Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Jul 17, 2017 4:44:00 GMT
No special setup this time, no wandering camera. Instead, we have Andrew Jacobsen standing in front of an IWF backdrop, the Imperial Title around his waist. He rolls his wrists casually as he shifts his weight idly from side to side, managing a quiet, idle energy. When he speaks, his voice is calm and level, not betraying an ounce of negative emotion whatsoever.
"There are a lot of people who ask what it means to be a champion. What defines a champion? Is it a belt? Is it a mentality? Are you defined by a moment in time, or all the moments that come before and after it? Personally, I think the answer lies somewhere between all of those. A title makes you a champion in name. But to be a champion in deed and in fact, you have to dig deeper. You have to stretch yourself, push beyond your boundaries, grow and evolve to meet every challenge the world throws at you...and that's why I think the finest champion I've ever seen in my career is Jayson Matthews."
Andrew puts up a hand, as if to forestall any objection or criticism, and nods, continuing with that same even tone in his voice.
"I know what some of you will say. Jayson's not a world-class technician, or a breathtaking acrobat, or a truly exceptional powerhouse, or a lethal striker. He's not a standout in any of the disciplines that make a professional wrestler. And while it's true that he hasn't reached those lofty heights, the fact of the matter is that he has pushed himself harder and further than I have ever seen anyone push. He has climbed the ladder of this industry in a way that makes me look at my own efforts and ask where I can push harder. Jayson Matthews makes me want to be a better wrestler, and that is the highest compliment I can pay him as a professional."
He adjusts the belt on his waist, glancing at it briefly with a fond smile on his face before looking back up into the camera.
"Jayson, you didn't have the advantages I had. I come from a wrestling family. I'm a natural athlete. I spent years as an amateur wrestler, in high school and Division I collegiate wrestling. I've been around this business since before I could walk...and I know that for every single moment of work and determination I've put in, you've put in two. Or three. Or ten. I started this race halfway to the finish line, and that you've come this close and made this the kind of race that it is is a testament to the kind of man you are. They may come stronger, they may come faster, but nobody comes with as much heart as you do. So thank you."
Andrew nods, flashing a genuine, warm smile at the camera. His expression quickly becomes serious again, and he looks back at his title, taking it off his waist. Andrew holds the belt in one hand, looking down at it as he speaks.
"I've worked myself to the bone to earn this title, just as you've done so to earn yours. I know you, Jayson. I've seen you train. You're a proud guy, in your own quirky humble way. And I know you want this done properly. So I've got a proposition for you. How about you take the Imperial Champion into your world, and we do this Invictus Rules-style? No count-outs. No disqualifications. This match is gonna have a winner, and no matter who it is, they're going to have to earn it. I want you to earn this. I want to earn this. We owe it to each other...and to everyone watching. Do it right, do it proud."
Andrew cracks his neck, grinning again, and slings the belt over his shoulder, patting its main plate with a confident smile.
"I know you're going to make me dig deep, Jayson. We've been in that ring too much for the result to be anything else. Still, I have to say it. Come at me with all you've got. Show me the fire that brought you to the Invictus Championship. We are the masters of our fates, we are the captains of our souls, and though our heads may be bloodied, they will always be unbowed. Let's show these people what champions are made of. Let's show them why we're here. And let's paint bullseyes on our backs so big you can see them from space. Good luck, my friend. I'll see you out there...let's make some noise."
Andrew tosses a two-fingered salute at the camera, smiling warmly as we fade to black.
The thud of Andrew's strikes against the heavy bag echoes in the small gym, slightly overcast weather peeking through the windows and playing over the mats. Several other men and women are making use of the gym, but none of them seem to be paying Andrew any mind as he rhythmically works his way through a sequence of fists, elbows, kicks, and knees. The sound of a familiar voice does cut through his focus, however, and he turns to meet its source as she speaks. "Got some anger to work out?"
Andrew pulls back from the bag, looking fully over to Danielle as he nods curtly. She stands before him in her own workout gear, a bottle of water in one hand and a towel in the other. "Yeah. Still pissed at Jake. I should have expected it, really, but...I guess I'm just an optimist." he turns back to the bag, resuming his striking and speaking through slightly strained breaths. "He uses people. Ones I care about. Gets what he wants like that. How he always works. Didn't think he'd use her. Wrong there."
Danielle shakes her head, setting down her water and towel and reaching out between strikes to rest a hand on Andrew's upper arm. He immediately stops striking, and Danielle adopts a calming tone, looking up at Andrew. "I know you're angry. But if you're going to hold on to this, you've got to use it. Letting it simmer while you pound the snot out of a punching bag doesn't do it any good. Besides, I thought we were here to teach me a little striking of my own."
"You could really use a better coach than me, you know." Andrew grins. "Maybe Emma. She's a striking coach for a reason, you know. She'll get you flinging limbs with the best of them." He shrugs, taking a few steps back. "Your choice, though."
Danielle shakes her head, chuckling as she steps in and squares up with the bag. "Yeah, but I think she flew back to Chicago to keep up with her training obligations. I sleep in the same bed as you. Accessibility might beat out raw talent on this one, Andy. Now, where do we start with this?"
Andrew lines up alongside her, adopting his own stance, which Danielle quickly shifts to match. "Okay, so...this is a pretty basic ready position. You can do a lot of work from here. We're going to start with simple punches, pretty basic stuff. Hands up like so, right? Good punches lead from your shoulder level. We'll try some jabs. You jab with your off hand, so that'll be your left. You want to put a little power behind these, but not commit. You mostly use these to gauge range for the big punches. Watch me." Andrew throws a few jabs, stepping back. "Now try on the bag. I want to watch your form."
Danielle nods, squaring up again, and begins flicking jabs at the punching bag. They come carefully at first, but Danielle quickly grows more confident, speaking up as she does. "I'm with you, Andy. What kind of a douchebag drags their kid into something like this? I mean, it could have been Solitaire's idea, but I'm smelling bull all over this. If I were you, I'd be seething." She hits a few quick, accurate jabs, grinning. "Hey, I'm picking this up pretty quickly."
Andrew nods, watching her move as he steps in again. "Oh, I'm furious. Don't mistake my shock and hurt for a lack of anger. I'm going to take it out of his hide. Deceitful jackass has it coming. But there you are, getting me riled up again. You keep this up, I'm going to be plastering Jayson with a chair or something." Andrew lines up his stance. "Jabs get you where you want to go, but if you want to do some real damage, you follow with a cross. A cross comes from your primary hand, and it gets its power from you rotating your entire body into the punch. Like this." Andrew throws a cross at the air, resetting quickly, and delivers another one. "Try some more jabs, and when you think you've got a good feel for your distance, follow one up with a cross. The key is quickness. You get your opening, you take it."
Danielle nods, resuming her jabbing, throwing in a cross now and again. She starts hesitant again, but her confidence grows quickly. "I sure hope you put him down for good. Heir to the Throne's looming, and...well, let's be honest, you and world championships don't do so well with #1 contender's tournaments. I want you on top of your game, so when you beat Ace, you beat him clean and you leave it all in there with him. Capisce?" she punctuates this with another combo.
"Si, capisco." Andrew fires back, a smirk on his face. "Right now, I want you focused on your form. Hit that thing like it owes you money. I want punches a welterweight would shrink from. Go until I say stop or your arms get tired." Danielle rolls her eyes, nodding, and begins rattling through a series of jabs and crosses, establishing a fairly good rhythm.
After about half a minute, though, Danielle pulls back, shaking her head as she snags her water bottle and takes a gulp. "Yeah, but I can't get this off my mind. Plus, my arms hurt. I'm used to writing, not hitting. Are you sure you're gonna have your head on straight come Lineage? I don't want you regretting this."
Andrew nods slowly, the humor slowly bleeding from his face. "Trust me. I'm sure. He'll get his. I'll get mine. And I'll keep my title." Pausing for a moment, Andrew shakes his head, forcing some humor back in his voice. "Now, your form still needs some work. Want me to demonstrate again?"
Danielle nods, grinning as she steps back. "You know I love watching you work, Andy. Go to town. I'll take notes." Andrew nods, stepping back in front of the bag, and squares up, exhaling slowly. He inhales again through his nose before stepping in with a quick one-two combo. Andrew resumes his striking sequences from earlier, focusing on the rhythm of the hits, and his eyes start to glaze over as he falls into the groove again. Danielle watches from the sidelines, her own confident smile fading slightly as she watches the change in his demeanor, and we fade to black on the two amidst the gym's sea of activity.
"There are a lot of people who ask what it means to be a champion. What defines a champion? Is it a belt? Is it a mentality? Are you defined by a moment in time, or all the moments that come before and after it? Personally, I think the answer lies somewhere between all of those. A title makes you a champion in name. But to be a champion in deed and in fact, you have to dig deeper. You have to stretch yourself, push beyond your boundaries, grow and evolve to meet every challenge the world throws at you...and that's why I think the finest champion I've ever seen in my career is Jayson Matthews."
Andrew puts up a hand, as if to forestall any objection or criticism, and nods, continuing with that same even tone in his voice.
"I know what some of you will say. Jayson's not a world-class technician, or a breathtaking acrobat, or a truly exceptional powerhouse, or a lethal striker. He's not a standout in any of the disciplines that make a professional wrestler. And while it's true that he hasn't reached those lofty heights, the fact of the matter is that he has pushed himself harder and further than I have ever seen anyone push. He has climbed the ladder of this industry in a way that makes me look at my own efforts and ask where I can push harder. Jayson Matthews makes me want to be a better wrestler, and that is the highest compliment I can pay him as a professional."
He adjusts the belt on his waist, glancing at it briefly with a fond smile on his face before looking back up into the camera.
"Jayson, you didn't have the advantages I had. I come from a wrestling family. I'm a natural athlete. I spent years as an amateur wrestler, in high school and Division I collegiate wrestling. I've been around this business since before I could walk...and I know that for every single moment of work and determination I've put in, you've put in two. Or three. Or ten. I started this race halfway to the finish line, and that you've come this close and made this the kind of race that it is is a testament to the kind of man you are. They may come stronger, they may come faster, but nobody comes with as much heart as you do. So thank you."
Andrew nods, flashing a genuine, warm smile at the camera. His expression quickly becomes serious again, and he looks back at his title, taking it off his waist. Andrew holds the belt in one hand, looking down at it as he speaks.
"I've worked myself to the bone to earn this title, just as you've done so to earn yours. I know you, Jayson. I've seen you train. You're a proud guy, in your own quirky humble way. And I know you want this done properly. So I've got a proposition for you. How about you take the Imperial Champion into your world, and we do this Invictus Rules-style? No count-outs. No disqualifications. This match is gonna have a winner, and no matter who it is, they're going to have to earn it. I want you to earn this. I want to earn this. We owe it to each other...and to everyone watching. Do it right, do it proud."
Andrew cracks his neck, grinning again, and slings the belt over his shoulder, patting its main plate with a confident smile.
"I know you're going to make me dig deep, Jayson. We've been in that ring too much for the result to be anything else. Still, I have to say it. Come at me with all you've got. Show me the fire that brought you to the Invictus Championship. We are the masters of our fates, we are the captains of our souls, and though our heads may be bloodied, they will always be unbowed. Let's show these people what champions are made of. Let's show them why we're here. And let's paint bullseyes on our backs so big you can see them from space. Good luck, my friend. I'll see you out there...let's make some noise."
Andrew tosses a two-fingered salute at the camera, smiling warmly as we fade to black.
The thud of Andrew's strikes against the heavy bag echoes in the small gym, slightly overcast weather peeking through the windows and playing over the mats. Several other men and women are making use of the gym, but none of them seem to be paying Andrew any mind as he rhythmically works his way through a sequence of fists, elbows, kicks, and knees. The sound of a familiar voice does cut through his focus, however, and he turns to meet its source as she speaks. "Got some anger to work out?"
Andrew pulls back from the bag, looking fully over to Danielle as he nods curtly. She stands before him in her own workout gear, a bottle of water in one hand and a towel in the other. "Yeah. Still pissed at Jake. I should have expected it, really, but...I guess I'm just an optimist." he turns back to the bag, resuming his striking and speaking through slightly strained breaths. "He uses people. Ones I care about. Gets what he wants like that. How he always works. Didn't think he'd use her. Wrong there."
Danielle shakes her head, setting down her water and towel and reaching out between strikes to rest a hand on Andrew's upper arm. He immediately stops striking, and Danielle adopts a calming tone, looking up at Andrew. "I know you're angry. But if you're going to hold on to this, you've got to use it. Letting it simmer while you pound the snot out of a punching bag doesn't do it any good. Besides, I thought we were here to teach me a little striking of my own."
"You could really use a better coach than me, you know." Andrew grins. "Maybe Emma. She's a striking coach for a reason, you know. She'll get you flinging limbs with the best of them." He shrugs, taking a few steps back. "Your choice, though."
Danielle shakes her head, chuckling as she steps in and squares up with the bag. "Yeah, but I think she flew back to Chicago to keep up with her training obligations. I sleep in the same bed as you. Accessibility might beat out raw talent on this one, Andy. Now, where do we start with this?"
Andrew lines up alongside her, adopting his own stance, which Danielle quickly shifts to match. "Okay, so...this is a pretty basic ready position. You can do a lot of work from here. We're going to start with simple punches, pretty basic stuff. Hands up like so, right? Good punches lead from your shoulder level. We'll try some jabs. You jab with your off hand, so that'll be your left. You want to put a little power behind these, but not commit. You mostly use these to gauge range for the big punches. Watch me." Andrew throws a few jabs, stepping back. "Now try on the bag. I want to watch your form."
Danielle nods, squaring up again, and begins flicking jabs at the punching bag. They come carefully at first, but Danielle quickly grows more confident, speaking up as she does. "I'm with you, Andy. What kind of a douchebag drags their kid into something like this? I mean, it could have been Solitaire's idea, but I'm smelling bull all over this. If I were you, I'd be seething." She hits a few quick, accurate jabs, grinning. "Hey, I'm picking this up pretty quickly."
Andrew nods, watching her move as he steps in again. "Oh, I'm furious. Don't mistake my shock and hurt for a lack of anger. I'm going to take it out of his hide. Deceitful jackass has it coming. But there you are, getting me riled up again. You keep this up, I'm going to be plastering Jayson with a chair or something." Andrew lines up his stance. "Jabs get you where you want to go, but if you want to do some real damage, you follow with a cross. A cross comes from your primary hand, and it gets its power from you rotating your entire body into the punch. Like this." Andrew throws a cross at the air, resetting quickly, and delivers another one. "Try some more jabs, and when you think you've got a good feel for your distance, follow one up with a cross. The key is quickness. You get your opening, you take it."
Danielle nods, resuming her jabbing, throwing in a cross now and again. She starts hesitant again, but her confidence grows quickly. "I sure hope you put him down for good. Heir to the Throne's looming, and...well, let's be honest, you and world championships don't do so well with #1 contender's tournaments. I want you on top of your game, so when you beat Ace, you beat him clean and you leave it all in there with him. Capisce?" she punctuates this with another combo.
"Si, capisco." Andrew fires back, a smirk on his face. "Right now, I want you focused on your form. Hit that thing like it owes you money. I want punches a welterweight would shrink from. Go until I say stop or your arms get tired." Danielle rolls her eyes, nodding, and begins rattling through a series of jabs and crosses, establishing a fairly good rhythm.
After about half a minute, though, Danielle pulls back, shaking her head as she snags her water bottle and takes a gulp. "Yeah, but I can't get this off my mind. Plus, my arms hurt. I'm used to writing, not hitting. Are you sure you're gonna have your head on straight come Lineage? I don't want you regretting this."
Andrew nods slowly, the humor slowly bleeding from his face. "Trust me. I'm sure. He'll get his. I'll get mine. And I'll keep my title." Pausing for a moment, Andrew shakes his head, forcing some humor back in his voice. "Now, your form still needs some work. Want me to demonstrate again?"
Danielle nods, grinning as she steps back. "You know I love watching you work, Andy. Go to town. I'll take notes." Andrew nods, stepping back in front of the bag, and squares up, exhaling slowly. He inhales again through his nose before stepping in with a quick one-two combo. Andrew resumes his striking sequences from earlier, focusing on the rhythm of the hits, and his eyes start to glaze over as he falls into the groove again. Danielle watches from the sidelines, her own confident smile fading slightly as she watches the change in his demeanor, and we fade to black on the two amidst the gym's sea of activity.
Well howdy there pardner.