Post by Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley on Nov 8, 2008 17:22:50 GMT -5
~Open Scene
The camera opens with a shot of a lower-class residential area and then focuses on a corner pub. The rest of the neighborhood was quiet, but the pub was far from silent. The screen quickly cuts to another camera inside the bar.
Grizzled Barkeeper: If the streets of South Boston taught a man anything, its that his friends were his family, and that his family is all he can hope to trust.
The pub was reminiscent of the dive bars and commoner pubs of the back-streets of Dublin. For Tommy, that was a brutal reminder that he was far from home. The smoke waifed from cheap tobacco products to a haze; The liquid courage clouded the judgments of most patrons, but not their storytelling ability if they have but an ear to listen. Tonight, there are ears a plenty.
Tommy is dressed in the usual euro-style clothes: jeans, light jacket, five-o'clock shadow, and a shot of Jameson in hand, a cigarette on his lips, and another unlit above his left ear.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Trust? Hell, "friends." Not a lot o' key words that make me drink as much as 'dem dees days.
The barkeep looked around the crowded bar, all watching the Thursday night Denver/Cleveland game that no one in the country seemed to be able to get on their own TV sets or satellite receivers.
Barkeeper: Are all of you lugs here cause of the game, or cause your old ladies through your asses out?
Bearded, beer-smelling patron: Out of what?
Barkeeper: McGilvry, cars don't count as houses.
McGilvry: She's already thrown me out once. Can't evict me from my fuckin' car.
A man with a Cleveland Browns cap, closest to the TV smiles to crack at the man without looking away from the tube.
Man interested in the game: Now that's spoken like a true philosopher.
Barkeeper: Southpaw, you know anything about the NFL?
The immediate crowd at the bar all divert their stares from the screen of talking heads to Tommy as he inhales a lung full of smoke. He half-chokes as he blows it up at the ceiling half laughing as well.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: You can't be serious. I'm livin' here in tha' States in Texas. One of the most over-rated states with "professional" NFL teams. The Cowgirls need to grow a dick named something other than Jerry Jones, cause he ain't all there anymore.
Most of the patrons turn back to the game with a smile. Tommy looks around at the men closest to him.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Don't think the Patriots have a dick either. His name's Tom Brady, and he's bedridden with Gisele right now.
A few men turn back around with a glare that melts to agreement and a smile. One man with a Patriots hat, turns to Tommy and breaks the fast.
Patriots fan: So Tommy, give us the breakdown on the Devil's Dance next Saturday. How the hell is it going to pan out?
Tommy motions for a fresh shot of Jameson, and extinguishes his cig. The round slides across the bar to his fingertips. He slams it, then wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: How do you want it to go down? If you have enough money, you can make it happen. Let me find Patrick Martin's address and you can hand him a check personally.
The group snickers at the comment. Since meeting Tommy last year, or having a family member or a friend who is currently involved in the local mob, all are familiar with the TWD and Tommy. Though Tommy has been growing in more popularity with his mob connections than the TWD's credibility among "fans" in these parts, With just another week to go, these guys were really here to make money on the Browns/Denver game, and to figure handicaps for the participants of the next installment of TWD "Showdown" PPV.
Tommy continues as Brady Quinn goes three and out for his first series as Browns starting quarterback on the TV behind the bar.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Justin York has zero shot at this wind-bag event. He has to be the odds-on favorite to lose this one. Why? If this was about the best competitor to move on, he may have a shot because Justin is a good competitor. With the way the TWD is going these days, its about who "deserves" to be there. No way in feckin' hell Martin "allows" Justin to move on. Plain and simple. He's just filler. Justin's had his shots against the best and has had nothing to show for it. I don't blame him for the losses. The Brent Kersh show has gone rogue, and you can't expect to have a fair fight with a ringleader like Martin running the show. Kersh should have known better. As far as I'm concerned, Martin's feckin run Brent Kersh's name through the mud.
Aaron Christopher? Where is the man Aaron Christopher with the reputation that precedes him? I wanted to compete with the Aaron of renown. Much like tha' old battle axe, Dustin Iler coming to an end so I could move on in last year's BKI, I've put ole' Aaron to rest it appears for good. Its a shame. If ah' could, I'd like to take on Dustin and Aaron in their primes. Maybe only on a video game.
A few patrons raise their eyebrows in support of Tommy's comments, also raise their shot glasses and down the liquor quickly.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Juggernaut Enterprises will be OH and TWENTY-SIX and still be happy if they piss people off with blindsides. Martin brought them here knowing full well what happened in the TWF. Ratings. I'll give it to you Ray, you boys do get ratings. Ray, Dragzilla, Andy Christ...You want to be "the Yankees who don't win" of the TWD. The stable that people love to hate. Congratulations. Ray, unfortunately JEnt is more like Jeff probst running survivor. The show is old, its run its course. Its not really relevant anymore. Jeff Probst has run his course. He's an old man. Soon, he'll be on some game show, like Family-feckin' Feud. You don't participate, you just facilitate Martin's machinations. Ray, you and your goons are puppets. You thought you were in control?
O'Malley stands up quickly and spits on the floor, then glares into the camera, now directly speaking to the camera-man. The camera-man starts backing up, feeling a bit nervous. The rest of the pub quiets down to hear the outburst.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: The puppeteer has become the puppet. But that's OK, I understand. You're OK with that. Business is good. I'm sure you'd have it no other way. Poor Ray. One of these days, lad, Martin will get his balls about him and setup a cage match between you and me. He might even start paying Mahmood Ismaili to do his job so that I can whip your ass fair and square.
Tommy sits back down, a little calmer now. He points to a neighboring patron's Irish Car Bomb, and the barkeep gets to work.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: There now, I'm making to much feckin' sense to be taken seriously.
The lone Cleveland Browns fan starts to fall into a trance, focusing on the game as Tommy continues. The Browns' Brady Quinn hits Kellen Winslow in the back of the end zone for his first TD in the NFL.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Who didn't see that coming? That boy went to Holy Mother of the Church, kicked arse in school and who didn't think he was ready to lead his childhood team to bigger and better things.
Amid the cheers from those who had Quinn and Winslow in their fantasy lineups or those who actually like the Browns, or for the most part bet the Browns, the Browns Fan hears Tommy's question and answers on behalf of the Browns Nation.
Browns Fan: Everyone but the guys at the top. From the Front office down.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Exactly. Some guys don't say anything cause they got it good right now, like that wall in the middle of their defense. What's his name? Shaun Rogers? He's not gonna throw a man in the harbor when things are good for him. Neither is the Offensive line. Their reputation lives and dies with keeping the QB happy and on his feet. Thats how they get paid. They knew Anderson was a poor excuse for the real thing. Kind of reminds me of Eno Redrum. Too much to lose. Now Eno might say, "I don't have anything else to lose." because of his family. God rest his family's souls, Mother Mary and Joseph, I know about loss too, but SHITE! The man has EVERYTHING to lose. If I've learned anything about the man, Jobby P. LOVES to have a target on his back. No one feckin' tell me he doesn't like the challenge of kicking people's asses. He works better with a big stack of poker chips. Well, at least he did when he had seven stable mates hitting people with chairs and pipes in the legs and shit like that. He DOES fight like a cornered animal, and I love it! I hope I get the chance to challenge his title, because I'll make him earn the right to keep it.
With that said, Tomas Luger is a force to be reckoned with. If I have to face that bugger instead of Eno, then so be it.
The wheels will come off TWD someday--history proves it. For now, Job has no reason to worry about the cracks in Rome's walls. Rome will burn, but O'Malley and Pettish will be two names that will not be on the roster when it falls. That I can guarantee. For now, I'll make sure those who're trying to feck with me or the TWD get their due.
Like the old Brownies' head coach, that includes old Patrick Martin.
Tommy grabs the Car Bomb and downs it. He leans back in his chair and surveys the bar, getting a few nods from the listening fans who have now gathered around the local regulars. There's electricity in the pub now with the attention a professional athlete brings, not to mention the thrill of a chance of being on national TV. Tommy lights up his cigarette and consumes the smoke.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Insomnia is a menace. But his lumbering mass can easily be distracted by the facts of my fists. If he or JahMon cross me on Saturday before the final three, there'll be hell to pay.
Karishnikov and Rob Blondie are the two challengers I look forward to competing against. Both are proven commodities who do what they have to to win, and take no shit from JEnt or anyone else. Ah' for one can appreciate that. Thats not to say they have a special place in me heart for shite's sake. I recognize true fighters that rise above the fray--above what is accepted as standard. Rob knows how to get creative to win, so I'll have to be on my guard. I only know of him what I've seen on tape. As far as Karishnikov, its much of the same story. I have respect for them , and so therefore I know they will be my toughest match. I welcome the challenge.
Tommy stands up, takes a hit on the cigarette, and waves his bar-fellows goodbye and drops a hundred dollar bill to cover the tab. The fans and on-lookers follow Tommy out the door as he gives high fives and reaches out to those who try to touch him.
End Scene~
The camera opens with a shot of a lower-class residential area and then focuses on a corner pub. The rest of the neighborhood was quiet, but the pub was far from silent. The screen quickly cuts to another camera inside the bar.
Grizzled Barkeeper: If the streets of South Boston taught a man anything, its that his friends were his family, and that his family is all he can hope to trust.
The pub was reminiscent of the dive bars and commoner pubs of the back-streets of Dublin. For Tommy, that was a brutal reminder that he was far from home. The smoke waifed from cheap tobacco products to a haze; The liquid courage clouded the judgments of most patrons, but not their storytelling ability if they have but an ear to listen. Tonight, there are ears a plenty.
Tommy is dressed in the usual euro-style clothes: jeans, light jacket, five-o'clock shadow, and a shot of Jameson in hand, a cigarette on his lips, and another unlit above his left ear.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Trust? Hell, "friends." Not a lot o' key words that make me drink as much as 'dem dees days.
The barkeep looked around the crowded bar, all watching the Thursday night Denver/Cleveland game that no one in the country seemed to be able to get on their own TV sets or satellite receivers.
Barkeeper: Are all of you lugs here cause of the game, or cause your old ladies through your asses out?
Bearded, beer-smelling patron: Out of what?
Barkeeper: McGilvry, cars don't count as houses.
McGilvry: She's already thrown me out once. Can't evict me from my fuckin' car.
A man with a Cleveland Browns cap, closest to the TV smiles to crack at the man without looking away from the tube.
Man interested in the game: Now that's spoken like a true philosopher.
Barkeeper: Southpaw, you know anything about the NFL?
The immediate crowd at the bar all divert their stares from the screen of talking heads to Tommy as he inhales a lung full of smoke. He half-chokes as he blows it up at the ceiling half laughing as well.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: You can't be serious. I'm livin' here in tha' States in Texas. One of the most over-rated states with "professional" NFL teams. The Cowgirls need to grow a dick named something other than Jerry Jones, cause he ain't all there anymore.
Most of the patrons turn back to the game with a smile. Tommy looks around at the men closest to him.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Don't think the Patriots have a dick either. His name's Tom Brady, and he's bedridden with Gisele right now.
A few men turn back around with a glare that melts to agreement and a smile. One man with a Patriots hat, turns to Tommy and breaks the fast.
Patriots fan: So Tommy, give us the breakdown on the Devil's Dance next Saturday. How the hell is it going to pan out?
Tommy motions for a fresh shot of Jameson, and extinguishes his cig. The round slides across the bar to his fingertips. He slams it, then wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: How do you want it to go down? If you have enough money, you can make it happen. Let me find Patrick Martin's address and you can hand him a check personally.
The group snickers at the comment. Since meeting Tommy last year, or having a family member or a friend who is currently involved in the local mob, all are familiar with the TWD and Tommy. Though Tommy has been growing in more popularity with his mob connections than the TWD's credibility among "fans" in these parts, With just another week to go, these guys were really here to make money on the Browns/Denver game, and to figure handicaps for the participants of the next installment of TWD "Showdown" PPV.
Tommy continues as Brady Quinn goes three and out for his first series as Browns starting quarterback on the TV behind the bar.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Justin York has zero shot at this wind-bag event. He has to be the odds-on favorite to lose this one. Why? If this was about the best competitor to move on, he may have a shot because Justin is a good competitor. With the way the TWD is going these days, its about who "deserves" to be there. No way in feckin' hell Martin "allows" Justin to move on. Plain and simple. He's just filler. Justin's had his shots against the best and has had nothing to show for it. I don't blame him for the losses. The Brent Kersh show has gone rogue, and you can't expect to have a fair fight with a ringleader like Martin running the show. Kersh should have known better. As far as I'm concerned, Martin's feckin run Brent Kersh's name through the mud.
Aaron Christopher? Where is the man Aaron Christopher with the reputation that precedes him? I wanted to compete with the Aaron of renown. Much like tha' old battle axe, Dustin Iler coming to an end so I could move on in last year's BKI, I've put ole' Aaron to rest it appears for good. Its a shame. If ah' could, I'd like to take on Dustin and Aaron in their primes. Maybe only on a video game.
A few patrons raise their eyebrows in support of Tommy's comments, also raise their shot glasses and down the liquor quickly.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Juggernaut Enterprises will be OH and TWENTY-SIX and still be happy if they piss people off with blindsides. Martin brought them here knowing full well what happened in the TWF. Ratings. I'll give it to you Ray, you boys do get ratings. Ray, Dragzilla, Andy Christ...You want to be "the Yankees who don't win" of the TWD. The stable that people love to hate. Congratulations. Ray, unfortunately JEnt is more like Jeff probst running survivor. The show is old, its run its course. Its not really relevant anymore. Jeff Probst has run his course. He's an old man. Soon, he'll be on some game show, like Family-feckin' Feud. You don't participate, you just facilitate Martin's machinations. Ray, you and your goons are puppets. You thought you were in control?
O'Malley stands up quickly and spits on the floor, then glares into the camera, now directly speaking to the camera-man. The camera-man starts backing up, feeling a bit nervous. The rest of the pub quiets down to hear the outburst.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: The puppeteer has become the puppet. But that's OK, I understand. You're OK with that. Business is good. I'm sure you'd have it no other way. Poor Ray. One of these days, lad, Martin will get his balls about him and setup a cage match between you and me. He might even start paying Mahmood Ismaili to do his job so that I can whip your ass fair and square.
Tommy sits back down, a little calmer now. He points to a neighboring patron's Irish Car Bomb, and the barkeep gets to work.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: There now, I'm making to much feckin' sense to be taken seriously.
The lone Cleveland Browns fan starts to fall into a trance, focusing on the game as Tommy continues. The Browns' Brady Quinn hits Kellen Winslow in the back of the end zone for his first TD in the NFL.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Who didn't see that coming? That boy went to Holy Mother of the Church, kicked arse in school and who didn't think he was ready to lead his childhood team to bigger and better things.
Amid the cheers from those who had Quinn and Winslow in their fantasy lineups or those who actually like the Browns, or for the most part bet the Browns, the Browns Fan hears Tommy's question and answers on behalf of the Browns Nation.
Browns Fan: Everyone but the guys at the top. From the Front office down.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Exactly. Some guys don't say anything cause they got it good right now, like that wall in the middle of their defense. What's his name? Shaun Rogers? He's not gonna throw a man in the harbor when things are good for him. Neither is the Offensive line. Their reputation lives and dies with keeping the QB happy and on his feet. Thats how they get paid. They knew Anderson was a poor excuse for the real thing. Kind of reminds me of Eno Redrum. Too much to lose. Now Eno might say, "I don't have anything else to lose." because of his family. God rest his family's souls, Mother Mary and Joseph, I know about loss too, but SHITE! The man has EVERYTHING to lose. If I've learned anything about the man, Jobby P. LOVES to have a target on his back. No one feckin' tell me he doesn't like the challenge of kicking people's asses. He works better with a big stack of poker chips. Well, at least he did when he had seven stable mates hitting people with chairs and pipes in the legs and shit like that. He DOES fight like a cornered animal, and I love it! I hope I get the chance to challenge his title, because I'll make him earn the right to keep it.
With that said, Tomas Luger is a force to be reckoned with. If I have to face that bugger instead of Eno, then so be it.
The wheels will come off TWD someday--history proves it. For now, Job has no reason to worry about the cracks in Rome's walls. Rome will burn, but O'Malley and Pettish will be two names that will not be on the roster when it falls. That I can guarantee. For now, I'll make sure those who're trying to feck with me or the TWD get their due.
Like the old Brownies' head coach, that includes old Patrick Martin.
Tommy grabs the Car Bomb and downs it. He leans back in his chair and surveys the bar, getting a few nods from the listening fans who have now gathered around the local regulars. There's electricity in the pub now with the attention a professional athlete brings, not to mention the thrill of a chance of being on national TV. Tommy lights up his cigarette and consumes the smoke.
Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley: Insomnia is a menace. But his lumbering mass can easily be distracted by the facts of my fists. If he or JahMon cross me on Saturday before the final three, there'll be hell to pay.
Karishnikov and Rob Blondie are the two challengers I look forward to competing against. Both are proven commodities who do what they have to to win, and take no shit from JEnt or anyone else. Ah' for one can appreciate that. Thats not to say they have a special place in me heart for shite's sake. I recognize true fighters that rise above the fray--above what is accepted as standard. Rob knows how to get creative to win, so I'll have to be on my guard. I only know of him what I've seen on tape. As far as Karishnikov, its much of the same story. I have respect for them , and so therefore I know they will be my toughest match. I welcome the challenge.
Tommy stands up, takes a hit on the cigarette, and waves his bar-fellows goodbye and drops a hundred dollar bill to cover the tab. The fans and on-lookers follow Tommy out the door as he gives high fives and reaches out to those who try to touch him.
End Scene~