Post by jackdiamond on Jun 27, 2016 20:18:14 GMT -5
We open up to flickering neon lights in sharp contrast with a dark night sky. These aren't the crisp bright signs you expect from Vegas, the casings caked with dirt and grime obscuring their luminescence. Our ears are bombarded by a cacophony of urban sounds - a mix of car engines roaring and their horns honking, people talking loudly in tones that range from laughing to bickering. A cat shriek can be heard over the white noise and a metal pang of a trash can tipping over onto concrete. We tilt down from the neon lights, down the side of a crumbled brick facade, reaching a window tinted by the same filth plaguing the sign. Still visible through the window are stacks of TVs for sale - the old school type that are as deep as they are wide. The models older than most of the audience watching this right now. Most remain off but a few are tuned onto different channels, at least the ones getting reception. Others just show gray static. Tilting further down we see someone huddled underneath the window, leaned up against the eroded brick. They are wrapped in Black Cloth blankets, though they would be more appropriately considered rags. Their head, covered in unkempt greasy hair, pokes out the top but remains staring down at the sidewalk in front of them. The background din dims and a man's voice can be heard, even as our down on his luck friend doesn't acknowledge the camera.
Jack: What are the odds? A decade ago I was just another young stud lacing up his boots for the first time. Went all in at some joint called Connecticut Forum Wrestling, and with a snap of my fingers I was making bank. Tag Team Title was in the bag. I won a European Championship faster than a private jet could have flown me to the continent I was representing.
The stations on a few televisions change, flashing to different old wrestling clips. Despite the images distortion thanks to bad feeds, a man can be identified as showing up in each one. He wears pant length wrestling tights, divided down the middle into black and white. In each screen we see a different shot of him having his hand raised in victory, often towing a gold belt.
Any joker could tell a Heavyweight Championship was in the cards. Sure enough I took the pot by making that joint's king, some multi-time chump named Baby Bling, look like a joker. I was so slick I cashed out and took to the road for more titles and fatter whales. My hot streak continued no matter where I went, and there were a handful. Couldn't even tell you the names of half of them.
More TVs flash on, this time with commercials for a slew of wrestling federations. Lots of flashing colors and poorly CGI’ed pyrotechnics pop up on screens with logos that include ‘VWF’, ‘CFW’ along with a few others.
You jokers out there, dull as you may be, are sharp enough to see that my hot streak seems to have cooled...considerably. Decks stacked against me, odds became longer and longer. Of course like any riches to rags story, mine involved a damne. Nobody was there to cover me when I hit rock bottom.
Suddenly all of the televisions turn off, their glow disappearing and leaving the downtrodden man before us in further darkness. He is barely more than a silhouette.
Heaters, it turns out, well sometimes they can light bridges ablaze too. But none of you saps out there are gonna pay attention to some history lesson. It has been five years since I last raised the stakes of professional wrestling. Most of you suckers probably popped out six rugrats in that time. So let us wrap up this trip down memory lane and talk about the man I am today.
Even with the piles of blankets encasing him, we can tell he is shifting around uncomfortably. His gaze remains right in front of him, likely too embarassed by his current situation to make eye contact.
How the tables have turned, I’ve signed the dotted line at some two-bit joint and agreed to a dark match. My name used to shine on every marquee in bright neon lights. Now, now I suppose I should count myself lucky to be shuffled into a battle royale. Sharing real estate with a cat like McCollum. Despite his stature he’s nothing more than minnow, a sleight as an opponent to a shark who once feasted on whales. But my hand has been forced.
I am desperate...
I am humble...
Finally the man looks up and makes eye contact with the camera. His face has more lines, and his skin more rough and filthy, than the brick behind him.
I am...bluffing
The man staring at us has not opened his mouth, his chapped lips sealed despite that last statement reaching our ears. A moment later the camera pans to the right, toward the street. We catch a glimpse of a slick dark red sports car. Its coat is so shiny we can still see the downtrodden man in its reflection. As the camera continues to pan we see another man has been present the whole time, leaning against the fancy wheels. In stark juxtaposition to the vagabond, this man is dressed to the nines. A pinstripe suit and shoes as shiny as the car. A fedora sits tilted on his head, covering his face. But we are not subjected to another ruse - he raises his head and we see the face of a well groomed young man. His eyes stare daggers while his lips form a smirk. His mouth does open as we hear our narrator, Jack ‘The Wild Card’ Diamond speak.
If you jokers at home bought for a second that I was down on my luck, then this jazz is gonna be easier than the my first spin in wrestling. See suckers I don’t need luck, I don’t rely on luck. I make my own luck. And let me tell you I’ve made luck, and cash, hand over fist since leaving the wrestling scene. I didn’t leave because I was past my prime, no dice. I left because nobody could stack up. It got boring leaving bozos broken. Couldn’t waste another penny listening to a bunch of chumps give their two cents before matches. Instead the past five years I’ve traveled the world, visiting every gambling hotspot from Singapore to Monte Carlo. Learned a whole new set of ropes - the ones that let me go from sitting at a casino table to running the house. But money, it can’t buy happiness…
He stifles a laugh
Well, I mean sure it can. I wake up every morning on cloud nine. But recently as I sat behind my Cocobolo desk it hit me that I’ve grown restless. Beating saps with my mind is great, but
Balling up his hands...
My fists they want a piece of the action. Wrestling, it involves a whole different type of stake than business or poker. Though I guess I’ll have to bide my time before I get to play for a worthwhile pot. Until then I’ll have to settle for suckers like McCollom
Diamond opens out his arms, making a dismissive wave to the the world he currently resides in.
Slick do you know why I am out here, away from my normal haunts and penthouses? Because this is the same as our dark match in my book. Miles from where I belong. Staring into the eyes of a loser, a loser cut from the same cloth as you. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you are worth a penny more than this chump. What do you have to back up your claim? Top ten ranking in a few championship divisions? Top….ten? The seventh runner up to every bronze still doesn’t have a medal to his name. His many, many, many, many names. McCollum, for goodness sake if you were a card, that would be like bragging you are a five of spades.
Jack brushes off the shoulder of his suit, ensuring that the dirt that surrounds him doesn’t stick for long.
Me though, I’m not just another card in this deck. I am a true face for a NGW card, or a show for any other franchise lucky enough to have me walk through their doors. While the powers that be may bet we are hand in hand, that is only because they are going in blind. They have no idea how lucky they are I arrived. In reality I would never be caught slumming with two-bit hacks. In reality there is at least three velvet ropes between my world and yours. Fitting, since by the end of the battle royale you’ll be looking up through a set of ropes, broke and broken as I draw closer to where I belong in this joint - a main event. So bring your anger, bring your rage, bring your short fuse slick. Because once you get in the ring with me you’ll realize you drew the short straw.
Diamond pushes off from the car and begins to walk around, toward the driver seat.
As for the rest of you jokers who haven’t anted or spoke up yet - just fold. Nobody will see or be the wiser. You can bet top dollar I’m winning this hand whether it is in front of tens or tens of thousands. McCollum, he’ll bleed all the same. He’ll go through the ropes all the same. See times, they may have changed. But unfortunately for all of you jokers out there, Jack Diamond hasn't changed a bit.
With one last look at his surroundings Jack shakes his head in disgust before disappearing into his car. The vehicle, out of place in this destitute wasteland, roars to life and speeds away leaving the street in its dust. Before we fade to black the camera pans to the right again, going full circle to where we started - the poor man still curled up. Above him though the televisions all flash a singular message in bright red letters.
‘YOUR LUCK JUST RAN OUT’
Jack: What are the odds? A decade ago I was just another young stud lacing up his boots for the first time. Went all in at some joint called Connecticut Forum Wrestling, and with a snap of my fingers I was making bank. Tag Team Title was in the bag. I won a European Championship faster than a private jet could have flown me to the continent I was representing.
The stations on a few televisions change, flashing to different old wrestling clips. Despite the images distortion thanks to bad feeds, a man can be identified as showing up in each one. He wears pant length wrestling tights, divided down the middle into black and white. In each screen we see a different shot of him having his hand raised in victory, often towing a gold belt.
Any joker could tell a Heavyweight Championship was in the cards. Sure enough I took the pot by making that joint's king, some multi-time chump named Baby Bling, look like a joker. I was so slick I cashed out and took to the road for more titles and fatter whales. My hot streak continued no matter where I went, and there were a handful. Couldn't even tell you the names of half of them.
More TVs flash on, this time with commercials for a slew of wrestling federations. Lots of flashing colors and poorly CGI’ed pyrotechnics pop up on screens with logos that include ‘VWF’, ‘CFW’ along with a few others.
You jokers out there, dull as you may be, are sharp enough to see that my hot streak seems to have cooled...considerably. Decks stacked against me, odds became longer and longer. Of course like any riches to rags story, mine involved a damne. Nobody was there to cover me when I hit rock bottom.
Suddenly all of the televisions turn off, their glow disappearing and leaving the downtrodden man before us in further darkness. He is barely more than a silhouette.
Heaters, it turns out, well sometimes they can light bridges ablaze too. But none of you saps out there are gonna pay attention to some history lesson. It has been five years since I last raised the stakes of professional wrestling. Most of you suckers probably popped out six rugrats in that time. So let us wrap up this trip down memory lane and talk about the man I am today.
Even with the piles of blankets encasing him, we can tell he is shifting around uncomfortably. His gaze remains right in front of him, likely too embarassed by his current situation to make eye contact.
How the tables have turned, I’ve signed the dotted line at some two-bit joint and agreed to a dark match. My name used to shine on every marquee in bright neon lights. Now, now I suppose I should count myself lucky to be shuffled into a battle royale. Sharing real estate with a cat like McCollum. Despite his stature he’s nothing more than minnow, a sleight as an opponent to a shark who once feasted on whales. But my hand has been forced.
I am desperate...
I am humble...
Finally the man looks up and makes eye contact with the camera. His face has more lines, and his skin more rough and filthy, than the brick behind him.
I am...bluffing
The man staring at us has not opened his mouth, his chapped lips sealed despite that last statement reaching our ears. A moment later the camera pans to the right, toward the street. We catch a glimpse of a slick dark red sports car. Its coat is so shiny we can still see the downtrodden man in its reflection. As the camera continues to pan we see another man has been present the whole time, leaning against the fancy wheels. In stark juxtaposition to the vagabond, this man is dressed to the nines. A pinstripe suit and shoes as shiny as the car. A fedora sits tilted on his head, covering his face. But we are not subjected to another ruse - he raises his head and we see the face of a well groomed young man. His eyes stare daggers while his lips form a smirk. His mouth does open as we hear our narrator, Jack ‘The Wild Card’ Diamond speak.
If you jokers at home bought for a second that I was down on my luck, then this jazz is gonna be easier than the my first spin in wrestling. See suckers I don’t need luck, I don’t rely on luck. I make my own luck. And let me tell you I’ve made luck, and cash, hand over fist since leaving the wrestling scene. I didn’t leave because I was past my prime, no dice. I left because nobody could stack up. It got boring leaving bozos broken. Couldn’t waste another penny listening to a bunch of chumps give their two cents before matches. Instead the past five years I’ve traveled the world, visiting every gambling hotspot from Singapore to Monte Carlo. Learned a whole new set of ropes - the ones that let me go from sitting at a casino table to running the house. But money, it can’t buy happiness…
He stifles a laugh
Well, I mean sure it can. I wake up every morning on cloud nine. But recently as I sat behind my Cocobolo desk it hit me that I’ve grown restless. Beating saps with my mind is great, but
Balling up his hands...
My fists they want a piece of the action. Wrestling, it involves a whole different type of stake than business or poker. Though I guess I’ll have to bide my time before I get to play for a worthwhile pot. Until then I’ll have to settle for suckers like McCollom
Diamond opens out his arms, making a dismissive wave to the the world he currently resides in.
Slick do you know why I am out here, away from my normal haunts and penthouses? Because this is the same as our dark match in my book. Miles from where I belong. Staring into the eyes of a loser, a loser cut from the same cloth as you. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you are worth a penny more than this chump. What do you have to back up your claim? Top ten ranking in a few championship divisions? Top….ten? The seventh runner up to every bronze still doesn’t have a medal to his name. His many, many, many, many names. McCollum, for goodness sake if you were a card, that would be like bragging you are a five of spades.
Jack brushes off the shoulder of his suit, ensuring that the dirt that surrounds him doesn’t stick for long.
Me though, I’m not just another card in this deck. I am a true face for a NGW card, or a show for any other franchise lucky enough to have me walk through their doors. While the powers that be may bet we are hand in hand, that is only because they are going in blind. They have no idea how lucky they are I arrived. In reality I would never be caught slumming with two-bit hacks. In reality there is at least three velvet ropes between my world and yours. Fitting, since by the end of the battle royale you’ll be looking up through a set of ropes, broke and broken as I draw closer to where I belong in this joint - a main event. So bring your anger, bring your rage, bring your short fuse slick. Because once you get in the ring with me you’ll realize you drew the short straw.
Diamond pushes off from the car and begins to walk around, toward the driver seat.
As for the rest of you jokers who haven’t anted or spoke up yet - just fold. Nobody will see or be the wiser. You can bet top dollar I’m winning this hand whether it is in front of tens or tens of thousands. McCollum, he’ll bleed all the same. He’ll go through the ropes all the same. See times, they may have changed. But unfortunately for all of you jokers out there, Jack Diamond hasn't changed a bit.
With one last look at his surroundings Jack shakes his head in disgust before disappearing into his car. The vehicle, out of place in this destitute wasteland, roars to life and speeds away leaving the street in its dust. Before we fade to black the camera pans to the right again, going full circle to where we started - the poor man still curled up. Above him though the televisions all flash a singular message in bright red letters.
‘YOUR LUCK JUST RAN OUT’