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Description
The Title Fight (Final Draft)

    Mick had the shadow of a weightlifters body with strong arms but large stomach, one too many beers had taken their toll. His long hair was held back in a pony tail and was tipped with the greying of age. Under a thick brow lay small black dots of eyes that seemed bright, like stars in the shadows.
    How many years had he been on the wrestling circuit? Not enough in his mind, not nearly enough to had his title to some kid who was barely out of school. It seemed to Mick that his opponent here was perhaps more nervous than himself, he seemed giddy, looking around left to right and laughing a little too much. It was a main event match after all, they'd spent all month building up to this point. Mick however thought himself as calm and collected.
    Mick trusted in his own abilities, he was good enough anyway, he'd been doing this for years now. If anything he was at the top of his game.
    His opponent however was younger, newer to the circuit, he had really yet to curb his energy and his punches were sloppy. Personally, Mick, didn't think the man was all that experienced and he didn't deserve this match, not by far.
    He was all shout and scream, part of that new generation of wrestles who were too much image and not enough talent.
    The back room was full of nerves and tension, more men of the similar build but of many different backgrounds sat around and seemed to be each engaged in their own ritual of preparation. Some of the wrestlers sat praying, others jumped on the spot and huffed, as if pumping their bodies and minds up for their task. Tight nylon singlets for some, others preferred Lycra
    Mick closed his eyes, focusing on his character. He was the heel, the bad guy, he would be booed by all, hated, cursed and his opponent sitting just across from him would be cheered and worshipped.
    But he was the bad guy.
    He clenched his fists slowly as he stood up, testing his knee just slightly. The old injury still ached sometimes but it was fine, nothing career ending. It was time for him to go. He listened as his opponents name was called out, the cheers filled the warehouse.
    He could cut the air with a knife, the heady alcohol fuelled cheers and shouts, the fans only an arm's length away.
    Inside Mick's nerves were going haywire, his hands were shaking, even after so many years of walking out in front of this screaming crowd, he still felt his heart beat like crazy and his hands shake.
    His name was called and through the blank curtains he walked. In that instant as it all hit him, the wall of noise, the smell of sweat and blood. The electricity of three hundred people with eyes all on him, screaming for his death in the ring.
    He snarled and raised his fists, in that second, that monster being unleashed in his mind. That snarling wolf with a gorillas body. No, he wasn't toned but his wild hair, unshaven face and barrel like chest gave more than enough evidence that he was not a man to be challenged.
    Mick roared as he passed the people, their hands reaching out to grab him but their fingers just out of reach.
    He couldn't care less for them, they were vermin for him to crush under his fists. He slid on his belly into the ring, quickly climbing to the top of a post and raising his fists again. They roared in anger as he mouthed insults to them, many waving banners or signs reading slogans and insults at the wrestlers.
    He screamed from the post, his voice sounding hoarse even over the sound of the screaming crowd.
    Behind him, the man knew his enemy waited, watching his back as he taunted and riled the crowd, waiting for that bell to ring so their fight, the war between good and evil could begin.
    He dropped to mat, it was hard yet yielding, enough to bounce a body off when thrown, but not enough to propel them very far. Perfect for wrestling on.
    Mick's eyes turned to his enemy as the white haired ref stepped between them. The man across from him was wearing golds and whites, directly contrasting Mick's own all black costume.
    After the bell run, he threw the first couple of blows. His giddy energy erupting up out of him, but he managed to keep his cool and land the blows across his opponents head.
    Even if he wasn't really punching him, the blows looked well enough in his eyes. Then suddenly it was reversed, the hero fought back.
    The bloody idiot was swinging too fast, not leaving Mick enough time to collect himself.
    Mick decided to stop him and grabbed his arm, whipping him into the ropes and quickly laying a clothesline upon him, but his opponent ducked under his arm and bounced again.
    Mick couldn't recall if this was scripted or not, but he knew inside the best fights were always the improvised ones.
    He allowed himself to be hit and smash into the mat. Already he could hear the crowds voice ringing in his ears. He wasn't through yet though.
    Mick managed to crawl up as the hero riled the crowd and quickly grabbed him from behind, throwing him backward and smashing him into the mat.
    He growled as he did so, letting the man know how pissed he was that he went off script. He'd give it to the hero however, he was good at acting hurt.
    The younger man was up quickly however, the smile being forced down on his face, but the excitement dancing in his eyes. He was loving this, knowing the older man was riled up.
    Within those eyes Mick could see all that arrogance, that youthful cockiness that was polluting his industry. That was taking his title from him, after his rightful reign as champion!
    He had heard the kid was getting scouted by the WWE, little assholes like him were getting picked over people more deserving like himself. But they wanted pretty boys to appear on TV, not hardened veterans like himself.
    The fight quickly went out of the ring after he punched the hero into a backflip over the ropes, the roar of the crowd blurring his vision.
    His mind went blank and he tried to remember his line. Dammit, come on Mick! You've been doing this for years!
    He decided to forgo the line and just go right after him.
    He slid out and grabbed a free chair, folding it and stumbling over to the hero. Dammit, that knee was acting up again. He played on it though, hobbling forward, somewhere in the background he could hear the commentators shout something about his knee being busted.
    His knee wasn't busted, there was nothing wrong with his goddamn knee. He was in the prime of his life.
    Mick smashed the chair down onto his opponent, the hero quickly defending himself with his hands and rolling onto his side. Oh, that was a sign he wasn't supposed to be doing this yet.
    The hero managed to roll to his feet and landed a kick to his middle.
    The chair fell from his hands and the next thing he felt was something cold and metal hitting his skull and he could feel blood splatting his head, the roaring of the excited crowd confirming it.
    He slowly crawled away but another blow to his back brought a yelp of pain.
    No, he hadn't been doing this for too long. He was fine, he could get up from this.
    Another blow. Asshole wasn't following the script. He knew it was a mistake to let this young kid come into the ring. He should be wrestling someone better, someone more experienced like himself.
    He managed to force himself up and stopped the next blow, landing a punch to the side of his head. Script be damned, he had no idea what was next.
    He clambered back into the ring, his head still spinning and blood blinding him in one eye, making his long shaggy hair stick to his head.
    Mick went to kick, but his enemy dodged the blow, causing the monster to stumble forward, spinning around only to catch a dropkick to the chest.
    He flew backwards, hitting the mat hard and his breathe escaping him. He wasn't too old for this. he wasn't.
    Somewhere in the background he heard the ref's echoing shout in his ear.
    One.
    He was at the top of his game.
    Two.
    This young bastard didn't deserve this.
    Three.
    And it was over.

Description
The Title Fight (Final Draft)

    Mick had the shadow of a weightlifters body with strong arms but large stomach, one too many beers had taken their toll. His long hair was held back in a pony tail and was tipped with the greying of age. Under a thick brow lay small black dots of eyes that seemed bright, like stars in the shadows.
    How many years had he been on the wrestling circuit? Not enough in his mind, not nearly enough to had his title to some kid who was barely out of school. It seemed to Mick that his opponent here was perhaps more nervous than himself, he seemed giddy, looking around left to right and laughing a little too much. It was a main event match after all, they'd spent all month building up to this point. Mick however thought himself as calm and collected.
    Mick trusted in his own abilities, he was good enough anyway, he'd been doing this for years now. If anything he was at the top of his game.
    His opponent however was younger, newer to the circuit, he had really yet to curb his energy and his punches were sloppy. Personally, Mick, didn't think the man was all that experienced and he didn't deserve this match, not by far.
    He was all shout and scream, part of that new generation of wrestles who were too much image and not enough talent.
    The back room was full of nerves and tension, more men of the similar build but of many different backgrounds sat around and seemed to be each engaged in their own ritual of preparation. Some of the wrestlers sat praying, others jumped on the spot and huffed, as if pumping their bodies and minds up for their task. Tight nylon singlets for some, others preferred Lycra
    Mick closed his eyes, focusing on his character. He was the heel, the bad guy, he would be booed by all, hated, cursed and his opponent sitting just across from him would be cheered and worshipped.
    But he was the bad guy.
    He clenched his fists slowly as he stood up, testing his knee just slightly. The old injury still ached sometimes but it was fine, nothing career ending. It was time for him to go. He listened as his opponents name was called out, the cheers filled the warehouse.
    He could cut the air with a knife, the heady alcohol fuelled cheers and shouts, the fans only an arm's length away.
    Inside Mick's nerves were going haywire, his hands were shaking, even after so many years of walking out in front of this screaming crowd, he still felt his heart beat like crazy and his hands shake.
    His name was called and through the blank curtains he walked. In that instant as it all hit him, the wall of noise, the smell of sweat and blood. The electricity of three hundred people with eyes all on him, screaming for his death in the ring.
    He snarled and raised his fists, in that second, that monster being unleashed in his mind. That snarling wolf with a gorillas body. No, he wasn't toned but his wild hair, unshaven face and barrel like chest gave more than enough evidence that he was not a man to be challenged.
    Mick roared as he passed the people, their hands reaching out to grab him but their fingers just out of reach.
    He couldn't care less for them, they were vermin for him to crush under his fists. He slid on his belly into the ring, quickly climbing to the top of a post and raising his fists again. They roared in anger as he mouthed insults to them, many waving banners or signs reading slogans and insults at the wrestlers.
    He screamed from the post, his voice sounding hoarse even over the sound of the screaming crowd.
    Behind him, the man knew his enemy waited, watching his back as he taunted and riled the crowd, waiting for that bell to ring so their fight, the war between good and evil could begin.
    He dropped to mat, it was hard yet yielding, enough to bounce a body off when thrown, but not enough to propel them very far. Perfect for wrestling on.
    Mick's eyes turned to his enemy as the white haired ref stepped between them. The man across from him was wearing golds and whites, directly contrasting Mick's own all black costume.
    After the bell run, he threw the first couple of blows. His giddy energy erupting up out of him, but he managed to keep his cool and land the blows across his opponents head.
    Even if he wasn't really punching him, the blows looked well enough in his eyes. Then suddenly it was reversed, the hero fought back.
    The bloody idiot was swinging too fast, not leaving Mick enough time to collect himself.
    Mick decided to stop him and grabbed his arm, whipping him into the ropes and quickly laying a clothesline upon him, but his opponent ducked under his arm and bounced again.
    Mick couldn't recall if this was scripted or not, but he knew inside the best fights were always the improvised ones.
    He allowed himself to be hit and smash into the mat. Already he could hear the crowds voice ringing in his ears. He wasn't through yet though.
    Mick managed to crawl up as the hero riled the crowd and quickly grabbed him from behind, throwing him backward and smashing him into the mat.
    He growled as he did so, letting the man know how pissed he was that he went off script. He'd give it to the hero however, he was good at acting hurt.
    The younger man was up quickly however, the smile being forced down on his face, but the excitement dancing in his eyes. He was loving this, knowing the older man was riled up.
    Within those eyes Mick could see all that arrogance, that youthful cockiness that was polluting his industry. That was taking his title from him, after his rightful reign as champion!
    He had heard the kid was getting scouted by the WWE, little assholes like him were getting picked over people more deserving like himself. But they wanted pretty boys to appear on TV, not hardened veterans like himself.
    The fight quickly went out of the ring after he punched the hero into a backflip over the ropes, the roar of the crowd blurring his vision.
    His mind went blank and he tried to remember his line. Dammit, come on Mick! You've been doing this for years!
    He decided to forgo the line and just go right after him.
    He slid out and grabbed a free chair, folding it and stumbling over to the hero. Dammit, that knee was acting up again. He played on it though, hobbling forward, somewhere in the background he could hear the commentators shout something about his knee being busted.
    His knee wasn't busted, there was nothing wrong with his goddamn knee. He was in the prime of his life.
    Mick smashed the chair down onto his opponent, the hero quickly defending himself with his hands and rolling onto his side. Oh, that was a sign he wasn't supposed to be doing this yet.
    The hero managed to roll to his feet and landed a kick to his middle.
    The chair fell from his hands and the next thing he felt was something cold and metal hitting his skull and he could feel blood splatting his head, the roaring of the excited crowd confirming it.
    He slowly crawled away but another blow to his back brought a yelp of pain.
    No, he hadn't been doing this for too long. He was fine, he could get up from this.
    Another blow. Asshole wasn't following the script. He knew it was a mistake to let this young kid come into the ring. He should be wrestling someone better, someone more experienced like himself.
    He managed to force himself up and stopped the next blow, landing a punch to the side of his head. Script be damned, he had no idea what was next.
    He clambered back into the ring, his head still spinning and blood blinding him in one eye, making his long shaggy hair stick to his head.
    Mick went to kick, but his enemy dodged the blow, causing the monster to stumble forward, spinning around only to catch a dropkick to the chest.
    He flew backwards, hitting the mat hard and his breathe escaping him. He wasn't too old for this. he wasn't.
    Somewhere in the background he heard the ref's echoing shout in his ear.
    One.
    He was at the top of his game.
    Two.
    This young bastard didn't deserve this.
    Three.
    And it was over.