Clay Pigeons

[Brock Anderson]

The scene opens in a busy gym. The background sounds of weights being moved around, clashing together and the grunting noises of people lifting them. There is a familiar sound of people bouncing in ring, the creaking of the ring posts as the workers bounce off the ropes. The camera spans around the room until it arrives on Brock Anderson, sitting on a rest bench against a wall. A look of defeat, agony, and injury across his face. His left shoulder area covered with KT tape. The camera slowly zooms on Brock, the noise in the gym becoming a muffle but still there as white noise.

Brock Anderson: Monday night, I ate crow.

Brock hunches over, elbows on his knees, hands out in front of him, grasped together. He lets out a large breath.

Brock Anderson: But we move on… I had to come on back to the Queen City and go into the corner like a dog and lick my wounds a little bit. Not these…

Brock points to his taped-up shoulder.

Brock Anderson: But my pride… After that match, I admittedly went into a dark place. See in my mind, I’m riding a wave of momentum and to me, at the time, that tap was like a car running ninety-mile ah hour into a wall. No survivors. I walked back into that locker room, sulked like a child and wished I’d just let Max BREAK it right then and there. To me, that would have been between than tapping out. The embarrassment. Not just to be beaten but to eat my words. Miss my spots and ultimately let MJF best me.

Brock shakes his head as he lowers it. He then looks back to the camera.

Brock Anderson: Then I finally get backstage, after running every possible scenario in my own head of everything that I did wrong, I get a call from my father, “Come on back home, son. We’ve got work to do.”... And he was right.

He looks side to side as he strokes his goatee and straightens out his posture.

Brock Anderson: And here we are… Not only do I need to be better in there.

Brock points off to the distance, assumingly so at the wrestling ring that is in the builder.

Brock Anderson: But I need to be better up here.

Brock puts his index finger at the crown of his head.

Brock Anderson: And as I said, we move on. There are still mountains on the horizon to climb and more matches. You ain’t gonna win ‘em all and sometimes, just sometimes, you’re gonna eat crow. See that’s when I have to remind myself… go back a few decades ago with the famous words of my dad, “We learn from everybody.” That saying is even truer now than it was decades ago. What I’m saying is I’m learning from Monday night.. I done came home, I done licked my wounds and now it’s time to get back to work. It’s an entry in the book but it ain’t story. No the story continues and lemme tell you it gets good.

He lets out a smirk as he goes back to leaning on his knees with his elbows.

Brock Anderson: This Sunday night… LIVE in San Francisco, the Breakout Championship goes up for grabs.. Seth Rollins defends his title for first time since being GIVEN it back in September.

He stops, squints his face as if confused shaking his head. Then nods with a confident smirk.

Brock Anderson: Now I know what you’re thinking… First of all, “given”… Look here, I’m self-aware to know what I look like to everyone back stage. I KNOW what they say, “Nepotism” this, “riding daddy’s coat-tails” that. But let’s set the record straight, I haven’t been given jack-shit and I sure as hell wasn’t given a title like you were, Seth. And even then, after being given the title you’ve sat around on it and let the Breakout Championship’s name and prestige mean nothing. Hell, maybe it’s because you were just handed it by Xavier. And you know what, I don’t think that someone who respects the value of the Breakout championship title and what it means to hold it deserves to hold it. So all of this.

Brock uses his an upward circular motion with his hand.

Brock Anderson: This is for that… this is to come for you Sunday night… six days removed from Max almost breaking my arm, six days removed of getting in my head.. You’ve preached about a Revolution but you haven’t done anything to back that up, in fact, folks.. I could count the number of times Seth or any of his posse have stepped foot in the ring on ONE hand. That’s not Eee-bee-dubya-eff deserves. That’s not what that belt deserves. So rest assure, Seth, all of this, the hard work, the training, it’s for these opportunities. The opportunities to put the people like you who take this for granted out and keep you where you belong.

All of a sudden, a loud ding can be heard from a cellular device. Brock looks down and grabs it and smiles as the screen lights up against his face.

Brock Anderson: And it looks like we need to get back to it… Seth, you’re one man just standing in my way and that title is stepping stone on putting my name on the map. And it looks like I’ve got twenty-nine more right after it… We’ll see y’all Sunday night.

He turns the phone over to the camera, showing an email from “EBWF Administrator” with an email containing information on the Lone Survivor match. The entry number is in bold and is in larger font than the rest of the email. The camera rests on the “12” as the scene fades to black.

----

Several days later… The scene opens up with views of tall brown wild grasses and the sound of shotgun blasts. The faint noise of an occasional yell and then *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*. As the camera draws closer, it appears to be a sporting clays facility located outside of San Francisco. The scene cuts to one of the stands, where Brock Anderson is standing with a shotgun resting out in front of him, one hand on the stock and the other sitting on the inside of the joint of his elbow.

Brock Anderson: One day ‘til we kick off Lone Survivor… A little over twenty-four hours the world witnesses yours truly, Brock Anderson, go against the cowardly title-holder… Seth “Friggin” Rollins for the Breakout Championship. A title that so many have held before and some who have ultimately went on to hold onto the World title and even some who have had their names casted on the Hall of Fame ballot. But rest assure, I don’t believe either are in the cards for you.

He lets out a chuckle as he digs into shell bag on his left side and begins to load up his shotgun as he proceeds to the shooting platform. The camera follows behind.

Brock Anderson: But that’s not why we’re here today… We continue our week long training and end it here with a little mental focus… hand-eye coordination. Rollins is a pinion on my list of items today. You know, the Lone Survivor match has a lot riding on the line; not only does the winner go on to face the champion down the line but the winner also gets their names cast in a book of just a few who have had the privilege to be the last man standing in that ring at the end of the night. But at that same point, there are twenty nine others who will step foot in that ring and that’s nothing you can work on in a gym. A competitor can’t train for the amount of chaos that’ll happen, not in the traditional sense anyways.

Brock readies his shotgun on his shoulder.

Brock Anderson: So here we are… PULL!

The sporting clays are shot out of an automatic thrower from several different directions. *BOOM* *BOOM*. The clays are busted into powder. Brock lowers his shotgun and begins to reload.

Brock Anderson: Your head has to be on a swivel because if you loose your place, if you miss your spot and get lost in the confusion – the chaos – you’ll get thrown out of that ring and like these clays.. you’ll be gone. Dust. There’s an art to shooting sporting clays, you’ve got to have the focus, the physique, and the intelligence to calculate where that clay is going to be and how you can be ahead of them so you can break them. PULL!

Brock readies again, repeating his feat before of breaking both flying targets. *BOOM* *BOOM*. He proceeds to reload.

Brock Anderson: Who all do we have in this thing?

A background voice behind the camera responds.

Background Voice: The Dudle-

Before finishing Brock interjects.

Brock Anderson: The Dudleys? One of the greatest tag teams to grace the world of wrestling. “GET THE TABLE”… That sure does bring back some memories of my days growing up backstage. But this is Lone Survivor… not a match for the tag titles… Pass. PULL!

Two clays are shot out of the automatic throwers. *BOOM* *BOOM*. Brock reloads and readjusts himself.

Brock Anderson: We’ve got all the Luchadorks too. And don’t forget about little Eddie. What a friggin’ joke. They’ll probably end up tossing themselves out of the ring with the high spots and ridiculousness there. Isn’t Mysterio Jr. like eighty? Retire already. PULL!

He grins as three clays are shot out of the throwers. *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* All three are turned into dust. He reaches back down to get more shells as he reloads.

Background Voice: I think Adam Cole?

Brock Anderson: Adam Cole, now that’s a good talent. But doesn’t stand a chance, “BAY BAY”. PULL!

More clays go out and a similar fate is met for them as well.

Brock Anderson: The Eee-bee-dubya-eff original… Orton. That’s a name that used to strike fear, “The Viper”.. “The Legend Killer”. Not much a household name anymore. What has he done lately, if anything? Yeah, that’s what I thought, not a damn thing. There’s a reason he’s not in the conversation anymore. Step aside, Orton, let the future come on through. And who else? Oh no… Starks and Caster? Starks has been a disappointment week-after-week-after-week. I thought corporate would’ve terminated his contract by now. And then Caster, and I believe his boy Bowen is in it too? How many times do you have to convincingly beat someone before they stop coming back? PULL!

The next set of clays meet the same demise as those before them.

Brock Anderson: The attitude era… this one its home a little bit. When you’re growing up as a kid in the business, you see these larger than life characters and you look at them in awe. “I want to be just like them someday.” Then one goes to be a movie star, we saw where that passion was. And the other.

Brock drops the barrel of his shotgun down as he pauses.

Brock Anderson: The other pisses on your father. Not verbally… not in a shoot… not on some trashy CMT show where he yells at other people who think he’s God’s gift to the world.. BUT ON LIVE TELEVISION. This one’s personal. The hell with you, Austin. I’ma cut the damn head off the rattlesnake and throw him to dirt. PULL!

Brock picks his shotgun back up as the clays go out and more are busted.

Brock Anderson: We’re widdling them down now… Eventually we’ll get MJF… Unfinished business there. Monday night, I let him get the best of me. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. But lemme’ tell you something, you had better bring every trick in the book if you plan on throwing me out of that ring, Max. I pulled my punches Monday and experience won the day for you. I know your tricks, boy, and we’ll fix that next time. PULL!

Another volley goes out. *BOOM* *BOOM*.

Brock Anderson: And finally… the man of the hour. The man who has been building and building, week after week. The “top” dog. We’ll lemme tell you something, Reigns. If you want to be a dog, I’ll treat you and beat you like a dog. And if you want to talk about nepotism and hand-outs, let’s get Reigns in the discussion. Opportunity has been handed to this man at every turn and admittedly he seizes the day but the fans hate you, the critics can’t stand you, and all I see is the head office trying to cash in on another failed football player gone pro wrestler. Funny how that seems to be the story with these guys. You ever heard the expression, “You can’t polish a turd.”? That’s Reigns in a nutshell, so stop trying. PULL!

The last bit of clays are shot out of the thrower and Brock fires his last shells. *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* All clays are turned into dust or fragmented.

Brock Anderson: Sunday night, the clock counts down and number twelve is called to the ring. The Horseman, Brock Anderson, makes his way to the ring and reminiscent of today, each and every damn one of the men who steps toe-to-toe with me. BOOM. Broken like these clay pigeons. Nothing left of them after the fact. I’ve got the drive, the focus, and the blood of piss, gun-powder, and vinegar coursing through my veins. And I’ll stand in that ring at the end of the night… Not just as the NEW Breakout World champion, not just as excellence incarnate but as THE Lone Survivor.

Brock turns his back on the camera as he sets his shotgun on the stand and the scene fades to black. The EBWF logo appears and ends the segment.