Promo: "Dead Time"

[A Happy Medium 0]

Promo: “Dead Time”

 

“All of us fall into The Dead Zone every day, whether it is waiting in traffic, waiting for the people in front of us in the checkout line to finish their transactions with the cashiers, the moment during the bright hours where we lay in bed that extra few seconds before we climb out, or even waiting for the police officer to come back with our speeding ticket or verbal warning to watch out the next time. We all have this Dead Time on our hands ever day, ever week, every month, and every year in our lives!”

 

The scene is a suburban Dallas church, packed to the brim with well dressed worshippers, most with young sons and daughters sitting beside them. Up near the altar, the young reverend delivers the day’s message. He is dressed in the traditional attire, a long white robe with intricate designs, most of which involve crosses. He tops it off with a mullet nearly fit for Jesus Christ himself. He finishes his message, his piercing blue eyes contrasting with his pale skin. The congregation listens with their full attention to this fire and brimstone preacher.

 

“And God gives us this time to think about our past and our future. It’s a way to do some introspection, and through that better ourselves by learning through the past and preparing for the future, for if we cannot confront the past, we have no future!”

 

 

 

 

SWF veteran, but now newcomer in all logical sense, Munich sits alone in his motel room, sitting up in bed, watching late night television after a show in a town he forgets the name of in the middle of Pennsylvania. On his right leg lays a series of frozen pea ice bags he carries around with him on the road, trying to take the activity induced swelling down in his surgically scarred shin. He takes on what he hopes will be his last cigarette of the evening, as he has been smoking often this night, sleep hard to come by. He places the cigarette on the edge of an ashtray next to his bed, and sits forward, taking the peas off of his legs. Munich grumbles as he sees the swelling has only decreased slightly. He places the makeshift ice bags back on his leg, and with a sigh he leans back against the headboard, grabs the cigarette and takes another drag. Looking up at the dull, cream colored ceiling, he talks to himself.

 

“Well, I don’t have much to do tomorrow. Dark match against some…guy, or girl…I don’t fucking know. I can pretty much sleep through the TV show, I may piss people off, but then again, I’ll probably be loaded with some painkillers…they’ll make me sleepy. Yeah, there we go. I shall listen to the Bandits as I rest.

 

Agent 27 takes another drag off of his cancer stick.

 

“God dammit, I’m a cripple. No way can I last one more year without becoming a boring fuck. But the question is; how long until I have gold around my waist again. A day? I could last a day. A week? Of course I could last a week. A month? Could…could I last a month? A year? I could never last a year! My leg would be amputated by then!

 

The now disturbed Munich quickly sits forward in his bed. He nearly snaps his spine and hamstrings in two as the bed shakes violently.

 

“Forever?!”

 

The veteran, obviously on his way to giving himself a heart attack, hops out of his bed, ice bags flying throughout the room. He slightly grimaces as he puts weight on his bad legs, but this pain is nothing compared to that night two years earlier, where a no name jobber for god knows where, Utah shattered Munich’s legs in the most interesting of fashions. Trying to give Munich an atomic drop on the ropes, the young man trips on a rare ruffle in the immaculate SWF ring and falls forward, missing his target and dropping Munich towards the apron. The usually quick reflex Munich, a tad bit intoxicated from drinking early in the day, gets his left foot caught in the ring apron, and comes down, all of his weight coming down upon his right leg. Crunch, it went. Now, back in his hotel room, Munich frantically gathers his street clothes worn only a few hours earlier. Finally, after slipping on his shoes and grabbing his room key, Munich shuffles out of the door and into the Best Western hallway. He walks with a slight limp on the short trip to the lobby. Before he reaches the lobby however, he is cornered by a young female fan looking for an autograph. He quickly signs the piece of paper and walks off with a small smile.

 

“She must be sitting here all night for us.”

 

Munich then strides into the lobby, a boring place at one o’clock in the morning. Upon entering, a nicotine influenced Munich does a scan of his surroundings. He focuses upon Ben Hardy, who stands at a coffee machine, slamming his fist into it.

 

“God dammit! I can’t go for coffee alone! I’m a television personality!”

 

With a smirk, Munich advances to the scrawny Hardy.

 

“So....did the girl get your autograph?”

 

“Well..uhm..no, she didn’t.”

 

“How come?”

 

“She didn’t ask for it. And when I offered to give her mine, she said that she wanted only the real talent’s John Hancock’s.”

 

“I know how that feels, you don’t know how many times parents would bring their kids up to me for autographs, but the kid would turn away and whine for an autograph from a Carnie. Anyways, it’s late. I can’t sleep, you want but can’t get it. Let’s go get some coffee.”

 

The two men exit the motel.

 

 

 

 

The two men now sit at a table at a local IHOP. On top of the table at the sizable booth sits a couple of coffee cups, sugar, creamer, pot of coffee, pitcher of water, an ashtray next to Munich which contains four cigarette butts and a considerable amount of ash, a pack of Marlboros, and a Zippo lighter. Hardy wears a polo shirt, khaki shorts, and a pair of Birkenstock sandals, his off screen persona not much different than onscreen. Munich wears a black t-shirt, jeans, and well worn Converses. After a lull of silence, Munich speaks.

 

“Show looks pretty daunting tomorrow. Ten matches. Two titles are up. One opens the show.”

 

“The Cruiserweight Title on the line is a great way to get the crowd into the show. What are you doing for the show?”

 

‘I am going to be taking a nice nap, as I groove to the fuckin’ Bandits.”

 

“Bandits?”

 

“The Rx Bandits.”

 

“I haven’t heard them.”

 

“No one in the WF has, I don’t think.”

 

“Why are you going to be sleeping during the show? I mean, don’t have some issues that need to be resolved? Some C-4s to be crunched? Some matches that need a run in?”

 

“First, never use my finisher in a sentence like that again. Second, I’m not booked on the card. Third, I’m not going to “study” anyone on a monitor backstage in the fucking locker room, then make a challenge for a bull rope match. Fourth, I don’t have any issues with people. I either haven’t had a challenge, or I lost in such a “duh” type way that I didn’t feel the need to bludgeon anyone with anything.”

 

“How exactly do you plan on sleeping soundly in a sold out arena?”

 

“Find a semi-quiet place. And I’ll be tired from my dark match, since I am quite sure I will be having one. The only thing that may cause to sleep better or worse is that if I put a lot of stress on my leg, I will need to pop a hydrocodone for pain, which may make me a bit sleepy.”

 

“Painkillers?”

 

“You try wrestling on this without them.”

 

“I don’t care. I’ve seen way too many guys throw it all away through painkillers.”

 

“Look, I wouldn’t worry too much, since I have toned my wrestling style a bit so that instead of only being able to last another six months in this business, I may be able to last a year!!”

 

“Munich, how old are you again? 27-28?”

 

“28.”

 

“Unbelievable. Despite what you may think considering how young this roster is, 28 is a young man in this business.”

 

“I know this, Ben. I have been around the block more than people think. I know what you’re getting at, too. I should change up my style even more so and become a mat wrestler who doesn’t go outside every match. The problem is, I am a whore to the fans. Changing my style will kill my adrenaline rush I receive from those lovable bloodthirsty bastards.”

 

“In the future, Munich; you…you need to think about number one a bit more. You through it all away for what? Trying to stay on the apron instead of taking the much safer spill out of the ring? I’m not telling you to become like a lot of the egomaniacs we have around here. You were, and are something special. You shot up through the JL like you were going to running the whole fed in no time. I don’t doubt you can shoot the ranks once more and achieve greatness. You need to deal with the past and go from right here, right now.”

 

Munich nods at Hardy, and looks down to the table. He quickly pulls out another cigarette and lights it. He takes a big drag, and then exhales the smoke out high towards the ceiling.

 

“Munchie, if you don’t mind me call you that, why did you come back?

 

Munich pauses, then looks Ben Hardy directly in the eyes.

 

“I’m going to be the SWF World Champion, Ben. And I’m not going to let anyone stop me.”

 

“I never get tired of hearing someone say that. You do realize that it’s not going to happen tomorrow, next week, or even in a month, right?”

 

“Earlier, that fact bothered me. But now, I’m thinking I may enjoy the turbulent climb.”

 

Ben takes a hardy sip of his coffee.

 

“So what are you going to do about toning down your style?”

 

“Right now, I’m going to say to hell with it. Later, I may look into learning the finer bits of working an armbar. By the way, you can call me Munchie. I used to not like to be called it, but you know what?”

 

“What?”

 

“Fuck the past, man. Bring on the future.”

 

Fade to black.

[Dace59 0]

An interesting and pretty serious promo. Few notes about a lot of real life wrestling situations and all. Certainly the best insight I've seen into the Munich character as I dont really know a lot about him.

[Toxxic 0]

Yeah... I always pictured Munich as a fairly happy-go-lucky, but this comes over more as an obsessed guy who's in denial of reality. Interesting. I'll be intrigued to see if this develops, certainly.