Post by Jay O'Brien on Jan 25, 2007 12:57:36 GMT -5
[Start.]
[It’s that time again...]
“Tomorrow.”
[Jay O’Brien, head in his hands, dark hair flowing over his fingers, cascading, falling like near-black water.]
JOB: Tomorrow, tomorrow...
[Jay is breathing heavily now, psyching himself up, shoulders rising and falling, faster, faster, faster still. Then he snaps his head up. His eyes are burning with intensity.]
JOB: Well here we are, Paul, one day before Action – one day before I chalk up my third consecutive win. One day before I climb another rung on the ladder. One day before I cross another name of my list.
JOB: Paul, you are going the same way as Jack Saffire, and the same way as Marcus Chamberlain. And yet you call me a jobber based on the fact that I’ve won two matches out of two? Do you think that makes sense? Why, Paul? Did you say that because Saffire and Chamberlain haven’t left their indelible mark on this promotion yet? Did you say that because you doubt they ever will? Or did you say that because you simply don’t know who they are? Either way, Paul, it really doesn’t matter, because the fact is I never jobbed. I beat them. And like we all know, a man can only beat what’s put in front of him, right? You’re reaching, son, and there’s nothing to for you to grab on to. You’ve got NOTHING on me.
[Jay is amped.]
JOB: Paul, I want you to look into these eyes – my eyes – and tell me what you see.
[The camera zooms in on the burning blue.]
JOB: Do you see defeat in these eyes, Paul? Do you see fear? Hell, Paul, do you even see uncertainty? I’ll answer those questions for you right now: No. No you (BLEEP)ing don’t.
[The camera zooms out. Jay is just as hard-faced as he was before. Just as forceful.]
JOB: You see, whilst you’re there making assumptions about me, casting aspersions over a guy you clearly – and admittedly – know nothing about, I’m here looking up every last performance you ever had. Every high and every low. Everything. Why do I do that, Paul? It’s simple. You don’t need to be a genius to figure the motivation. Hell, I’ve stated it a few times, and I’ve only been around for a matter of a couple of weeks.
JOB: I do it because I want to be the best.
[Jay nods, slowly, sincerely.]
JOB: I’m looking at you, just you, scrutinizing your every detail, because I know I can’t get to where I want to get by focusing solely on the bigger picture. I’ve got to take things one step at a time. You, Paul, are my next step. The next stepping stone, if you will.
JOB: And the best thing of all? You’re distracting yourself into oblivion.
JOB: Dazed and confused, Paul – two words to describe you quite aptly. You don’t seem to know who you are, or where you’re going. You’ve got delusions of grandeur, delusions that you’re a better man and a better wrestler than you really are, and all the while you’re just happy to guess and hope and pray that your next opponent – me, Paul, me – isn’t as good as you are. That he’s gonna help you find your feet again, help you back to winning ways.
[Jay laughs, shakes his head.]
JOB: But it’s just not gonna happen.
JOB: We’ve spoken about you a lot this week, Paul, and I’m perfectly satisfied that I can – and will – beat you. Now let’s talk about me. Let’s talk about why I’m not going to lose.
JOB: I’m gonna say the same thing I told Marcus last week. I’m not gonna lose because I can’t afford to lose. Not to you, not to yet another disgrace to this business – an even more pitiful disgrace. You, Paul, offer this sport nothing. What are you all about, Paul? I’ll tell you what I’m all about – I’m all about me. Yes, yes, these are the same things I told Marcus, but I can excuse that because I have a hunch – a strong (BLEEP)ing hunch – that you haven’t done the slightest bit of research on me whatsoever. If you have, you certainly haven’t shown it. Your focus seems to be everywhere, all over the place, not on me, your opponent, the man that’s going to pin you, or submit you, or beat you any (BLEEP)ing way I can. Beat you because I’m a competitor, a serious athlete, a man who PRIDES HIMSELF ON NOT LETTING SOME (BLEEP)ING AIRHEAD BEAT HIM.
JOB: Paul, you’ve shown me nothing this week but disrespect. Not even the respect to look into me, examine me, test me, challenge me, give me a run for my (BLEEP)ing money. A man like me doesn’t like being disrespected, Paul. And that, on top of everything else, on top of all your pathetic vices, and personality flaws, and lack of motivation to even BOTHER with me is going to spur me on. Sure, you made a simple "jobber" comment, and threats, and spouted a load of self-promoting trash talk bull(BLEEP) about blood on your hands and your "rise" to the top, but THAT Paul, is simply not good enough. That, Paul, is disrespect in my eyes. And that is going to fuel my desire to beat you.
JOB: That is why I’m going to leave you lying in the ring, broken and disillusioned. In closeing Paul... (BLEEP) you. (BLEEP) you.
[Out.]
[It’s that time again...]
“Tomorrow.”
[Jay O’Brien, head in his hands, dark hair flowing over his fingers, cascading, falling like near-black water.]
JOB: Tomorrow, tomorrow...
[Jay is breathing heavily now, psyching himself up, shoulders rising and falling, faster, faster, faster still. Then he snaps his head up. His eyes are burning with intensity.]
JOB: Well here we are, Paul, one day before Action – one day before I chalk up my third consecutive win. One day before I climb another rung on the ladder. One day before I cross another name of my list.
JOB: Paul, you are going the same way as Jack Saffire, and the same way as Marcus Chamberlain. And yet you call me a jobber based on the fact that I’ve won two matches out of two? Do you think that makes sense? Why, Paul? Did you say that because Saffire and Chamberlain haven’t left their indelible mark on this promotion yet? Did you say that because you doubt they ever will? Or did you say that because you simply don’t know who they are? Either way, Paul, it really doesn’t matter, because the fact is I never jobbed. I beat them. And like we all know, a man can only beat what’s put in front of him, right? You’re reaching, son, and there’s nothing to for you to grab on to. You’ve got NOTHING on me.
[Jay is amped.]
JOB: Paul, I want you to look into these eyes – my eyes – and tell me what you see.
[The camera zooms in on the burning blue.]
JOB: Do you see defeat in these eyes, Paul? Do you see fear? Hell, Paul, do you even see uncertainty? I’ll answer those questions for you right now: No. No you (BLEEP)ing don’t.
[The camera zooms out. Jay is just as hard-faced as he was before. Just as forceful.]
JOB: You see, whilst you’re there making assumptions about me, casting aspersions over a guy you clearly – and admittedly – know nothing about, I’m here looking up every last performance you ever had. Every high and every low. Everything. Why do I do that, Paul? It’s simple. You don’t need to be a genius to figure the motivation. Hell, I’ve stated it a few times, and I’ve only been around for a matter of a couple of weeks.
JOB: I do it because I want to be the best.
[Jay nods, slowly, sincerely.]
JOB: I’m looking at you, just you, scrutinizing your every detail, because I know I can’t get to where I want to get by focusing solely on the bigger picture. I’ve got to take things one step at a time. You, Paul, are my next step. The next stepping stone, if you will.
JOB: And the best thing of all? You’re distracting yourself into oblivion.
JOB: Dazed and confused, Paul – two words to describe you quite aptly. You don’t seem to know who you are, or where you’re going. You’ve got delusions of grandeur, delusions that you’re a better man and a better wrestler than you really are, and all the while you’re just happy to guess and hope and pray that your next opponent – me, Paul, me – isn’t as good as you are. That he’s gonna help you find your feet again, help you back to winning ways.
[Jay laughs, shakes his head.]
JOB: But it’s just not gonna happen.
JOB: We’ve spoken about you a lot this week, Paul, and I’m perfectly satisfied that I can – and will – beat you. Now let’s talk about me. Let’s talk about why I’m not going to lose.
JOB: I’m gonna say the same thing I told Marcus last week. I’m not gonna lose because I can’t afford to lose. Not to you, not to yet another disgrace to this business – an even more pitiful disgrace. You, Paul, offer this sport nothing. What are you all about, Paul? I’ll tell you what I’m all about – I’m all about me. Yes, yes, these are the same things I told Marcus, but I can excuse that because I have a hunch – a strong (BLEEP)ing hunch – that you haven’t done the slightest bit of research on me whatsoever. If you have, you certainly haven’t shown it. Your focus seems to be everywhere, all over the place, not on me, your opponent, the man that’s going to pin you, or submit you, or beat you any (BLEEP)ing way I can. Beat you because I’m a competitor, a serious athlete, a man who PRIDES HIMSELF ON NOT LETTING SOME (BLEEP)ING AIRHEAD BEAT HIM.
JOB: Paul, you’ve shown me nothing this week but disrespect. Not even the respect to look into me, examine me, test me, challenge me, give me a run for my (BLEEP)ing money. A man like me doesn’t like being disrespected, Paul. And that, on top of everything else, on top of all your pathetic vices, and personality flaws, and lack of motivation to even BOTHER with me is going to spur me on. Sure, you made a simple "jobber" comment, and threats, and spouted a load of self-promoting trash talk bull(BLEEP) about blood on your hands and your "rise" to the top, but THAT Paul, is simply not good enough. That, Paul, is disrespect in my eyes. And that is going to fuel my desire to beat you.
JOB: That is why I’m going to leave you lying in the ring, broken and disillusioned. In closeing Paul... (BLEEP) you. (BLEEP) you.
[Out.]