Christmas Spirit





A cigarette burns in an ashtray, the sound of liquid pouring into a glass, the clinking of ice-cubes hitting the sides. And a bottle being set back onto a table, with a thud. The camera pans back. Catching the Jack Daniels bottle, and the shirt-less midsection of a massive frame. Muscles taught, scarred. We finally pull back far enough to put a head on the beaten herculean body... It's Wolf. His hair falls down, wet. A towel wrapped around his waist. He lifts the glass and takes a big swig. Setting it down, he picks up a remote control and switches on the large set in, what is most likely, his hotel room.

*FLICK*

Female Voice: -today. Tomorrow, more rain! I know it's been wet these past few-

*FLICK*

Male Voice: Which brings Nebraska to-

*FLICK*

Male Voice: But why? What does he have that I don't...

Female Voice: My heart.

*FLICK*

Male Voice: As far as I know, he hasn't seen her at all at least in a romantic sense in a long time. Now Chris Kennedy


Wolf sets the remote down.


Wolf: What... the... f*ck...

He downs the rest of the glass.

Male Voice: Well, I'm just a tech. But Kennedy. That guy is smooth, with a capitol "S"!

Female Voice: So Sara seems happy?

Male Voice: Around Kennedy? For sure! I had only seen a look like that on her face when she was with Wolf, up until now.

Wolf takes his cigarette out of the ashtray, taking a LONG drag. The "hiss" of burning tobacco and paper is heard over the television's volume.

Female Voice: But you have seen the way Sara acted two weeks ago after Kennedy beat Wolf. Well I haven't had the chance to sit down with them yet. This is just a cable access show.

Laughter from the television. Silence in the room.

Female Voice: But from what I've seen of the girl, she does seem interested. Why Wolf versus Kennedy isn't a weekly segment on Supershow? I'll never know. Were I Sara I would never want Wolf back he is a downward spiraling has-been and Kennedy is the rising star. It's only a matter of time before Kennedy is Champion.

Male Voice: I know it! Just being backstage, you see and hear a lot! Most of the time, nobody notices we're even there. I see Kennedy before every match, cool, calm, confident. And I see Wolf... Smoking, drinking, angry, undisciplined. If that guy thought he was going to retain Title at Mile High? He was kidding himself. What did he say?

They show Kennedys impresonation of Wolf.

Chris Kennedy: So tonight, Wolf is going to come down to MY ring, he is going to shoot Sara and I a pair of dirty looks he slowly walks down to the ring to receive the ass beating of his life, hold on, I am going to do my Wolf impersonation for this one, I AM GOING TO BEAT WOLF'S ASS!!! AAARRRGH I'M GOING TO GIVE HIM A BITTERSWEET CHIN SYMPHONY AND DROP LOCK 'EM IN THE KENNEDY CURES AAAAARRRRRGH!!!
The female voice interjects. In her best Wolf impression.

Female Voice: "I deserve this!"

Male Voice: WHAT A JOKE! The only thing that guy deserves is walking papers. Look at him... Just a few months ago he was at the top of the business. He was main eventing with and against The Snake, Carnal Contendership winner. The guy was a lock for The Hall of Fame. Then what?

Female Voice: Nothing.

Male Voice: EXACTLY! Nothing! He gets screwed for The World Title... Then pouts? Really?

Female Voice: This is the guy that put Darnell Porter in a coma! He beste his brother at Hell in a Cell

Male Voice: I KNOW! I was there that night! I remember watching Stu falls from, quite literally, almost the top of that arena to the floor. No mats, no bullshit, just a couple of boxes on a table to break his fall... on fire. It was quite possibly one of the best fights of the man's career. And now what? He lost the belt to Thomas princeton then he lost a main event on first Supershow and just last week he lost to Doink the Clown!


Female Voice: He can thank the special guest referee for that, but it still in the record books. Doink the Clown beat Wolf!

*FLICK*

The television goes off. Wolf stands there, his face steel, cigarette trembling with his hand. He'd been hit... Hard. Is this what the fans thought? Is this what he'd become? A washed-up "do-you-remember-when" guy? Without even looking the bottle is picked back up and poured sloppily into the glass. Whiskey spills over the sides as it overflows. Wolf sets the bottle back onto the table, picks up the glass, backs the whole thing, then drags his cigarette to the filter. His eyes fixed on the black television screen. He stamps the butt out in the ashtray. His head lowers, his towel drops. The good parts blocked from the camera's lens by the table. He chuckles to himself and turns to his open bag on the bed. Wolf slips on a pair of boxer-briefs then turns back to the television set. He takes a couple of steps foreword... Looks right at it, studying every contour of the flat-screen. He runs his hand down it, then speaks, to whom? We don't know...

Wolf: Washed-up? Maybe. But not a has-been... Not a never-was... WHO THE F*CK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? Some little b*tch on a public-access television show. A little shrew-troll, opening your fat gob to stuff it with KFC and spew out bullshit. WHO THE F*CK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!?! ANSWER ME YOU FAT, BLOATED, *************************!

A pause.

Wolf: Oh? Really? The host? Hmm. Interesting. And who is this little c*ck-s*cker? What's your name chubby-chaser? Oh yeah? Never heard of you. You're what? A tech? Fuck yourself. You ain't shit. IF IT WASN'T FOR THIS WASHED-UP, PIECE OF SH*T, F*CKING HAS-BEEN AND THE FIFTY BEFORE HIM? YOU WOULDN'T HAVE A F*CKING JOB! YOU WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO TAKE THIS CLASSY B*TCH OUT TO BURGER KING FOR A ROMANTIC MEAL AFTER YOUR MAIN-STREAM WRESTLING PROGRAM, WOULD YOU?!? And you... . How dare you EVEN ATTEMPT to make ANY COMMENTARY on my past relationship with Sara? In a mocking female voice. "Oh that Chris Kennedy is soooooooooooooooooo dreamy! Back to his rage-filled tone. THIS IS EXACTLLY CHRIS KENNEDY! All the bullshit you spew comes exactlly from Chris Kennedy promo book. You know I'm not harboring a huge 'I must beat this prick' because frankly I‘ve beat enough of the same kinda before to not need it, to not want it to frankly be over it. I'm sick of hearing how I am 'old toy' how they 'respect what I did way back when'. Here's the thing...way back when was the last couple of years. So why am I here? When i told you all last time that I wasn't bothered, didn't need this match. Yeah but I'm here now so I MUST be wrestling right? Let's get this straight I didn't come for Kennedy beating him means nothing to my career. I could care less if he get knocked down by a truck on the way here, if he lives or dies. And I certainly didn’t came to lend a hand to Thomas Princeton. I came here because I can't resist getting into a match with Drazin when he's actually being the f*cking God so I came to face Duke Drazin. F*ck my partner and f*ck Drazins ...it's just me and him in that arena tonight and whatever happens...happens. Bring it on. Bring it on Duke because I swear to god you're the only reason I'm here tonight, i want the fight you brought while your partner was working indies. I want the Duke Drazin that knows how to go a guy who can say all the trash in the world and BACK IT ALL UP.. You are relentless, you do keep coming back which sets you apart from your jerk off teammate because he never had the balls to go the first time around. You went after Gabrielle time and time agin until you did it, where where you, Kennedy?

He takes a step to the table and picks up the rocks-glass, turning it around in his hand, he stares deeply at it. Wolf puts it to his lips, sucking out the last few drops. Then tips it over, dumping the three ice cubes onto the table. He turns his attention back to the black screen.

Wolf: Kennedy you took my ex wife and you start raising your voice in your promo immitating me? They say that impersonation is the most sincerest form of flattery. A musician once said that, you know you've made it when everyone sounds like you... I tend to disagree, when I think of impersonation I think of words like: Phony, Fake, Imposter... Chris Kennedy, you aren't me, you can't be me, you will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, in a thousand years be me... Good, bad, there's only one. But I guess my real question is... Chris Kennedy, are you telling me that you just now grew a pair of testicles? Where the hell did you get the big-boy voice? You mean to tell me that the guy that wrestled in a thong is is going to come out here, beat his chest, raise his pubescent voice and I am supposed to take it seriously? That I'm supposed to come back out and say:

Wolf takes the cigarette out of his mouth as he begins to shout...

Wolf: OH SHIT! CHRIS KENNEDY IS THE NEW MAN TO BEAT! THIS KID IS FOR REAL! OVER-F*CKING-NIGHT HIS BALLS DROPPED AND NOW HE'S NOT IN THE LEAST BIT AFRAID OF THE HANGEL OF DEATH! HE'S GOING TO STOMP OUR TEETH DOWN OUR THROATS! Hell, even Princeton knows you are full of sh*t... To call you a pussy would disrespect every pussy on this planet. All your plans and aspiration for the future will backfire. They will rain nothing more than destruction and pain upon you before this night is out and you will know the error of your ways...you will remember why men such as you have long feared the dark. Creatures like Me, I am at home in the darkness, comfortable in the wideespread carnage that follows my path and you have brought me straight to you. So I must ask what will you do? What opportunity will present itself to you, Kennedy, while I unleashe my animalistic force upon you, beating you to within an inch of your life and taking a subtle sense of joy and wonder all the while I put you through your own personal hell? You've played your hand well and made so much more out of it than anyone ever thought possible. But even in the most simplistic of games, there's always an unknown factor, always a wild element. I am that element...so let the game begin.

With a bit of a roar, he launches the glass at the set. BULLSEYE! The glass explodes with the screen, the television drops off it's mounting to the floor.

Wolf: HA! MUST SEE T.V.! You may think of me as a bit of a Grinch, but I'm a giver. I'm a charitable guy, 'tis the season after all right? I mean just last week i gave our World Champion something he needed for Christmas. I gave him a reality check, i gave him the gift of doubt. I gave him a warning, so Princeton don't ever say I never give you something because I‘ve given you a whole lot to think about this festive period. But that's not all I‘ve got for you 'champ', nah see I‘ve got the greatest gift I can give you, and give this company. I'm going to take the burden of the belt from your shoulder, I'm going to carry FWA with my team mates along side me. Carmine Reaper and XXX soon to be champions. You don't like us, you don't HAVE to like us. But every single week you WILL tune in to find out what we're going to do next. We've made it no secret that we plan on running friday nights, we're now making no secrets that we want ALL the gold. Princeton, you just drew the short straw because you've drawn me to chase your belt. You're playing with forces beyond your control, Princeton. Because I won't just settle for a simple roll-up victory or a half-assed submission just because the heat is getting to be too much for you. I am after so much more than that. I am after your pain, Tom...I am after your blood. And before you start to scratch the surface of that addled mind of yours as to WHY, don't bother because the reasoning behind it is simple. What I do to you won’t be personal. 'Personal' is something that you want absolutely no part of, my friend. Because while you're always able to stumble your way to some kind of magical victory, or you're able to pull a rabbit out of your ass at the last minute to come out on top, none of those tricks are going to mean a damn thing once I get my hands on you! And when I am finished, you'll serve as an example to anyone else who thinks they've got what it takes to challenge the New Great Siege!

Grabbing the bottle first, he kicks the table over. Takes a long pulls from his bottle, then throws it at the wall where the television used to be. It too explodes into bits of glass and brown. Staining the white wall. Wolf stands, half-naked and alone, his chest heaving with rage. His eyes dart around the room, he sees a chair. Wolf picks it up and hurls it at the brown spot. CRASH! The chair splinters and breaks. Stepping up to ground zero, glass crunching under his bare feet, he rears his fist back... Then puts his arm into the wall, up to the elbow. Pulling it out slowly, he looks at the blood pouring from his fist, it runs down his forearm. Slowly, as if possessed by some hungry devil, he turns his head to the camera. For a moment, his eyes flash red. They did, didn't they? He lifts his arm and licks up it, then spits the crimson at the lens.

Wolf: If you want blood... YOU GOT IT! And when all the smoke is cleared. When the bell rings and the action stops. When there are three bodies strewn about the ring and it's sides, beaten, broken and bloody. After that old man's hand slaps one... two... three... It will be ME draped over the body of my opponents and my partner. Tonight... I raise Hell. And that's not a threat...

He tosses the lens to the side, with a thud and an "Oomph!" Was there a cameraman there? The camera falls to the ground. Hunched like a monster, breathing heavy, muscles flexed all over his scarred and beaten frame... Wolf goes to a bag in the corner. Bloody footprints on white carpet showing his exact route. He pulls out a white rag and wraps it around his hand. Then a pair of blue jeans, he pulls them on. A black shirt, pulls it over his head. Grabbing his boots off the ground next to the bed, he tries to pull them on standing up. Which only let's gravity take him and pull him to the floor on his side. Maniacal laughter. Sitting up, he pulls them on, ties the laces and stands. Twisting his head back and forth a series of pops and cracks can be heard starting at the top of his neck and heading down to the middle of his back. The awkward, angry silence is broken by unoiled hinges creaking as the door opens. Wolf steps out of the room... Then slams the door. Where was he going? What would he do? That would remain to be seen...