Post by Carter Hayes on Oct 22, 2016 6:01:33 GMT
INT. BROOKDALE MIDDLE SCHOOL GYMNASIUM - RIDGEWOOD, NJ - MORNING
A Saturday morning junior scholastic wrestling meet. The gym is crowded and noisy with the sound of referees blowing whistles as coaches and parents bellow out instruction and words of encouragement to young grapplers.
The bleachers are packed. The gym lined wall to wall with wrestling mats-- eight mats to be exact. On each mat, two youths, in singlets and headgear, scramble about for position.
Our attention is turned to MAT #2, where a bantam division (11 and 12 year olds) match in the 120 pound weight class is about to get under way.
IN ONE CORNER,
We find RANDY SIMMS, 12, red hair and a defined athletic physique that defies his age. Randy warms up as his two coaches usher last minute words of encouragement.
As little Randy bounces up and down, he fixes his eyes, in a mean-mugging fashion, on his OPPONENT in the opposing corner.
He is CAMERON "CAMMY" HAYES, 11, chubby and unassuming.
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He looks like he doesn't want to be here.
There are two people in Cammy's corner, both looking very invested in the child. They are Cammy's adoptive mother-- and former Internet Wrestling Alliance Champion-- GRACE TAYLOR; and her father, seven-time New Jersey Wrestling Coach of the year and seasoned attorney, MORT GOODMAN.
Cammy turns to his mother, Grace, who is holding an infant, gently swaying the baby back and forth.
Grace squats down to greet her son and takes him by his soft, chubby fingers.
Mort shoots a disgruntled look at his daughter.
Mort snaps his fingers at Cammy.
An emotionless little Cammy, nods in agreement, paying lip service to his grandpa.
Mort pats his grandson on the back and little Cammy waddles toward the center of the mat. As Mort and Grace watch on, RUSTY REYNOLDS, 60, sidles up next to Mort, his eyes fixed on Cammy.
Grace closes her eyes, as if to shut out the mere mention of his name. Mort is quick and abrupt in his approach.
The ref blows the whistle. Little Cammy looks like a fish out of water, trying to get out of his own way as his opponent swarms him and tosses Cammy to his back with a swift headlock.
Just as quickly as Cammy hits the bat, the ref drops down and slams the mat, blowing his whistle and scoring the pinfall.
Mort turns to Rusty and sheepishly shrugs.
Little Cammy gets to his feet. The ref makes the kids shake hands, and then raises the other boy's hand. Cammy waddles back toward his mother and grandfather.
Mort looks at his grandson. He rubs the child's head.
Cammy smiles and trots off. Mort lovingly watches his grandson from afar, although there is a trace of despair in the old lawyer's eyes-- something that Grace can sense.
Mort catches himself.
Mort's words trail off.
Grace can see her father is beside himself.
Grace and Mort observe from afar little Cammy aimless walking around with his tablet trying to catch imaginary creatures.
Mort shakes his head and whispers softly to himself.
EXT. CITY STREET - SOMEWHERE IN MEXICO - EVENING
Where the hell we are in Mexico, it is a bad part of town.
IN AN ALLEYWAY,
we find a bare knuckles fight club in session. A large crown of unsavory sorts huddle around a large circle of nefarious, barbaric men.
Two Mexican bookies stand to the side next to a large chalk board, taking bets at a rapid rate from the spectators fighting to get in on the action.
ON THE CHALK BOARD, we read two names: XAVIER EL GUAPO and CARTER HAYES.
The first of the two men stands in the center of the circle. XAVIER EL GUAPO, greasy dark hair and a scarred, scowling face. He is shirtless, revealing a chiseled, battle torn chest, marked with scars and tatoos.
EL GUAPO is growling, waiting for his opponent.
Suddenly, CARTER HAYES, 32, pushes through the crowd into the circle.
His face is scruffy and dirty, and there is massive circles under his eyes. He is wearing and white candy-striped wrestling pants and no shirt.
Carter is hammered. He looks like a zombie with a chip on his shoulder. As he steps into the circle, he takes to steps toward the center, takes a big swig of the tequila, and chucks the bottle into the crowd, wiping his mouth.
A midget Mexican referee steps between the combatants, engaged in a deadly staring contest. He directs them to opposite ends of the pit, and shouts out instructions in Spanish as Carter bounces up and down.
The midget Mexican referee waives his hand and singles for the two to fight. EL GUAPO takes an aggressive step forward. In turn, Carter also takes a drunken, aggressive step forward.
And then a rumble in his belly stops him. In fact, the weird gurgling sounds that come out of him stops both fighters in their tracks. For a moment, all goes silent.
Suddenly and violently, Carter turns to the side, bends over, and pukes all over the ground. He hurls out tequila and beans and who the hell knows what else he was eating. He hurls and then he hurts again.
Carter holds up his finger toward his opponent, as if asking for a moment.
Carter stands upright, and turns toward his opponent.
Suddenly, Carter's face gets flushed, his eyes roll black, and he passes out before he even hits the floor.
FADE IN:
EXT. ALLEY WAY - SOME TIME LATER
We are back in the same alley, although now we take everything in from CARTER'S P.O.V. We are looking up at the stars in the sky. Looking down on us is a grizzled looking Mexican man. He is Carter's longtime ally and personal trainer, SILENT CAESAR DOMINGUEZ.
Casear nods. Carter's eyes shift down.
Caesar shrugs.
Caesar holds out his hand. Carter takes it and is helped to his feet. He is still disoriented.
A Saturday morning junior scholastic wrestling meet. The gym is crowded and noisy with the sound of referees blowing whistles as coaches and parents bellow out instruction and words of encouragement to young grapplers.
The bleachers are packed. The gym lined wall to wall with wrestling mats-- eight mats to be exact. On each mat, two youths, in singlets and headgear, scramble about for position.
Our attention is turned to MAT #2, where a bantam division (11 and 12 year olds) match in the 120 pound weight class is about to get under way.
IN ONE CORNER,
We find RANDY SIMMS, 12, red hair and a defined athletic physique that defies his age. Randy warms up as his two coaches usher last minute words of encouragement.
As little Randy bounces up and down, he fixes his eyes, in a mean-mugging fashion, on his OPPONENT in the opposing corner.
He is CAMERON "CAMMY" HAYES, 11, chubby and unassuming.
There are two people in Cammy's corner, both looking very invested in the child. They are Cammy's adoptive mother-- and former Internet Wrestling Alliance Champion-- GRACE TAYLOR; and her father, seven-time New Jersey Wrestling Coach of the year and seasoned attorney, MORT GOODMAN.
MORT GOODMAN
Alright Cammy, now I want you to
remember everything we went over,
okay? You don't let him muscle
you around, you hear me?
CAMMY
Mom, do you have my tablet?
MORT GOODMAN
Your tablet?
GRACE TAYLOR
Dad, I've got this.
GRACE TAYLOR
Now Cammy, don't worry about
your tablet right now--
CAMMY
But this place is a Pokestop and I want to
light an incense and use a lure module--
MORT GOODMAN
Lure module?
MORT
What the hell is this kid talking about.
MORT
Cammy, listen to grandpa. You need
to pull your head out of your ass--
GRACE TAYLOR
Dad! The language!
MORT
Cammy, this kid out there is a regional champ,
the number one seed, okay? If you take him out,
right here, you will make a name for yourself
that will stick with you for the rest of your
career. You understand what I'm saying to you?
MORT
That a boy, now you get out there and show
him what it means to wrestle a Taylor.
RUSTY
Say Mort, is that there your grandson.
MORT
He sure is.
RUSTY
You don't say. So that's Carter's kid?
MORT
That there's Grace's kid.
You remember Grace, right?
Just as quickly as Cammy hits the bat, the ref drops down and slams the mat, blowing his whistle and scoring the pinfall.
Mort turns to Rusty and sheepishly shrugs.
MORT
He's adopted.
GRACE TAYLOR
You did great, baby!
CAMMY
Can I have my tablet now?
MORT
Great? What the hell
match were you watching?
GRACE TAYLOR
Dad, you take it easy now.
It's just his third match.
MORT
This wasn't a match-- it wasn't long
enough to be considered a match.
GRACE TAYLOR
He's learning.
MORT
He's learning alright-- learning
how to catch Pichakus, or whatever
the hell they are--
CAMMY
They're Pikachus, grandpa.
MORT
Go on, go get your tablet
and play your game.
GRACE TAYLOR
What, dad?
MORT
Somebody' gotta toughen that kid up.
GRACE TAYLOR
Dad, give him a break. He's very sensitive,
okay? We need to go easy on him.
MORT
Easy? Honey, you don't want
your son growing up a pus--
MORT
A pris, do you?
GRACE TAYLOR
He's gonna be fine.
MORT
Oh, I know he's gonna be fine. He's got you
in his life. And he's got me. He's gonna be
more than fine. He should just have--
GRACE TAYLOR
I know, dad, I know.
MORT
Have you heard from that sonofabitch?
GRACE TAYLOR
You mean since the letter and ninety
two dollars and seventy eight cents
in cash he sent last week?
GRACE TAYLOR
Dad, do me a favor. Not
in front of Cammy, okay?
Mort shakes his head and whispers softly to himself.
MORT
Carter, whar the hell happened to you?
CUT TO:
EXT. CITY STREET - SOMEWHERE IN MEXICO - EVENING
Where the hell we are in Mexico, it is a bad part of town.
IN AN ALLEYWAY,
we find a bare knuckles fight club in session. A large crown of unsavory sorts huddle around a large circle of nefarious, barbaric men.
Two Mexican bookies stand to the side next to a large chalk board, taking bets at a rapid rate from the spectators fighting to get in on the action.
ON THE CHALK BOARD, we read two names: XAVIER EL GUAPO and CARTER HAYES.
The first of the two men stands in the center of the circle. XAVIER EL GUAPO, greasy dark hair and a scarred, scowling face. He is shirtless, revealing a chiseled, battle torn chest, marked with scars and tatoos.
EL GUAPO is growling, waiting for his opponent.
Suddenly, CARTER HAYES, 32, pushes through the crowd into the circle.
Carter is hammered. He looks like a zombie with a chip on his shoulder. As he steps into the circle, he takes to steps toward the center, takes a big swig of the tequila, and chucks the bottle into the crowd, wiping his mouth.
A midget Mexican referee steps between the combatants, engaged in a deadly staring contest. He directs them to opposite ends of the pit, and shouts out instructions in Spanish as Carter bounces up and down.
The midget Mexican referee waives his hand and singles for the two to fight. EL GUAPO takes an aggressive step forward. In turn, Carter also takes a drunken, aggressive step forward.
And then a rumble in his belly stops him. In fact, the weird gurgling sounds that come out of him stops both fighters in their tracks. For a moment, all goes silent.
CARTER
Uh oh.
Carter holds up his finger toward his opponent, as if asking for a moment.
Carter stands upright, and turns toward his opponent.
Suddenly, Carter's face gets flushed, his eyes roll black, and he passes out before he even hits the floor.
FADE TO BLACK
VOICE (O.S.)
Wake up.
EXT. ALLEY WAY - SOME TIME LATER
We are back in the same alley, although now we take everything in from CARTER'S P.O.V. We are looking up at the stars in the sky. Looking down on us is a grizzled looking Mexican man. He is Carter's longtime ally and personal trainer, SILENT CAESAR DOMINGUEZ.
CAESAR
Wake up. Carter, wake up, hombre.
CARTER
Did I win?
CAESAR
No senor, you didn't win. And you're naked.
CARTER
Naked?
CAESAR
They stole your clothes.
CARTER
They stole my clothes? Who-- who stole my clothes?
CAESAR
You lost a lot of hombres a lot of money.
CARTER
My wallet?
CAESAR
Probably in your pants pocket.
CARTER
My passport.
CAESAR
Amigo, probably in your other pants
pocket. Come, we've gotta get out
of here before the police come.
Caesar beguns to help a butt-naked, still half-drunken Carter out of the alley.
CARTER (O.S.)
So was I that bad.
CAESAR
Nah, you should see the other guy.
So was I that bad.
CAESAR
Nah, you should see the other guy.
FADE TO BLACK
