Post by merlinmatrix on May 23, 2007 2:03:09 GMT -6
FP: Regardless fans, this has been a very strange night, almost disturbing and we're out of time. But i'm sure that this isn't over and we're gonna see where this all leads next week on the next Road to Over in Dover, good night everyone.
VM: Yeah Yeah, goodnight.
Eddie stands atop the ramp holding the Mid-Atlantic title over his head and pointing into the ring at David Hilt as the scene fades out
Moments later in the Locker Room……
Mick comes stumbling in with a new bottle of whiskey and a demented look with lackluster eyes on his face. The once lively locker room is now silent as every one looks toward the falling star. Cormac glances around a bit and takes another swig from the bottle. He starts walking in zigzags slowly forward. Buddy Love is the first to stand up and start to walk toward him with open arms and a sad smile on his face.
Love: Mick my main man I think you should go back…
Cormac: Shut the hell up Cajun. I don’t need your f**king sympathy. And what the hell are you all looking at? (with a unsteady walk he moves toward Eddie Buchalini Jr. who is standing with the Mid-Atlantic Championship over his shoulder. He stiffens as Mick raises himself from a hunch posture to a waxing and waning choppily straight) You think you can eyeball me guinea? You think that belt means shit? Cause it don’t. You ain’t f**kin’ nothing why don’t you go suck…
Love (places a hand on Mick’s shoulder): Brother you need…
Cormac turns quickly and takes a cheap upper cut right at Buddy Loves chin that lays the kind and unawares ex-boxer out cold onto the concrete floor. Every one lunges at once at Mick but quickly backs away as he suddenly whips out a large knife from his coat that was unseen to everyone.
Cormac (swaying slightly as he glares while he takes another swig and than whips his mouth with the arm attached to the bottle): You’re all big men aren’t you? AREN’T YOU? In the ring such great fighters right? True champions…ha..you ain’t nothing when it comes to when your life is on the line. I bet none of you have ever been stabbed…known real pain…(rolls up a sleeve slowly exposing his left arm that’s covered in recently added cigarette burns up and down it) Tell me you girl thingys..you so called warriors..(drags knife across his arm exposing blood and lots of it) You think you can take me? (cuts more) Any of you (every one still conscience in the room face is now pale with fear) Ha ha…(takes the knife away and lays his arm to the side as his blood drips down) You all know the heavyweight championship belt should be mine…stand in my way…see Buddy? SEE HIM!!!!??!! (a slow collective nod happens) Pray to whatever non-existing God you believe in that that’s the worse that will happen to you.
Cormac staggers out with knife still in hand, swigging at his bottle and blood trickling everywhere. The door slams behind him.
Buddy Love (dazedly awakening): Did I get some? (Looks two guys pick him up and start to walk him to the trainer) Well come on tell me she at least had some great gozonga’s!?!
* * * * * * *
Slowly staggering drunk and blood flowing even slower from his arm holding the knife Mick Cormac walks through the corridors of Memorial Hall. He pauses and takes another swig of the now half empty large bottle of whiskey. He looks over at the door he stopped by. A large star. It has words on it. He clinches his fist. The words are a name. A name in his mind that should be his but instead reads Zevon, J.R. Zevon. The cheap move had been going through his mind for a ever since he lost. He heard distant laughter inside and voices. His rage boiled throughout his body.
Mick Cormac (To himself): Lovejoy knows he can’t carry the belt no one can but me. He’ll give me my chance. He knows he’ll have to. This cat obsessed jackass is nothing. No one here can do what I do that belt should be mine. Zevon…Ha ha… Zevon. (through gritted teeth) That belt is mine.
As if possessed by an unseen force Mick lifts his arm and slams the knife right through the center of the star, burying it to it’s hilt. He drunkenly swaggers off .
(Fade to black)
VM: Yeah Yeah, goodnight.
Eddie stands atop the ramp holding the Mid-Atlantic title over his head and pointing into the ring at David Hilt as the scene fades out
Moments later in the Locker Room……
Mick comes stumbling in with a new bottle of whiskey and a demented look with lackluster eyes on his face. The once lively locker room is now silent as every one looks toward the falling star. Cormac glances around a bit and takes another swig from the bottle. He starts walking in zigzags slowly forward. Buddy Love is the first to stand up and start to walk toward him with open arms and a sad smile on his face.
Love: Mick my main man I think you should go back…
Cormac: Shut the hell up Cajun. I don’t need your f**king sympathy. And what the hell are you all looking at? (with a unsteady walk he moves toward Eddie Buchalini Jr. who is standing with the Mid-Atlantic Championship over his shoulder. He stiffens as Mick raises himself from a hunch posture to a waxing and waning choppily straight) You think you can eyeball me guinea? You think that belt means shit? Cause it don’t. You ain’t f**kin’ nothing why don’t you go suck…
Love (places a hand on Mick’s shoulder): Brother you need…
Cormac turns quickly and takes a cheap upper cut right at Buddy Loves chin that lays the kind and unawares ex-boxer out cold onto the concrete floor. Every one lunges at once at Mick but quickly backs away as he suddenly whips out a large knife from his coat that was unseen to everyone.
Cormac (swaying slightly as he glares while he takes another swig and than whips his mouth with the arm attached to the bottle): You’re all big men aren’t you? AREN’T YOU? In the ring such great fighters right? True champions…ha..you ain’t nothing when it comes to when your life is on the line. I bet none of you have ever been stabbed…known real pain…(rolls up a sleeve slowly exposing his left arm that’s covered in recently added cigarette burns up and down it) Tell me you girl thingys..you so called warriors..(drags knife across his arm exposing blood and lots of it) You think you can take me? (cuts more) Any of you (every one still conscience in the room face is now pale with fear) Ha ha…(takes the knife away and lays his arm to the side as his blood drips down) You all know the heavyweight championship belt should be mine…stand in my way…see Buddy? SEE HIM!!!!??!! (a slow collective nod happens) Pray to whatever non-existing God you believe in that that’s the worse that will happen to you.
Cormac staggers out with knife still in hand, swigging at his bottle and blood trickling everywhere. The door slams behind him.
Buddy Love (dazedly awakening): Did I get some? (Looks two guys pick him up and start to walk him to the trainer) Well come on tell me she at least had some great gozonga’s!?!
* * * * * * *
Slowly staggering drunk and blood flowing even slower from his arm holding the knife Mick Cormac walks through the corridors of Memorial Hall. He pauses and takes another swig of the now half empty large bottle of whiskey. He looks over at the door he stopped by. A large star. It has words on it. He clinches his fist. The words are a name. A name in his mind that should be his but instead reads Zevon, J.R. Zevon. The cheap move had been going through his mind for a ever since he lost. He heard distant laughter inside and voices. His rage boiled throughout his body.
Mick Cormac (To himself): Lovejoy knows he can’t carry the belt no one can but me. He’ll give me my chance. He knows he’ll have to. This cat obsessed jackass is nothing. No one here can do what I do that belt should be mine. Zevon…Ha ha… Zevon. (through gritted teeth) That belt is mine.
As if possessed by an unseen force Mick lifts his arm and slams the knife right through the center of the star, burying it to it’s hilt. He drunkenly swaggers off .
(Fade to black)