Jack Fargo, wearing a blue polo shirt a size too small, sits front and center at a desk in his dad’s insurance office in Plainfield, Illinois with a box of Wheaties featuring Jack on the desk. His father Ralph Fargo, stands behind his son, along with Jack’s wife Wendy who is holding their pride and joy baby boy Larry rocking him lovingly. Behind the camera is his mom WGN weather woman Patty Fargo who gives a quick 3-2-1 count down before hitting record and running in front of the camera to stand next to her husband.
JackFargo: Hello Fargo Fan’s it’s time for another live family blog. My father is standing by the fax machine where Classic Wrestling will be faxing over a profile of my next televised match up where I will be facing Dr. Devastation!
MamaFargo: OHHHHH a doctor!! I wonder if his doctrine is in education or medical or what?
The bronze winning Olympian smiles a toothpaste ad grin as he looks back lovingly at his parents.
JackFargo: Well no matter what his educational endeavors are, I’m honored to step in the ring with a fellow academic. You know what I mean? Unlike the farcical conclusion of my first wrestling exhibition I’m sure ours will be built upon honor and mutual respect. Doctor let’s give fans of wrestling a masters class in excellence that both our families can be proud of.
The fax machine starts printing off a sheet of paper next to the desk.
JackFargo: Let’s see what we got here.
His father can’t help himself as he grabs the fax first with a big smile on his face. The smile fades faster than facebook decency the day after Christmas. His face turns white as a confederate ghost. He shakes his head “no” as he hands it to his son.
PapaFargo: This has to be some kinda gag. That’s not a human. Do they not have weight classes? Son, I want you to reconsider this profession. This is malpractice!
Jack looks down at the fax and reads the stats of 7-foot, and 410 pounds. He looks into the eerie eyes of Dr. Devastation.
PapaFargo: His parents are savages? The thyroid issue that causes gigantism was solved 40 darn years ago? This is neglect! Jack, please take over my business.
Jack’s glaze doesn’t break from the fax.
MamaFargo: Honey, I can talk to the manager at the station. Maybe we can get you to do sports on the news?
WendyFargo: Jack, lil’ Larry is scared. Please, I’m worried too, this is dangerous. Maybe we can pray on this?
Jack’s focus on the photo is deeper than the pope’s faith. His world is spinning in his mind. The pressures of youth, future, legacy.
PapaFargo: I’ll retire. Please don’t risk your life, for a silly dream.
The fits slam into the desk as the Wheaties box goes flying.
JackFargo: ENOUGH. DAMN IT. SILLY DREAM? Why is it silly, because it’s my dream? Because it’s not insurance? Because it’s not fitting in some perfect mold of what a damn Fargo is supposed to be. I am a wrestler DAD.
Jack turns his fiery eyes from his fathers direction straight into the camera in front of him. The baby goes silent after crying loudly.
JackFargo: Doctor Devastation. You fight for God knows what. You bully with your size and intimidate with your appearance. You scare most men. Size alone has won you more times than you’ve lost in life. You never had to work for it. You’ve never had to train to be the best. To represent your country. To look into your wife’s eyes and see fear not just for your safety but for what the future is for our family.
Jack rubs his wife’s arm lovingly and kisses his son’s forehead.
JackFargo: You’ve never had to give it all for YOUR SILLY DREAMS. That’s why I’m going to choke you out and put you to sleep. Because I have trained. I have fought. I have strived to be the best and size isn’t everything but a man’s dreams are. Doc, most of all I’m going to put you to sleep because I’m never going to be A GOD DAMN INSURANCE SALESMAN.
Jack slams his fists into the desk again as his son cries and his father just stares blankly in absolute shock. Jack gets up and storms off.
Mama hits the stop button on the camera as she chases after him.