Post by Hannah Reed on Mar 23, 2013 16:34:10 GMT -6
People call me many things, but the one they seem to routinely miss off their list is charitable.
And this week demonstrates that trait perfectly.
Once again I have plucked an opponent from obscurity to allow him his opportunity to back up his bold proclamations and cement themselves in the main event, this week it just so happens to be you Joseph. I listened to everything you had to say last week because contrary to popular belief, I do keep a tabs on the rest of the roster to see who has the balls to try and better themselves.
It would appear you’re the latest in a long line.
Finally, at least in one sense, you and I are equals Joe. Both of us are above Mike Laszlo. Though make no mistake that is where the similarities come to a thunderous halt. Besides a shared ability to force Mike’s ego back down his throat, we have absolutely nothing else in common. You’re a perennial failure who consistently talks up his grandiose dreams of supremacy whilst I…well.
I am successful in everything I do.
It took me a year and a half to achieve what some men, like you, cannot achieve in their entire careers. I am a Road to the Gold winner, a former National and X-Champion, a multiple award winner and despite his selective memory I am the man who put a stop to Xander Famularo’s dominance of this company.
You? You’re just the guy who laid down for me for the one hundredth time. Oh and you won some belts one time, congrats big guy.
Don’t think I do not see the way guys like you look at me, your every word tainted with the vicious poison of envy. I am everything you wish you were, I saw it in Will’s eyes, I saw it in Mike’s and even now I see it in Xander’s too. Nothing I touch turns sour, everything I do leaves me smelling of roses, even in my hour of failure after losing to Ricky I re-grouped and won a tournament by beating every difficult opponent involved.
I am the one in every billion who just has the X-Factor you all so desperately scramble to find to resurrect your irrelevant careers.
What you all work so hard to achieve, only to ultimately fail, I am able to accomplish in a fraction of the time. I wanted Todd’s X-Championship, so I embarrassed him for months and took it. I wanted the National title so I convinced Leonard to give me a shot and I took it on the first attempt. I told the world I would win the Road to the Gold and instead of being knocked out and pretending I was screwed I did exactly what I said I would and won.
Mike Laszlo can trot out his catchphrase, want, take, have all he likes, but the reality is there is only one man in this company that it applies to. When I set myself a goal, I succeed. Hell, I am the only revolutionary in wrestling history who has actually managed to accomplish his goals of assuming power and five months later, here I am, still going strong.
That is what divides me from men like you Joe, everything I touch turns to gold whilst everything you touch withers and dies.
No matter how hard you have tried or how much you’ve believed in yourself you have completely failed each and every time. How’d your latest dream to capture the National Championship work out for you? Not very well? How about that little run you had going with your friend Davey end up? Here’s a hint Joe, revolutions are meant to radically change thing. Oh, and what about that time when you were going to win the Road to the Gold? No? How about the Riot?
See, there is a predictable pattern in your diatribe Joseph.
You complete your latest spectacular failure, finally admitting defeat before beginning your latest outrageous objectives which you feverishly pursue only to ultimately completely fail and look like a complete idiot before rinsing and repeating.
They say insanity is repeating the same things over and over whilst expecting different results; seems that it is also the definition of stupidity too.
I mean honestly, do you even listen to some of the crap you peddle? At my best I will realise I am still not as good as you? Despite the fact you’ve never beaten me once in multiple attempts. It is a foregone conclusion that you will take the world title from me and I am scared of you? So scared I book myself in a match with you? The only reason you’re not champion is because we’ve never fought for this belt? Not the fact that you just flat out suck no matter how much “heart” you have?
Do you speak so much bull**** because your brain is made of it?
Let me do you a favour Joe, and trust me this is the last one I will do for you. You’re going to fail. No matter how much you try to convince yourself, no matter how much nonsense you trot out and no matter who you manage to beat, you’re simply not going to be the man who takes this belt from me. It is cute that you can still dream so big when your career is an eternal nightmare, but the idea of Joe Everyman defeating me at A Night to Remember is about as realistic as a unicorn been ridden by a velociraptor shooting rainbows from a laser gun.
So you can take that idea, screw it right up and toss it in the trashcan because even if by some miracle you do manage to make it to A Night to Remember, you haven’t got a chance of winning.
If you want to march triumphantly towards another failure Joe, by all means be my guest, but don’t say I didn’t advise you against it. Honestly, I find no pleasure in inflicting a further mental scar into your troubled psyche that will undoubtedly break you when your body can’t keep going, if anything I pity you.
Whilst Andrew can at least look back with some pride at his career, despite the failures, you have nothing but an unrequited lust for glory.
When you can no longer drag yourself through those ropes Joe you’re going to have to come to terms with your repeated failures and when the walls you have built around them come crashing down it is going to kill you inside. It is time to stop dreaming of lofty heights you cannot reach and become realistic.
Accept what you are, a steady wrestler who can leave a credible midcard career behind him, you aren’t and never will be a star. To continuously dream of being one is unrealistic and will ultimately come back to haunt you.
This weekend I will firmly re-establish that fact by beating you yet again, but this is your chance to wake up and smell the coffee.
Before it is too late.
So, Andrew, I suppose you’re wondering what exactly you’re doing here, right?
After all, you know me well enough to realise that I always do things for a reason and booking you to face me again is certainly not coincidental.
Everyone loves an underdog, and what better team than Joe Everyman and Andrew Jacobsen to milk some sympathy from the oppressed masses who are just sat around praying for the day that the death knoll sounds on my dominant title reign. The pair of you are the perfect opponents, you even more so when you consider that you’re the very reason that my unstoppable “reign of terror” was unleashed upon this company.
It is your fault that I have been allowed to form a stranglehold around this belt that nobody has been able to break despite repeated efforts to do so. How does it feel, Andrew, to know that your incompetence was the first step on my path to greatness?
Let’s not kid ourselves, Andrew, contrary to what people may think my victory over you wasn’t easy and it wasn’t a forgone conclusion, you had an opportunity to stop my momentum in its track and resign me to the ranks of the rest of the perennial bridesmaids.
Yet you failed.
In an instance your valiant defiance in the face of an irresistible force which was truly commendable has been completely forgotten, though history has created a readymade excuse for your failure in the form of a handshake that became a knife in the back. The sole explanation for my triumph.
Nobody remembers your heroic stand against Xander, nobody remembers your absolute delirium at finally clinching the prize that evades so many of our colleagues for their whole careers, all they remember is me and Kelly celebrating together. You’ve been erased from the record books, completely forgotten by all those people you strive to satisfy on a weekly basis with your performances.
Sure, you can trot out the moniker of “former world champion” every once in a while, but your title reign has become nothing more than a footnote in my saga. A mere small print in a timeless classic.
Whatever you say, Andrew, I know that deep down that eats you up inside.
Every time you sit back and recollect on your crowning achievement, the bitterness of it being snatched away so ruthlessly whilst being utterly forgotten and written off as a fluke must rot your soul. The boy scout of NCW is nothing more than the tortured victim of a greater man, one whom holds no ill towards you.
You see, I actually still admire you.
I admire that despite everything you have flung at you, your carry on with the same upbeat spirit that brought you the title in the first place. I admire that even though you are consistently **** on from a great height, you just brush off the venom and keep on smiling because you believe in your ideals so much. I admire that even after the greatest kick in the balls any of us can receive professionally, you have picked yourself up and carried on with the same determination that carried you to a brief hiatus from the midcard.
Everyone wants this to be a two way rivalry, but it will never be that to me.
I know that personally you want to pin my shoulder to the mat eradicate the demons who torment you since I took this belt from you, hell I know you want to beat me just to get some vengeance for me throwing powder in your eyes, but me?
I really don’t have any motivation to beat you other than professional pride.
This is a one sided rivalry, borne from people’s obsessions for closure. Those fans out there who crave a hero want to see the big bad guy get his comeuppance and the downtrodden hero to get his revenge for the wrongs inflicted upon him. Yet we both know the truth.
I beat you, fair and square. No matter how people want to paint it, beyond my betrayal of my supposed principles there is no reason for any climactic conclusion to our relationship, even the fact I “cheated” you out a victory, which was far from certain, the last time we faced isn’t enough to justify the rampant desire for this fairytale to reach a happy ending.
Which is probably a good thing, because believe me Andrew, this isn’t going to end the way you hope.
When you and I face off once again this week you’re going to give it your all, and it just isn’t going to be good enough. You can throw superkick after superkick and it will not put me down, you can feed off the support of the audience and it still will not be enough to put me down, heck you could even cheat but you still won’t get the job done.
Why?
Because I am simply better than you and for me, there is no innate desire for vengeance fuelling my inevitable mistakes.
For you, this is personal, and for me that is all I need to see you off with relative ease. When we fought for this belt, you shouldered no burden beyond defending your title, now you must bear the weight of the expectations of your supporters who ferociously demand you victory over your arch-nemesis, the man who has become your Achilles heel.
That desire is going to be your downfall.
I’ve seen it consume men, Mike Laszlo’s complete obsession with depriving me of my hard earned success has taken a promising prospect for future and turned him into somebody who has failed to win a match on four consecutive pay per views despite being gifted four separate title shots on each one. Xander’s determination to dethrone me will only lead to a second display of my superiority over him.
You have a choice Andrew, you can allow this “rivalry” of ours to become an obsession and watch your career spiral into further irrelevance as you fail to get over that night many months ago. Or, you can lay on your back, take the defeat you will earn this week like a man and move on.
The ball is in your court, take it and go home.
And this week demonstrates that trait perfectly.
Once again I have plucked an opponent from obscurity to allow him his opportunity to back up his bold proclamations and cement themselves in the main event, this week it just so happens to be you Joseph. I listened to everything you had to say last week because contrary to popular belief, I do keep a tabs on the rest of the roster to see who has the balls to try and better themselves.
It would appear you’re the latest in a long line.
Finally, at least in one sense, you and I are equals Joe. Both of us are above Mike Laszlo. Though make no mistake that is where the similarities come to a thunderous halt. Besides a shared ability to force Mike’s ego back down his throat, we have absolutely nothing else in common. You’re a perennial failure who consistently talks up his grandiose dreams of supremacy whilst I…well.
I am successful in everything I do.
It took me a year and a half to achieve what some men, like you, cannot achieve in their entire careers. I am a Road to the Gold winner, a former National and X-Champion, a multiple award winner and despite his selective memory I am the man who put a stop to Xander Famularo’s dominance of this company.
You? You’re just the guy who laid down for me for the one hundredth time. Oh and you won some belts one time, congrats big guy.
Don’t think I do not see the way guys like you look at me, your every word tainted with the vicious poison of envy. I am everything you wish you were, I saw it in Will’s eyes, I saw it in Mike’s and even now I see it in Xander’s too. Nothing I touch turns sour, everything I do leaves me smelling of roses, even in my hour of failure after losing to Ricky I re-grouped and won a tournament by beating every difficult opponent involved.
I am the one in every billion who just has the X-Factor you all so desperately scramble to find to resurrect your irrelevant careers.
What you all work so hard to achieve, only to ultimately fail, I am able to accomplish in a fraction of the time. I wanted Todd’s X-Championship, so I embarrassed him for months and took it. I wanted the National title so I convinced Leonard to give me a shot and I took it on the first attempt. I told the world I would win the Road to the Gold and instead of being knocked out and pretending I was screwed I did exactly what I said I would and won.
Mike Laszlo can trot out his catchphrase, want, take, have all he likes, but the reality is there is only one man in this company that it applies to. When I set myself a goal, I succeed. Hell, I am the only revolutionary in wrestling history who has actually managed to accomplish his goals of assuming power and five months later, here I am, still going strong.
That is what divides me from men like you Joe, everything I touch turns to gold whilst everything you touch withers and dies.
No matter how hard you have tried or how much you’ve believed in yourself you have completely failed each and every time. How’d your latest dream to capture the National Championship work out for you? Not very well? How about that little run you had going with your friend Davey end up? Here’s a hint Joe, revolutions are meant to radically change thing. Oh, and what about that time when you were going to win the Road to the Gold? No? How about the Riot?
See, there is a predictable pattern in your diatribe Joseph.
You complete your latest spectacular failure, finally admitting defeat before beginning your latest outrageous objectives which you feverishly pursue only to ultimately completely fail and look like a complete idiot before rinsing and repeating.
They say insanity is repeating the same things over and over whilst expecting different results; seems that it is also the definition of stupidity too.
I mean honestly, do you even listen to some of the crap you peddle? At my best I will realise I am still not as good as you? Despite the fact you’ve never beaten me once in multiple attempts. It is a foregone conclusion that you will take the world title from me and I am scared of you? So scared I book myself in a match with you? The only reason you’re not champion is because we’ve never fought for this belt? Not the fact that you just flat out suck no matter how much “heart” you have?
Do you speak so much bull**** because your brain is made of it?
Let me do you a favour Joe, and trust me this is the last one I will do for you. You’re going to fail. No matter how much you try to convince yourself, no matter how much nonsense you trot out and no matter who you manage to beat, you’re simply not going to be the man who takes this belt from me. It is cute that you can still dream so big when your career is an eternal nightmare, but the idea of Joe Everyman defeating me at A Night to Remember is about as realistic as a unicorn been ridden by a velociraptor shooting rainbows from a laser gun.
So you can take that idea, screw it right up and toss it in the trashcan because even if by some miracle you do manage to make it to A Night to Remember, you haven’t got a chance of winning.
If you want to march triumphantly towards another failure Joe, by all means be my guest, but don’t say I didn’t advise you against it. Honestly, I find no pleasure in inflicting a further mental scar into your troubled psyche that will undoubtedly break you when your body can’t keep going, if anything I pity you.
Whilst Andrew can at least look back with some pride at his career, despite the failures, you have nothing but an unrequited lust for glory.
When you can no longer drag yourself through those ropes Joe you’re going to have to come to terms with your repeated failures and when the walls you have built around them come crashing down it is going to kill you inside. It is time to stop dreaming of lofty heights you cannot reach and become realistic.
Accept what you are, a steady wrestler who can leave a credible midcard career behind him, you aren’t and never will be a star. To continuously dream of being one is unrealistic and will ultimately come back to haunt you.
This weekend I will firmly re-establish that fact by beating you yet again, but this is your chance to wake up and smell the coffee.
Before it is too late.
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A fire crackles in a high class bar, the sound of men and women tossing back mindless chatter back and forth fills the air as glasses chink together and alcohol pours relentlessly into glass after glass. In the corner sits Roberto Verona, adorned in a fine Italian suit in a large leather chair whilst NCW CEO, Kelly Fox, sits opposite him, nursing an expensive drink in her hand. Roberto sits silently, his eyebrows furrowed with rage as he takes a final gulp of red wine.
He’s an idiot.
Kelly looks up, a little startled by the sudden outburst.
Who? Xander?
Yes, who else?
There are a lot of idiots around here.
Kelly smiles as she sips her drink, though Verona’s mood has yet to lighten.
This is serious, Kelly. Jake is off playing house husband whilst you’re here cracking jokes, Xander doesn’t **** about.
I know that, but perhaps you’re taking this all a little too seriously.
What do you mean too seriously? You don’t think a rogue Xander is a problem?
When he has his eyes firmly set on the one man who has proven capable of stopping him when he is on a roll? No, not really. A fired up Xander is great for business and let’s face it, even if he did beat you, you’ve achieved what you set out do accomplish…
I haven’t accomplished anything until I am the best there has ever been, Kelly.
That is only a matter of time…
Perhaps, but the job isn’t done until I have my hand raised in victory at Sovereign, so forgive me for getting a little unnerved by a vengeful Famularo floating around the place waiting to screw me at any given opportunity.
Are you having a crisis of faith in yourself?
Verona places his glass down, quickly leaping to his own defence.
What!? No!
You could have fooled me, that Verona I know and love wouldn’t be afraid of Xander turning his back on him, he’d turn it around to his advantage.
And how exactly do I do that?
That isn’t for me to figure out, you’re a smart man Roberto and you always figure a way to solve problems, just because Xander is a slightly bigger one than usual doesn’t mean you won’t find something to counteract his threat.
Thank you for the ass kissing, Kelly, I forgot how nice it felt to have the CEO stroke my ego.
Well, you’re no use to me sitting around moping, are you?
Touché.
Don’t start losing belief, Roberto. Sure, Xander may have turned his back on us, but the fact remains you have proven on a repeated basis that you are where you are on merit and you proved to the world Xander wasn’t invincible, if you need to do it again, so be it.
Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t lost my belief, it is just a shame to see such a useful ally go the predictable way of becoming a defiant agitant. Xander was a useful tool in the fight against the legion of misguided fools.
It looks like you’re simply going to have to go back and get your hands dirty again, you’ve been too generous allowing the rest of the roster to have it’s moment. It is time to remind them who is really in charge and who the best wrestler in this company is. Well, besides me of course.
I’m not sure I am eligible to surpass any records you may have in the Starlet’s division, unlike Joe I know where my balls are.
That’s the spirit.
The pair share a brief silence as Roberto shuffles awkwardly in his chair, prompting Kelly to stare across at him inquisitively.
So, are we going to talk about all these rumours that are flying about?
Rumours?
Oh come on, don’t play dumb Kelly, I know you’re smarter than that. Everywhere I go, all I hear is “the final match” this and “final chance at immortality” that, what’s going on.
That isn’t your concern right now, Roberto. The important thing is that you achieve the targets you’ve set yourself, this is your final run in to take your place as the greatest world champion in history. Keep yourself focused on that.
You know, you can talk to me if you need to….right?
Kelly looks down at the floor smiling, laughing to herself.
Don’t get soft on me, Roberto.
Verona leans forward, placing a hand on Kelly’s fingers reassuringly, staring sternly at her.
Don’t you throw away our legacy, either Kelly.
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A fire crackles in a high class bar, the sound of men and women tossing back mindless chatter back and forth fills the air as glasses chink together and alcohol pours relentlessly into glass after glass. In the corner sits Roberto Verona, adorned in a fine Italian suit in a large leather chair whilst NCW CEO, Kelly Fox, sits opposite him, nursing an expensive drink in her hand. Roberto sits silently, his eyebrows furrowed with rage as he takes a final gulp of red wine.
He’s an idiot.
Kelly looks up, a little startled by the sudden outburst.
Who? Xander?
Yes, who else?
There are a lot of idiots around here.
Kelly smiles as she sips her drink, though Verona’s mood has yet to lighten.
This is serious, Kelly. Jake is off playing house husband whilst you’re here cracking jokes, Xander doesn’t **** about.
I know that, but perhaps you’re taking this all a little too seriously.
What do you mean too seriously? You don’t think a rogue Xander is a problem?
When he has his eyes firmly set on the one man who has proven capable of stopping him when he is on a roll? No, not really. A fired up Xander is great for business and let’s face it, even if he did beat you, you’ve achieved what you set out do accomplish…
I haven’t accomplished anything until I am the best there has ever been, Kelly.
That is only a matter of time…
Perhaps, but the job isn’t done until I have my hand raised in victory at Sovereign, so forgive me for getting a little unnerved by a vengeful Famularo floating around the place waiting to screw me at any given opportunity.
Are you having a crisis of faith in yourself?
Verona places his glass down, quickly leaping to his own defence.
What!? No!
You could have fooled me, that Verona I know and love wouldn’t be afraid of Xander turning his back on him, he’d turn it around to his advantage.
And how exactly do I do that?
That isn’t for me to figure out, you’re a smart man Roberto and you always figure a way to solve problems, just because Xander is a slightly bigger one than usual doesn’t mean you won’t find something to counteract his threat.
Thank you for the ass kissing, Kelly, I forgot how nice it felt to have the CEO stroke my ego.
Well, you’re no use to me sitting around moping, are you?
Touché.
Don’t start losing belief, Roberto. Sure, Xander may have turned his back on us, but the fact remains you have proven on a repeated basis that you are where you are on merit and you proved to the world Xander wasn’t invincible, if you need to do it again, so be it.
Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t lost my belief, it is just a shame to see such a useful ally go the predictable way of becoming a defiant agitant. Xander was a useful tool in the fight against the legion of misguided fools.
It looks like you’re simply going to have to go back and get your hands dirty again, you’ve been too generous allowing the rest of the roster to have it’s moment. It is time to remind them who is really in charge and who the best wrestler in this company is. Well, besides me of course.
I’m not sure I am eligible to surpass any records you may have in the Starlet’s division, unlike Joe I know where my balls are.
That’s the spirit.
The pair share a brief silence as Roberto shuffles awkwardly in his chair, prompting Kelly to stare across at him inquisitively.
So, are we going to talk about all these rumours that are flying about?
Rumours?
Oh come on, don’t play dumb Kelly, I know you’re smarter than that. Everywhere I go, all I hear is “the final match” this and “final chance at immortality” that, what’s going on.
That isn’t your concern right now, Roberto. The important thing is that you achieve the targets you’ve set yourself, this is your final run in to take your place as the greatest world champion in history. Keep yourself focused on that.
You know, you can talk to me if you need to….right?
Kelly looks down at the floor smiling, laughing to herself.
Don’t get soft on me, Roberto.
Verona leans forward, placing a hand on Kelly’s fingers reassuringly, staring sternly at her.
Don’t you throw away our legacy, either Kelly.
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So, Andrew, I suppose you’re wondering what exactly you’re doing here, right?
After all, you know me well enough to realise that I always do things for a reason and booking you to face me again is certainly not coincidental.
Everyone loves an underdog, and what better team than Joe Everyman and Andrew Jacobsen to milk some sympathy from the oppressed masses who are just sat around praying for the day that the death knoll sounds on my dominant title reign. The pair of you are the perfect opponents, you even more so when you consider that you’re the very reason that my unstoppable “reign of terror” was unleashed upon this company.
It is your fault that I have been allowed to form a stranglehold around this belt that nobody has been able to break despite repeated efforts to do so. How does it feel, Andrew, to know that your incompetence was the first step on my path to greatness?
Let’s not kid ourselves, Andrew, contrary to what people may think my victory over you wasn’t easy and it wasn’t a forgone conclusion, you had an opportunity to stop my momentum in its track and resign me to the ranks of the rest of the perennial bridesmaids.
Yet you failed.
In an instance your valiant defiance in the face of an irresistible force which was truly commendable has been completely forgotten, though history has created a readymade excuse for your failure in the form of a handshake that became a knife in the back. The sole explanation for my triumph.
Nobody remembers your heroic stand against Xander, nobody remembers your absolute delirium at finally clinching the prize that evades so many of our colleagues for their whole careers, all they remember is me and Kelly celebrating together. You’ve been erased from the record books, completely forgotten by all those people you strive to satisfy on a weekly basis with your performances.
Sure, you can trot out the moniker of “former world champion” every once in a while, but your title reign has become nothing more than a footnote in my saga. A mere small print in a timeless classic.
Whatever you say, Andrew, I know that deep down that eats you up inside.
Every time you sit back and recollect on your crowning achievement, the bitterness of it being snatched away so ruthlessly whilst being utterly forgotten and written off as a fluke must rot your soul. The boy scout of NCW is nothing more than the tortured victim of a greater man, one whom holds no ill towards you.
You see, I actually still admire you.
I admire that despite everything you have flung at you, your carry on with the same upbeat spirit that brought you the title in the first place. I admire that even though you are consistently **** on from a great height, you just brush off the venom and keep on smiling because you believe in your ideals so much. I admire that even after the greatest kick in the balls any of us can receive professionally, you have picked yourself up and carried on with the same determination that carried you to a brief hiatus from the midcard.
Everyone wants this to be a two way rivalry, but it will never be that to me.
I know that personally you want to pin my shoulder to the mat eradicate the demons who torment you since I took this belt from you, hell I know you want to beat me just to get some vengeance for me throwing powder in your eyes, but me?
I really don’t have any motivation to beat you other than professional pride.
This is a one sided rivalry, borne from people’s obsessions for closure. Those fans out there who crave a hero want to see the big bad guy get his comeuppance and the downtrodden hero to get his revenge for the wrongs inflicted upon him. Yet we both know the truth.
I beat you, fair and square. No matter how people want to paint it, beyond my betrayal of my supposed principles there is no reason for any climactic conclusion to our relationship, even the fact I “cheated” you out a victory, which was far from certain, the last time we faced isn’t enough to justify the rampant desire for this fairytale to reach a happy ending.
Which is probably a good thing, because believe me Andrew, this isn’t going to end the way you hope.
When you and I face off once again this week you’re going to give it your all, and it just isn’t going to be good enough. You can throw superkick after superkick and it will not put me down, you can feed off the support of the audience and it still will not be enough to put me down, heck you could even cheat but you still won’t get the job done.
Why?
Because I am simply better than you and for me, there is no innate desire for vengeance fuelling my inevitable mistakes.
For you, this is personal, and for me that is all I need to see you off with relative ease. When we fought for this belt, you shouldered no burden beyond defending your title, now you must bear the weight of the expectations of your supporters who ferociously demand you victory over your arch-nemesis, the man who has become your Achilles heel.
That desire is going to be your downfall.
I’ve seen it consume men, Mike Laszlo’s complete obsession with depriving me of my hard earned success has taken a promising prospect for future and turned him into somebody who has failed to win a match on four consecutive pay per views despite being gifted four separate title shots on each one. Xander’s determination to dethrone me will only lead to a second display of my superiority over him.
You have a choice Andrew, you can allow this “rivalry” of ours to become an obsession and watch your career spiral into further irrelevance as you fail to get over that night many months ago. Or, you can lay on your back, take the defeat you will earn this week like a man and move on.
The ball is in your court, take it and go home.