Post by adm on Aug 25, 2011 8:57:40 GMT -6
I am an optimist because I want to change things for the better and I know that blood has to be spilled and disharmony and cruelty are necessary to do that.
Henry Rollins
Three days, twelve hours, and thirteen minutes, I will be standing across the ring from you. The days are counting down as I sit here in Minneapolis, continuing as much of my therapy before I am to face you Mano e Mano. In twenty-five minutes, I'll be on the road to another session. I must say, I believe it is working well. Half an hour a day for the last few days is helping me find my peace, my center, before taking that peace and using it to wage war against you. Some say inner peace reduces the fight in a warrior.
I say the warrior is all about the fight, inner peace or not.
You can talk all you want about your intense training regimen, but you forget so much about this match. The more you train, more you "practice being made to submit or submitting" the weaker you are physically and emotionally for the match. This is a mental test, Potter, you must realize this. The match will be an intense show of who has not only the strength, but the pure indomitable will to refuse to submit. To keep themselves conscious long enough to either make their opponent tap, or pass out. You need mental toughness more than physical, but the physical helps.
And on the note of the training you've been doing, is it me, or did Claxton pick this man up off some back alley doing things that I'd best not say here. You know what I mean, describing how you are "torqued in ways you were not meant to be torqued." Sounds a bit like someone's getting more than a training partner, if you know what I mean.
Jokes aside, this is going to be intense, Potter. Are you ready to face the man you've never even seen in a match with you before? Are you ready to face me for the first time outside passing in the hall backstage? Are you ready to stare me in the eyes, look at my chiseled physique, and believe you have the strength and intestinal fortitude to keep yourself from submitting to nCw's version of a Submission Machine. I've made almost every opponent I've beaten since I returned, submit. I've locked in the Suffocating Cubicle on the legend of Spike Kane, I've made Jack-off-Hammer submit, I've taken and made Pooler quit not only a match, but this place. What have you done? What is it that you are going to do? I am not perfect, I'm not undefeated, but look at my career since we both showed up in this place a few months ago, and I'd say I'm having the better of the two. I've faced better opponents, I've beaten BETTER opponents. And to me, you are just another one of the men I get to make submit. I get to tie you up in the noose, and let you hang, choking and sputtering before the ref calls the bell.
Three days are left before we finally face each other, our first match in the same ring. It will have a sort of feel like we've been rivals, finally meeting for the first time after leading separate careers. I've had more success, but you are also heralded as the man who may very well be able to do what Pooler said he would do, remove the Championship I loathe from my hands. I doubt you have the capabilities to relieve me of my burden. The burden the staff thrust upon me, as if I was just in the right place at the right time for them to do a sudden change of direction for the division. A division that stagnated, so they turn to the one man they know has personal problems, the man who can take the inner demons and turn himself into a monster inside the ring, taking on all challengers, no matter how big or small. They threw me in non-title matches against Lex Sense, of all people, the WEEK AFTER HE DESTROYED ANGEL'S CAREER! I showed the world, then, who I really was. I may have won via Disqualification, but I also took the beast of Sense to places nobody thought he could be taken by a man of my size. I showed him, after his insults, what it means to be Kristoff Liam Bates.
And on Sunday, Potter, your doctorate will mean nothing. Your matches till this point, will be moot. So you beat Spike Kane, we all have. So you've beaten Nathan Webb, I made him submit to win the opportunity at the belt I hold. Name your victories, and I can squash them with the impressiveness of mine. The losses I've faced, were mostly as result of Pooler's Tag Team mayhem. And look where it got him.
I'd like to take this time to remind you that he no longer wrestles for nCw. He couldn't HACK IT!
So come with your gay jokes, come with your insults. Hell, call me gay in the match, I DARE YOU! I want to see your eyes bulge out of your skull as I lock you in This Tie is Too Tight or the Suffocating Cubicle. I want to see you choke, sputter, and spit up blood as I try to remove the breath from you, and the life and fight from you, in this match. I want to see you choke out, to pass out, to submit to my power, my strength, my will. You won't survive if you want to play the game Lex did, Potter. You won't survive if you play the name game, I'm not the man you want to try that with. I can muster the strength against all comers to show you exactly what I am made of.
Steel, Iron, Titanium. Pick your poison.
And I'll sh ow you what YOU are made of.
Blood pudding, fish and chips, Guinness.
So bring your words, bring your trainer, hell, bring an army of British supporters to Madison Square Garden to watch the match. Bring whoever you want to ringside on the Greatest Stage of them All. I would love to see just how you combat me. I'd LOVE to see you try to muster up the willpower to take me to my limit. I'd love to see the good doctor break his oath of doing the most good, to do the most harm. I want you to, come on, Potter, bring the PAIN! I can take it.
The last words you say to me, before Sunday, will be chronicled for the ages, Potter, you must speak them well. You must not let Claxton distract you with his large, burly trainer. All oiled up and chiseled. I know, it might sound like a nice relaxing day on the beach, but I'm sure I'm missing something a bit more logical than I'm making it out to be. You must find your voice, find your center, and give me a few words that will stick with me until Sunday night, when I take them and roll them into a ball and shove them DOWN YOUR THROAT! Sunday the lights go up in New York City, and they all will be beaming upon us for half an hour. Will you rise victorious, ripping the burdensome belt from my hands? Or will I show you, like I showed Pooler and the rest, that there isn't a single person in this division...no...in nCw who can match me for technical skill!
Come Sunday, the words will end, and it'll be time to show yourself. So let the last words come, and let them fall on my deaf ears. Because when Sunday comes, I'll let my actions, speak louder. And then, you will ALL...
SHUT UP!
Henry Rollins
Three days, twelve hours, and thirteen minutes, I will be standing across the ring from you. The days are counting down as I sit here in Minneapolis, continuing as much of my therapy before I am to face you Mano e Mano. In twenty-five minutes, I'll be on the road to another session. I must say, I believe it is working well. Half an hour a day for the last few days is helping me find my peace, my center, before taking that peace and using it to wage war against you. Some say inner peace reduces the fight in a warrior.
I say the warrior is all about the fight, inner peace or not.
You can talk all you want about your intense training regimen, but you forget so much about this match. The more you train, more you "practice being made to submit or submitting" the weaker you are physically and emotionally for the match. This is a mental test, Potter, you must realize this. The match will be an intense show of who has not only the strength, but the pure indomitable will to refuse to submit. To keep themselves conscious long enough to either make their opponent tap, or pass out. You need mental toughness more than physical, but the physical helps.
And on the note of the training you've been doing, is it me, or did Claxton pick this man up off some back alley doing things that I'd best not say here. You know what I mean, describing how you are "torqued in ways you were not meant to be torqued." Sounds a bit like someone's getting more than a training partner, if you know what I mean.
Jokes aside, this is going to be intense, Potter. Are you ready to face the man you've never even seen in a match with you before? Are you ready to face me for the first time outside passing in the hall backstage? Are you ready to stare me in the eyes, look at my chiseled physique, and believe you have the strength and intestinal fortitude to keep yourself from submitting to nCw's version of a Submission Machine. I've made almost every opponent I've beaten since I returned, submit. I've locked in the Suffocating Cubicle on the legend of Spike Kane, I've made Jack-off-Hammer submit, I've taken and made Pooler quit not only a match, but this place. What have you done? What is it that you are going to do? I am not perfect, I'm not undefeated, but look at my career since we both showed up in this place a few months ago, and I'd say I'm having the better of the two. I've faced better opponents, I've beaten BETTER opponents. And to me, you are just another one of the men I get to make submit. I get to tie you up in the noose, and let you hang, choking and sputtering before the ref calls the bell.
Three days are left before we finally face each other, our first match in the same ring. It will have a sort of feel like we've been rivals, finally meeting for the first time after leading separate careers. I've had more success, but you are also heralded as the man who may very well be able to do what Pooler said he would do, remove the Championship I loathe from my hands. I doubt you have the capabilities to relieve me of my burden. The burden the staff thrust upon me, as if I was just in the right place at the right time for them to do a sudden change of direction for the division. A division that stagnated, so they turn to the one man they know has personal problems, the man who can take the inner demons and turn himself into a monster inside the ring, taking on all challengers, no matter how big or small. They threw me in non-title matches against Lex Sense, of all people, the WEEK AFTER HE DESTROYED ANGEL'S CAREER! I showed the world, then, who I really was. I may have won via Disqualification, but I also took the beast of Sense to places nobody thought he could be taken by a man of my size. I showed him, after his insults, what it means to be Kristoff Liam Bates.
And on Sunday, Potter, your doctorate will mean nothing. Your matches till this point, will be moot. So you beat Spike Kane, we all have. So you've beaten Nathan Webb, I made him submit to win the opportunity at the belt I hold. Name your victories, and I can squash them with the impressiveness of mine. The losses I've faced, were mostly as result of Pooler's Tag Team mayhem. And look where it got him.
I'd like to take this time to remind you that he no longer wrestles for nCw. He couldn't HACK IT!
So come with your gay jokes, come with your insults. Hell, call me gay in the match, I DARE YOU! I want to see your eyes bulge out of your skull as I lock you in This Tie is Too Tight or the Suffocating Cubicle. I want to see you choke, sputter, and spit up blood as I try to remove the breath from you, and the life and fight from you, in this match. I want to see you choke out, to pass out, to submit to my power, my strength, my will. You won't survive if you want to play the game Lex did, Potter. You won't survive if you play the name game, I'm not the man you want to try that with. I can muster the strength against all comers to show you exactly what I am made of.
Steel, Iron, Titanium. Pick your poison.
And I'll sh ow you what YOU are made of.
Blood pudding, fish and chips, Guinness.
So bring your words, bring your trainer, hell, bring an army of British supporters to Madison Square Garden to watch the match. Bring whoever you want to ringside on the Greatest Stage of them All. I would love to see just how you combat me. I'd LOVE to see you try to muster up the willpower to take me to my limit. I'd love to see the good doctor break his oath of doing the most good, to do the most harm. I want you to, come on, Potter, bring the PAIN! I can take it.
The last words you say to me, before Sunday, will be chronicled for the ages, Potter, you must speak them well. You must not let Claxton distract you with his large, burly trainer. All oiled up and chiseled. I know, it might sound like a nice relaxing day on the beach, but I'm sure I'm missing something a bit more logical than I'm making it out to be. You must find your voice, find your center, and give me a few words that will stick with me until Sunday night, when I take them and roll them into a ball and shove them DOWN YOUR THROAT! Sunday the lights go up in New York City, and they all will be beaming upon us for half an hour. Will you rise victorious, ripping the burdensome belt from my hands? Or will I show you, like I showed Pooler and the rest, that there isn't a single person in this division...no...in nCw who can match me for technical skill!
Come Sunday, the words will end, and it'll be time to show yourself. So let the last words come, and let them fall on my deaf ears. Because when Sunday comes, I'll let my actions, speak louder. And then, you will ALL...
SHUT UP!