Duff vs Kaze

[Duff]

As the page on WPW.com featuring buffers the video, the video expands to full screen and starts playing. As the WPW logo shrinks gradually from covering the whole screen to a smaller version in the bottom corner, the scene opens to reveal a group of men in their late teens standing on an unnamed street corner. It appears to be early evening and the dusk has already begun to set in. The houses in the background have obviously been neglected over the course of time as the windows are boarded up, the gardens are overgrown and the masonry has been covered in colourful graffiti. The shop on the corner opposite has evidently suffered through the ravages of time in the same way the surrounding houses have. The paint is faded and in places has fallen off to reveal the signs wooden backboard. It’s windows are covered by heavy metal grilles, behind which the glass panes have become opaque with dirt.

As another youth exits the shop carrying a blue bag, heavy with its contents of tins of lager and rejoins the group, an elderly man shuffles past the group of youths, refusing to make eye contact. When the man has moved a few yards beyond the group a car backfires, and, startled, the pensioner jerks his head upright. Satisfied that he is not in any danger, he continues his journey. One of the guys mimics the old mans hunched back and pronounced limp followed by his little fearful reaction to the obvious amusement of his peers. The laughter is interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone and one of the lads reaches into the pocket of his baggy pants and answers the phone. When the conversation is over, he utters something inaudible to his comrades and they slope off around the corner until they can no longer be seen.

After several seconds, a young athletic looking man strolls into shot. His attire of blue jeans with a grey sweatshirt does little to reveal his identity. The baseball cap he’s wearing low over his face isn’t helping either. He stops outside one of the boarded up houses and stares for a few seconds, before walking up the rubbish strewn path and sitting on the cracked step in front of the splintered door. The man pulls his cap down further and places his face in his hands as the camera zooms in to focus on this stranger. The darkness in the street metaphorically describes the depressing aura the place exudes. Suddenly the street lights flicker into ignition and the appearance of the halogen glow causes the man on the doorstep looks up, and in doing so is revealed to be WPW superstar Jamie Parker.

Parker stands up from his perch and walks to the end of the path and out the entrance to the property. He walks the few feet to the end of the road and crosses the street. The camera adjusts to keep him in the middle of the shot, before he disappears into the shop. He emerges a few seconds later holding a can of lemonade. The pop of the can opening can be heard and Parker raises the can to his lips. As he is about to take a drink, he pauses suddenly and eyes the top of the can. He uses the sleeve of his jumper to wipe the rim before downing the contents and crushing the can. He looks around fro a bin, before shaking his head in despair, realising the whole area is one big bin. He dumps the trashcan on the sidewalk and walks back to the house. He adopts the same position as before, sitting on the step with his face in his hands. The camera fades to black, with Jamie Parker still sitting on the doorstep.

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Seconds later, the camera sparks back into life, this time on a very different looking street. The sun is shining brightly and the blue skies in the horizon are indicative of the glorious summer day the scene is showing. There are young girls skipping in the street and a group of seven lads are kicking a soccer ball against a wall. A crude attempt at a goal has been painted on the red brick of the wall, with two jumpers lying in the middle of the street representing the other goal. The boys are all pretty young. On appearance, an estimate of seven or eight years old wouldn’t seem to be too far out. As one of the boys dribbles with the ball, bearing in on goal, another one sticks out his foot, winning the ball but sending the attacking player sprawling. The boy on the ground sits up with his hands over his knee and his lip begins trembling. He lifts his hand off his knee and the sight of blood sends him over the edge and he begins bawling.

As the tears stream down his face, a passing woman puts down the heavy shopping bags which have been burdening her and goes to check the boy is ok. The other boys gather round to make sure their friend is ok, as the lady helps him to his feet. She puts an arm around the shoulder of the boy and guides him off the street towards the row of houses. Two of the boys sprint over to where the woman has sat her shopping and strain under the weight as they carry them along behind their friend and the woman. The camera follows them up the street, past the immaculately maintained houses on this side of the tree lined street. As she leads the boy up the path and knocks gently on the door, the two boys set the groceries down to relieve their aching arms.

The door to the house opens a lady ushers the boy inside, gesticulating her thanks and appreciation to the woman who has brought him home. The woman goes back to retrieve her shopping but the boys seem to be protesting. The woman relents and moves up the street as the two boys pick up the shopping and trail behind her. She glances back to make sure they’re ok before they walk on out of shot. The camera spans back to the remaining boys, who are now standing outside a bright airy shop eating ice creams to cool them down after the exercise of the football game. As they finish their treats, the two boys helping the woman return and the boys move off to continue their game.

After a particularly nice exchange of passes, one of the boys finds himself one-on-one with the goalkeeper. He drives the ball low and hard towards the corner, but the goalie acrobatically launches himself down to his right and claws the ball away. One of the other players follows up on the save, but the goalie miraculously recovers and again beats the shot away. As the play moves back to the middle of the street, one of the boys breaks free from the opposition on the right flank. He kicks the ball high and hard towards the area in front of the goal where his team-mates are waiting. As one boy prepares to head the ball into the net, the goalkeeper rushes out and collects the ball in his hands.

Just as this happens, a woman’s shouts filter down the street.

Woman: Jamie, hurry up, dinner’s on the table!

The goalie gathers up the ball and one of the jumpers, says goodbye to his friends and heads up the street.

The camera again fades out and the scene reverts to the earlier one where Jamie Parker is still sitting on the doorstep. He rises again and walks out of the house and back down the street. He stops by one wall for a few seconds before walking off. The camera zooms in on the wall where Jamie has just stopped and the faint outline of a large rectangular goal is barely visible on the cracked red bricks. The WPW logo again fills the screen as the video player again minimises on the WPW website.

[Duff]

The camera opens in a room that is familiar in style to everyone across the world. The rows of weathered desks stretching across the room from one wall to the next, chairs neatly placed behind each desk. The high windows letting in sunlight which makes the dust particles appear as if they are dancing in the air. The posters adorning the walls depicting the various greats in their chosen fields and the contributions they have made to our society. The large chalkboard dominating the entire room by its very presence. And the feelings of fear, boredom and suffocation that only a classroom can bring out all at once. Sitting behind the large desk at the front of the class is Jamie Parker. Aside from his presence, the room is devoid of people and in the absence of the booming voice of a teacher and the hushed whispers of friends sitting in adjacent desks throws an eerie silence across the room, as if it were a vacuum. The only sound daring to break the silence is the incessant ticking of a clock, on which the camera now focuses as the second and minute hands make their last few movements towards the completion of another hour. As the hour breaks, a loud bell shrills through the room for several seconds, before the silence returns. Jamie Parker rises from his desk and stands in front of the chalkboard.

Jamie Parker: Can you hear that Kaze? That is the passage of time, time flowing away from us and with every second it brings change. Certain things take time to change, whilst others can change in the blink of an eye. I realise that some of you may be wondering what the point of my earlier promo was, whether it actually achieved anything and if so, what? It’s quite simple really! I needed to show you that as well as being the great healer, time can also bring havoc and despair.

Parker takes a piece of chalk and draws a circle on the board. He writes the numbers 12, 3, 6, and 9 on the circle, as they would appear on a standard clock face. He lifts a pointer from the front of the board and traces his way round the room, stopping in front of a poster depicting the what happens when a child is born.

Jamie Parker: We all start out in this world the same, regardless of race, sex or creed. We are each dealt our cards at birth, and at that very second, when the umbilical cord is cut, with the first air rushing into our lungs under our own power and we begin our life, the clock starts ticking. For some it does not tick very long, mere seconds or minutes before the clock stops and their race is over. They are the lucky ones! They are the ones whose journey is quick, painless, even merciful. It is those who grieve the loss who are the unfortunate ones. What they would give to have had that chance to have been dealt those same cards, to take a few short breaths and die. Surely that would have been better than to grow older and feel the pain and misery they are now suffering through.

Parker moves back round to the front of the class and places the pointer back where he took it from. He stares again at the crude clock face he has drawn on the board. He seems somewhat distracted as he tries to formulate what it is he wants to say.

Jamie Parker: Time hasn’t been kind to either of us, Kaze. For you, it stole your parents, your home, everything you knew in life. Yet your journey had barely started. You had sufficient time to rebuild, to begin a new life. You found a new mentor, in the form of a baker! You built up your intellect. You even claim to have been famous for your intelligence. You can’t have been that famous if I’d never even heard of you a month ago. Anyway, your idle boasts are not the issue here, they are a merely a side show. Then, it happened again! Time stole from you. This time it stole your mentor, that purveyor of fine cakes and other such delights. The man known simply as the baker!

Parker resumes his seat and again concentrates, as if unsure how to proceed. He opens his mouth as if he is about to speak, then closes it again. A few seconds later, he continues his monologue

Jamie Parker: In contrast, I had a happy youth. I grew up surrounded by a loving family and friends in whom I could place my absolute trust. I lived in a community where a neighbour was a friend, an ally. I signed a professional contract with my local team at the age of 18, met a beautiful girl, fell in love and started a family, with my beautiful baby girl Hope’s own clock starting in what should have been a life of luxury. I could afford to lavish presents and undying love on her. Then it all went wrong. I lost it all, my friends, my wife, my daughter. In retrospect, deciding to name my child Hope was folly. Perhaps I was waving a red rag to the bull of fate, taunting it, daring it to catch up with me. When it finally did, I had nothing left, not even hope.

Parker again takes a piece of chalk, this time selecting a different colour, and drawing two straight lines, equidistant apart.

Jamie Parker: The parallels between the downfall of the community in which I spent a happy childhood and my own personal battles are not lost on me. The steady decline starting with a loss of trust in those around you, moving on through the feeling of paranoia and the desire to escape until everything that was once secure, once much admired is replaced with utter destitution and isolation.

However, that is not the only parallel here Kaze, oh no! For between us there is a bond, a connection. That feeling of total loss makes us so alike, whether you see it or not. Both determined, resilient, formidable, and dare I say, angry men. Men who know what we want, and know not to wait for time to deliver it to us, because we know better. We know that every second that clock is ticking, it is only doing so to bring us closer to our next bout of despair.

Parker, still with the same piece of chalk in his hand, draws a line connecting the two lines already on the board. Satisfied with his work, he turns again to face the camera.

Jamie Parker: Yet our bond is not entirely parallel, for our paths are set to cross. This Tuesday, that connection between us will be broken as is the case when parallel circuits cross. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been watching you since you arrived in WPW, that I had ignored you and now you were just another obstacle thrown in my path that I must overcome. No, I have been studying you, watching you, seeing a little bit more of myself in you with each passing week. That little flash of anger that escapes every now and again when you feel that you and losing that which is important to you are about to become re-acquainted. Three singles wins and victory in a tag match in your first four outings is not a record to be flippantly dismissed. Yet in each of those wins, I have seen what your opponents haven’t. I’ve seen the time to strike, the time when you are most vulnerable. The only certainty in life is that we are all on a time limit, Kaze, and your clock has been ticking for quite some a while now Kaze, but this Tuesday, your time is going to run out.

Parker walks to one side of the room as the camera zooms in yet again on the clock above the chalkboard. The door can be heard squeaking as Jamie opens it and it slams shut as the camera goes off the air.