Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Sept 4, 2017 4:22:57 GMT
Okay, hands up if you were surprised to see me at Legacy. Vasco, your hand is up. Should it be? They put my face on the poster, I'm the one walking around with the Imperial Championship, fought and earned for, and because of Roberto Verona's fiat I'm supposed to fly home early? And miss all the great people of Yokohama? Not a chance. Plus, I got to do Cable Arcane a solid and put my boot into Verona's hired muscle. All in all, it was a good night for me...
And then, the number-one contender's match. A contest between two men whose hunger for gold led them to chase me down and literally kick me off the card. I won't lie, I wanted to see these two tear into each other. Mike, I just didn't like him. Never really have, if I'm being honest. But Spike...oh, I don't have to tell the world the history I've had with Spike Kane. We've lit each other up all up and down this country, and in a week, we get to tear it up in New York City, one on one, for the grandest prize of them all.
But this week? This week is special for reasons all its own. I remember the first time I wrestled in Madison Square Garden, Spike. I remember the feeling I got, the adrenaline rush when I stepped through that curtain a champion and heard eighteen thousand people cheer my name. It didn't even matter that I entered with a title and left without one. I had wrestled in the most famous arena in the world. And at that time, that was enough for me. I was just happy to be here.
But times have changed, and as times change so do people. I'm not just walking in a champion, I'm walking in THE champion. And I'm not just content to be here. I'm not settling for mere presence. I walk into New York City Imperial Champion, I walk out of New York City Imperial Champion, and I walk out of Madison Square Garden with my head held high. Spike, I know the ammunition you have in your back pocket. I've got no doubt you'll dig deep into your bag of tricks and find two people that are willing to take your side. I'm ready, no matter what you've got. I know who I'm going to. I know they'll answer. And I know we'll stop you in your tracks.
Some might say this week has no stakes. Why not take it off? Forget the six-man, spend an extra week training and resting up, go into Freedom Fight Night with the biggest advantage I can. That's not who I am. Not now, not ever again. I don't take weeks off. The Imperial Champion doesn't take weeks off. I wouldn't disappoint the fans like that, and I wouldn't want to disappoint my partners. They know where I live, and they'd make sure I never disappointed them like that again. But moreover...I don't want to disappoint myself like that.
See, I've been the guy that cut and run when things got tough. I've crumbled under pressure, I've cashed in my chips and tried to take the shortcut to the top. And it's never worked. I've knocked myself down to the bottom of everything and had to work my way up, again and again, and I think I finally learned my lesson this last time. When you lace up those boots and walk out to that ring, you swear an oath to yourself and to the people counting on you, whether they're thousands of miles away at home or standing right on that ring apron.
You don't take shortcuts if you want to get to the top. Every time you wake up in the morning, even if all you can focus on is getting out of bed and getting ready for the day, you focus and you greet that day with all you can bring to bear. You don't stop pushing, you don't stop trying, you never give up, even when the pressure is on. Hell, even when the pressure isn't on, you use that space to grow. You find that next gear and just hammer it home. Every insecurity you have, every fear that you can't succeed, every doubt that you've got what it takes, you hear it rear its head and you shout it right back down. They don't own you, and you don't owe them anything.
But sometimes...sometimes things are more personal than that. Sometimes, things don't have to be about the millions. Sometimes, it's just about six men. Six men with pride on the line, pride and rage and frustration and fury. Crying to be heard, screaming for vengeance...demanding respect. You can hate me all you want, Spike. You can want my title, you can want my blood, oh Bloody God of Xtreme. But at the end of the day, three mortals will stand in your way, shoulder-to-shoulder. Because we've seen the omens in front of us, and we're not turning back. We stand immovable, untouchable, unshakable, UNBREAKABLE...
And we remember. See you in the Garden.
Andrew walks along the sidewalk of the City that Never Sleeps, craning his neck up as he takes in the spiraling, neon-lit panorama of Times Square. He grins ear-to-ear, looking back at Danielle, who's buried in a large pair of sunglasses and an even larger cup of Starbucks, generally seeming to curse the light. "Come on, doesn't it feel at least a little good to be back in the States? Home soil? Or are you just such a worldly traveler that it doesn't bother you?"
Danielle grumbles back at Andrew over the rim of her coffee, eyes hidden but tracking him with every step. "I'm still jetlagged, you peak physical condition maniac. Some of us can't function on four hours of sleep and boundless enthusiasm, we have chemical dependencies instead." She takes a sip of her coffee, letting out a sigh. "Why are we out walking anyway? We could be sleeping. Or laying down. Or anything that doesn't involve moving."
Andrew shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I spent so much time cooped up on the flight back from Japan? Maybe it's because I don't trust Verona to not send his goons after me even outside of an event, and I want to keep moving in a city of eight million people?" He weaves through the crowd a little, prompting Danielle to pick up her pace to follow him. "Or maybe...maybe it's so I could show you this."
The two emerge into a relatively low-traffic section of Times Square, at the perfect angle to see a massive poster for Extreme Endurance across one of the billboards. Andrew's image stares back from the poster, Imperial Title over his shoulder as one might expect, but standing back-to-back with him is Danielle, a determined look on her face and the chain mesh of a steel cage as a backdrop. Andrew grins, elbowing Danielle in the side, and Danielle can only remove her glasses slowly, wordlessly, jaw dropped and eyes wide. "I had a word with the marketing boys. Said 'hey guys, I'd be nowhere without the best sports agent in the world. What say we give her her due?' They told me they'd whip something up. Do you like it?"
Danielle's jaw works in silent confusion for a few moments before she looks over to Andrew, still utterly baffled. "...you really did that? Why? That had to burn some goodwill, I mean...I'm not exactly a marketable figure in the first place. They don't even have an action figure of me, and I barely made it into the last video game...what did you tell them that convinced them?"
"The truth." Andrew looks back over with a fond smile. "That you're the level head that steers my manic energy right, that you're far more valuable than anyone, especially me, gives you credit for, and that if they're going to waste their breath promoting Laura Howlett to the stars and back, why not actually use their time on someone who deserves it?" Andrew grins somewhat sheepishly at Danielle. "I...may have been less calm than I was just there."
Danielle sighs, shaking her head and setting her coffee on a nearby railing. "You may have been...but I'm glad you were. This means a lot to me, Andrew. Thank you. I love you." Danielle pulls Andrew down into a kiss, and some of the nearby crowd erupt in cheers and applause. She breaks the kiss, blushing bright red, and Andrew chuckles, gently bringing her back in. We fade to black on the couple embracing each other under the lights, two specks in a vast sea of humanity.
And then, the number-one contender's match. A contest between two men whose hunger for gold led them to chase me down and literally kick me off the card. I won't lie, I wanted to see these two tear into each other. Mike, I just didn't like him. Never really have, if I'm being honest. But Spike...oh, I don't have to tell the world the history I've had with Spike Kane. We've lit each other up all up and down this country, and in a week, we get to tear it up in New York City, one on one, for the grandest prize of them all.
But this week? This week is special for reasons all its own. I remember the first time I wrestled in Madison Square Garden, Spike. I remember the feeling I got, the adrenaline rush when I stepped through that curtain a champion and heard eighteen thousand people cheer my name. It didn't even matter that I entered with a title and left without one. I had wrestled in the most famous arena in the world. And at that time, that was enough for me. I was just happy to be here.
But times have changed, and as times change so do people. I'm not just walking in a champion, I'm walking in THE champion. And I'm not just content to be here. I'm not settling for mere presence. I walk into New York City Imperial Champion, I walk out of New York City Imperial Champion, and I walk out of Madison Square Garden with my head held high. Spike, I know the ammunition you have in your back pocket. I've got no doubt you'll dig deep into your bag of tricks and find two people that are willing to take your side. I'm ready, no matter what you've got. I know who I'm going to. I know they'll answer. And I know we'll stop you in your tracks.
Some might say this week has no stakes. Why not take it off? Forget the six-man, spend an extra week training and resting up, go into Freedom Fight Night with the biggest advantage I can. That's not who I am. Not now, not ever again. I don't take weeks off. The Imperial Champion doesn't take weeks off. I wouldn't disappoint the fans like that, and I wouldn't want to disappoint my partners. They know where I live, and they'd make sure I never disappointed them like that again. But moreover...I don't want to disappoint myself like that.
See, I've been the guy that cut and run when things got tough. I've crumbled under pressure, I've cashed in my chips and tried to take the shortcut to the top. And it's never worked. I've knocked myself down to the bottom of everything and had to work my way up, again and again, and I think I finally learned my lesson this last time. When you lace up those boots and walk out to that ring, you swear an oath to yourself and to the people counting on you, whether they're thousands of miles away at home or standing right on that ring apron.
You don't take shortcuts if you want to get to the top. Every time you wake up in the morning, even if all you can focus on is getting out of bed and getting ready for the day, you focus and you greet that day with all you can bring to bear. You don't stop pushing, you don't stop trying, you never give up, even when the pressure is on. Hell, even when the pressure isn't on, you use that space to grow. You find that next gear and just hammer it home. Every insecurity you have, every fear that you can't succeed, every doubt that you've got what it takes, you hear it rear its head and you shout it right back down. They don't own you, and you don't owe them anything.
But sometimes...sometimes things are more personal than that. Sometimes, things don't have to be about the millions. Sometimes, it's just about six men. Six men with pride on the line, pride and rage and frustration and fury. Crying to be heard, screaming for vengeance...demanding respect. You can hate me all you want, Spike. You can want my title, you can want my blood, oh Bloody God of Xtreme. But at the end of the day, three mortals will stand in your way, shoulder-to-shoulder. Because we've seen the omens in front of us, and we're not turning back. We stand immovable, untouchable, unshakable, UNBREAKABLE...
And we remember. See you in the Garden.
Andrew walks along the sidewalk of the City that Never Sleeps, craning his neck up as he takes in the spiraling, neon-lit panorama of Times Square. He grins ear-to-ear, looking back at Danielle, who's buried in a large pair of sunglasses and an even larger cup of Starbucks, generally seeming to curse the light. "Come on, doesn't it feel at least a little good to be back in the States? Home soil? Or are you just such a worldly traveler that it doesn't bother you?"
Danielle grumbles back at Andrew over the rim of her coffee, eyes hidden but tracking him with every step. "I'm still jetlagged, you peak physical condition maniac. Some of us can't function on four hours of sleep and boundless enthusiasm, we have chemical dependencies instead." She takes a sip of her coffee, letting out a sigh. "Why are we out walking anyway? We could be sleeping. Or laying down. Or anything that doesn't involve moving."
Andrew shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I spent so much time cooped up on the flight back from Japan? Maybe it's because I don't trust Verona to not send his goons after me even outside of an event, and I want to keep moving in a city of eight million people?" He weaves through the crowd a little, prompting Danielle to pick up her pace to follow him. "Or maybe...maybe it's so I could show you this."
The two emerge into a relatively low-traffic section of Times Square, at the perfect angle to see a massive poster for Extreme Endurance across one of the billboards. Andrew's image stares back from the poster, Imperial Title over his shoulder as one might expect, but standing back-to-back with him is Danielle, a determined look on her face and the chain mesh of a steel cage as a backdrop. Andrew grins, elbowing Danielle in the side, and Danielle can only remove her glasses slowly, wordlessly, jaw dropped and eyes wide. "I had a word with the marketing boys. Said 'hey guys, I'd be nowhere without the best sports agent in the world. What say we give her her due?' They told me they'd whip something up. Do you like it?"
Danielle's jaw works in silent confusion for a few moments before she looks over to Andrew, still utterly baffled. "...you really did that? Why? That had to burn some goodwill, I mean...I'm not exactly a marketable figure in the first place. They don't even have an action figure of me, and I barely made it into the last video game...what did you tell them that convinced them?"
"The truth." Andrew looks back over with a fond smile. "That you're the level head that steers my manic energy right, that you're far more valuable than anyone, especially me, gives you credit for, and that if they're going to waste their breath promoting Laura Howlett to the stars and back, why not actually use their time on someone who deserves it?" Andrew grins somewhat sheepishly at Danielle. "I...may have been less calm than I was just there."
Danielle sighs, shaking her head and setting her coffee on a nearby railing. "You may have been...but I'm glad you were. This means a lot to me, Andrew. Thank you. I love you." Danielle pulls Andrew down into a kiss, and some of the nearby crowd erupt in cheers and applause. She breaks the kiss, blushing bright red, and Andrew chuckles, gently bringing her back in. We fade to black on the couple embracing each other under the lights, two specks in a vast sea of humanity.
Well howdy there pardner.