Team Record
State Playoffs


vs. Ridgeway

"Hero" by Nas

Rp One : The Beginning

"I was birthed in a crackhouse, what made it worse was every first is a packed house." - Rick Ross

The scene opens up outside of a small one-story house right smack dab in the middle of South Memphis. Like every other house on the street, it was beat to shit. This pathetic excuse for a house was guarded by a raggedy fence that was half torn down with the front gate missing. Ferocious barking and the scurrying of feet could be heard from the full-grown pure-bred Pit that was chained up in the front yard everytime a nappy-haired, alcohol-stinking, concentration camp thin crackhead stumbled down the sidewalk in front of the house. The grass wasn't green here. Hell, there was no grass, just dirt. Everytime the wind blew the dirt turned the light blue house a little bit browner. The oversized rectangular windows were covered with faded bed sheets, one most certainly was of a Winnie the Pooh pattern. The front door that was once bone white had that same dirty brown tinge to it. The door also had hacks of wood chipped out of it reminiscent of stray bullet marks. Don't forget the front porch or should I say the concrete steps that led to the raised concrete slab that was half-ass painted the color blue. Four old beaten down orange kitchen chairs sat on the porch, the backs of the chairs had been broken off or nearly kicked out. Suprisingly, unlike the other houses on the street, there was no grafitti on it. Well at least, not on the front of the house. The side of the house was tagged with orange spray-paint that displayed "Da Mound" and a hand sign that had the hand slumped down, the thumb and pointer finger forming a circle, and the other three fingers stiffly pointing down. This sign of course meant Orange Mound, better known as the worst neighborhood in Memphis, better known as this hood. If you weren't here for drugs then you had no reason to be at this house.

Inside, the house smelled of cat food and inscents-- the smell was so strong that it could probably knock out a child. And the haze, their was a foggy haze hovering in the air throughout the house. Either God called this place his kingdom, or there was some serious smoking going on. Sitting on the beat down couch in the middle of the living room was two young men around the age of fourteen and an older man about twenty years of age. The older man had on a red hat that was tilted backwards and gently resting on his long dreads. The rest of his attire wasn't anything special either; a white muscle shirt, some black name brand pants, and a pair of DC's on his feet. This was Malakai Simmons and the two kids were neighborhood kids, their names were Reyshawn and D-Mac. Malakai had a blunt in his hand and a lighter in the other. He began to talk to the two teenagers as he struggled to light the blunt.

Malakai: Don't listen to your folks when they say weed ain't good for you... Weed clears up all your problems. Ya know what's not good for you? People... People ain't good for you because they cause problems and they want you to always be stressed out, that's why they lie to everyone and say weed's bad, cause they want you to be stressed out... but not me. Have you ever seen me stressed out?

Reyshawn: No.

Malakai: Ya know why? Cause I keep some of that good in my system at all times.

Reyshawn: Even when you wrestle?

Malakai: Even when I wrestle.

D-Mac: Even when you preach?

Malakai: Especially when I preach. Every motherfucking preacher gotta stay high, why the fuck you think we always be actin' like crackheads on Sundays?

Reyshawn: Do you smoke before you go see your mother?

Malakai, who had already gotten the blunt lit and taken a few puffs, blew out some smoke and looked into the one kid's eyes.

Malakai: What the fuck's wrong wit' you? You don't smoke weed around your mama... That's a God damn sin!

He took another puff before passing it to one of the Reyshawn..

Reyshawn: So who got you started?

Malakai: Got me started what?

Reyshawn: Who got you started smokin'?

Malakai: Ah shit... Sammy got me started.

D-Mac: Who's Sammy?

Malakai: Listen kid, if you wanna be like me... If you wanna be Blood... you gotta know Sammy.

Reyshawn: Where he at?

Malakai: You sittin' in his house.

D-Mac: So your really Sammy?

Malakai: Motherfucker my name is Malakai fucking Simmons and that's all it is. Let me tell ya'll 'bout Sammy...

.:. Vision .:. Vision .:. Vision .:. Vision .:. Vision .:.

Malakai: I was about your age, mother was a fucking crack feind trying to get herself straight and support her family, four kids, my dad... well I ain't never seen the nigga but I'm sure his ass still stickin' his dick in any pussy he can get in Memphis. We was poor, just like everyone else in South Memphis and wasn't no one bringin' home the bacon, moms was just bringin' home stale bread. My oldest brother didn't have a job, he was too busy wit' school to become just another nigga flippin' burgers tryin' to provide for his family. Dirt poor didn't even describe us, I saw them niggas on Feed the Children and got jealous.

A young Malakai Simmons walks down the street of his South Memphis neighborhood. He's got twists in his hair a pair of faded jeans and a torn-up orange t-shirt that clung to his skin for dear life as it was obviously too short. Malakai was about twelve years of age, he maintained a smile on his face as he strolled through the fucked up neighborhood he called home and past the people who unfortunately had to call this place home as well. The young scrawny Malakai noticed a group of local thugs hanging out on the sidewalk in front of a house he had to pass to get home. The two thugs he recognized in the group were two kids named Tee and Dre. He thought about crossing the street but it would be too blatantly obvious to the thugs that he was trying to avoid them, so he just put his head down, avoided eye contant and stepped his pace up so that the Teenage Mutant Turtles backpack he was carrying bounced off his back after every step. He approached the thugs, and the lack of eye contact gave them a feeling of power. They knew Malakai was scared of them. One of the four thugs, Tee, stepped out in front of Malakai, since Malakai had his head down he collided with him, but the thug was much bigger than Malakai so he didn't even budge. Malakai looked up at the thug, the thug had his blue Kansas City hat turned backwards, a pair of dark shades on his face, and some baggy clothes on his body.

Dre: Where you goin' to lil man?

Malakai looked up at the thug that blocked his way. He could try and run across the street but they would just catch up in a matter of seconds and a beating would surely ensue. Malakai took a deep breath and a stutter followed as he tried to talk his way through the situation.

Malakai: I... I... I was just... just comin' from school.

Dre laughed and this followed by laughter from the other three thugs.

Dre: What you mean you comin' from school and you talkin' like you ain't never had no speech classes? I... I... come... comin'... from sch... school.

They all laughed again. Malakai looked hopeless. Had he been older and bigger he may have tried something, but he knew from the ray of light coming from the guy's belt line that these guys were strapped anyways.

Malakai: I gotta get home before my mom gets mad.

He tried to walk around the thug and did, but he was pulled backwards by his back-pack. He could drop the backpack and run, hoping that the thugs would be satisfied with just breaking his spirit, but Malakai knew that when he got home he would get a whoopin' for "losing" his backpack.

Dre: I tell you when you can leave nigga.

The other thug, Tee, got in front of Malakai.

Tee: And don't worry 'bout yo momma boy, me and her was talkin' last night and she said you can be late for dinner, as long as I'm on time to tear her ass up tonight!

The four thugs laughed, Malakai's face was beaming. He tried to hold back tears but a tear dropped and he clenched his fists, he was ready to take on these thugs.

Tee: What you gonna do nigga? You gonna hit me? C'mon lil man, give me yo best shot.

Malaki kept his fists clenched for another second before opening his hands up. He looked up at Tee and Dre.

Tee: That's what I thought nigga. Weak ass trick.

Dre grabbed Malakai's backpack.

Dre: Let's see what ya go in here.

Dre yanked the backpack off Malakai and it sent Malakai falling backwards onto his ass. He got up and brushed the back of his pants. The thug was rifling through his backpack with little care for what was in it. He stopped digging through the backpack and looked at Malakai.

Dre: Broke ass nigga, ain't got shit. Lucky if I find a tape-deck in this bitch.

He threw the backpack at Malakai's feet.

Tee: Empty yo pockets nigga.

Malakai: What?

Tee: You heard him, know yo momma gave you some money.

Malakai didn't budge.

Tee: You deaf nigga? I said give me yo money.

Malakai didn't move a finger again. This made Tee angry, he stepped up to Malakai's face and grabbed his pocket. Suprisingly, Malakai gave up all fear and delivered a right to Tee's nose, crimson blood rained down from it. Tee looked shocked, he put one hand over his bloody nose and put his other fist into Malakai's teeth. Malakai tried to fight back but all four of the thugs had surrounded him, his chances of taking down one of these guys were slim to none and his chances of taking down all four were about as great as his chances that his mother would win the lottery and marry Bill Gates in the same day. One thug grabbed him by the twists in his hair and threw him on his ass, the one that he hit, Tee, now stood over him and put his knee across the neck of Malakai. Malakai squirmed and the blood from the thug's nose dripped onto his shirt. The thug delivered two rights across the face of Malakai, causing blood to flow from Malakai's face as well.

Voice: Hey! Get off that boy!

The thugs saw a middle-aged man come running towards them, so they got off Malakai. Malakai layed there on the ground, his face covered in blood. The middle-aged man met the thugs about a couple of feet from Malakai, the thugs let the man through. The man helped Malakai up and Malakai proceeded to wipe his face with his shirt. The man looked at the thugs and got in one of their faces. The man stared into the eyes of the thug but the thug only returned his stare with a smirk on his face. The man was angry.

Middle-Aged Man: Why don't you pick on someone your own size.

Tee laughed.

Tee: You right here old man, I ain't got no problem with pickin' on you.

Middle-Aged Man: Boy I will whoop you and send you back to your momma cryin'.

A serious look came over Tee's face, a quick flash to his beltline and the middle-aged man was now looking down the barrel of a pistol.

Tee: Don't fuck with me, I ain't ya kid.

The man had his hands up, sweat poured down from his forehead.

Dre: C'mon Tee, let's get outta here.

People were now looking out their windows and everything seemed quiet but not so peaceful.

Tee: You lucky old man, I can't waste a bullet on your old ass, you ain't got much livin' left anyways.

Tee put his pistol away, laughed in the man's face, and walked off down the street with the rest of the thugs. When the thugs were half-way down the street the man became filled with emotion.

Middle-Aged Man: That's what's wrong with kids these days, they think a gun give them power.

Malakai was standing now, he had wiped his face with his t-shirt and gathered up his backpack and dusted himself off. He began walking off without even thanking the man.

Middle-Aged Man: Where you goin' son? You need to go to the hospital.

Malakai turned around.

Malakai: I can't, im'ma be late for dinner.

Malakai ran off down the street.

When Malakai came through the front door of the house there was a smell of macoroni and cheese on the table and chicken in the oven. Malakai's mother, Marsha Simmons, was standing by the stove stirring the pees when she heard Malakai enter. She turned around and Malakai knew she was gonna be mad.

Marsha Simmons: Why you late?

Malakai: Umm...

Marsha Simmons: Umm is not an answer. You better...

She paused before noticing the blood on Malakai's clothes.

Marsha Simmons: What happened to you?

Malakai: Tee and his boys stopped me after school, they jumped me.

Marsha Simmons: Why didn't you run?

Malakai: I would've but they was too fast.

Marsha Simmons: How do you know they were too fast if you didn't try.

She walked over to Malakai. Tears began to slowly drop from his face.

Marsha Simmons: Great, you got dirt and blood all over your shirt and now your crying all over it. Get that shirt off so I can wash it.

Malakai began taking his shirt off and handed it to his mother, he accidently pressed the shirt up against his mother's shirt, this caused a blood stain on her shirt.

Marsha Simmons: Now look what you did.

She violently smacked Malakai on the head.

Marsha Simmons: Go get changed and get your brother for dinner.

Malakai went off into the room he shared with his oldest brother. He opened the door to the room and his brother, Drew, was on his bed doing homework. His oldest brother was a bit of a geek. Drew was seventeen and he didn't have a job, he was too busy worrying about being the perfect student all the time. Malakai pulled out some clothes from his dresser and shut the drawers, his brother lifted his head from the books and looked at Malakai.

Drew: What happened to you?

Malakai: Tee...

Drew: Again?

Malakai: Yeah...

Drew: Did you run this time?

Malakai pulled the new shirt over his head. He slammed his fist on the dresser.

Malakai: I'm sick of running Drew. It's the same every week, like we can't stand up for ourselves.

Drew: This ain't the best neighborhood Malakai...

Malakai: So what, we sit around and let people walk all over us.

Drew fixed his glasses, they had fallen to the tip of his nose.

Drew: We don't let people walk over us, but we can't expect respect from anyone.

Malakai headed over to the window on the far-side of the room. He pushed up the window, swung back the security bars, and sat on the window sill.

Drew: Where are you going? Dinners almost done and mom isn't going to like you skipping dinner.

Malakai: Are you going to get Tee and his boys back?

Drew: I don't handle these situations with violence.

Malakai: Then I guess I gotta...

Malakai jumped out of the window and landed on his feet. He started walking down the street, he could hear Drew yelling in the distant.

Drew: Malakai! Malakai! You better not do anything stupid!

Malakai ignored him and continued walking down the street. Like one of those crazy white people he saw in movies, Malakai began talking to himself.

Malakai: Fuck it, this life sucks. Running scared all the time. Tucking my tail between my legs and running. Drew wasn't shit. Sure he was smart and was probably gonna make it one day, but he couldn't help his strugglin' family now. I can't blame my mom cause she tryin' to bring us up, tryin' to get over her addiction, and it's hard... but where the fuck is that bastard dad of mine? Fuck him, fuck this life.

Malakai passed the crackhouses, the crackwhores outside yelling at their customers. He passed the homeless that slept on the street corners, who often walked down the street and debated with themselves. He didn't care who's neighborhood he entered, he didn't care about much right now.

Malakai: Ain't none of these niggas 'bout shit anyways. Tee and Dre, they was some bitches. Fuckin' wit' someone half they size, but not anymore. Im'ma get them back one way or anotha'. The time for running has ended.

Malakai walked up to a blue house, a messed up fence in the front yard with the gate torn-off. He was instructed never to come here, for this was the place that once fueled his mother's drug habits. He gave little notion to that now as he walked through the front yard and stepped onto the porch. He knocked on the beaten-up wooden door, within minutes the door opened.

Standing in the doorway was a bald man man, medium sized in height, but built like a six foot tall Tookie Williams. This was Sammy. He originally supplied drugs to my mother, Sammy was a bad man.

Sammy: Suprise, suprise... It's little Malakai Simmons!

Sammy laughed. He was trying to be friends with Malakai because Sammy was a dope scout. See he was like an NBA scout, and when he saw someone like Malakai, a young black male without much hope in life with a messed up family, they were his number one prospects. Sammy once told Malakai of the life that he could have if he came to work for him, but once his mother found out she completely cut any ties to Sammy. That's what made Marsha Simmons turn her life around, the people who were destroying her life and feeding her addiction by supplying her with drugs were the same people trying to recruit her sons to do the same things.

Malakai wasn't one for going against his mother's wishes, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He walked up to Sammy and shook his hand. As akward as it was to see a twelve year old kid and a grown man shaking hands on an unmentioned deal, it was normal around here. So Malakai was given an ounce of marijuana to move within the next week and a celabratory blunt as well. He smoked for the first time that day, and though he knew it was wrong, nothing ever felt so good.

Business wasn't done yet, there were still problems to be handled and they went by the names of Dre and Tee. Sammy gave Malakai a pistol but he refused to take him along to handle business. Malakai just watched Sammy jump in his red Impala and peel off down the streets. Malakai knew that he would soon hear a couple shots fired, two boys found dead in Orange Mound on the news, but he didn't feel no remorse. Why should he? These kids didn't feel any remorse when they jumped him twice and threatened to kill the man that saved him.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

.:. Vision End .:. Vision End .:. Vision End .:. Vision End .:. Vision End .:.

The memory of hearing the fatal gunshots ended Malakai's vision. He now stared at the two kids that sit in front of him.

Malakai: That's why I do what I do, I hate seeing people that was once like me. Not alot of hope, a fucked up family, and everyone jus' tryin' to run them around like sheep. So what you say? Ya in or not?

Reyshawn: Count me in.

D-Mac: Mos' definitely.

Malakai shook their hands.

Malakai: That's what I'm talkin' 'bout. We all need soldiers like you two. You got a tool?

Reyshawn: Nah...

Malakai reached under the table and pulled out a pistol, he handed it to Reyshawn.

Malakai: What about you?

D-Mac: Nope.

He reached under the table again and handed D-Mac a pistol this time. He took one last puff of the blunt and threw it in the ash tray. Malakai stood up.

Malakai: I'm bout to roll, I'll catch up wit' ya'll niggas later. Just wait for Sammy to get here, he'll hook you up.

Malakai walked over to the front door, opened it, and walked out. Back onto the streets of South Memphis was Malakai but his hands were in bigger things now. He wasn't just a screwed up kid anymore, Malakai was a local preacher and a wrestler. He was a wrestler for Majestic Wrestling, developmental federation to the granddaddy of all wrestling federations, SCW.