Post by Xavier Cross on Feb 22, 2010 22:45:10 GMT -6
“JFK….
The Prophet…
Sexy Jason…”
The Prophet…
Sexy Jason…”
Xavier Cross steps into the light, a little worn from the week’s match up. Cracking his neck, we wears a tight black polo with a white design stretching over the chest, with a pair of acid washed blue jeans. The camera focuses in, showing the background of his basement. Cross doesn’t bother sitting down just looks off the camera. He holds up three photographs of the men he spoke up, throwing them down onto a table.
“Those three men were involved in the first fight between myself, and The Ace. A warfare match to decide who would walk out the crowned X-Treme Champion. I remember my exact words, I listed off your nicknames, The Wild card, Blonde Stallion, and what I’ll remember after that brutal match, the Excelsior of Execution. Hopefully Stan Lee won’t sue. You came back to nCw after a short hiatus, and immediately found success, taking the National Championship for your own, and it seems our paths cross against, how fitting we’re meeting at Crossroads.
I personally ended any chance for you to touch gold last year. My sixth match back into nCw and I was already up in title contention. You had been around for ages, back and forth, you couldn’t ever achieved what I did. You aren’t even half the athlete I am, nor even a quarter of the man. But I slow it down, fractions may be too advanced for your English ass.
I know you’re itching to prove me wrong. You want to prove everyone wrong. But I have you scouted like the back of my hand Ace, you can’t beat me. In the back of your mind you remember the brutality of that match, of the pain I caused you. But most of all, you remember being on your back for that three count. I went on to blow over Jason, and take that title. Much like I will do at Cross Roads. I will take that title from you, and finally put the National Title where it belongs, around a pure American Waist.
It sort of makes me sick that our staff would even decide to put you in a national title situation, the fact Everyman actually dropped the title to you makes my stomach turn. But I don’t expect much out of uneducated staff, at least Leonard Fox has enough sense to make sure Chris Diamond books the best talent he has in a match against you, to take that title and prove that not only am I the best. But the United States of America, well, just like me, is simply better. No, simply. The. Best.
What are you Ace? Tired? Washed up? It doesn’t matter what you are, the only thing that matters is who I am. What I will become. And Sunday, I will become the greatest national champion. I will be one step closer to my ultimate goal."
I personally ended any chance for you to touch gold last year. My sixth match back into nCw and I was already up in title contention. You had been around for ages, back and forth, you couldn’t ever achieved what I did. You aren’t even half the athlete I am, nor even a quarter of the man. But I slow it down, fractions may be too advanced for your English ass.
I know you’re itching to prove me wrong. You want to prove everyone wrong. But I have you scouted like the back of my hand Ace, you can’t beat me. In the back of your mind you remember the brutality of that match, of the pain I caused you. But most of all, you remember being on your back for that three count. I went on to blow over Jason, and take that title. Much like I will do at Cross Roads. I will take that title from you, and finally put the National Title where it belongs, around a pure American Waist.
It sort of makes me sick that our staff would even decide to put you in a national title situation, the fact Everyman actually dropped the title to you makes my stomach turn. But I don’t expect much out of uneducated staff, at least Leonard Fox has enough sense to make sure Chris Diamond books the best talent he has in a match against you, to take that title and prove that not only am I the best. But the United States of America, well, just like me, is simply better. No, simply. The. Best.
What are you Ace? Tired? Washed up? It doesn’t matter what you are, the only thing that matters is who I am. What I will become. And Sunday, I will become the greatest national champion. I will be one step closer to my ultimate goal."
Cross holds up five more pictures, turning them to the camera. He grips them like he’s holding a hand in poker.
“Harold Campbell
Gabriel Karras
Kole Kaos
Xavier Williams
Jack Wilde”
Gabriel Karras
Kole Kaos
Xavier Williams
Jack Wilde”
“Those five men, those are the men I had to beat in order to get to you. I had to overcome the odds once more. Just as I did at battlegrounds, I survived, I beat my opponents, sure I only pinned two men, but at the end of the match. Look where I was, X-treme champion. And where were you Ace? Just another mark on my victory sheet. On a long line of professional success. However the National Title scene is something I’m not quite familiar with, however beating you Ace. That’s something I’ve made a living off of. So I’m approaching this like any match I’ve ever had. I’ll talk my head off, I’ll run you through the grater. I’ll break your confidence and take your title.
Does this not prove to you Ace, that I am the best? Or will staring up, from a prone position on your back. Your eyes starting to refocus to the bright lights, the crowd’s boos roaring through the crowd changing to the triumph cheers that will ring out when I end your reign. The chants will ring, USA! USA! USA!. There you will see me, hoisting the golden strap high above my head, my feet planted firmly on the turnbuckle. It’ll take you only a moment to process things. You won’t recall the clear event, but the pain will flood your body as the adrenaline wears off.
You will realize, the outcome was clear all along. In your heart of hearts, in your mind you know for a fact Ace. I am. Better. Than. You. And I will only beat, pound that fact into your skull. Then when you’re left there, your pride destroyed, you ego shattered, and your body broken. You’ll think. Why did I come back? For all of this, to just be broken down. To be embarrassed once again in front of the n.C.w fans that Xavier Cross is truly the greatest wrestler of all time?
No, that fact will remain unclear, unproven. Not until I take this title, not until I keep working my way up. The fact that I know I’m the best can only mean so much. My word will hold empty weight until I prove that I am the greatest wrestler in the world. So I’ll have to set my sights on Gib, or Angel. But wait, No Xavier. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Slow down, you have to beat The Ace first…
The fact is, you’re already beaten. You’ll come out, sling some verbal trash, but you know you won’t be able to back it up. We both know that. I’m just a level above you, actually I’m multiple levels above you. You’re a penny, Lincoln logs, as for myself, I’m Mister President. So just like George Washington and the American Army back during the revolution, I will once again prove why I’m superior. Just like Landon Donovan and the United States Men’s Soccer team, I will prove why Wayne Rooney is a c*** and why English soccer is….done. Just like you Ace. Done.”
Does this not prove to you Ace, that I am the best? Or will staring up, from a prone position on your back. Your eyes starting to refocus to the bright lights, the crowd’s boos roaring through the crowd changing to the triumph cheers that will ring out when I end your reign. The chants will ring, USA! USA! USA!. There you will see me, hoisting the golden strap high above my head, my feet planted firmly on the turnbuckle. It’ll take you only a moment to process things. You won’t recall the clear event, but the pain will flood your body as the adrenaline wears off.
You will realize, the outcome was clear all along. In your heart of hearts, in your mind you know for a fact Ace. I am. Better. Than. You. And I will only beat, pound that fact into your skull. Then when you’re left there, your pride destroyed, you ego shattered, and your body broken. You’ll think. Why did I come back? For all of this, to just be broken down. To be embarrassed once again in front of the n.C.w fans that Xavier Cross is truly the greatest wrestler of all time?
No, that fact will remain unclear, unproven. Not until I take this title, not until I keep working my way up. The fact that I know I’m the best can only mean so much. My word will hold empty weight until I prove that I am the greatest wrestler in the world. So I’ll have to set my sights on Gib, or Angel. But wait, No Xavier. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Slow down, you have to beat The Ace first…
The fact is, you’re already beaten. You’ll come out, sling some verbal trash, but you know you won’t be able to back it up. We both know that. I’m just a level above you, actually I’m multiple levels above you. You’re a penny, Lincoln logs, as for myself, I’m Mister President. So just like George Washington and the American Army back during the revolution, I will once again prove why I’m superior. Just like Landon Donovan and the United States Men’s Soccer team, I will prove why Wayne Rooney is a c*** and why English soccer is….done. Just like you Ace. Done.”
Xavier leans down, just out of camera view and pulls up a Landon Donovan US Soccer team jersey, he switches his shirt for the jersey and beats his chest pointing at the camera.
“I got more for you Ace. Don’t you worry. I’m not Everyman’s f***** ass. You punk ass English b****.”