or called an entertainer. I'm a PROFESSIONAL FUCKING WRESTLER.”
“The day I came back to this place I started to do it all over again. People were happy to see me, but that was about it. It was all Blade's back, and everyone went about their business. That was entirely my fault. It was just too easy to fall back into the old rut. But fuck ruts. I'm done with that.”
“It wasn't even something SCW did. If it were just them I would have eased back in and went along for the ride again, destined to have an SCW that boasted a great win-loss record but was completely ignore-able in every other way.”
“The shake up came from an innocent email from a friend back home. He sent me this flyer a promoter back in my town had put out. Halloween was coming up and they were having a costume battle royal and everyone was invited. So I tossed my name out there. Sounded like fun.”
“Then fate stepped in, and the card was changed. It wasn't just a battle royal anymore. The prize was an immediate shot at the NWA World Championship.”
“What followed was a phone call from my dad. He didn't even say hi, he just said six words to me: Get the title I never got.”
“That's when everything he ever taught me came flooding back. The old Blade Alexander is dead. The new Blade Alexander is pissed off. He's got something to prove, and his got a big fucking chip on his shoulder.”
He abruptly grabs the camera pulling it in close to him.
“This brings me back to you Jordan. It's fucking you I'm facing this week and it's your blood I have EVERY intention on spilling. You see, I don't want Jordan Williams, father and family man. I don't want Jordan Williams who's been coasting on his reputation, more concerned about his family than about taking take of fucking business in that ring. That's shit. You're become a big pile of shit Jordan and that's no good to me.”
“I need Jordan Williams to care. I need Jordan Williams with something to prove, someone who thinks he's still the greatest. I don't want some fucking chump, 17 years in the business ass-clown who wants tot be the champ because it means more money so he can pay for new uniforms for his son's tee ball team or afford to take a nice healthy choice snack to his daughter's soccer match every second fucking Tuesday of the month.”
“I need the Jordan Williams you have been to show up and want to be a roll model for your family and bring them all along with you. I need the Jordan Williams who wants to be a good wrestler and a great provider to sit his whole family down right there on the other side of the barricade so when I come down to that ring with you standing there watching I can slap your fucking wife so hard that every time you look at her for a whole month you wont be able to think of anything but breaking my back because my hand print is still on that skank's face!”
“I need the Jordan Williams who thinks he's the best, who thinks no one can touch him! I need the Jordan Williams who so good and pissed off he'll push his own kids out of the way to get his hands around my neck. I don't give a shit what it takes, I'm going to get what I want! Beating the 'legend' Jordan Williams means nothing to me. He's just another guy on just another night going through the motions. I need the Jordan Williams who's going to get so invested, so upset when he loses that he wont be able to eat until he gets a rematch. I don't want a Jordan Williams who wants to beat me, I want a Jordan Williams who NEEDS to beat me. I don't need you at your best Jordan, I need you better. Better than you've ever been before. I need a Jordan Williams who means something or my victory over you means nothing, and I'm tired of letting myself mean nothing in SCW.”
“I have an NWA World Title match opportunity coming up soon and you think SCW has anything to do with it? Of course not. I'm sure they didn't even consider me in their rankings for any title. That's what they're best at. Over look good ol' Blade, it's not like he'll mind.”
“I'm the best fucking professional wrestler on the planet and I don't care if I have to show up on every wrestling show for every promotion on the whole planet to prove it. I'm sick and tired of being promised things and walking away empty-handed. This weekend I'm going to paint these hands red. I'm going to drag the broken body of the best damned Jordan Williams that SCW can muster and pull it over to the guard rail and paint hate symbols in Jordan's own blood all over his own family just so I can show you all that pissed off Blade that was a force to be reckoned with back when this company first opened it's doors is still alive, and holy shit is he every pissed off for being buried and silenced so long.”
“Too many times I've seen the spotlight in SCW go to others who weren't have as good just because they complained. There's a reason why the so-called best in this business have been avoiding me at all costs until now. The protection ends. The blade has been drawn from the scabbard. It's time to cut a fucking bloody path and change history.”
Fade.
