No man knows the value of innocence and integrity but he who has lost them.
We open upon a shot of a public restroom, with beige walls and off-white tilework. The camera doesn’t appear to be focused on anything in particular. There’s a decent crowd in this restroom - people coming and going, chatting with each other, washing their hands. As more individuals pass by the frame, we notice several people wearing AMA merchandise. A young adult man with a large beard and arms covered in tattoos sporting a “Highway to The Danger Zone” Max Maverick t-shirt… an older, more kind looking gentleman wearing a hoodie with a Randolph Raidokken logo on the right side of the chest… a kid who couldn’t be any older than 12 or so, walking out with a Project Shinzo plush toy tucked under his arm. At the bottom right hand corner of the screen, text appears that reads:
2300 Arena
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
April 18, 2021
Suddenly, cutting through all the hustle and bustle is the sound of heavy steps coming from off the screen. Bystanders look up and quickly move out of the way as, from behind the camera, the burly and calloused body of Buffalo Jones comes rushing into the restroom, making a beeline for the sink where he stops. Everyone else in the room looks around at each other, not sure what to do. Some seem to want to talk to the AMA superstar who is still decked out in his ring gear and covered in sweat, and others walk out in a confused state. Just as one fan seems to be going to say something to Jones, the veteran wrestler wretches and covers the sink in vomit. This causes most of the remaining people occupying the restroom to hurry out, leaving Jones virtually alone in the large restroom of the venue where AMA’s Maiden Voyage is still taking place. Jones continues to spit out bile for a few more moments before raising his head up and pushing his blonde hair out of his face, staring himself dead in the eyes in the mirror above the sink.
Buffalo Jones: What the hell did you just do out there?
The tinge of disappointment in his voice is palpable. It’s clear he is just moments removed from the biggest win of his life: submitting Dorian Declan right in the middle of the ring in front of a worldwide audience for the burgeoning AMA company. Yet it’s clear that there’s something not sitting right with him here.
He turns on the faucet and splashes some cold water onto his face. He cups his hand and brings some water up to his mouth. He swishes it around and spits it out, in order to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. He turns the water off, waves his hands around for a bit to dry them and grabs a paper towel from the dispenser. He dries off his face and chucks the crumpled up paper towel in the general direction of the trash can, which it bounces off of, and hits the floor.
Buffalo Jones: God damn it!
The yell echoes in the enclosed space as Jones shakes his head, walks back past the camera, and loudly bursts out the door of the restroom before the scene fades to black…
When the scene reconvenes, we’re looking at a somewhat familiar sight. It’s the interior of an old home, with a ranch house look. Parallel rays of sunlight burst through the blinds above the kitchen sink that are just barely cracked open. Dust is abound in the air. The counters in this kitchen are a bit cluttered with appliances, stacks of mail, auto parts and everything else you can imagine. This is clearly the home of a single, middle aged man from the country. The bottom right corner of the screen reads:
Jones Residence
Manassas, Colorado, USA
April 19, 2021
Sitting at the small dining room table with a cup of steaming hot coffee is Buffalo Jones. He has what appears to be a small stack of photos lying down in the front of him. His mug is emblazoned with a red and yellow logo reading “Corn Belt Wrestling - Omaha, NE”. He is sitting there in gray sweatpants with no shirt on, but has his ribs taped up. Jones takes a deep sigh and then looks at the camera.
Buffalo Jones: Such a long and confusing journey that life takes us on.
He has to pause. He looks back down at the table and thumps on it a little bit. A nervous impulse, probably. He looks back at the camera now.
Buffalo Jones: 22 years is a hell of a long time. Well - to be more accurate - 21 years, 10 months and 17 days. But let’s say 22 years because that’s a little bit easier to remember. That’s how long I’ve been working towards this goal of making it as a pro wrestler. And if we want to get more technical about things, it goes back much further than that, to when I was a child and I’d hear from everyone around town ‘boy, your dad sure was quite the wrestler!’. 22 years is only as long as I’ve been fighting my way up through the ranks, scratching and clawing and seizing every possible opportunity that came before me. Of course, as I said, 22 years is a hell of a long time and I have to be honest, I certainly lost my way at times…
His eyes once more dart downward as he gathers his thoughts.
Buffalo Jones: But I decided several years back that it was now or never for me. I was at my wit’s end and there was only so much time left on my biological clock where I could continue to put my body on the line against guys who wanted nothing more than to take me out. At that same time, I made the conscious decision that if I was gonna do this thing… well, by God, I was gonna do it right.
Now, his eyes rise back up to stare down the camera.
Buffalo Jones: My career has taken me all over the map and I’ve been confronted with so many choices, ultimatums and agendas that I couldn't keep count. The way this industry treated me for many years… it changed me. It nearly even broke me. It pushed me to act in ways that I can’t wrap my head around and when I look back on some of my decisions, to say that I am ashamed would be an understatement.
Jones clears his throat. It seems like he was almost getting choked up a little.
Buffalo Jones: I like to think I’m a different man than that now. A better man. Wiser... Stronger... All that good stuff. But my actions last night at Maiden Voyage revealed to me that I still have work to do to dispel the malice that resides in me from all those years ago. I have no excuse for my behavior towards Mr. Declan, it was flat out uncalled for and it isn’t a representation of the man that I’m trying to be. I am trying my best to pave a righteous path for myself, to right the wrongs of my past, and to show everyone that this wrestling thing is an art. It’s not just a bunch of savages stabbing each other in the back and sinking to any kind of lows just to earn a buck. It is an escape. It’s a place where two men can lock it up in the ring, go blow for blow, and at the end of the day there will be a winner and a loser. And no matter which side of that coin you find yourself on, you can go home that night and know that you just left it all out there. You can take pride in engaging in a war of both brains and brawn that only a very select few have the intestinal fortitude to do.
He looks down at his coffee mug with the Corn Belt Wrestling logo on it and cracks a grin. He turns back to the camera.
Buffalo Jones: And that goes for anyone, whether you’re busting your ass in a high school gym in front of a crowd of 20, or doing battle at the legendary 2300 Arena for a worldwide audience. As long as you fight with integrity and honor, you are never going to be a “loser”. With that being said, I apologize to you, Mr. Declan. I lost sight of that when I attacked you after the match last night. And for that matter, I apologize to all the fans who hold me and the rest of the roster to a higher standard. And trust me when I tell you all that no one is more disappointed in my actions than me. I fought 22 years to finally get to this stage, had to endure an entire year of anxiety and doubt as these plans were put on hold, and then to finally get there and put on the display I did - I’m absolutely furious with myself. I’ll never get the chance to make another first impression and that will eat at me. But… the best I can do now is train myself to be more disciplined and hope I can make up for all of that going forward. And all of this brings me to looking forward to my next opponent, Mr. Curt Adkins.
Jones picks up his stack of photos and begins shuffling through.
Buffalo Jones: I notice AMA is promoting our match as a “Big Hoss Fight”.
He chuckles just a bit.
Buffalo Jones: Hell, I remember a time not so long ago that I was considered a little stringbean in this world of wrestling.
Another camera angle which is peering over Buffalo’s shoulder reveals that it is a collection of photos from throughout his career that he is holding in his hands. The top photo is from early on his career. A picture of a young Buffalo Jones holding a title belt. He doesn’t necessarily look like a spring chicken, but he certainly doesn’t wear the same visage of corrosion that he does nowadays.
Buffalo Jones: I reckon somewhere along the line I may have packed on a few lbs.
Another chuckle.
Buffalo Jones: Happens to the best of us though, right? I figure I’ll take that hoss label as a compliment. Hell, come to think of it, probably better to be the hoss than to be the wormy little fella on the receiving end of the mauling. I’ve played that game before!
Another picture of a young Buffalo Jones in the ring at a local federation.
Buffalo Jones: And although AMA have bestowed me the kind compliment of labeling me a hoss, I’m fully aware that, physically, you’ve got more than just a few pounds of me, Mr. Adkins. Not only that but from what I understand, you’re a proverbial blue chip athlete. A five tool player, as they call them in baseball. I’ve faced men like you before and I’ve got no problem admitting that there have been… let’s just say… mixed results. Funny story, actually. In 2008, just as I was making my comeback to the wrestling world, all full of piss and vinegar and determined to prove to the world that Buffalo Jones was “the real deal”, I ran into a mountain of a man out in Florida by the name of Cinderblock. Now, as you can probably imagine, this fella wasn’t no small fry, you know what I mean? Matter of fact…
Jones shuffles through the pictures momentarily.
Buffalo Jones: Here we go…
Jones shows the picture off to the camera. It’s a photo of Cinderblock, a 350 pound meat castle who looks like he was chiseled out of stone.
Buffalo Jones: I was wrestling this big son of a gun when he hit me with a running powerslam so damn hard it cracked my sternum, broke several ribs, and re-punctured my lung. I tried to keep on fighting but this wasn’t no ordinary man, and frankly I don’t think he appreciated the fact that I got back up. He whooped my ass and damn near ended my comeback before it even started.
Jones shakes his head with a slight grin, being able to look back on the rather dire situation with some sense of levity now, years removed from it.
Buffalo Jones: So, suffice to say, I’m not taking this matchup lightly. And to be quite honest, I hope that you aren’t either, Mr. Adkins. Though my official record may say 1-0, after my behavior at Maiden Voyage, I’m looking at this match as my opportunity to truly make my mark and show everyone out there what I’m made of. So to simplify things, what I’m telling you is - come to Atlanta on May 2nd ready to fight a man who has nothing to lose and everything to prove, a man who needs redemption, a man who is going to keep on coming at you as if his life depends on it! I'm not gonna take any shortcuts with you... I'm not gonna jump you before the bell... I'm not gonna do any of that nonsense. All that I'm going to do is FIGHT you with every last fiber of my being because THIS match... means EVERYTHING to me!! And this wrestling career of mine... is ALL. I. GOT!!
With the last line, Jones slams his fist down on his kitchen table. Clearly, his mood has changed as he is getting himself in the mindset for his showdown with the bruiser that is Curt Adkins. After several seconds pass of him staring daggers in the camera, he drops the stack of photos on the table, scoots his chair back, stands up, and walks right out the frame without saying another word. The camera that was peering over Jones’ shoulder zooms in on the pile of photos lying on the table, and focuses on a picture of a mystery woman who is standing in a blue dress in front of a “Baby Shower” banner. She appears to be hispanic and is clearly pregnant in this photo.
After a few moments, the scene fades to blackness on this shot...
