Post by SANGRE on May 5, 2024 3:36:34 GMT
“MAX! MAX! MAX!”
We jump in the middle of a deathmatch taking place in a high school gymnasium. In front of a crowd no bigger than fifty, the by-gone legend’s blood pours from his scalp as his opponent RayJack Hamilton staples his forehead. After the third staple is injected under Max’s skin, he meets eyes with a familiar face watching from beyond the crowd. His former student and current champion, MEZA, stares back. And then…
RayJack sneaks behind Max and shoots another staple into his cheek.
…
We transition to the boy’s high school lockerroom where the Medic is in the process of yanking staples from Max’s skin.
MAD MAX
Gat damn, son, these hurt less goin’ in!
The Medic pries out the second staple and Max squeals while releasing a flurry of expletives in an effort to cushion the pain. MEZA assists the Medic by collecting the shrapnel on a towel.
MAD MAX
[To MEZA] I appreciate your comin’ out here to…uhhh.. [To the Medic] What bum-shit town is this, son?
MEDIC
Showlow…
MAD MAX
Showlow? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, back in the 90s, I was doin’ dome shows, and just look at me now. Agent’s got me doin’ another one of them farewell tours. I guess this part of the country likes blood because this promoter booked me against that fuckin’ lunatic with a staple-gun.
Mad Max flashes a look at MEZA, who, considering their history, has remained unusually quiet.
MAD MAX
Still ain’t nothin’ compared to that Kalidah of yours, son. Scary son-of-a-bitch. Him and his whole crew of nutjobs living at that there [Max sings] ♫ Hotel Californ-yaa♫
MEZA
I’m not here for him. Not really.
MAD MAX
Is that so? We all see the spell he’s casted on you, son. If you ain’t seekin’ advice for that conflict, you best start since I hear you’re willing to punch above your weight for that little title of yours. I reckon he'd be the first real challenge to that belt.
MEZA
I’m here to get advice about Masters.
The Medic unplugs a staple from Max’s forehead, ripping off some skin out with it.
MAD MAX
Dammit! That runt? What in the hell do you need from me? I ain't worked with that twerp since...
MEZA's grin is a reminder that he holds the most recent victory against Max, and Devlin Masters. But MEZA isn't visiting Max to antagonize him, especially under these circumstances.
MEZA
Advice. I'm here for advice. Coach Lynx is great, but he… he doesn’t know–
MAD MAX
How it feels.
MEZA is relieved that he doesn’t need to say it himself.
MEZA
Kind of, yeah. He doesn’t understand. To him, everything is fixable and everything will be okay. It’s like he’s never had to wonder what happens when everything isn’t.
MAD MAX
You’re a world champion–what the hell could be wrong? I ain’t no religious man, but I damn near every day pray that I was world champion again. You comin’ to me and bitchin’ about being the champion of the world while I’m drowning in small-town bullshit is just about the richest thing in this room. Sure as hell ain’t me.
MEZA sets aside the towel and gets up to leave before Max grabs him. Max’s grip forces MEZA back down, but ultimately MEZA volunteers to remain.
MEZA
I didn’t come here to do this.
MAD MAX
Listen, son, I apologize. Being a champion ain’t easy. It sure-as-shit ain’t easy if you ain’t fully in the right headspace. Being a champion is no different than being a competitor, except with a target on your head. But you wrestle no different, and you fight with the same kind of grit–because your livelihood is always at stake. No matter what, you fight until you hear that bell because win, lose, or draw, it always sounds the same.
The Masters fella is a firecracker, no doubt. But he lacks the attitude of a champion; something I always saw in you, son. Even way back when you were a student, I saw it. Your focus was trained on becoming the absolute best wrestler in this world. I didn’t hang around Masters for long, but I never did see that in him. He was constantly chasing the next viral something-or-other. A kid with his fuckin’ head in the clouds is what he was. No different than that RayJack what’s-his-name. Apparently, they let any crazy-person fight nowadays–surprised that loser is even allowed within one-hundred and fifty feet of here.
The Medic releases the final stable embedded alongside the roots of Max’s hair. He cries out for one last time.
MAD MAX
Listen, kid. I don’t know what you need from me, but I always believed in you. I’m proud to call you a former student and, hell, I’ll even admit that I envy that Coach Lynx of yours. But if you’re so bent out of shape that you're seeking advice from former bodyguards, maybe you start looking inward, son.
MEZA nods his head; hearing what he already suspected.
MAD MAX
I appreciate you coming all the way to…uh…
MEDIC and MEZA
Showlow.
MAD MAX
That’s the one–but I can’t help you. Neither Lynx or I can fix things or give you instructions on how to win. Sometimes you just gotta believe, and trust, in yourself. Look at me. This ain't exactly Madison Square Garden, but I believe that I'm good enough for MSG.
MEZA
Man... you sound like Coach Lynx with this shit. I hear you guys, but where do I even begin?
MAD MAX
Boy, you gotta stop askin' so many dipshit questions and just start believin’. And probably a little therapy.
We jump in the middle of a deathmatch taking place in a high school gymnasium. In front of a crowd no bigger than fifty, the by-gone legend’s blood pours from his scalp as his opponent RayJack Hamilton staples his forehead. After the third staple is injected under Max’s skin, he meets eyes with a familiar face watching from beyond the crowd. His former student and current champion, MEZA, stares back. And then…
RayJack sneaks behind Max and shoots another staple into his cheek.
…
We transition to the boy’s high school lockerroom where the Medic is in the process of yanking staples from Max’s skin.
MAD MAX
Gat damn, son, these hurt less goin’ in!
The Medic pries out the second staple and Max squeals while releasing a flurry of expletives in an effort to cushion the pain. MEZA assists the Medic by collecting the shrapnel on a towel.
MAD MAX
[To MEZA] I appreciate your comin’ out here to…uhhh.. [To the Medic] What bum-shit town is this, son?
MEDIC
Showlow…
MAD MAX
Showlow? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, back in the 90s, I was doin’ dome shows, and just look at me now. Agent’s got me doin’ another one of them farewell tours. I guess this part of the country likes blood because this promoter booked me against that fuckin’ lunatic with a staple-gun.
Mad Max flashes a look at MEZA, who, considering their history, has remained unusually quiet.
MAD MAX
Still ain’t nothin’ compared to that Kalidah of yours, son. Scary son-of-a-bitch. Him and his whole crew of nutjobs living at that there [Max sings] ♫ Hotel Californ-yaa♫
MEZA
I’m not here for him. Not really.
MAD MAX
Is that so? We all see the spell he’s casted on you, son. If you ain’t seekin’ advice for that conflict, you best start since I hear you’re willing to punch above your weight for that little title of yours. I reckon he'd be the first real challenge to that belt.
MEZA
I’m here to get advice about Masters.
The Medic unplugs a staple from Max’s forehead, ripping off some skin out with it.
MAD MAX
Dammit! That runt? What in the hell do you need from me? I ain't worked with that twerp since...
MEZA's grin is a reminder that he holds the most recent victory against Max, and Devlin Masters. But MEZA isn't visiting Max to antagonize him, especially under these circumstances.
MEZA
Advice. I'm here for advice. Coach Lynx is great, but he… he doesn’t know–
MAD MAX
How it feels.
MEZA is relieved that he doesn’t need to say it himself.
MEZA
Kind of, yeah. He doesn’t understand. To him, everything is fixable and everything will be okay. It’s like he’s never had to wonder what happens when everything isn’t.
MAD MAX
You’re a world champion–what the hell could be wrong? I ain’t no religious man, but I damn near every day pray that I was world champion again. You comin’ to me and bitchin’ about being the champion of the world while I’m drowning in small-town bullshit is just about the richest thing in this room. Sure as hell ain’t me.
MEZA sets aside the towel and gets up to leave before Max grabs him. Max’s grip forces MEZA back down, but ultimately MEZA volunteers to remain.
MEZA
I didn’t come here to do this.
MAD MAX
Listen, son, I apologize. Being a champion ain’t easy. It sure-as-shit ain’t easy if you ain’t fully in the right headspace. Being a champion is no different than being a competitor, except with a target on your head. But you wrestle no different, and you fight with the same kind of grit–because your livelihood is always at stake. No matter what, you fight until you hear that bell because win, lose, or draw, it always sounds the same.
The Masters fella is a firecracker, no doubt. But he lacks the attitude of a champion; something I always saw in you, son. Even way back when you were a student, I saw it. Your focus was trained on becoming the absolute best wrestler in this world. I didn’t hang around Masters for long, but I never did see that in him. He was constantly chasing the next viral something-or-other. A kid with his fuckin’ head in the clouds is what he was. No different than that RayJack what’s-his-name. Apparently, they let any crazy-person fight nowadays–surprised that loser is even allowed within one-hundred and fifty feet of here.
The Medic releases the final stable embedded alongside the roots of Max’s hair. He cries out for one last time.
MAD MAX
Listen, kid. I don’t know what you need from me, but I always believed in you. I’m proud to call you a former student and, hell, I’ll even admit that I envy that Coach Lynx of yours. But if you’re so bent out of shape that you're seeking advice from former bodyguards, maybe you start looking inward, son.
MEZA nods his head; hearing what he already suspected.
MAD MAX
I appreciate you coming all the way to…uh…
MEDIC and MEZA
Showlow.
MAD MAX
That’s the one–but I can’t help you. Neither Lynx or I can fix things or give you instructions on how to win. Sometimes you just gotta believe, and trust, in yourself. Look at me. This ain't exactly Madison Square Garden, but I believe that I'm good enough for MSG.
MEZA
Man... you sound like Coach Lynx with this shit. I hear you guys, but where do I even begin?
MAD MAX
Boy, you gotta stop askin' so many dipshit questions and just start believin’. And probably a little therapy.