Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Jul 26, 2011 0:17:40 GMT -6
“You can't let him get to you, Andrew. You can't let his words get under your skin like that.”
“He's trying to worm into the Guns' ears and break us apart, like a coward. He's had Angel backing him up on everything, throwing the weight of the company against us and screwing me out of the title. He betrayed me TWICE to make a point to me. And yet, we're the bad guys in all of this. Somehow, he's managed to get the propaganda machine going and paint the Young Guns as parasites and threats to the company. Why would we want to destroy nCw? You can't be the best if there's nobody to compare you to.”
“I know, but...it could affect your in-ring performance. You can't afford any slips, Andrew. Not with this sort of prize on the line. Not in this situation. You've got to be better than you've ever been. If you screw up, Alex knows enough about this kind of match to punish you. And cut it with that Twitter ****, it's just a distraction.”
“I know I can't. I'm counting on Alex to do exactly what I expect him to do. That should be all the opening I need. This match...Danielle, I need you down there. In case he tries to weasel out or get his wife to cover for him or something. I...I need you there.”
“...that's not why you want me there, is it?”
“...shut it.”
“Never. You'd barely be able to get to the area on time if it wasn't for me.”
“I certainly hope my sense of direction's better than that. Alright. Time to get to work.”
_________________________________
“Are you proud of yourself, Alex?”
Open on Andrew Jacobsen, standing in front of a trophy case in what appears to be an office building. He's wearing an nCw Frontline T-shirt, and still sports some bruises from Collision. In the case, replicas of the nCw belts hang, with pictures of the respective champions behind them. The picture for the nCw Starlets' World Title is noticeably absent. Andrew manages a grin nonetheless, battered but not beaten.
“Are you happy that you cost yourself a match two weeks in a row to get at me? You, the guy that claims to be in the right here. I would have leapt in and broken that hold. I wouldn't have booted you in the jaw. Because at the end of the day, that's the fundamental difference between us. It always has been. You're a self-serving, conniving, backstabbing, craven opportunist who'll sacrifice anything and anyone. I have respect for my allies. I fight clean, I go out there and put everything I have on the canvas. I believe in earning my win. I earned that National Title before Angel pulled your ass out of the fire. I worked my ass off to get back here. And you're telling me that I'm not in your game? That sums it up...”
Andrew leans forward a bit, glaring into the camera. He slowly begins to walk down the corridor, the nCw signage revealing it as the company headquarters in Dallas.
“I don't look at this as a game. This is a fight, a competition. Do you think Lance Ryan was complacent before Road to the Gold and his historic win over Davey Ortega? Do you think Joe Louis spent the time before his fight with Max Schmeling trying to get the boys in his camp to abandon him? No. They were busy training. They spent their time preparing. They knew that they had important fights coming up, and they trained their asses off. This is no different. As far as I'm concerned, this is the biggest match of my career, and I'm giving it the respect it deserves.”
Jacobsen shakes his head as he walks, hand in his pocket.
“You, on the other hand, are falling into the trap of complacency. You don't give me any respect at all. That's your fatal mistake. You think this is going to be easy? You think you're going to breeze past me to someone else? You've got to be kidding me. If that's your attitude, I'm going to make you pay for it with your blood, your tears, and your title. I can't take this lightly. This match means more to me than I wanted to let on, but...after last week, I just can't afford to hold back. I don't want to leave anything unsaid.”
He stops again, this time before a case that showcases moments from nCw's history: the first A Night to Remember, the World Title wins of men like Falcon, Angel and Dave Holland, the Riot victories of Falcon and Angel, and other highlights. He turns to face the camera again, a wry grin on his face.
“Here's the thing about Alex...he claims to be the better man. He acts like he's some sort of infallible saint. And yet, it took Angel interfering to save his belt last time. He's been the one that walked out to make a point two weeks in a row now. He's stood there and had praise LAVISHED on him. Praise he didn't deserve. Praise he shouldn't have. He hammers on the people around me, not wanting to face the reality that I outclass him. You're the better man to nobody, Jones. Shake that fallacy now, and you might have a chance. But that's not my question. Everyone who thinks Alex Jones should be competing for the World Title right now, I have one thing to ask you...WHY?”
Andrew steps forward a bit, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He looks levelly ahead, every word cool and collected. It's a stark contrast to the image of the whining, cowardly Young Guns leader that has been pushed on the public.
“Is it because he follows the rules that management thinks he should? Looks a certain way, talks a certain way, runs with certain people? Am I not an acceptable opponent because I do what needs to be done? I saw the looks on people's faces in the back after I put Doc out. They were shocked, they were angered. But then Kelly Knite, from behind the safety of her computer screen and her announce table, started trying to cut me down. And the floodgates were opened. They called me a coward for DOING WHAT I HAD TO. Hell, they would have insulted me had I not fired back at him. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Well, no more.”
He gets a grim, determined expression on his face, shaking his head. Andrew's body language radiates confidence, but he restrains himself, staying in control.
“This time, I leave it all in that ring. This time, I prove everyone who doubts me wrong. This is my dream. This is my life. I won't let him ruin that for me. I will go out there, and with the lights blazing, with the crowd at a fever pitch, I will PROVE that I am every ounce as good as I say I am. I won't give you any outs, Alex. You've got all the momentum in your corner, all the advantages...except one. I'm a better wrestler. And that's all it'll take for me to walk away with that title. One missed move, one botched spot, one accident, and the only flipping you'll be doing is twitching on the mat as I'm pulling the belt down. Jones. Better men than you have fallen to their own egos against me. Don't feel special when it happens to you. See you on Sunday.”
He walks away, the camera zooming in on a picture: Andrew Jacobsen, standing on a ladder, X-Division Title held high above his head as Rob Diamond lays on the ringside floor, clutching his back. Fade out on that image.
“He's trying to worm into the Guns' ears and break us apart, like a coward. He's had Angel backing him up on everything, throwing the weight of the company against us and screwing me out of the title. He betrayed me TWICE to make a point to me. And yet, we're the bad guys in all of this. Somehow, he's managed to get the propaganda machine going and paint the Young Guns as parasites and threats to the company. Why would we want to destroy nCw? You can't be the best if there's nobody to compare you to.”
“I know, but...it could affect your in-ring performance. You can't afford any slips, Andrew. Not with this sort of prize on the line. Not in this situation. You've got to be better than you've ever been. If you screw up, Alex knows enough about this kind of match to punish you. And cut it with that Twitter ****, it's just a distraction.”
“I know I can't. I'm counting on Alex to do exactly what I expect him to do. That should be all the opening I need. This match...Danielle, I need you down there. In case he tries to weasel out or get his wife to cover for him or something. I...I need you there.”
“...that's not why you want me there, is it?”
“...shut it.”
“Never. You'd barely be able to get to the area on time if it wasn't for me.”
“I certainly hope my sense of direction's better than that. Alright. Time to get to work.”
_________________________________
“Are you proud of yourself, Alex?”
Open on Andrew Jacobsen, standing in front of a trophy case in what appears to be an office building. He's wearing an nCw Frontline T-shirt, and still sports some bruises from Collision. In the case, replicas of the nCw belts hang, with pictures of the respective champions behind them. The picture for the nCw Starlets' World Title is noticeably absent. Andrew manages a grin nonetheless, battered but not beaten.
“Are you happy that you cost yourself a match two weeks in a row to get at me? You, the guy that claims to be in the right here. I would have leapt in and broken that hold. I wouldn't have booted you in the jaw. Because at the end of the day, that's the fundamental difference between us. It always has been. You're a self-serving, conniving, backstabbing, craven opportunist who'll sacrifice anything and anyone. I have respect for my allies. I fight clean, I go out there and put everything I have on the canvas. I believe in earning my win. I earned that National Title before Angel pulled your ass out of the fire. I worked my ass off to get back here. And you're telling me that I'm not in your game? That sums it up...”
Andrew leans forward a bit, glaring into the camera. He slowly begins to walk down the corridor, the nCw signage revealing it as the company headquarters in Dallas.
“I don't look at this as a game. This is a fight, a competition. Do you think Lance Ryan was complacent before Road to the Gold and his historic win over Davey Ortega? Do you think Joe Louis spent the time before his fight with Max Schmeling trying to get the boys in his camp to abandon him? No. They were busy training. They spent their time preparing. They knew that they had important fights coming up, and they trained their asses off. This is no different. As far as I'm concerned, this is the biggest match of my career, and I'm giving it the respect it deserves.”
Jacobsen shakes his head as he walks, hand in his pocket.
“You, on the other hand, are falling into the trap of complacency. You don't give me any respect at all. That's your fatal mistake. You think this is going to be easy? You think you're going to breeze past me to someone else? You've got to be kidding me. If that's your attitude, I'm going to make you pay for it with your blood, your tears, and your title. I can't take this lightly. This match means more to me than I wanted to let on, but...after last week, I just can't afford to hold back. I don't want to leave anything unsaid.”
He stops again, this time before a case that showcases moments from nCw's history: the first A Night to Remember, the World Title wins of men like Falcon, Angel and Dave Holland, the Riot victories of Falcon and Angel, and other highlights. He turns to face the camera again, a wry grin on his face.
“Here's the thing about Alex...he claims to be the better man. He acts like he's some sort of infallible saint. And yet, it took Angel interfering to save his belt last time. He's been the one that walked out to make a point two weeks in a row now. He's stood there and had praise LAVISHED on him. Praise he didn't deserve. Praise he shouldn't have. He hammers on the people around me, not wanting to face the reality that I outclass him. You're the better man to nobody, Jones. Shake that fallacy now, and you might have a chance. But that's not my question. Everyone who thinks Alex Jones should be competing for the World Title right now, I have one thing to ask you...WHY?”
Andrew steps forward a bit, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He looks levelly ahead, every word cool and collected. It's a stark contrast to the image of the whining, cowardly Young Guns leader that has been pushed on the public.
“Is it because he follows the rules that management thinks he should? Looks a certain way, talks a certain way, runs with certain people? Am I not an acceptable opponent because I do what needs to be done? I saw the looks on people's faces in the back after I put Doc out. They were shocked, they were angered. But then Kelly Knite, from behind the safety of her computer screen and her announce table, started trying to cut me down. And the floodgates were opened. They called me a coward for DOING WHAT I HAD TO. Hell, they would have insulted me had I not fired back at him. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Well, no more.”
He gets a grim, determined expression on his face, shaking his head. Andrew's body language radiates confidence, but he restrains himself, staying in control.
“This time, I leave it all in that ring. This time, I prove everyone who doubts me wrong. This is my dream. This is my life. I won't let him ruin that for me. I will go out there, and with the lights blazing, with the crowd at a fever pitch, I will PROVE that I am every ounce as good as I say I am. I won't give you any outs, Alex. You've got all the momentum in your corner, all the advantages...except one. I'm a better wrestler. And that's all it'll take for me to walk away with that title. One missed move, one botched spot, one accident, and the only flipping you'll be doing is twitching on the mat as I'm pulling the belt down. Jones. Better men than you have fallen to their own egos against me. Don't feel special when it happens to you. See you on Sunday.”
He walks away, the camera zooming in on a picture: Andrew Jacobsen, standing on a ladder, X-Division Title held high above his head as Rob Diamond lays on the ringside floor, clutching his back. Fade out on that image.