Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Mar 20, 2017 4:58:05 GMT
God, doesn't it sting, Cable?
Doesn't it sting when you've been on top of the world, riding the crest of a wave that's been built through a combination of talent, chicanery, and good old-fashioned underhanded scumbaggery...and have that all snatched away from you? And aren't you just angry about this all, Cable? About the injustice of what happened to you? About how Laura Howlett tore the Imperial Championship from your grasp, when you thought you had it won through the blood, sweat, and tears you had given? Doesn't it just...eat at you?
I bet it eats at Dre Cutler and Falcon too.
See, Cable...I'd feel worse about what happened at Danger Zone, I really would. But I've seen you benefit from the House of Howlett's tactics time and again, talking about how you're the Best in the World. And now you're angry because the tactics that benefited you for so long got used against you? Laura Howlett chose Noah Field as her new champion, and you had to be sacrificed on the altar for it to happen.
You can be angry about it. Hell, I'd be angry if I were you. But understand that you're going to be the only one who has any sympathy for you. Maybe that doesn't bother you, maybe you're okay with still being hated for everything you've done. But if you really want to live up to that title of Best in the World, you had better take this opportunity to grow. Learn from what's happened. Take the bass out of your voice, in other words. If you complain and whine about this, you won't get the sympathy you're looking for. You'll get scorn, just like you're getting right now. Because all that complaining is going to boil down to one simple sentence...
Mommy decided she loved her other son more, and you're throwing a tantrum.
Hell, even up through the end of the pay-per-view I was going to feel some sympathy for you. After all, the Imperial Title is still the Imperial Title. We always want it. But then the news came out. Cable Arcane, arrested right after we went off the air. What the hell is going on with you, man? The state of your life...you know what? Maybe the ring isn't the right place for you right now. Maybe you need to take some time, get your head right, and think about why your life's come to this point. I can spitball all I want, but...at the end of the day, we both know you're not going to do that.
You're going to go on believing that you've done nothing wrong, because in your mind you haven't. You had something wrong done to you, and you're going to correct it by ripping what you think is yours back out of Noah Field's hands. You're not going to step back and breathe. You're going to plow into Sacrifice with vengeance in your mind, and when you do...you're going to meet me. And while you're on a mission of retribution, I'm on a mission of redemption.
You hate Noah Field. I care about Spike Kane. I care about Warren Kane. I will not let you overwhelm me and look past me because you think I'm not good enough...because I know what'll happen when you lose. Let's look at it like this, Cable. If one loss where you're cheated does this much to reshape your world...what happens when I beat you, in the center of that ring, no assistance needed, clean as a sheet? Just think about what that's going to do to you.
High Stakes may be next week, but it's been a roll of the dice every time I've stepped back into the ring since Spike powerbombed me off that cage. And I'm going in there with a man who throws backbreakers like almost no other. Any reasonable man would walk away...but I'm a lot like you, Cable, more than either of us are likely willing to admit. And I'm not walking away. I've got a job I have to do, the same as you. The only thing I have up on you is righteousness. The only thing I have is that I know I'm trying to do what's right. And that may not be much...but it's all I've ever really had.
And you know what? Sometimes, that's enough. And right now...it'll have to be.
Andrew walks out of the IWF Performance Center locker room, cracking his neck. On the wall, a whiteboard hangs, detailing the day's class schedule. Under a clock that shows 11:25, the board reads, in simple block letters, the following:
Andrew grins to himself at the notice, jogging towards the back room that holds the exhibition ring. He tosses a brief wave to Emma Danielson in the second training ring, leading a mixed class of men and women as she practices with a sparring partner. Emma offers a brief nod as she sees Andrew, not breaking her instruction stride.
"Alright, now I'm going to need someone to demonstrate what we've learned about heavy strikes. Tell you what, I've got two people in mind. Astrid, Elise, come on in and show us what you've got."
A tall Nordic woman, easily over six feet, steps through the ropes with a broad grin on her face. Across from her, a woman of below-average height, built like a tank, enters. Emma steps out to the apron, and the two women begin circling each other. Andrew grins, nodding, and watches the two for a moment longer before heading into the backroom just as the blonde finds herself rocked by a haymaker right, only to use the momentum to come off the ropes with a Superman punch.
Andrew lets out a sharp whistle as he sees the impact, stepping through and looking at the exhibition ring. Four wrestlers are waiting near the ring for him, all standing ready. Among them are Andrew's semi-frequent sparring partner, Isaac. Isaac is keeping to the back of the group, however, a grin on his face as he watches the others. Andrew clears his throat, a smile on his face.
"Gentlemen. You're all here because you want a chance to test yourselves. Well, it's your lucky day. Not only am I obligated as...well, you all saw the ceremony...to push myself constantly, but I'm still nursing my ribs and I haven't warmed up today. So, to whoever feels brave enough to take the first crack...you're getting the best shot at putting me down. Want that feather in your cap? Come and try me."
One of the men, a Latino man in MMA gear with a smirk on his face, steps up, clapping his grappling glove-clad hands together and beckoning him on.
"You want someone to take you on? Alright, you got it. Yeah, I'll fight you. Deus Meu, I ain't gonna feel bad about it either."
Andrew grins, pulling his shirt off and sliding into the ring. The other man jumps into the ring, rolling his wrists, and beckons Andrew on. Andrew looks over to Isaac, cocking an eyebrow.
"Would you mind ringing the bell?"
Isaac walks over, scooping up the timekeeper's hammer, and duly rings the bell at ringside. As he does, the Brazilian man charges at Andrew, shooting for a double-leg takedown. Andrew deftly sprawls, converting the block into a front facelock and spinning it out into a gator roll. The man spins out as Andrew rolls through with him, scrambling up half a step only to deliver a snapping elbow drop to Andrew's lower back. Andrew bucks in pain, and the shorter man hits the ropes, coming off with an attempted knee drop. Andrew rolls to one side, getting to a knee, and the man gets back to his feet, clutching his kneecap.
Andrew bursts out of the crouch in a charge, leaping into a low dropkick to the bad knee. As the Brazilian man crashes to the canvas, Andrew quickly shoots in for a kneebar. The man sits up, delivering a headbutt to Adnrew's midsection, and this buys enough time for a follow-up European uppercut. Andrew staggers back, and the man charges, only to be caught in a snapping Arn Anderson-style spinebuster from Andrew. Andrew quickly gets to his feet, stepping through, and whips his partner into the Sharpshooter. The hold is only secured for a moment before the submission is signaled, and Isaac rings the bell again, laughing and clutching his ribs.
"Ohh man...here is your winner by submission, Andrew "Gotcha" Jacobsen! Ohh, Renaldo was spittin' some hot shit there, and then...WHAM! Boy, I told you I'd been in the ring with him! I TOLD you! Aww, shit..."
Andrew gets to his feet, nodding and holding his back slightly. He cracks his neck with a smile, offering his defeated opponent a hand. Renaldo takes it, grunting slightly as the anger is written across his face. Andrew's voice is friendly, but firm as he counsels the shorter man.
"You let what I told you inform you too much, and got too eager for the kill. Keep your gameplan in mind, and don't let the enemy bait you in."
Andrew pats him on his back, and Renaldo drops down, rolling out of the ring and making for the corner to sit down. Andrew sighs, shaking his head, and turns back to the assembled crowd, a grin on his face.
"Alright. Who's next?"
The crowd uneasily looks among each other, and we fade to back on Andrew's grinning face.
After all that...I didn't hate you, Cable as champion. I disliked you. I disliked what you've done as champion and how you did it. I dislike that you call yourself the Best in the World. But I didn't hate you. You haven't earned hate. Few people do from me. You've got to be worth it to really get me to hate you. And hating you wasn't worth it.
Now make no mistake...that only extends to your conduct as IWF Champion. What you did to Nighthawk? That night in White Sands? He's not the only one who remembers. You did that all at Laura's beck and call, and you did it with a song in your heart. You are a corrupt, loathsome human being, and no amount of someone else stabbing you in the back will change that. And if you were someone who I cared about at all, I might hold back a little. But I don't...so I won't.
This is me getting a few things out of my system. This is me purging that hate before I have to fight a man I want to bring back to the light. So I'll leave my hate with you. I'll let you bring that to your fight with Noah...and if I'm lucky, you two will implode in the center of that ring and we can get back to what makes the Imperial Wrestling Federation the single biggest wrestling promotion on God's green earth: honest, decent competition.
Bring your best, oh Best in the World. I'll bring mine. And I promise you...the better man will win.
I know I will.
Doesn't it sting when you've been on top of the world, riding the crest of a wave that's been built through a combination of talent, chicanery, and good old-fashioned underhanded scumbaggery...and have that all snatched away from you? And aren't you just angry about this all, Cable? About the injustice of what happened to you? About how Laura Howlett tore the Imperial Championship from your grasp, when you thought you had it won through the blood, sweat, and tears you had given? Doesn't it just...eat at you?
I bet it eats at Dre Cutler and Falcon too.
See, Cable...I'd feel worse about what happened at Danger Zone, I really would. But I've seen you benefit from the House of Howlett's tactics time and again, talking about how you're the Best in the World. And now you're angry because the tactics that benefited you for so long got used against you? Laura Howlett chose Noah Field as her new champion, and you had to be sacrificed on the altar for it to happen.
You can be angry about it. Hell, I'd be angry if I were you. But understand that you're going to be the only one who has any sympathy for you. Maybe that doesn't bother you, maybe you're okay with still being hated for everything you've done. But if you really want to live up to that title of Best in the World, you had better take this opportunity to grow. Learn from what's happened. Take the bass out of your voice, in other words. If you complain and whine about this, you won't get the sympathy you're looking for. You'll get scorn, just like you're getting right now. Because all that complaining is going to boil down to one simple sentence...
Mommy decided she loved her other son more, and you're throwing a tantrum.
Hell, even up through the end of the pay-per-view I was going to feel some sympathy for you. After all, the Imperial Title is still the Imperial Title. We always want it. But then the news came out. Cable Arcane, arrested right after we went off the air. What the hell is going on with you, man? The state of your life...you know what? Maybe the ring isn't the right place for you right now. Maybe you need to take some time, get your head right, and think about why your life's come to this point. I can spitball all I want, but...at the end of the day, we both know you're not going to do that.
You're going to go on believing that you've done nothing wrong, because in your mind you haven't. You had something wrong done to you, and you're going to correct it by ripping what you think is yours back out of Noah Field's hands. You're not going to step back and breathe. You're going to plow into Sacrifice with vengeance in your mind, and when you do...you're going to meet me. And while you're on a mission of retribution, I'm on a mission of redemption.
You hate Noah Field. I care about Spike Kane. I care about Warren Kane. I will not let you overwhelm me and look past me because you think I'm not good enough...because I know what'll happen when you lose. Let's look at it like this, Cable. If one loss where you're cheated does this much to reshape your world...what happens when I beat you, in the center of that ring, no assistance needed, clean as a sheet? Just think about what that's going to do to you.
High Stakes may be next week, but it's been a roll of the dice every time I've stepped back into the ring since Spike powerbombed me off that cage. And I'm going in there with a man who throws backbreakers like almost no other. Any reasonable man would walk away...but I'm a lot like you, Cable, more than either of us are likely willing to admit. And I'm not walking away. I've got a job I have to do, the same as you. The only thing I have up on you is righteousness. The only thing I have is that I know I'm trying to do what's right. And that may not be much...but it's all I've ever really had.
And you know what? Sometimes, that's enough. And right now...it'll have to be.
Andrew walks out of the IWF Performance Center locker room, cracking his neck. On the wall, a whiteboard hangs, detailing the day's class schedule. Under a clock that shows 11:25, the board reads, in simple block letters, the following:
11:30-12:30
Ring 1: Grappling Basics with Lawrence
Ring 2: Intermediate Striking with Emma
Ring 3: Open
Exhibition Ring: Open Sparring with Guest Trainer Andrew Jacobsen
Ring 1: Grappling Basics with Lawrence
Ring 2: Intermediate Striking with Emma
Ring 3: Open
Exhibition Ring: Open Sparring with Guest Trainer Andrew Jacobsen
Andrew grins to himself at the notice, jogging towards the back room that holds the exhibition ring. He tosses a brief wave to Emma Danielson in the second training ring, leading a mixed class of men and women as she practices with a sparring partner. Emma offers a brief nod as she sees Andrew, not breaking her instruction stride.
"Alright, now I'm going to need someone to demonstrate what we've learned about heavy strikes. Tell you what, I've got two people in mind. Astrid, Elise, come on in and show us what you've got."
A tall Nordic woman, easily over six feet, steps through the ropes with a broad grin on her face. Across from her, a woman of below-average height, built like a tank, enters. Emma steps out to the apron, and the two women begin circling each other. Andrew grins, nodding, and watches the two for a moment longer before heading into the backroom just as the blonde finds herself rocked by a haymaker right, only to use the momentum to come off the ropes with a Superman punch.
Andrew lets out a sharp whistle as he sees the impact, stepping through and looking at the exhibition ring. Four wrestlers are waiting near the ring for him, all standing ready. Among them are Andrew's semi-frequent sparring partner, Isaac. Isaac is keeping to the back of the group, however, a grin on his face as he watches the others. Andrew clears his throat, a smile on his face.
"Gentlemen. You're all here because you want a chance to test yourselves. Well, it's your lucky day. Not only am I obligated as...well, you all saw the ceremony...to push myself constantly, but I'm still nursing my ribs and I haven't warmed up today. So, to whoever feels brave enough to take the first crack...you're getting the best shot at putting me down. Want that feather in your cap? Come and try me."
One of the men, a Latino man in MMA gear with a smirk on his face, steps up, clapping his grappling glove-clad hands together and beckoning him on.
"You want someone to take you on? Alright, you got it. Yeah, I'll fight you. Deus Meu, I ain't gonna feel bad about it either."
Andrew grins, pulling his shirt off and sliding into the ring. The other man jumps into the ring, rolling his wrists, and beckons Andrew on. Andrew looks over to Isaac, cocking an eyebrow.
"Would you mind ringing the bell?"
Isaac walks over, scooping up the timekeeper's hammer, and duly rings the bell at ringside. As he does, the Brazilian man charges at Andrew, shooting for a double-leg takedown. Andrew deftly sprawls, converting the block into a front facelock and spinning it out into a gator roll. The man spins out as Andrew rolls through with him, scrambling up half a step only to deliver a snapping elbow drop to Andrew's lower back. Andrew bucks in pain, and the shorter man hits the ropes, coming off with an attempted knee drop. Andrew rolls to one side, getting to a knee, and the man gets back to his feet, clutching his kneecap.
Andrew bursts out of the crouch in a charge, leaping into a low dropkick to the bad knee. As the Brazilian man crashes to the canvas, Andrew quickly shoots in for a kneebar. The man sits up, delivering a headbutt to Adnrew's midsection, and this buys enough time for a follow-up European uppercut. Andrew staggers back, and the man charges, only to be caught in a snapping Arn Anderson-style spinebuster from Andrew. Andrew quickly gets to his feet, stepping through, and whips his partner into the Sharpshooter. The hold is only secured for a moment before the submission is signaled, and Isaac rings the bell again, laughing and clutching his ribs.
"Ohh man...here is your winner by submission, Andrew "Gotcha" Jacobsen! Ohh, Renaldo was spittin' some hot shit there, and then...WHAM! Boy, I told you I'd been in the ring with him! I TOLD you! Aww, shit..."
Andrew gets to his feet, nodding and holding his back slightly. He cracks his neck with a smile, offering his defeated opponent a hand. Renaldo takes it, grunting slightly as the anger is written across his face. Andrew's voice is friendly, but firm as he counsels the shorter man.
"You let what I told you inform you too much, and got too eager for the kill. Keep your gameplan in mind, and don't let the enemy bait you in."
Andrew pats him on his back, and Renaldo drops down, rolling out of the ring and making for the corner to sit down. Andrew sighs, shaking his head, and turns back to the assembled crowd, a grin on his face.
"Alright. Who's next?"
The crowd uneasily looks among each other, and we fade to back on Andrew's grinning face.
After all that...I didn't hate you, Cable as champion. I disliked you. I disliked what you've done as champion and how you did it. I dislike that you call yourself the Best in the World. But I didn't hate you. You haven't earned hate. Few people do from me. You've got to be worth it to really get me to hate you. And hating you wasn't worth it.
Now make no mistake...that only extends to your conduct as IWF Champion. What you did to Nighthawk? That night in White Sands? He's not the only one who remembers. You did that all at Laura's beck and call, and you did it with a song in your heart. You are a corrupt, loathsome human being, and no amount of someone else stabbing you in the back will change that. And if you were someone who I cared about at all, I might hold back a little. But I don't...so I won't.
This is me getting a few things out of my system. This is me purging that hate before I have to fight a man I want to bring back to the light. So I'll leave my hate with you. I'll let you bring that to your fight with Noah...and if I'm lucky, you two will implode in the center of that ring and we can get back to what makes the Imperial Wrestling Federation the single biggest wrestling promotion on God's green earth: honest, decent competition.
Bring your best, oh Best in the World. I'll bring mine. And I promise you...the better man will win.
I know I will.
Well howdy there pardner.