"Kiss My Ass." (Cruiser Cup Day 3)
Jan 18, 2021 9:11:08 GMT -5
bloodiedfox and Jesse Jamester like this
Post by Joseph Mack on Jan 18, 2021 9:11:08 GMT -5
Joseph Mack sits on a steel chair, taping his wrists, otherwise dressed for his match. He lifts his head, looking into the camera as he tears the tape, smoothing it down before finally speaking.
“Gotta admit Dane, you’ve been occupying the bulk of my thoughts the last couple weeks, ever since I took you up on your open challenge. Chance at the belt, of course this is gonna be my pressing concern, right? And one thing I’ve been asking myself: how do you describe Eric Dane? One word, as much as you can sum any living, breathing, three dimensional human being? And I think I got it figured out.
Calculating. You look for every angle, how to get to your desired outcome with the best risk/reward ratio. You look for advantages, you create advantages for yourself, you don’t leap until you’ve looked at everything you can, til you’ve got your plan A, plan B, plan fuckin’ Z. And I respect that. Not everyone’s gonna love the way you do it, using your goof troop to create those advantages, get down in the mud so you can walk to victory on their backs, but ain’t nobody gonna shame you outta doin’ it your way. My question is… are you sure you did the math right this time, Eric? You sure you didn’t forget to carry a one, didn't drop a decimal somewhere?”
Mack leans forward in his chair, flexing his big hands as he rests his elbows on his knees.
“See, I’ve been looking at it from both sides and I gotta say, I’ve got way less to worry about than you. Or if we wanna go back to the math analogy, I’ve got way fewer variables to calculate. See, my end of it is pretty clear: beat Eric Dane plus deal with Syndicate equals victory. It ain’t easy, but if nothing else it’s a pretty simple equation. Your end, though? Oh man, just think of all the possibilities!
You gotta worry about Desolation wanting some payback on Steel and Jamester, for example. Or the New Untouchables deciding they aren’t gonna take those catering shenanigans laying down. Sure, maybe no one puts hands on you in those situations, but all of a sudden you might not be the main focus in the eyes of your crew.”
Mack smiles grimly as he continues.
“And then there’s Timeless, Lord Dominicus, Dylan Black - shit man, just imagine the list of people in NPW, in all of XHF who hate your fuckin’ guts. Maybe none of them give a shit about me winning, but I bet the list of people who’d love to watch you lose is even longer than your list of career accomplishments, and plenty of them would have zero compunction regarding getting their hands dirty to see that happen.”
Mack stands, starting to pace a little.
“And then there’s your own crew. Scott Steel, dangerous piece of work but how certain can you be that he won’t get distracted again, won’t get played and that it won’t happen at the worst fuckin’ time again, eh? The Aurochs, who is he loyal to, you or Steel? And Jesse Jamester… that man might dress like a lizard but he’s pure shark and you know it. You think he isn’t looking for the right time to try and take that belt for his own, put himself in a better chance to win it? And Dane, when he smells blood in the water he’s not gonna be able to help himself, he’s gonna attack.”
Mack stops pacing, rolling out his shoulders.
“See, I know what I’ve got to face, but you? There’s just so many possibilities, isn’t there? And if not tonight, you know sooner or later you’re gonna have to deal with all that shit I mentioned and more. And maybe, maybe I’m the kinda quietly sneaky son of a bitch to spend the last week and a half calling as many of those other sons a bitches up, lining up a goddamn army of inglorious bastards who wanna watch you fail. Maybe there’s a squadron of men who hate you and yours ready to stick their nose in your business and maybe they’re ready to do it while you’re dealing with me. Like you said, not the biggest or most technically gifted you’ve ever faced, but still a 6’4” 266 pound raw fuckin’ wrecking machine whose only goal on this particular day of his life is to fuck you up and take your gold.”
Mack slowly grins.
“Or maybe I’m full of shit, maybe I haven’t spoken to a single one of those motherfuckers and I’m walking down there with every intention of doing all the work by my own damn self and if anyone else so much as sneezes in your direction, that’s nothing of my doing. But you gotta wonder, do you really know me well enough to be sure either way? Am I Scott Steel but stupider, like you said? Am I a secretly sneaky bastard trying to stack the deck himself? Or am I just being a prick, trying to make you wonder about all the different ways tonight can go down?”
Mack shrugs, still smiling.
“I’ll see you in the ring Dane. As far as who else you and I see out there tonight, well… guess we won’t know til it’s time, eh? Oh, and in case it wasn’t incredibly clear, on the question of kissing the ring: like a man once said when offering an open challenge for his title… kiss my ass.”
Mack starts for the door before pausing, turning back and grabbing the steel chair, folding it shut before carrying it out of the locker room with him as the shot fades out.
“Gotta admit Dane, you’ve been occupying the bulk of my thoughts the last couple weeks, ever since I took you up on your open challenge. Chance at the belt, of course this is gonna be my pressing concern, right? And one thing I’ve been asking myself: how do you describe Eric Dane? One word, as much as you can sum any living, breathing, three dimensional human being? And I think I got it figured out.
Calculating. You look for every angle, how to get to your desired outcome with the best risk/reward ratio. You look for advantages, you create advantages for yourself, you don’t leap until you’ve looked at everything you can, til you’ve got your plan A, plan B, plan fuckin’ Z. And I respect that. Not everyone’s gonna love the way you do it, using your goof troop to create those advantages, get down in the mud so you can walk to victory on their backs, but ain’t nobody gonna shame you outta doin’ it your way. My question is… are you sure you did the math right this time, Eric? You sure you didn’t forget to carry a one, didn't drop a decimal somewhere?”
Mack leans forward in his chair, flexing his big hands as he rests his elbows on his knees.
“See, I’ve been looking at it from both sides and I gotta say, I’ve got way less to worry about than you. Or if we wanna go back to the math analogy, I’ve got way fewer variables to calculate. See, my end of it is pretty clear: beat Eric Dane plus deal with Syndicate equals victory. It ain’t easy, but if nothing else it’s a pretty simple equation. Your end, though? Oh man, just think of all the possibilities!
You gotta worry about Desolation wanting some payback on Steel and Jamester, for example. Or the New Untouchables deciding they aren’t gonna take those catering shenanigans laying down. Sure, maybe no one puts hands on you in those situations, but all of a sudden you might not be the main focus in the eyes of your crew.”
Mack smiles grimly as he continues.
“And then there’s Timeless, Lord Dominicus, Dylan Black - shit man, just imagine the list of people in NPW, in all of XHF who hate your fuckin’ guts. Maybe none of them give a shit about me winning, but I bet the list of people who’d love to watch you lose is even longer than your list of career accomplishments, and plenty of them would have zero compunction regarding getting their hands dirty to see that happen.”
Mack stands, starting to pace a little.
“And then there’s your own crew. Scott Steel, dangerous piece of work but how certain can you be that he won’t get distracted again, won’t get played and that it won’t happen at the worst fuckin’ time again, eh? The Aurochs, who is he loyal to, you or Steel? And Jesse Jamester… that man might dress like a lizard but he’s pure shark and you know it. You think he isn’t looking for the right time to try and take that belt for his own, put himself in a better chance to win it? And Dane, when he smells blood in the water he’s not gonna be able to help himself, he’s gonna attack.”
Mack stops pacing, rolling out his shoulders.
“See, I know what I’ve got to face, but you? There’s just so many possibilities, isn’t there? And if not tonight, you know sooner or later you’re gonna have to deal with all that shit I mentioned and more. And maybe, maybe I’m the kinda quietly sneaky son of a bitch to spend the last week and a half calling as many of those other sons a bitches up, lining up a goddamn army of inglorious bastards who wanna watch you fail. Maybe there’s a squadron of men who hate you and yours ready to stick their nose in your business and maybe they’re ready to do it while you’re dealing with me. Like you said, not the biggest or most technically gifted you’ve ever faced, but still a 6’4” 266 pound raw fuckin’ wrecking machine whose only goal on this particular day of his life is to fuck you up and take your gold.”
Mack slowly grins.
“Or maybe I’m full of shit, maybe I haven’t spoken to a single one of those motherfuckers and I’m walking down there with every intention of doing all the work by my own damn self and if anyone else so much as sneezes in your direction, that’s nothing of my doing. But you gotta wonder, do you really know me well enough to be sure either way? Am I Scott Steel but stupider, like you said? Am I a secretly sneaky bastard trying to stack the deck himself? Or am I just being a prick, trying to make you wonder about all the different ways tonight can go down?”
Mack shrugs, still smiling.
“I’ll see you in the ring Dane. As far as who else you and I see out there tonight, well… guess we won’t know til it’s time, eh? Oh, and in case it wasn’t incredibly clear, on the question of kissing the ring: like a man once said when offering an open challenge for his title… kiss my ass.”
Mack starts for the door before pausing, turning back and grabbing the steel chair, folding it shut before carrying it out of the locker room with him as the shot fades out.