Post by Andrew Jacobsen on May 1, 2010 0:07:41 GMT -6
Andrew snickers to himself, sitting on a bench outside the mecca of sports and entertainment, Madison Square Garden. He has just finished watching the abortion that Alex Jones called a third promo, and takes a moment to gather himself. Andrew rewinds a bit, rewatching the last few moments of his promo. He shakes his head, closing up his laptop and slipping it into a bag. Andrew yawns a bit, speaking in his familiar neutral Minnesotan accent.
“Huh...yeah. Alex Jokes—sorry, Jones. You think you're my superior? You think that I have to “rise” to defeat you? You honestly put yourself that high on the rankings list? Jones, you're not that good. I know it's your deal that you're an egocentric bastard who considers himself God's gift to wrestling, but Rob Diamond does that act MUCH better than you. You want me to go out and quote-unquote “admit” that you're better than me? I have a simple answer to that request, Alex.”
Andrew flips the camera (and, presumably, Alex) the double birds. He leans back a bit again, shaking his head.
“I'll never give you any credit for being a loudmouth. And you know what else I'll never credit you for? Taking the same, tired, trite path that so many before you have: that I'm too optimistic for my own good. That, somehow, to succeed requires that you become a bitter and cynical person who's had all the joy and energy beaten out of them. I told each and every one of the people who've told me that the same thing, and I'm telling it to you now: I will NEVER change. You can't make me, and I don't want to. You know what? I'm going to show you there's a different way. I'm going to snap you out of the cold and dreary world you've been living in and show you that there's so much more to life.”
Andrew runs a hand through his hair, still not entirely used to all the trash-talking and other talking that goes into a promo even after six months in nCw. He clears his throat, reaching back into his bag and pulling out the X-Division Title belt from it. He looks over to the doorway, seeing the poster for A Night To Remember tacked up outside. Andrew looks back to the belt in his hands, sighing.
“This title...I won this title with my blood, sweat and tears. I fought with everything I had to get it, and to get it back. I know that I can be so much more than I show sometimes. I know that, given the right opponent and the right stage, I can become truly indestructible. And Alex? I think this is that stage. I think you're that opponent. So, my unfortunate friend...you've just discovered a war you're unable to win. The dark destroyer's been unlocked, and it's pissed.”
Andrew shifts the title over his shoulder, patting it twice. He sighs, thinking back to when he first won and realizing that his name would be amongst the greats of nCw...seeing the company he was in and what they had gone on to do.
“I love this belt. I love the tradition it represents. When I won this from Rob, all I could think was that I was among the ranks of such men as Xavier Williams, Angel, Jack Hammond, Brad Kane, and Trent Helms. Notice a name missing there, Alex? I'll give you a hint: it's yours. I honestly never gave you a second thought. After all, what have you done besides winning the X-Division Title? Hmm? What's that? Oh, right: NOTHING. You went on to do precisely squat after winning and losing the belt. Me? I'm going to go on to so much more. You? You'll go the way of Jack Hammer. I'm planning on going the way of Brad Kane, or maybe even Angel or Hammond. I'm gonna fly, Alex. You're going to plummet.”
Andrew looks back at the streets. He looks out at the city of New York and sees all the people flowing through the streets like blood through the veins of the human body. Andrew looks back up and sees the mammoth superstructure of the Garden, standing tall above him but small in the scale of the city. He grins to himself.
“Alex, you wanted to lecture me on how you applied calm reasoning to deconstruct my argument. That's great. I'm glad you've got a few brain cells to rub together. Well, just go ahead and tell me what it is you've done to “earn” the right to be a prick. Tell me, PLEASE. All those championships in that place that wanted to call itself Xtreme? Yeah, congratulations. Now shut up, pull your head out of your ass and stop living in the past. Know what I've done?”
Andrew looks back to the entrance. He walks back to the bench and sits down, title belt in hand.
“I survived the Coliseum. I was one of the last five men of the Riot match, after over an hour of battling off opponents. I got eliminated by a Hall of Famer, Lance Ryan. I am a two-time X-Division Champion. I'm fully prepared to make this reign the one that shatters your record, Alex. I want to make my mark with this belt. But I also want to go on to do more. When people think of you and nCw, they only think of the X-Division. When they think of me, I want them to think “He's going to main-event. He's going to be World Champion.” What better way to get myself even more recognition than to beat a man considered by many to be one of the icons of the X-Division on the grandest stage of them all?”
Andrew shifts the belt over his shoulder again, looking back to the poster and seeing the matches advertised. The epic showdown between Gib, Angel and Will Washington. The National Title match between Xavier Cross, Charlie Velez, and Venom. The culmination of the disputed Women's Titles. Oh, and listed in basic print, below the marquee matches...“The North Star” Andrew Jacobsen versus Alex “The Phoenix” Jones for the X-Division Title. Andrew grins to himself.
“Yeah...that's where I am now. But I have a habit of trying to steal the show. Hope you can help me out with that, Alex. You want people to be talking about you, don't you? How about we upstage Angel, we upstage Gib, we pull the ***damn carpet out from under the collective feet of everyone in that locker room and we put on the best athletic contest of the night? That sound like a plan? Unfortunately for you, you're going to be laid out for the three-second tan, but that's life. Que sera, sera.
A glimmer of an idea forms in Andrew's eyes, and he grins to himself.
“You know what? Consider yourself the first opponent on my road to the World Title. Consider yourself my first win. And consider this match lost for you before it began. This isn't ego. This isn't rookiee hubris. This is just a simple fact. You want me to go and prove that I'm better than you? When I said I didn't have anything to prove, I didn't mean I was going to lose. I meant that you were going to suck it up so much it was a foregone conclusion.”
Andrew slips the title belt back in his bag, walking to the edge of the sidewalk and signaling a taxi. He leaves the nCw fans, and Alex Jones, with one final message as the cab pulls up.
“Just bring your best. I'll bring mine. And may the best man win.”
F. T. B.
“Huh...yeah. Alex Jokes—sorry, Jones. You think you're my superior? You think that I have to “rise” to defeat you? You honestly put yourself that high on the rankings list? Jones, you're not that good. I know it's your deal that you're an egocentric bastard who considers himself God's gift to wrestling, but Rob Diamond does that act MUCH better than you. You want me to go out and quote-unquote “admit” that you're better than me? I have a simple answer to that request, Alex.”
Andrew flips the camera (and, presumably, Alex) the double birds. He leans back a bit again, shaking his head.
“I'll never give you any credit for being a loudmouth. And you know what else I'll never credit you for? Taking the same, tired, trite path that so many before you have: that I'm too optimistic for my own good. That, somehow, to succeed requires that you become a bitter and cynical person who's had all the joy and energy beaten out of them. I told each and every one of the people who've told me that the same thing, and I'm telling it to you now: I will NEVER change. You can't make me, and I don't want to. You know what? I'm going to show you there's a different way. I'm going to snap you out of the cold and dreary world you've been living in and show you that there's so much more to life.”
Andrew runs a hand through his hair, still not entirely used to all the trash-talking and other talking that goes into a promo even after six months in nCw. He clears his throat, reaching back into his bag and pulling out the X-Division Title belt from it. He looks over to the doorway, seeing the poster for A Night To Remember tacked up outside. Andrew looks back to the belt in his hands, sighing.
“This title...I won this title with my blood, sweat and tears. I fought with everything I had to get it, and to get it back. I know that I can be so much more than I show sometimes. I know that, given the right opponent and the right stage, I can become truly indestructible. And Alex? I think this is that stage. I think you're that opponent. So, my unfortunate friend...you've just discovered a war you're unable to win. The dark destroyer's been unlocked, and it's pissed.”
Andrew shifts the title over his shoulder, patting it twice. He sighs, thinking back to when he first won and realizing that his name would be amongst the greats of nCw...seeing the company he was in and what they had gone on to do.
“I love this belt. I love the tradition it represents. When I won this from Rob, all I could think was that I was among the ranks of such men as Xavier Williams, Angel, Jack Hammond, Brad Kane, and Trent Helms. Notice a name missing there, Alex? I'll give you a hint: it's yours. I honestly never gave you a second thought. After all, what have you done besides winning the X-Division Title? Hmm? What's that? Oh, right: NOTHING. You went on to do precisely squat after winning and losing the belt. Me? I'm going to go on to so much more. You? You'll go the way of Jack Hammer. I'm planning on going the way of Brad Kane, or maybe even Angel or Hammond. I'm gonna fly, Alex. You're going to plummet.”
Andrew looks back at the streets. He looks out at the city of New York and sees all the people flowing through the streets like blood through the veins of the human body. Andrew looks back up and sees the mammoth superstructure of the Garden, standing tall above him but small in the scale of the city. He grins to himself.
“Alex, you wanted to lecture me on how you applied calm reasoning to deconstruct my argument. That's great. I'm glad you've got a few brain cells to rub together. Well, just go ahead and tell me what it is you've done to “earn” the right to be a prick. Tell me, PLEASE. All those championships in that place that wanted to call itself Xtreme? Yeah, congratulations. Now shut up, pull your head out of your ass and stop living in the past. Know what I've done?”
Andrew looks back to the entrance. He walks back to the bench and sits down, title belt in hand.
“I survived the Coliseum. I was one of the last five men of the Riot match, after over an hour of battling off opponents. I got eliminated by a Hall of Famer, Lance Ryan. I am a two-time X-Division Champion. I'm fully prepared to make this reign the one that shatters your record, Alex. I want to make my mark with this belt. But I also want to go on to do more. When people think of you and nCw, they only think of the X-Division. When they think of me, I want them to think “He's going to main-event. He's going to be World Champion.” What better way to get myself even more recognition than to beat a man considered by many to be one of the icons of the X-Division on the grandest stage of them all?”
Andrew shifts the belt over his shoulder again, looking back to the poster and seeing the matches advertised. The epic showdown between Gib, Angel and Will Washington. The National Title match between Xavier Cross, Charlie Velez, and Venom. The culmination of the disputed Women's Titles. Oh, and listed in basic print, below the marquee matches...“The North Star” Andrew Jacobsen versus Alex “The Phoenix” Jones for the X-Division Title. Andrew grins to himself.
“Yeah...that's where I am now. But I have a habit of trying to steal the show. Hope you can help me out with that, Alex. You want people to be talking about you, don't you? How about we upstage Angel, we upstage Gib, we pull the ***damn carpet out from under the collective feet of everyone in that locker room and we put on the best athletic contest of the night? That sound like a plan? Unfortunately for you, you're going to be laid out for the three-second tan, but that's life. Que sera, sera.
A glimmer of an idea forms in Andrew's eyes, and he grins to himself.
“You know what? Consider yourself the first opponent on my road to the World Title. Consider yourself my first win. And consider this match lost for you before it began. This isn't ego. This isn't rookiee hubris. This is just a simple fact. You want me to go and prove that I'm better than you? When I said I didn't have anything to prove, I didn't mean I was going to lose. I meant that you were going to suck it up so much it was a foregone conclusion.”
Andrew slips the title belt back in his bag, walking to the edge of the sidewalk and signaling a taxi. He leaves the nCw fans, and Alex Jones, with one final message as the cab pulls up.
“Just bring your best. I'll bring mine. And may the best man win.”
F. T. B.