Post by freak on Oct 4, 2010 20:18:39 GMT -6
We return to Jack Clinton in San Antonio.
I'm starting to become convinced of something that I was hoping wasn't true. Because ever since our hopefully soon-to-be-former President Myke Rhines gave Robert Ravencroft an undeserved Texas Championship match against me, I thought that maybe he'd take it seriously. That there perhaps was some honor inside him and that he wasn't a sniveling little rat looking for something that he wouldn't get under normal circumstances. That he actually may have been worthy of being Texas Heavyweight Champion.
But instead, for all the bravado he portrayed, for all the annoyance he caused, and for everything he did, he's suddenly decided to crawl into a hole and die. Now sure, that would be a smart thing for him to do- after all, he hasn't done anything else that might make me consider him a threat, which he really needs to do- but not at this point in time. Not when he's the alleged number one contender to the very championship that resides around my waist. And not when more deserving wrestlers were shoved out of the way so Myke Rhines could have his little man in the match.
I mean, going through all that trouble before was annoying. But ignoring my statements completely? That's one of the biggest displays of out and out disrespect that anybody's ever shown me. You claim you're gonna be champion? Have enough balls to come out and say something, then! Stop leaving me flapping in the fucking wind and make yourself look good! Pull your mouth off Rhines' ass cheeks and make yourself seem like a man! You're just proving me right!
The less you talk the more you make it seem like you're nothing more than a coward. Useless. That the Bad Blood Championship is somehow less and less and less valued because it's around the waist of a useless coward. A man who thinks he's better than everyone just because they can't stand to be around him for more than 10 seconds. Maybe they were right about you. You don't deserve to be in a wrestling ring. You don't deserve to be a champion. Not if you're going to conduct yourself in a manner like that.
You know what I did, Robert, when I first got a title shot? I made my case to be champion. I told everybody why I deserved a title shot. I told everyone what I was going to do as champion. I didn't sit on my ass in a locker room somewhere thinking that the title was going to be handed to me by the president of the company. I didn't think that just because I had something going for me it automatically meant that I was the next one to hold the title.
I don't understand why people like you are still in the wrestling business, Robert, and quite frankly I don't want to know. You've been spoiled over most of the last ten years, with people being hired by various companies basically right off the street. You haven't had to work for a damn thing in your life and just because you have a cool name or a hook that you've stolen from bigger, badder, and better wrestlers over the years it instantly gives you credibility. Meanwhile, people like me had to work and work and work to get where we were.
I know you weren't paying attention to anything I said. I know you still think that you're gonna force Versus Vince to throw in the towel and that you think you're gonna win and become Texas Heavyweight Champion. I know no matter what I say you still think you're the better wrestler, the best wrestler in this company, and that when Natural Selection is over you're going to be the Texas Heavyweight Champion.
Well, not only is that not going to happen, but you've also given me just that much more motivation. Did you ever see the movie Taken? There's a scene in that film where Liam Neeson has a man tied to a chair and hooked up to a light, making it into a makeshift electric chair. And every time Neeson wants answers, the man spits in his face. So he walks over to the light and turns it on. And leaves it on a little longer. Eventually, he gets so tired of the charade that even when he gets the answer he wants, he just leaves the light on as he exits and lets fate be his guide.
That's what I plan on doing now. Forget about your sister throwing in the towel. Forget about that ending the match. The only way you're walking out of the Gordietorium with my Texas Heavyweight Championship is if I don't show up and somehow have to forfeit the title. And if I DO show up, I'm going to make sure that not only do you not leave the building with the Texas Heavyweight Championship...
but it may require a miracle...some sort of outside force...to allow you to just leave standing.
Jack walks away. FTB.
I'm starting to become convinced of something that I was hoping wasn't true. Because ever since our hopefully soon-to-be-former President Myke Rhines gave Robert Ravencroft an undeserved Texas Championship match against me, I thought that maybe he'd take it seriously. That there perhaps was some honor inside him and that he wasn't a sniveling little rat looking for something that he wouldn't get under normal circumstances. That he actually may have been worthy of being Texas Heavyweight Champion.
But instead, for all the bravado he portrayed, for all the annoyance he caused, and for everything he did, he's suddenly decided to crawl into a hole and die. Now sure, that would be a smart thing for him to do- after all, he hasn't done anything else that might make me consider him a threat, which he really needs to do- but not at this point in time. Not when he's the alleged number one contender to the very championship that resides around my waist. And not when more deserving wrestlers were shoved out of the way so Myke Rhines could have his little man in the match.
I mean, going through all that trouble before was annoying. But ignoring my statements completely? That's one of the biggest displays of out and out disrespect that anybody's ever shown me. You claim you're gonna be champion? Have enough balls to come out and say something, then! Stop leaving me flapping in the fucking wind and make yourself look good! Pull your mouth off Rhines' ass cheeks and make yourself seem like a man! You're just proving me right!
The less you talk the more you make it seem like you're nothing more than a coward. Useless. That the Bad Blood Championship is somehow less and less and less valued because it's around the waist of a useless coward. A man who thinks he's better than everyone just because they can't stand to be around him for more than 10 seconds. Maybe they were right about you. You don't deserve to be in a wrestling ring. You don't deserve to be a champion. Not if you're going to conduct yourself in a manner like that.
You know what I did, Robert, when I first got a title shot? I made my case to be champion. I told everybody why I deserved a title shot. I told everyone what I was going to do as champion. I didn't sit on my ass in a locker room somewhere thinking that the title was going to be handed to me by the president of the company. I didn't think that just because I had something going for me it automatically meant that I was the next one to hold the title.
I don't understand why people like you are still in the wrestling business, Robert, and quite frankly I don't want to know. You've been spoiled over most of the last ten years, with people being hired by various companies basically right off the street. You haven't had to work for a damn thing in your life and just because you have a cool name or a hook that you've stolen from bigger, badder, and better wrestlers over the years it instantly gives you credibility. Meanwhile, people like me had to work and work and work to get where we were.
I know you weren't paying attention to anything I said. I know you still think that you're gonna force Versus Vince to throw in the towel and that you think you're gonna win and become Texas Heavyweight Champion. I know no matter what I say you still think you're the better wrestler, the best wrestler in this company, and that when Natural Selection is over you're going to be the Texas Heavyweight Champion.
Well, not only is that not going to happen, but you've also given me just that much more motivation. Did you ever see the movie Taken? There's a scene in that film where Liam Neeson has a man tied to a chair and hooked up to a light, making it into a makeshift electric chair. And every time Neeson wants answers, the man spits in his face. So he walks over to the light and turns it on. And leaves it on a little longer. Eventually, he gets so tired of the charade that even when he gets the answer he wants, he just leaves the light on as he exits and lets fate be his guide.
That's what I plan on doing now. Forget about your sister throwing in the towel. Forget about that ending the match. The only way you're walking out of the Gordietorium with my Texas Heavyweight Championship is if I don't show up and somehow have to forfeit the title. And if I DO show up, I'm going to make sure that not only do you not leave the building with the Texas Heavyweight Championship...
but it may require a miracle...some sort of outside force...to allow you to just leave standing.
Jack walks away. FTB.
