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Whatever you're expecting, forget it.
I've been around the blocks, I know how these things work: New guy walks into a company, fills his promotional material with backstory; a character outline. Throws a few crumbs to draw the new audience in. That ain't me. You want to know Jamie Krenshaw's backstory, go visit THE WRESTLING DOMAIN and do your own research. I'm not going to hold your hand. All's you need to know is I'm here, I'm Jamie Krenshaw and I'm better than you.
Fade in. A small lounge room with an equally meagre kitchen area branching off it. Ugly orange flower-patterned curtains blow faintly as a breeze wafts in from the open kitchen window. Sitting atop the kitchen cabinet is a lone packet of plain Salada biscuits, open. In the lounge area nothing but a small grey couch, a low-standing table, old TV and sticking out like a sore thumb, a newly acquired modern stereo system. Pacing back and forth in the lounge room, your "Virtuoso of Violence" and "People's President", Jamie Krenshaw. Wearing an old pair of Jeans West jeans and a MELIVNS T-shirt, the Design's Number One Draft Pick holds a cell phone to his ear, an expression trapped somewhere between concern and concentration on his face.
JAMIE: Is he ready, Dom? I mean, all this time playing Fauxbama, I've been dealing mostly with you. I barely know this Murphy kid.
Jamie listens as the other end of the conversation responds. Continues pacing.
JAMIE: Yeah, I know it was me who volunteered but how could I not? Those two preening peacocks just swanning into our locker room, asking us for help? And their faces, so smug. I've seen less annoying ingrown toenails.
Krenshaw shakes his head, recalling the challenge he rolled out on South Beach Sunday and the audacity that led to it.
JAMIE: But Quinn? Is he up to this? This is my first match back, Dom. My big return. I can't have it ruined by...
He's interrupted on the other side of the line. He stops pacing. Listens.
JAMIE: Okay, if you say he's got the goods, I trust you...
Jamie pauses, looks down at his lounge table. Sitting atop it is a piece of paper, printed type covering it.
JAMIE: ... Yeah, I'm looking at it now. It's just waiting on my signature.
A moment of chat from Dom on the other side of the call, Jamie chuckles.
JAMIE: Are you kidding? There's no way I'm signing it just yet. Jamie Krenshaw signing officially to SUNSHINE STATE WRESTLING is too big to happen behind the scenes. Lebron James got his own ESPN Special for his contract announcement, I should be getting my own pay-per-view! It has to be an event. With streamers and balloons. In the ring. And most importantly, with Jason Hartnell and Dan Pandora in the ring with me to witness me sign that dotted line.
Something said by Dom makes Krenshaw chuckle again.
JAMIE: Yeah, well if Hartnell knows what's good for him, he'll do whatever I ask. Maybe all the goo-goo-ga-ga talking with his stupid baby is affecting his brain? An undefeated World Champion fell into his lap, if he doesn't see the dollar signs there for both of us then he needs to get his eyes checked. Plus, I've got an ace in the hole.
A smirk.
JAMIE: That's right, Pandora. You saw him drag Hartnell away from me at the show. If anyone's seen close up the damage I can do, it's Dan Pandora. He knows it's in the company's best interests to lock me into an exclusive deal. Yep, I have a feeling everything's gonna be smooth sailing from here on i...
Krenshaw stops mid-sentence and pulls his phone away from his ear so's to quickly glance at the screen. He pulls it back to his ear, speaks.
JAMIE: I've got another call, Dom. Can you hang on just a second?
Jamie cancels the conversation with Dom and accepts the new call on his cell.
JAMIE: Krenshaw speaking.
Jamie's face contorts, a furrowed brow as he listens to the other end.
JAMIE: A medical check-up? When?
Listening. Then, aghast:
JAMIE: TWENTY MINUTES?
Krenshaw quickly cancels that call and jumps back on the line to Dom.
JAMIE: Shit, those arseholes booked me in for a medical in twenty minutes! They say my contract is null and void if I don't pass!
Dom makes an inquiry from the other end.
JAMIE: Of course I'll pass! I'm in peak condition! Do you know how often I had to run away from Tea-Partiers when I was wearing that Obama mask?
Dom responds, Jamie is incredulous.
JAMIE: Well you never said not to wear it all the time!
Fade out.
Fade in. A Doctor's office. Sterile white paint coats the walls, along with various medical certificates and a poster of a cat hanging from a tree whilst receiving chemotherapy that reads "Hang in there, Cancer Cat." Jamie Krenshaw rests uneasily on a chair, a large desk before him and behind that, a Doctor. The Doctor wears a white coat, a stethoscope and a Baseball catcher's protective mask. He speaks in a strangely posh British accent. Jamie eyes him oddly from across the desk.
DOCTOR: Good afternoon, Mr. Krenshaw, I'm glad you could make it. Sorry about the late notice for the appointment. I didn't find out about it myself long before you did.
JAMIE: Yeah, I have a feeling I know who was behind that...
DOCTOR: Nevertheless, you are here now and we can get to business. My name is Doctor Phister. I occasionally work in a professional capacity with Sunshine State Wrestling, clearing performers for work, making sure they're fit, of sound body and mind, you know?
JAMIE: I guess...
DR. PHISTER: Now, I've been instructed to give you a rigorous physical examination before clearing you to wrestle at the upcoming event. Can't have you stepping into the ring against sirs Thompson and Galca unless you're in absolutely tip-top shape, can we now?
Jamie sits back, confused by the accent and protective mask.
JAMIE: ... Sure. Look, Doctor, may I ask a question?
DR. PHISTER: The mask? It's about the mask, isn't it?
JAMIE: Yes.
DR. PHISTER: You may ask. Proceed.
JAMIE: So what's with the mask?
Dr. Phister sighs.
DR> PHISTER: I'm afraid you'll think me a coward, Mr. Krenshaw but I am somewhat afraid of wrestlers. I've seen some of those Sunshine State Wrestling shows and they are terrifying! That Pete Cormier running around punching everything that moves. The Wizard Man getting drunk all the time. There's even an Obama impersonator who gets around clubbing fellows with chairs!
Krenshaw grins.
JAMIE: That was me.
DR. PHISTER: Oh dear.
Jamie shifts forward in his seat, looks sincerely to the doctor.
JAMIE: Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just here to get medically cleared so I can hurt Sebastian Galca and Carl Thompson.
The Doctor removes his catcher's mask, revealing greying hair and a distinguished, probably once-handsome face.
DR. PHISTER: You seem awfully confident.
JAMIE: Please. I could beat Galca and "Mr. Awesome" in my sleep.
DR. PHISTER: Which reminds me, we must check for Narcolepsy.
Phister scribbles in his notebook.
DR. PHISTER: Still, I wouldn't be so certain about sirs Awesome and Glamorous. They are quite the tandem.
Jamie shrugs.
JAMIE: Look, doc, I know you're afraid of wrestlers but I have a good ten years of experience under my belt. I can take these tw...
DR. PHISTER: Oh, I'm not afraid of Misters Thompson and Galca, no, quite the opposite. I'm positively drawn to them! As a doctor you learn to appreciate the human form. I spend my days examining people's imperfections, their flaws and ailments. It makes you appreciate perfection when you see it and those two, oh my! That Mister Thompson with his strong jawline, cheekbones sculpted from granite, those muscles. And Mister Galca! Mothers, lock up your daughters and then lock up yourselves, if you know what I mean! Hmm-hmm!
Jamie's eyes widen as Dr. Phister, an apparent British fop or dandy beams with excitement.
JAMIE: So you think they're good wrestlers?
DR. PHISTER: My word no, I've never watched them wrestle! Grown men grunting about in nothing but their underoos. Seems a bit gay to me. No, I just like to look at their physiques.
JAMIE: So the three of you have something in common, then.
DR. PHISTER: Indeed! Now pop off your clothes and get into a gown and we can get these tests underway. Toodle-pip!
Cut to...
A montage of Jamie's medical. Van Halen's "Jump" plays as bold text on the screen proclaims the word FITNESS. Krenshaw runs on a treadmill as Dr. Phister stands beside him, monitoring progress.
JAMIE: See, Doctor, the thing about judging wrestlers solely on their physiques is that it ignores all the other facets that make a man what he is.
DR. PHISTER: Such as?
JAMIE:Well, intelligence for starters. I mean, Sebastian Galca and Carl Thompson barged into the room of the most dominant faction in the company and got on our bad books. That's not very smart. In fact, it's very stupid. It's their egos, Doctor. See, as I understand it, this was their first big one-on-one Main Event. They got excited. It's almost cute, really. I can remember my first Main Event... over ten years ago.
Jamie continues running, shaking his head at the fond memory.
Cut to...
The words BLOOD TEST pop up in bold on the screen as we cut to Krenshaw laying back on a hospital bed as Dr. Phister takes a blood sample from him.
JAMIE: But when you get prematurely excited by your own achievements you end up with a mess, like when I was fifteen and Susie Jakovski tried to grab my boomstick and I accidentally fired all over my pants. See, that's what's happened here. Galca and Thompson are so green, so naive that they got caught up and thought everyone cared about their little Main Event. But I didn't care. Jake Dirden didn't care. Dominic Pure didn't care. Even Quinn and his groupies didn't give a toss! Most of us have been Main Eventing for years. Hell, we're the Design, we ARE the Main Event! But you dare point this out to Carl and Sebastian and they throw a hissy fit worthy of "My Super Sweet Sixteen"!
Cut to...
The word CAT SCAN flashes in bold as we cut to a CT Scanning Machine. Krenshaw feet dangle out of the machine as Dr. Phister controls it. Krenshaw continues speaking.
JAMIE: I mean, I had no personal issue with those guys but if there's anything I hate it's arrogance! And self-absorption! I mean in my decade-plus of winning titles wherever I've gone, making everyone around me look subpar by comparison, I never once held it over people's heads. But you get these new kids on the block with their fancy physiques and their "catchy" names and they just have to lord every single victory they eek out over everybody. "Oh, you beat Jahmon Rastafari? Can I have your autograph?" Please! I was undefeated during my entire tenure in TWD but you don't hear me bringing it up all the time.
DR. PHISTER: Jamie, you can't talk during the scan.
JAMIE: But they just won't listen, that's the real problem. "Oh, you're GLAMAROUS, are you? And AWESOME? Well I'm a VIRTUOSO OF VIOLENCE and I think you'll find in a wrestling match that that qualification holds a little more esteem than looking pretty, boys". See, they're just so green and so arrogant and so joyously dumb. They build up a winning streak against opposition they admit is below average and they mould it into some kind of "achievement"? They get a head full of steam and suddenly believe that just because they can defeat non-starters like War Pig and Joe Morgan that they can take on Jamie Krenshaw?
Cut to...
Back to Dr. Phister's office. Van Halen's "Jump" subtly fades out as the Doctor sits at his desk, across the room sitting opposite him, Jamie Krenshaw. Dr. Phister looks over some papers.
DR. PHISTER: Well it appears all your tests have come up fine. Better than fine. You're in peak competitive condition!
JAMIE: I just don't think Sebastian and Carl realise what they did when they stormed into The Design locker room. They've made themselves targets. Couldn't they be happy just playing around in the midcard, occasionally wetting their pants with excitement at getting the odd Main Event match?
DR. PHISTER: Uh... so, yes, as far as I'm concerned, you are fine to compete at South Beach Sunday. You have my tick of approval!
JAMIE: But now they've poked the bear, which incidentally is the name of a game I heard they play behind closed doors, and I'll have to deal with them. Me and Quinn. And you know the sad thing about it all? I just know they're brimming with confidence about this match! They see me, under six-foot, a little leaner than you're average wrestler, they see Quinn and his eyeliner and fringe and they think "Hey, here's a cakewalk!" But that's what I was getting at earlier, Doctor. Why you don't judge people by their physiques. Because appearances can be deceiving.
DR. PHISTER: I do have other appointments, Mr. Krenshaw...
JAMIE: Sure, Quinn and I may not be built like Mr. Awesome but we also aren't haunted by the crippling insecurity that compels someone to lift weights as often as poor Carl does. Likewise, we may not have the silky smooth skin and AMAZING complexion that Sebastian Galca has but we also don't stay up all night bidding on eBay for that super-rare skin cream made from the filtered semen of the wolves of Uganda! Appearances can be deceiving, doctor, that's all I'm saying. When they approached the Design's locker room, they saw what appeared to be an opportunity but all they're going to get is the mother of all humblings.
Finally Jamie breaks out of his monologue. He looks up to find that he is alone in the room. Dr. Phister apparently having left.
JAMIE: Doctor?
Cut.
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 Your future disappointment staring you right in the face. |