Post by freak on Feb 4, 2010 1:38:11 GMT -6
Back to San Diego we go and Jack Clinton is sitting on the roof of his home. He has his hands over his head like he has a headache.
James, James, James...did you ever hear of the phrase, "you talk a lot but you're not saying anything"? Because that's what I get out of you. The same tired shit that I've heard from different people at different times in my career, meaning the same in the long run- a huge amount of nothing. But then again, that's never stopped you before, has it?
I listen to you talking to God...or at least pretending to do so. What exactly is that supposed to do for me? Am I supposed to care that you allegedly talk to the Almighty? Am I supposed to be impressed that you'd consider yourself to be close to Jesus? Well, let me tell you something. If that's your intent, not only do you miss the mark, you fly about twenty feet over it.
Now, keep this in mind...I got so bored from watching you pretend to be the second coming that I feel asleep. The only reason I'm up here on my roof now is because I needed to get out of the house once I woke up. I made sure I watched the rest of your little rant before I left, though, so don't think I'm not coming to this gunfight unarmed. Oh, on the contrary. As a matter of fact, you gave me enough ammo to shoot the hell out of you, reload, and shoot everything else within a five-mile radius.
Alright, let's get started. First, we're gonna revisit the comments I made concerning what happened in UHW nearly two years ago and your insistence that I tell you what it matters. Well, let me reiterate...you are the one that decided to cut and run and not face me. You ducked and ducked and ducked. What does it matter? It matters in the fact that now I'm getting the chance to do what I should've been able to do to you two years ago...but couldn't because you decided you'd rather run away like the coward we all know you are.
You also want to know why I claim I'm better than you. Well, quite plainly and simply, James, I am. There is no one in this company or the wrestling world who honestly believes you're anything close to my equal. It doesn't matter that Vincent Matthews couldn't beat me without resorting to illegal means. It proves my point. No one can beat me in this company unless they resort to underhanded and illegal tactics...which I'm sure you've become well aware of and I'm sure you're considering using. Because it may just be your only chance.
You then decide to call me a footnote...well, let me break this to you, because you obviously don't get something. I am the living history right now, James. Every move I make, every match I win, every title I hold is part of history. I live forever because of it. And yes, for lack of a better term, so do you. But it makes you live on. It makes you remembered. It doesn't matter how many people remember if you held a world title or not. Quite simply, you hold it, you become immortal. And guess what that means? Yep.
You want to talk about how you don't fear me? Then why were you so afraid to face me again that you ran away from the company that was paying you to be its top dog? To be its world champion on more than one occasion? I'll tell you what it was, James...it was FEAR. You were afraid that I was going to do something to you so devastating, so mind-numbingly harsh that it might shatter whatever mystique you thought you'd built up over the years. And you couldn't deal with it. Were you expecting, though, it to come back and bite you? Because that's what's about to happen.
And maybe you're right. You didn't come back to SNW to be a footnote. No, you know what? I'll give you that. You aren't here to be a footnote. You're just here to be an inconvenience to me. You're here to be a statistic...a victim. It's all your destiny is right now and it's time you started facing it down.
You know who you remind me of, James? You remind me an awful lot of Viper and the former SINdicate. In so much as they did nothing but talk about what they would do to me. All they did was run me down and run me down and run me down...and now, thanks in large part to me, that stable is splintered, half of its members don't even work here anymore, and most of whoever's left is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Why? Because I made it so.
That, I think, is a concept you either can't grasp or are just ignorant of. You've seen me a lot over the last four years. You know the kind of person I am. You know the kind of match I wrestle. You know more than anything else what I'm capable of doing once I get in there. And yet you still want to act like you're the favorite. That February 6, 2010, the night before Super Bowl XLIV, is going to be the night that you reclaim whatever glory you think it is that you have or had at one point.
The problem is, James, is that not only are you going after a man you've been ducking for most of the last year and change, you're going at him at the wrong place at the wrong time. While you're out pretending to be Jesus Effing Christ and claiming that you're the cock of the block, I've been sitting back seething...and waiting...and waiting...for an opportunity to just lash out at everything that's gone wrong over the last six months. Everything that was looking so good yet was sabotage by a collective of people. All I need is an excuse, James...and you're giving me one.
When we step in the ring you're going to find out the hard way that you're not what you say you are...that you're going to play the Apollo Creed to my Ivan Drago, so to speak, this Saturday night back in the Lone Star State. A place you claim to hate so much yet can't resist the American greenbacks you're getting working there...hey you want to talk about Mexicans? Why don't you go down to Mexico and wrestle if you hate Texas so much?
Anyway...you talk about how February 6, 2010 is going to be the night you proved you were better than me. But James, no matter what, you will never be a better wrestler than me. You will never be a better wrestler than anyone I've faced. You will never be more than an enhancer in my eyes. And if you're not careful, February 6, 2010 is not going to be the night you prove yourself...it's going to be the night that your career dies in front of the very people you hate.
Hate on, Jackson...but when reality cockslaps you upside the head don't come crying to any of us. Especially not me. I'll be too busy prepping for Alex Daniels...if reality is what it seems.
Clinton climbs down and goes back into the house.
James, James, James...did you ever hear of the phrase, "you talk a lot but you're not saying anything"? Because that's what I get out of you. The same tired shit that I've heard from different people at different times in my career, meaning the same in the long run- a huge amount of nothing. But then again, that's never stopped you before, has it?
I listen to you talking to God...or at least pretending to do so. What exactly is that supposed to do for me? Am I supposed to care that you allegedly talk to the Almighty? Am I supposed to be impressed that you'd consider yourself to be close to Jesus? Well, let me tell you something. If that's your intent, not only do you miss the mark, you fly about twenty feet over it.
Now, keep this in mind...I got so bored from watching you pretend to be the second coming that I feel asleep. The only reason I'm up here on my roof now is because I needed to get out of the house once I woke up. I made sure I watched the rest of your little rant before I left, though, so don't think I'm not coming to this gunfight unarmed. Oh, on the contrary. As a matter of fact, you gave me enough ammo to shoot the hell out of you, reload, and shoot everything else within a five-mile radius.
Alright, let's get started. First, we're gonna revisit the comments I made concerning what happened in UHW nearly two years ago and your insistence that I tell you what it matters. Well, let me reiterate...you are the one that decided to cut and run and not face me. You ducked and ducked and ducked. What does it matter? It matters in the fact that now I'm getting the chance to do what I should've been able to do to you two years ago...but couldn't because you decided you'd rather run away like the coward we all know you are.
You also want to know why I claim I'm better than you. Well, quite plainly and simply, James, I am. There is no one in this company or the wrestling world who honestly believes you're anything close to my equal. It doesn't matter that Vincent Matthews couldn't beat me without resorting to illegal means. It proves my point. No one can beat me in this company unless they resort to underhanded and illegal tactics...which I'm sure you've become well aware of and I'm sure you're considering using. Because it may just be your only chance.
You then decide to call me a footnote...well, let me break this to you, because you obviously don't get something. I am the living history right now, James. Every move I make, every match I win, every title I hold is part of history. I live forever because of it. And yes, for lack of a better term, so do you. But it makes you live on. It makes you remembered. It doesn't matter how many people remember if you held a world title or not. Quite simply, you hold it, you become immortal. And guess what that means? Yep.
You want to talk about how you don't fear me? Then why were you so afraid to face me again that you ran away from the company that was paying you to be its top dog? To be its world champion on more than one occasion? I'll tell you what it was, James...it was FEAR. You were afraid that I was going to do something to you so devastating, so mind-numbingly harsh that it might shatter whatever mystique you thought you'd built up over the years. And you couldn't deal with it. Were you expecting, though, it to come back and bite you? Because that's what's about to happen.
And maybe you're right. You didn't come back to SNW to be a footnote. No, you know what? I'll give you that. You aren't here to be a footnote. You're just here to be an inconvenience to me. You're here to be a statistic...a victim. It's all your destiny is right now and it's time you started facing it down.
You know who you remind me of, James? You remind me an awful lot of Viper and the former SINdicate. In so much as they did nothing but talk about what they would do to me. All they did was run me down and run me down and run me down...and now, thanks in large part to me, that stable is splintered, half of its members don't even work here anymore, and most of whoever's left is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Why? Because I made it so.
That, I think, is a concept you either can't grasp or are just ignorant of. You've seen me a lot over the last four years. You know the kind of person I am. You know the kind of match I wrestle. You know more than anything else what I'm capable of doing once I get in there. And yet you still want to act like you're the favorite. That February 6, 2010, the night before Super Bowl XLIV, is going to be the night that you reclaim whatever glory you think it is that you have or had at one point.
The problem is, James, is that not only are you going after a man you've been ducking for most of the last year and change, you're going at him at the wrong place at the wrong time. While you're out pretending to be Jesus Effing Christ and claiming that you're the cock of the block, I've been sitting back seething...and waiting...and waiting...for an opportunity to just lash out at everything that's gone wrong over the last six months. Everything that was looking so good yet was sabotage by a collective of people. All I need is an excuse, James...and you're giving me one.
When we step in the ring you're going to find out the hard way that you're not what you say you are...that you're going to play the Apollo Creed to my Ivan Drago, so to speak, this Saturday night back in the Lone Star State. A place you claim to hate so much yet can't resist the American greenbacks you're getting working there...hey you want to talk about Mexicans? Why don't you go down to Mexico and wrestle if you hate Texas so much?
Anyway...you talk about how February 6, 2010 is going to be the night you proved you were better than me. But James, no matter what, you will never be a better wrestler than me. You will never be a better wrestler than anyone I've faced. You will never be more than an enhancer in my eyes. And if you're not careful, February 6, 2010 is not going to be the night you prove yourself...it's going to be the night that your career dies in front of the very people you hate.
Hate on, Jackson...but when reality cockslaps you upside the head don't come crying to any of us. Especially not me. I'll be too busy prepping for Alex Daniels...if reality is what it seems.
Clinton climbs down and goes back into the house.
