Post by John Anthony on Jul 6, 2007 15:12:08 GMT -6
DVD Taping Role Play #4
/*\ Composure Is Skin Deep /*\
Scene: John Anthony, Daniel, and Julia are seated in the cabin of John’s Learjet on a one stop shot from Trenton, New Jersey to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The three seem content as the aircraft glides without a care through the overcast. John’s mind is ablaze after his restless night prior, but he at least puts on a front of being mentally stable. Daniel sits in front of his laptop hammering away at weekend estimates and financial reports. Julia, off to the side, had set aside her laptop and was resting her head on the window. Gazing into the clouds she seemed almost as stressed as John.
“Passengers, this is Captain Jackson speaking. We’re approximately one hour from our destination. Thank you.”
John pulled a briefcase out from the canopy storage above him. Turning the key lock to the numbers 2-5-2, he pressed in the latch as this top flung open. Inside sat a few items, snuggled tightly and safely within the case. He reached in and pulled out the first: a picture of the Gutcheck Trophy that was now enshrined in a glass case within his office. The trophy he had won at his first DVD taping only two months ago now stood as a testament to his promises made upon entering POW: New England, and that was to be a true asset to the organization. To push the limits, prove he had staying power, and give the fans the show they deserved week after week. Setting the picture down, he grabbed a small framed object.
The wooden frame surrounded a family portrait of John, his mother, and his deceased father. John was no older than thirteen in the photograph. His long hair was in a mess of curls. His face lacked the confident, defining features that he embraced today. His father, God bless him, stood beside John with a stern facial expression. A slight notch in his lips suggested a smile trying to break free, but the man wasn’t known as Iron Anthony for nothing. He had dominated his high school football records and entered Georgia Tech on a full scholarship as cornerback. Shortly into his first season, a career ending injury sustained during a rivalry match left John Senior with a broken neck. His mother had her arms wrapped around her son in the photograph, smiling as if everything was right with the world. John missed her, but knew she was proud of him to this very day for chasing his dreams.
Setting the framed photo back in the case, John lifted out a manila folder and opened it. Inside sat a contract with the POW: New England logo on top of the paper. The contract read out the terms of John’s newly obtained number one contendership for the Eastern Heavyweight Championship and a promised match against JR Zevon at Red, White, and Bruised. This was his golden ticket. Down at the base of the contract sat the signatures of former general manager Randal Lovejoy, the signature of the new leader of POW: New England; Tony Hunter, and of course the name of John Anthony himself.
Tucking the contract back into the folder, John noticed the final item within the case: a small black box with a diamond engagement ring entrapped within. John peered up towards Julia who was still staring out of the side window. Replacing the contents of the briefcase, John snapped the latches and returned it to storage. He was so close to obtaining everything he ever wanted, everything he could dream of holding.
“John… how do you stay so composed?”
He looked off to his side to see Julia still entranced by the passing clouds. The question was somewhat awkward and he wasn’t quite sure just what she was asking to be honest.
“You’re over there completely calm, yet you have an entire front of Bodog Sports under your control and a chance at championship gold against a proven rival in a mere two days. Here I am, a mere secretary to an expansion branch of a company and I can hardly think straight. There’s so much on my mind, so much I want to say, and so much I feel rests on my shoulders. I feel like I’m slipping beneath it all, yet you seem as free as the clouds. Dancing along to serve their purpose without worries.”
“I assure you Julia, I have worries. You have little idea just how much is going through my mind right now, and every passing moment as a matter of fact. While on the outside I may seem composed, you aren’t the only one who feels as if they’re standing in quicksand while holding the weight of the world upon them. This Sunday has so much riding on it… more than you can imagine. Thoughts of failure overcome me, but I have to push them aside. I can’t even let that be an option. To let Zevon continue to flaunt around with that belt around his waist, disgracing the company who employs him and the country he resides in… it’s to everyone’s benefit that I stir things up this weekend.”
“You haven’t spoken of a game plan though. No strategy, no precise techniques for victory this Sunday, and no trump card should things go wrong! You rush forward without an exit strategy. Are you just assuming all will go according to plan?”
“Things would be no fun without a bump in the road here and there. Surprises bring excitement. Now this Sunday, I do have a game plan. I might not have detailed a ten step scenario for success to the press this week, but this isn’t the first time I’ve stepped into the ring with JR Zevon. In fact, I doubt it will be the last. Every time we’ve stood across from each other however, there have been distractions… hurdles. Whether it is tag team partners, stipulations, or cowardice on his part, he’s found ways to avoid me. I’m no longer a distant threat. I’m not longer a storm on the horizon that might just skip over and strike the adjacent town. This Sunday is imminent. JR Zevon faces off with me without distractions or loopholes. Without stipulations or partners. When the bell rings Sunday night, there will be two men in that ring prepared to go to the ends of the earth for what they desire.
However, one desires to mainly hold on to what he has. Not defend it, not honor it or truly respect it, simply to grasp onto it like some sort of status symbol. Some piece of material that lets him sleep at night feeling like he’s accomplished something. I’m hungry for that belt, hungry for that chance to stand above the rest and be proclaimed Heavyweight Champion. Politics aside, trash talking aside, speculations aside even, and it comes down to this: there’s only room for one man on top of the mountain. Careers are made during moments such as these. Legends are defined not by the media coverage they get prior to a match, but by whether or not they can truly walk the walk when battle lines are drawn.
I’m not blowing hot air when I say Zevon’s battle this weekend is for more than a belt. I’ll be coming after him as if he held my past, present, and future in his hands. As if my dreams and aspirations stood behind him. I won’t just fight JR Zevon, I’ll fight through him. I’m not as composed as I may seem after all. Imagine a dam holding back millions of gallons of raging river, preventing it from unleashing its pent up aggression and emotion upon the village side. That’s the crossroads we stand at Julia. When that bell rings, the dam breaks. For Zevon’s sake, I hope he knows how to swim.”
Daniel clapped his hands as he continued staring at his laptop.
“Truly moving sir.”
“Get back to playing solitaire Daniel.”
“Passengers, please return your seats to an upright position and fasten your landing belts. We’ll be approaching touchdown within a couple of minutes.”
/*\ Composure Is Skin Deep /*\
Scene: John Anthony, Daniel, and Julia are seated in the cabin of John’s Learjet on a one stop shot from Trenton, New Jersey to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The three seem content as the aircraft glides without a care through the overcast. John’s mind is ablaze after his restless night prior, but he at least puts on a front of being mentally stable. Daniel sits in front of his laptop hammering away at weekend estimates and financial reports. Julia, off to the side, had set aside her laptop and was resting her head on the window. Gazing into the clouds she seemed almost as stressed as John.
“Passengers, this is Captain Jackson speaking. We’re approximately one hour from our destination. Thank you.”
John pulled a briefcase out from the canopy storage above him. Turning the key lock to the numbers 2-5-2, he pressed in the latch as this top flung open. Inside sat a few items, snuggled tightly and safely within the case. He reached in and pulled out the first: a picture of the Gutcheck Trophy that was now enshrined in a glass case within his office. The trophy he had won at his first DVD taping only two months ago now stood as a testament to his promises made upon entering POW: New England, and that was to be a true asset to the organization. To push the limits, prove he had staying power, and give the fans the show they deserved week after week. Setting the picture down, he grabbed a small framed object.
The wooden frame surrounded a family portrait of John, his mother, and his deceased father. John was no older than thirteen in the photograph. His long hair was in a mess of curls. His face lacked the confident, defining features that he embraced today. His father, God bless him, stood beside John with a stern facial expression. A slight notch in his lips suggested a smile trying to break free, but the man wasn’t known as Iron Anthony for nothing. He had dominated his high school football records and entered Georgia Tech on a full scholarship as cornerback. Shortly into his first season, a career ending injury sustained during a rivalry match left John Senior with a broken neck. His mother had her arms wrapped around her son in the photograph, smiling as if everything was right with the world. John missed her, but knew she was proud of him to this very day for chasing his dreams.
Setting the framed photo back in the case, John lifted out a manila folder and opened it. Inside sat a contract with the POW: New England logo on top of the paper. The contract read out the terms of John’s newly obtained number one contendership for the Eastern Heavyweight Championship and a promised match against JR Zevon at Red, White, and Bruised. This was his golden ticket. Down at the base of the contract sat the signatures of former general manager Randal Lovejoy, the signature of the new leader of POW: New England; Tony Hunter, and of course the name of John Anthony himself.
Tucking the contract back into the folder, John noticed the final item within the case: a small black box with a diamond engagement ring entrapped within. John peered up towards Julia who was still staring out of the side window. Replacing the contents of the briefcase, John snapped the latches and returned it to storage. He was so close to obtaining everything he ever wanted, everything he could dream of holding.
“John… how do you stay so composed?”
He looked off to his side to see Julia still entranced by the passing clouds. The question was somewhat awkward and he wasn’t quite sure just what she was asking to be honest.
“You’re over there completely calm, yet you have an entire front of Bodog Sports under your control and a chance at championship gold against a proven rival in a mere two days. Here I am, a mere secretary to an expansion branch of a company and I can hardly think straight. There’s so much on my mind, so much I want to say, and so much I feel rests on my shoulders. I feel like I’m slipping beneath it all, yet you seem as free as the clouds. Dancing along to serve their purpose without worries.”
“I assure you Julia, I have worries. You have little idea just how much is going through my mind right now, and every passing moment as a matter of fact. While on the outside I may seem composed, you aren’t the only one who feels as if they’re standing in quicksand while holding the weight of the world upon them. This Sunday has so much riding on it… more than you can imagine. Thoughts of failure overcome me, but I have to push them aside. I can’t even let that be an option. To let Zevon continue to flaunt around with that belt around his waist, disgracing the company who employs him and the country he resides in… it’s to everyone’s benefit that I stir things up this weekend.”
“You haven’t spoken of a game plan though. No strategy, no precise techniques for victory this Sunday, and no trump card should things go wrong! You rush forward without an exit strategy. Are you just assuming all will go according to plan?”
“Things would be no fun without a bump in the road here and there. Surprises bring excitement. Now this Sunday, I do have a game plan. I might not have detailed a ten step scenario for success to the press this week, but this isn’t the first time I’ve stepped into the ring with JR Zevon. In fact, I doubt it will be the last. Every time we’ve stood across from each other however, there have been distractions… hurdles. Whether it is tag team partners, stipulations, or cowardice on his part, he’s found ways to avoid me. I’m no longer a distant threat. I’m not longer a storm on the horizon that might just skip over and strike the adjacent town. This Sunday is imminent. JR Zevon faces off with me without distractions or loopholes. Without stipulations or partners. When the bell rings Sunday night, there will be two men in that ring prepared to go to the ends of the earth for what they desire.
However, one desires to mainly hold on to what he has. Not defend it, not honor it or truly respect it, simply to grasp onto it like some sort of status symbol. Some piece of material that lets him sleep at night feeling like he’s accomplished something. I’m hungry for that belt, hungry for that chance to stand above the rest and be proclaimed Heavyweight Champion. Politics aside, trash talking aside, speculations aside even, and it comes down to this: there’s only room for one man on top of the mountain. Careers are made during moments such as these. Legends are defined not by the media coverage they get prior to a match, but by whether or not they can truly walk the walk when battle lines are drawn.
I’m not blowing hot air when I say Zevon’s battle this weekend is for more than a belt. I’ll be coming after him as if he held my past, present, and future in his hands. As if my dreams and aspirations stood behind him. I won’t just fight JR Zevon, I’ll fight through him. I’m not as composed as I may seem after all. Imagine a dam holding back millions of gallons of raging river, preventing it from unleashing its pent up aggression and emotion upon the village side. That’s the crossroads we stand at Julia. When that bell rings, the dam breaks. For Zevon’s sake, I hope he knows how to swim.”
Daniel clapped his hands as he continued staring at his laptop.
“Truly moving sir.”
“Get back to playing solitaire Daniel.”
“Passengers, please return your seats to an upright position and fasten your landing belts. We’ll be approaching touchdown within a couple of minutes.”
