Post by "Perfection" Evan Cartwright on Jan 10, 2006 7:03:52 GMT -5
-=A bad loss. No excuse. Maniac may or may not have made Evan tap out during their match up—still though, Evan had enough power and leverage to use the loaded briefcase given to him by Brandon. But the thought of giving up a DQ loss to a head case like Maniac has given Evan a chip on his shoulder and a reason to better himself mentally and physically. The Tuesday after MNF is now officially training day, and who better to coach this hot young prodigy than The Rat Pack’s very own Coach Gordon Jago.=-
[We open to a rather “old-school” looking gym somewhere in Edmonton. Evan Cartwright is the pinnacle of calm and collected, dressed in Nike sweatpants and a gray tank top. He is flanked by the rotund-yet-robust Coach Jago, blowing his whistle from underneath his Teddy Roosevelt mustache.]
Coach Jago: Alright, Mr. #1 Draft Pick, it’s time for you to start training like the champion that you’re destined to become.
Evan (groaning): Stop that #1 pick talk, Coach. You know I didn’t play ball in college.
Coach Jago: Why the hell not? You could have been a stellar Wide Receiver or Cornerback in the Canadian Football League if you weren’t good enough to play in the NFL. Or if you knew how to shoot anything but bricks, you’d have made a decent guard in basketball.
Evan (slightly scowling): And why is that, Coach? Is it because I’m a black man?
Coach: Don’t play stupid, you know that the black is the superior athlete… didn’t some other coach say that in the past? But I guess you were the unfortunate exception.
Evan: I’ll let you slide on that one Coach… I did wrestle and have been training and touring for over 6 years—this is the sport I am meant for and you know it!
Coach: Ok, ok, easy. Time to train.
Evan: Ready.
Coach: Now drop your purse, and pick up that medicine ball.
[Evan peers down at the antique-looking medicine ball next to his heel and gives Jago a look as if to say “You can’t be serious.”]
Evan: Ok, Coach. What’s next, am I gonna box a kangaroo?
Coach (putting on some gloves): Oh no, I got something planned for you. All aboard the pain train!
[Evan lifts the medicine ball over his head and Jago begins punching him in the stomach. However, these punches are girly-weak at best and harmlessly glance off of Evan’s ab-shield. Evan looks at Jago with pity and shrugs as if unsure of what to do next. Just then, the NAPW Champion, Chris Casino, and Terry Brandon enter and stare at what goes on before them. Casino goes into a laughing fit as Brandon snickers under his breath.]
Evan: Shut up, you punks.
Coach (exhausted): That’s enough of that for today. Whew! I shouldn’t have had that 3rd chili dog for lunch.
[The Coach throws his gloves off and grabs a nearby flat board of hard plywood, handing it to Evan.]
Coach: Now I want you to sleep on this tonight—it toughens the vertebrae.
Evan: Sure, whatever you say, man.
[Evan walks over to Terry and Chris while Coach grabs a newspaper and sneaks off to the lavatory.]
Evan: I’m disappointed that I lost to Maniac, but I’ve already gotten over the initial shame that I put on myself. Now, I am ready to redeem myself and cut open his face in a most brutal fashion.
Casino: Damn right, that crazy SOB took it too far. He couldn’t handle the fact that you did what you had to do to deny him the pleasure of making you tap.
Evan: Whatever the case, I cannot allow myself to be put in a vulnerable position like that again when in the ring. I am a stickler for my craft, and when I don’t do as well as I know I can, it drives me insane until I remedy the problem at hand. But, to be honest, I don’t like the man—I think he is an a**hole—so it makes it that much easier to want to bloody him the next time we meet.
Brandon: He’s a distraction from your goal of becoming the Provincial Champion, though. I suggest you nip this in the bud.
Evan: Normally, I would. I understand your business point of view about this, Mr. Brandon, but I have to insist on demanding satisfaction about this matter. I will show him that dismissing me as merely another crony was the biggest mistake he could ever make.
Casino: The man obviously wants to get at me and my bling bling, but I’m confident you won’t let him get that close to me, right?
Evan: How long have you known me, Chris? You know I am the one man in this place that you can truly rely on.
Casino: Indeed, my brutha. I have no doubts whatsoever about your fidelity.
Brandon: Don’t you worry; I’ll have you back in the rankings for a title shot in no time.
Evan: Don’t bother, Mr. Brandon. There is no set timetable for when I will challenge for the Provincial Championship, so I’ll do it when the time is of more convenience.
Brandon: Alright… we’ll do it your way. But remember…
Evan: I know.
Casino: I could kill for a 14 oz. steak right about now, what say you ditch this place and join us at that the Smoke House, Mr. Cartwright.
Evan: Next time, Chris. I have to train on my own now, since Coach Jago is busy making a delivery to the ocean. He’ll be there for awhile. But what the hell, order me a Delmonico and have it sent to my place if you can.
Casino: I’ll see what I can do then.
[Brandon and Casino take their leave as Evan walks over to the chin-up bar. He stops before leaping and stares at his shadow, etched across the wall. He throws two left jabs and a right cross at the shadow and smiles broadly for the first time in a long time.]
Evan (singing):…I’m gonna be ready for what you do…
[Evan displays some of his long unused boxing skills from his time in East Saint Louis and seems to have a knack for the backwards philosophy of the sweet science. Moving, ducking, bobbing, weaving, uppercut.
Fade to a commercial for Brion’s House of Baboon Waxing.]
[We open to a rather “old-school” looking gym somewhere in Edmonton. Evan Cartwright is the pinnacle of calm and collected, dressed in Nike sweatpants and a gray tank top. He is flanked by the rotund-yet-robust Coach Jago, blowing his whistle from underneath his Teddy Roosevelt mustache.]
Coach Jago: Alright, Mr. #1 Draft Pick, it’s time for you to start training like the champion that you’re destined to become.
Evan (groaning): Stop that #1 pick talk, Coach. You know I didn’t play ball in college.
Coach Jago: Why the hell not? You could have been a stellar Wide Receiver or Cornerback in the Canadian Football League if you weren’t good enough to play in the NFL. Or if you knew how to shoot anything but bricks, you’d have made a decent guard in basketball.
Evan (slightly scowling): And why is that, Coach? Is it because I’m a black man?
Coach: Don’t play stupid, you know that the black is the superior athlete… didn’t some other coach say that in the past? But I guess you were the unfortunate exception.
Evan: I’ll let you slide on that one Coach… I did wrestle and have been training and touring for over 6 years—this is the sport I am meant for and you know it!
Coach: Ok, ok, easy. Time to train.
Evan: Ready.
Coach: Now drop your purse, and pick up that medicine ball.
[Evan peers down at the antique-looking medicine ball next to his heel and gives Jago a look as if to say “You can’t be serious.”]
Evan: Ok, Coach. What’s next, am I gonna box a kangaroo?
Coach (putting on some gloves): Oh no, I got something planned for you. All aboard the pain train!
[Evan lifts the medicine ball over his head and Jago begins punching him in the stomach. However, these punches are girly-weak at best and harmlessly glance off of Evan’s ab-shield. Evan looks at Jago with pity and shrugs as if unsure of what to do next. Just then, the NAPW Champion, Chris Casino, and Terry Brandon enter and stare at what goes on before them. Casino goes into a laughing fit as Brandon snickers under his breath.]
Evan: Shut up, you punks.
Coach (exhausted): That’s enough of that for today. Whew! I shouldn’t have had that 3rd chili dog for lunch.
[The Coach throws his gloves off and grabs a nearby flat board of hard plywood, handing it to Evan.]
Coach: Now I want you to sleep on this tonight—it toughens the vertebrae.
Evan: Sure, whatever you say, man.
[Evan walks over to Terry and Chris while Coach grabs a newspaper and sneaks off to the lavatory.]
Evan: I’m disappointed that I lost to Maniac, but I’ve already gotten over the initial shame that I put on myself. Now, I am ready to redeem myself and cut open his face in a most brutal fashion.
Casino: Damn right, that crazy SOB took it too far. He couldn’t handle the fact that you did what you had to do to deny him the pleasure of making you tap.
Evan: Whatever the case, I cannot allow myself to be put in a vulnerable position like that again when in the ring. I am a stickler for my craft, and when I don’t do as well as I know I can, it drives me insane until I remedy the problem at hand. But, to be honest, I don’t like the man—I think he is an a**hole—so it makes it that much easier to want to bloody him the next time we meet.
Brandon: He’s a distraction from your goal of becoming the Provincial Champion, though. I suggest you nip this in the bud.
Evan: Normally, I would. I understand your business point of view about this, Mr. Brandon, but I have to insist on demanding satisfaction about this matter. I will show him that dismissing me as merely another crony was the biggest mistake he could ever make.
Casino: The man obviously wants to get at me and my bling bling, but I’m confident you won’t let him get that close to me, right?
Evan: How long have you known me, Chris? You know I am the one man in this place that you can truly rely on.
Casino: Indeed, my brutha. I have no doubts whatsoever about your fidelity.
Brandon: Don’t you worry; I’ll have you back in the rankings for a title shot in no time.
Evan: Don’t bother, Mr. Brandon. There is no set timetable for when I will challenge for the Provincial Championship, so I’ll do it when the time is of more convenience.
Brandon: Alright… we’ll do it your way. But remember…
Evan: I know.
Casino: I could kill for a 14 oz. steak right about now, what say you ditch this place and join us at that the Smoke House, Mr. Cartwright.
Evan: Next time, Chris. I have to train on my own now, since Coach Jago is busy making a delivery to the ocean. He’ll be there for awhile. But what the hell, order me a Delmonico and have it sent to my place if you can.
Casino: I’ll see what I can do then.
[Brandon and Casino take their leave as Evan walks over to the chin-up bar. He stops before leaping and stares at his shadow, etched across the wall. He throws two left jabs and a right cross at the shadow and smiles broadly for the first time in a long time.]
Evan (singing):…I’m gonna be ready for what you do…
[Evan displays some of his long unused boxing skills from his time in East Saint Louis and seems to have a knack for the backwards philosophy of the sweet science. Moving, ducking, bobbing, weaving, uppercut.
Fade to a commercial for Brion’s House of Baboon Waxing.]