Post by Caleb Lockwood on Oct 29, 2011 16:18:16 GMT -6
Open on everyone’s favorite…no, none of the cute first-person schtick this week. Just Caleb Lockwood, a dream…and a look of something resembling a cross between annoyance and rage on his face. His demeanor is a far cry from the more upbeat and cheery Lockwood of his normal promos. He’s clearly upset by something, and the words that fly from his mouth only reinforce that.
“Joe…I’ll be blunt here: I’m sick of people like you. I’m sick of people who bitch and moan and complain about their achievements and whine that they don’t get any respect…and then turn around and do things like post the first 100-loss record in nCw history. You said it yourself: championships are the only thing you’re after anymore. My question to you, Joe, is this…if you’re so far above me, why do you get so worked up talking about me? Is it because you think you shouldn’t have to stoop to the level of wrestling some scrub pissant like me? If that’s the case, you’ve already lost, because the last thing anyone should do is underestimate…hey, this sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
A dark smirk flits across his face. Lockwood shakes his head, shifting his stance ever so slightly.
“We’re a lot more alike than you’d ever want to admit, Joe. We both have people insulting us for flimsy or nonexistent reasons. And in the end, neither of us have ever gotten the respect we think we’re owed. Well…you haven’t. I don’t think I’m owed anything. You, however, see fit to lecture me about “not getting butthurt” and talking about me getting busted down to some bingo hall in Philly. You brag about proving yourself against me when you pinned Kanyon in our lone match together…Joe, what the hell is wrong with you?”
He cocks his eyebrow inquisitively, stroking his chin a bit. Lockwood begins pacing back and forth, speaking with a relatively even but obviously annoyed tone of voice. He seems to be trying to rein in something, and for the moment he’s succeeding.
“No, I want a legit answer there. You’ve devolved from the guy that everyone loved, the man that Lance Ryan once said ‘represents every man, woman and child in the world that has a dream, a dream that people laugh at when they express it, a dream that may in fact seem impossible to the majority of people’ to another generic, bitter, and in the end desperate jackass. You think you can, with 100% certitude, promise a win here? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy your total unshakeable confidence in your abilities. Me, I’m hoping I can win. But I can’t make any promises.”
Caleb shrugs, a grin forming on his face as his body language begins to loosen up. His speech becomes more energetic, and his pacing speeds up.
“You’re the sort of man that can go from a three and thirty stretch to pushing Hall of Famers to the limit, to damn near capturing the World Championship in a heartbeat. And that’s why I never question your heart. But you seem to think that the way you can capture some sort of career renaissance is to insult and lash out at everyone you’re put up against. You're not an Everyman anymore. Not with that attitude. You’re descending from what made you good—no, GREAT—in the first place and becoming…something less.”
Lockwood gestures with his hands as he speaks, his grin becoming a warm smile as he remembers his days watching tapes of the major promotions between matches in high-school gyms and bingo halls. He sighs, shaking his head as his fond memories are intruded on by reality.
“Joe, I watched a lot of your matches when I was wrestling in the indies. Above all, one thing stuck out to me: no matter how desperate the situation seemed, you never stopped trying. There was no point of ‘I can’t take it anymore’ or ‘I don’t have what it takes.’ You plugged away with everything you damn well had. Sometimes it paid off, sometimes it didn’t. But you never backed down from a challenge. Yeah, you’re a three-time National Champion! You beat Lance Ryan three times! Congratulations, Joe! Now tell me where the hell you think you get off resting on your laurels?”
His voice snaps back to being somewhat harsh, and Caleb stops pacing, looking into the camera. He speaks with fire in his gut, eyes locked dead into the camera as if he was speaking to Joe himself right there.
“This industry, this sport is all about constantly pushing yourself, trying to get to the next level. I would kill for the chance, one-on-one, to become a champion. That’s what I think a lot of people don’t get. They bitch and moan about how they’re ‘above’ certain titles or certain opponents. NOBODY is above anything, Joe. Do you think Steve Awesome is above you? Of course not. You want to prove that smug pretty-boy wrong and show everyone, not just him, that you’re really World Champion material. I’m in the same boat, Joe. Only, you’ve got respect through tenure and your achievements. I haven’t been here long, and I haven’t won any titles…so I get no respect. I feel like the Rodney Dangerfield of nCw.”
Caleb smirks a bit, throwing up his hands and sighing again. He leans back against a conveniently placed shipping crate, cracking his back, and looks back at the camera.
“Joe, I looked up to you. I believed in you. Hell, I still do. But Sunday is more than just your chance to rebuild your career. It’s a chance for me to launch mine. Getting a win over a talented, accomplished individual like yourself…that could be what it takes to launch me from also-ran to a real contender in nCw…a force to be reckoned with. I would give anything for that chance…and I have it here now. Joe, if you don’t mind me lifting a phrase from you…don’t question my heart…and don’t blink. You might miss something.”
Lockwood winks at the audience as we fade out.
“Joe…I’ll be blunt here: I’m sick of people like you. I’m sick of people who bitch and moan and complain about their achievements and whine that they don’t get any respect…and then turn around and do things like post the first 100-loss record in nCw history. You said it yourself: championships are the only thing you’re after anymore. My question to you, Joe, is this…if you’re so far above me, why do you get so worked up talking about me? Is it because you think you shouldn’t have to stoop to the level of wrestling some scrub pissant like me? If that’s the case, you’ve already lost, because the last thing anyone should do is underestimate…hey, this sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
A dark smirk flits across his face. Lockwood shakes his head, shifting his stance ever so slightly.
“We’re a lot more alike than you’d ever want to admit, Joe. We both have people insulting us for flimsy or nonexistent reasons. And in the end, neither of us have ever gotten the respect we think we’re owed. Well…you haven’t. I don’t think I’m owed anything. You, however, see fit to lecture me about “not getting butthurt” and talking about me getting busted down to some bingo hall in Philly. You brag about proving yourself against me when you pinned Kanyon in our lone match together…Joe, what the hell is wrong with you?”
He cocks his eyebrow inquisitively, stroking his chin a bit. Lockwood begins pacing back and forth, speaking with a relatively even but obviously annoyed tone of voice. He seems to be trying to rein in something, and for the moment he’s succeeding.
“No, I want a legit answer there. You’ve devolved from the guy that everyone loved, the man that Lance Ryan once said ‘represents every man, woman and child in the world that has a dream, a dream that people laugh at when they express it, a dream that may in fact seem impossible to the majority of people’ to another generic, bitter, and in the end desperate jackass. You think you can, with 100% certitude, promise a win here? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy your total unshakeable confidence in your abilities. Me, I’m hoping I can win. But I can’t make any promises.”
Caleb shrugs, a grin forming on his face as his body language begins to loosen up. His speech becomes more energetic, and his pacing speeds up.
“You’re the sort of man that can go from a three and thirty stretch to pushing Hall of Famers to the limit, to damn near capturing the World Championship in a heartbeat. And that’s why I never question your heart. But you seem to think that the way you can capture some sort of career renaissance is to insult and lash out at everyone you’re put up against. You're not an Everyman anymore. Not with that attitude. You’re descending from what made you good—no, GREAT—in the first place and becoming…something less.”
Lockwood gestures with his hands as he speaks, his grin becoming a warm smile as he remembers his days watching tapes of the major promotions between matches in high-school gyms and bingo halls. He sighs, shaking his head as his fond memories are intruded on by reality.
“Joe, I watched a lot of your matches when I was wrestling in the indies. Above all, one thing stuck out to me: no matter how desperate the situation seemed, you never stopped trying. There was no point of ‘I can’t take it anymore’ or ‘I don’t have what it takes.’ You plugged away with everything you damn well had. Sometimes it paid off, sometimes it didn’t. But you never backed down from a challenge. Yeah, you’re a three-time National Champion! You beat Lance Ryan three times! Congratulations, Joe! Now tell me where the hell you think you get off resting on your laurels?”
His voice snaps back to being somewhat harsh, and Caleb stops pacing, looking into the camera. He speaks with fire in his gut, eyes locked dead into the camera as if he was speaking to Joe himself right there.
“This industry, this sport is all about constantly pushing yourself, trying to get to the next level. I would kill for the chance, one-on-one, to become a champion. That’s what I think a lot of people don’t get. They bitch and moan about how they’re ‘above’ certain titles or certain opponents. NOBODY is above anything, Joe. Do you think Steve Awesome is above you? Of course not. You want to prove that smug pretty-boy wrong and show everyone, not just him, that you’re really World Champion material. I’m in the same boat, Joe. Only, you’ve got respect through tenure and your achievements. I haven’t been here long, and I haven’t won any titles…so I get no respect. I feel like the Rodney Dangerfield of nCw.”
Caleb smirks a bit, throwing up his hands and sighing again. He leans back against a conveniently placed shipping crate, cracking his back, and looks back at the camera.
“Joe, I looked up to you. I believed in you. Hell, I still do. But Sunday is more than just your chance to rebuild your career. It’s a chance for me to launch mine. Getting a win over a talented, accomplished individual like yourself…that could be what it takes to launch me from also-ran to a real contender in nCw…a force to be reckoned with. I would give anything for that chance…and I have it here now. Joe, if you don’t mind me lifting a phrase from you…don’t question my heart…and don’t blink. You might miss something.”
Lockwood winks at the audience as we fade out.
