Promo: Priorities

[Guest Grand Slam]

Promo: "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens

 

Mark Stevens sits at an old metal desk. There are papers spread out in front of him, partial scripts, the booking for next show, travel arrangements, profiles of up-and-comers in the JL, fan mail, bills... all of it taking up valuable space on an already too small desk. But he isn't looking at any of it. His travel bag is open on the floor next to him, the same bag he carried out of the arena back in April when he retired. He has his back to the door, staring at something in his hands.

 

The door opens slowly and the beautiful face of Sarah Leavenworth, the manager of XF9, appears in the crack. "Knock knock! Are we going to lunch and the gym or what? I've been waiting for like a half hour!"

 

He turns around, one hand covering what he was looking at, the other rubbing at his face, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. "Sure... give me a second..." He sniffs and takes a deep breath.

 

Sarah opens the door the rest of the way and steps inside the makeshift office. "God, I hate to ask this Mark, but have you been crying?"

 

"No, just a little dusty in here," he replies as he slips his glasses back down onto his nose and deftly shuffles the papers around on his desk.

 

"Sure it is. You OK big guy?" Sarah closes the door behind her.

 

"Yeah, fine... where do you want to eat? I saw a Friday and a Cracker Barrel down the street..."

 

"Whatever, your turn to pick..." Sarah scoots beside the desk, obviously not buying Mark's cover story. As he grabs his baseball cap off a peg on the wall, she looks through the stack of papers and sees what he was trying to hide. "Mark..."

 

She holds up a picture. It was taken by a ringside reporter of a group of men in the ring celebrating. The faces are easily recognized: Chris Raynor, Spark, Edwin MacPhisto and in the center, shaking hands, are "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens and the King of Hearts. "Is this what's bugging you?"

 

Mark turns and looks at her. Sarah gets her first good look at Mark's face and is a little surprised by what she sees. His eyes are red and there are dark circles under them. His face is paler than normal and drawn. He is obviously a man operating on far, far too little sleep. He is about to answer Sarah when his cell phone rings.

 

"Hello? ... Oh hi Lynn!" His face brightens considerably, and Sarah smiles at him faintly. Then his expression drops. "You're kidding... a message? When? Damn. Well, play it for me..." As Grand Slam listens to the message Edwin left on his machine in Nebraska a few days ago, Sarah walks over to a box of videotapes against the wall and rummages through it, searching for something.

 

"That's it? ... Damn. Thanks honey. Yeah, I'll fly home right after the show. I'll see you then... I love you too." He hangs up the phone and slumps back into his seat.

 

Sarah, still digging through old Storms and Smarkdowns and IGNites, looks over her shoulder. "What's up?"

 

"Edwin left a message on my machine... he's gone."

 

"Gone? What do you mean, 'gone'?"

 

"I don't know, he left. He's hanging up his boots, as far as I can tell. Damn it..."

 

Sarah finds what she is looking for and stands up. In her right hand, she is still holding the picture. She looks at it then back to Grand Slam. "People have retired before Mark, lots of 'em. I don't remember seeing this big a production out of you..."

 

A little agitated, Grand Slam wads up one of the papers on his desk and hurls it at the wall. "Dammit Sarah, this wasn't just someone walking away after a great career. Edwin left because he feels guilty about what happened to Chris. I had to sit there and watch my best friend nearly kill a man I called friend for years. I don't care how much of an ass Chris was being, he didn't deserve that."

 

Sarah sits down on the edge of the desk, still looking at the picture. "You're right. Edwin crossed the line, and he knows it. That's why he left. So, answer me this question. Why are you the one losing sleep over it?"

 

"Because I sat right there at ringside and watched him do it. I sat there and I called the move and I shilled the next show and I knew what was happening. I should have done something, I should have stopped him."

 

"Is that was this is all about? You feel guilty because you didn't rush the ring and stop the match? Mark, it's not your fault."

 

"...I know. But it feels like it. Look at that picture Sarah. Look close. What do you see?"

 

"I see the Carnival on top of the world, celebrating."

 

"No, what you see are my friends who loved their jobs and loved this business. And now I've lost them all. My oldest friend hates me. My best friend is off somewhere where I can't help him. Chris is in a hospital somewhere, and God knows where Spark is. It all fell apart Sarah... all of it."

 

She stands up and walks over to him, a look of sadness in her eyes. "You have more friends than you know Mark. You know that. Look how many of us showed up for your retirement. How many people came running when you said Edwin needed help? Hell, even Thugg returned your call. Don't miss seeing the forest for the trees."

 

He looks up at her wearily. "What are you trying to say Sarah?"

 

"What I'm trying to say is simply this. You can't help Edwin now, you know that. Don't sit here and tear yourself up because of it, not when you still have people right here that care, and not while there are friends you can still help."

 

She walks over to the VCR/TV combo that sits in the corner of the room and slips in a tape, then hits play. She walks past Grand Slam on her way out the door and drops the picture on the desk. "I'll meet you at the car in 20 minutes."

 

"Right." He starts to stand up and collect his papers and cap when the image on the television pops up.

 

Chris Raynor sits on a stool in front of the camera. The look on his face is casual, with a half-grin from reliving a good memory past... he looks almost as if it hasn't quite sunk in yet...

 

"Mark was always the professional of the group- what I... what I mean is... well, to borrow and butcher a phrase... If Edwin was the mouth, Spark was the hand, and King was the heart, Mark Stevens was the brains of the Carnival. I remember... gosh, I can't count how many matches he helped me prepare for."

 

He pauses for a moment, looking off camera...

 

"... and, for a friend he-... a friend in and out of the ring, he was... you really couldn't ask for a better guy... well, you've all seen the matches, I don't think I need to go into detail on that, but... out of the ring, he was... he could do it all... he has a wife and kid, a career that high-stress can't even begin to describe, but he... somehow, with all those priorities in order, he always had time to be a friend, a tutor, a drinking buddy, a poker player..." He smiles to himself and adds "a golf-cart repairman..."

 

Chris then stops and looks down, his face slowly becoming less cheery.

 

"I, uh... Well, to put it simply... If I was in a tight spot... with a guy backstage, or something else... one of the first things I thought was 'How would Mark... What would he tell me to do?' ... I don't know if I always did the right thing, but..."

 

Again he stops, and there's a long uncomfortable pause as he gathers his thoughts. His eyes deliberately avoid the camera for a while... finally he picks himself up and stares right into the lens.

 

"If you find someone like Mark Stevens... if you find a guy who can be as good a friend as him... who'll teach you, help you, motivate you... if you come to be friends with someone like him..."

 

The camera makes one final cut, to the Carnival carrying Stevens up the ramp at Defiance, out of an IGN or SWF arena for the last time, time frozen, slowed down, a career crystallized into one fading second...

 

"...that alone makes you one of the luckiest people alive."

 

Grand Slam sits back down in the chair, all of the air seeming to rush out of him. Slowly, he presses stop on the remote, drops it on the desk then reaches for his phone. He dials 10 numbers quickly and waits for someone to pick up...

 

"Talent Relations please... thanks... Hey Jenny, this is Mark. ... I'm fine, you? ... Yeah, I have a quick question. What hospital is Chris Raynor in? ... No, really..." He pulls out a scratch pad and jots down an address. "Thanks... I owe you one"

 

He sits quietly for a second, his mind elsewhere. With a deep breath and sigh he picks up the cell phone again. A press of a button and the speed dial tears though a commonly used number. "Hi honey, I'm going to be an extra couple of days coming home... I have to go see an old friend who needs me..."

 

END PROMO

 

Well we made a promise

We swore we'd always remember

No retreat

No surrender

Blood brothers on a winter's night

With a vow to defend

No retreat

No surrender

 

- Bruce Springsteen, "No Surrender", Born in the U.S.A.

[Guest HVilleThugg]

And where was MY visit Mark? Huh? You didn't visit me in the hospital when they broke my neck! I'm saying...where's the love?

 

Hee hee!

 

Nice promo...it's nice to see that commentators who used to be wrestlers aren't just relegated to being poorly portayed in matches...they have a personality too and they are an active part of the fed.

 

JR will read this for pointers.

 

Da "hey...I turned face at the end, why didn't I get a visit" H

[Guest Grand Slam]

Well, Thugg, its like this...

 

GSMS' enduring memory of Raynor: POOFNAR, Stables Titles and jobbing the ICTV title to him, the promo when I retired.

 

GSMS' enduring memory of Thugg: getting the hell kicked out of me over... and over... and over... and over..., and the promo when I retired.

 

To be honest, I wasn't sure if it would work at the time. I was still trying to decide if I could promo reguarly as an announcer or if everybody would be sick of me...

 

But Lynn and I sent flowers... and chocolate... and a big stuffed teddy bear... isn't that enough??

[Guest Chuck Woolery]

Very nice promo, Stevens. I'm simply waiting for all of you to come back at the same time so we can get some massive Carnival reunion going on.

[Guest HVilleThugg]

::sigh::

 

I suppose that's enough...the flowers were nice, and lord knows I needed the chocolate since the hospital food was crap. The bear was...ummmm...well, I didn't see the reason for sending me a 7' tall stuffed teddy bear. I mean...i know I'm large, but my stuffed animals don't have to be. And next time, send a hooker!

 

Da "nothing says, "get well soon like a gratuatous sex" H

[Guest Ace309]

Mark, as always, I'm impressed with your promo. I really enjoyed seeing how GSMS is reacting to the turmoil in the theoretical Carnival.

 

I was actually hoping you'd promo, as "Christopher Edwin" occurred to me while I was reading the match on PPV.

[Guest Kibagami]

Retiree promos rule.

 

S.

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

Excellent work, Mark. The Carnival is summed up, and the suggestion of an all-Carnie reunion would be so awesome...if we weren't all either crippled, vanished, or hating each other. Sweeeeeeet!

 

Retiree promos *do* rule.

[Guest Grand Slam]

well, the kid's name is actually "Christopher Edward" because I thought Edwin was a cruel name to give to a child in Nebraska. Bad enough he's going to be a wrestler's kid, was on national television in a diaper and part of a "suspicion of adultery" angle with Mistress Sarah (that never really got rolling, darn heel turns), I don't need to curse him with a name like "Edwin".

 

An Old-School Carnival reunion would rule, but I don't see it happening anytime soon. I don't have time to write, Edwin and Raynor just retired, King is happy doing what he is doing, and, as I said in the promo, who knows where in the hell Spark is. Add in Roja (MIA), Rotten (MIA again) and Mistress Sarah (has another gig with XF9) and I can't see anybody coming back for the Carnies anytime soon.

 

Thanks for the kind words. I hope retiree promos rule... I love writing them.

 

Oh and Thugg... what's this about a "plan"?

[Guest Beingz0wningj00]

As always, some great stuff by Mr. Stevens... You should enter in Clusterfuck this year though... so I can accidently eliminate you with a leaguer.

 

 

*will hold that for a grudge until he gets a computer... It's all the Klig's fault!*

[Guest BA_Baracus]

PROMO (Stubby P. McWeed);

"*Sniff*...

 

...now I think I have some dust in my eye.

 

Mothernature says..."