Friday February 18, 2011
Embassy Suites- Suite #1219
Santa Monica, California
3:13 PM Local Time
[Blackness. Just Terrence Thompson’s voice]
“February 18, 2001”
“A date neither I, nor any other fan of stock-car racing, will ever forget. It is a date that hangs over the racing world just as heavily now as it did ten years ago. A date, pardon the term, that lives in infamy.”
“February 18, 2001. The day we lost Number Three.”
[Fade up]
[RV’s still getting fixed, so we’re back in the same hotel room that Wendy’s promo emanated from earlier. Terrence Thompson sits alone in the exact same chair. However, he’s not smiling or grinning, but looking rather somber. He’s wearing a black screen printed t-shirt, with a picture of a black car with a white number 3 in red outlines on it. Behind the car is a checkered flag, while off to the side stands a man in a racing firesuit, GM Goodwrench racing cap and a pair of sunglasses resting over a face that houses a bushy mustache.]
[Any auto racing enthusiast would recognize the man on Terrence’s shirt as the legendary Dale Earnhardt, Sr.]
“Let me set the scene here. It’s the waning laps of the 2001 Daytona, the biggest race of the year in stock car racing. And during those final laps, there’s no one in the world more proud at that moment than Dale Earnhardt. He himself was running third, in his always recognizable black number 3. Ahead of him, in the 8, was his own son, Dale Earnhardt, Jr, in the first race of just his second full season on the top NASCAR circuit. And leading the race was the number 15, driven by his friend Michael Waltrip. A man who had started four hundred and sixty-two races in his career, and hadn’t managed to win a single one of them. A man that Earnhardt had just hired as a driver, because he felt he could make him a winner.”
[Terrence pauses, as he tries to remember the story the best way he can tell it.]
“Around and around the Daytona tri-oval they went, the three cars, chased by a field desperate to keep up. But everytime another car tried to break into the top three, shatter the three leaders, Earnhardt managed to block them out, and keep it between them three. As the white flag came out, Waltrip and Junior began to pull away, while Earnhardt tried desperately to hang onto that third place finish.”
“And then, in the final turn of the final lap of the biggest race of the season, it happened.”
[Another pause, and Terrence takes a deep breath]
“Earnhardt tried to make one last block, but this time, he was too late. He clipped the car, and suddenly veered across the track, striking the wall at the dreaded ‘one o’clock angle.’ The rest of the field roared by, but the men Dale was blocking for couldn’t be caught. Michael Waltrip, the man no one else but Dale Earnhardt thought could win a race, took the checkered flag, while Dale’s son finished second. But that’s not what made headlines the next day.”
[Another pause, and this time, there’s a catch in Terrence’s voice]
“Dale Earnhardt, arguably the greatest auto-racer in history, seven-time NASCAR Champion, winner of seventy-six races, the so-called Intimidator, was dead.”
[Terrence snorts, and shakes his head, offering a shrug before looking back at the camera.]
“Now why am I telling this story? After all, outside the sport, people seem to view NASCAR as little more than a bunch of inbred redneck country bumpkins turning left all day, while a larger bunch o inbred redneck country bumpkins look on and watch while drinking beer. Why would I tell an auto-racing story about a man I unfortunately never met in a wrestling promo?”
“Because today, the tenth anniversary of Earnhardt’s death, serves as a poignant reminder of just how fragile and fleeting life can be.”
[Terrence grimaces, and nods silently]
“Everything can be going perfect, and in the blink of an eye, and a sudden reversal of fortune, its gone. We can’t predict them, we can’t even prepare for them. We just have to accept the inevitability that any second, ANY second, something can happen, and we’ll be no more.”
“That’s why its so important to take advantage of the opportunities we get in our short lives. We don’t know what the future entails, we only have the power to deal with the present. And right now, in the present, I’m just a couple days away from competing for the World Title at the Great Panda Bash. In my line of work, there are no opportunities bigger than that.”
[Terrence looks up at the camera, and shrugs as if he doesn’t know the answer to his next question]
“How many more of these opportunities await for me? I’m a month removed from my thirty-second birthday, and every year that passes me by, the likelihood that I will be past my physical prime increases. That prime comes and goes quickly for professional wrestlers. All of us knows that this sport can be hell on our bodies. How many alumnus of this sport are barely able to walk by the time their forty? How many are dead by fifty?”
“So far, I’ve been lucky. I’ve done a good job of taking care of myself, and I’ve managed to avoid major injuries. I got a hell of a scare last week, but even then, there was little doubt in my mind that I would be medically cleared to compete by the time the Bash came around.”
“But still, it makes you wonder. How many more years do I have in this sport? How many more times will my name appear on the marquee? How many more times will I be granted an opportunity to seize a belt and call myself champion?”
[Another pause, this time longer, as Terrence looks away pensively, before drawing his attention back to the camera]
“I don’t know. Nobody does. I could have dozens more opportunities awaiting me, or I could be on my last one. Only as time unveils the future to us, will my fate become clear.”
[Terrence leans forward just a bit, his eyes looking at the camera]
“And that’s why, Belladonna, you can rest assured that I’m taking this match VERY seriously.”
“This is the third time we’ve faced Belladonna. And all three times, your song has remained the same. I’m cocky. I’m arrogant. I overlook you and Hayley and don’t take you seriously. But let’s stop and think for a second, and let me ask you a question.”
“After that bell rings, when the hell have I ever given you the impression that I don’t respect your talent or ability?”
[Terrence scoffs, and the edge of his lip curls up, although more in a sneer of defiance than an actual smirk]
“See, Belladonna. I know there’s a time and a place for everything. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again- if they’re going to make me sit my ass in front of a camera and talk about my wrestling matches, I’m going to have fun with it. If I feel like cracking a joke, I’ll crack a joke. If I feel like telling a story, I’ll tell a damned story. If I feel like making flippant remarks just to see if I can get under my opponents skin, then that’s exactly what the hell I’m going to do. And if I feel like being serious, like I am today then I’ll do that too.”
“But whatever I say, whatever I do, once I get to that ring, I’m just as businesslike as anyone else in wrestling, and even moreso when there’s a title on the line.”
[Another scoff, and Terrence shakes his head in disbelief]
“You know Belladonna, I’m amazed that a ‘fun-lovin’ free spirit’ such as you, especially one as successful as you are, can’t figure out the difference.”
“Do I rub some people the wrong way? Probably. Do I care? Not at all. It Dale Earnhardt himself who once said ‘I don’t care if they cheer or boo me, just so long as they ain’t quiet.’”
[Terrence smiles just slightly, and looks proudly into the camera]
“When it comes to Terrence Thompson, people aren’t quiet. Some out there like my dedication and hard work, and they root for me. Some out there can’t stand me, and think me an irritating loudmouth, and they root against me. But when “Gasoline” begins to play, and I make my way down that ramp on Monday night, there isn’t going to be a quiet person in the arena.”
[The smile disappears, and Terrence again is looking intensely into the camera]
“So let me lay it all out for you Belladonna. Monday night, I’m challenging you for your title. That places the burden of victory on ME, and that’s a burden that I’m more than willing to bear. Because what you call arrogance and cockiness, I call believing in myself and my ability. I believe that I can weather whatever you throw at me. I believe that I can keep up with your speed and reflexes. And I believe that I can control this match, and force YOU to be reactive, instead of being forced to react myself.”
“And most of all, I believe that when the match is over, and all is said and done, than I will be the one standing, getting his hand raised, and the title being snapped around my waist.”
[One last hard smile]
“Because I also believe that you, Belladonna, haven’t even seen a fraction of what Terrence Thompson is capable of.”
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