Post by browne on Jul 29, 2008 20:33:31 GMT -5
Say What You Will kicks up on the P.A. system, signaling the arrival of Nathan Browne. The already pumped crowded pops to their feet once again as he makes his way onto the stage. As he comes out, it's very visible that something bothering or troubling him. Instead of his typical friendly gestures to wards the crowd, and his bright smile being shown, he's colder than ice. His face, emotionless. He continues down the ramp, ignoring the fans. They die down quickly, not knowing what to make of Nathan. He snatches a microphone off of the announcers table and hops up onto the side of the ring. Nate jumps over the top rope in typical fashion and takes his place at the center of the ring. His music fades out and he begins.
Micheal, Micheal, Micheal. I'm beginning to believe you think I'm nothing. I'm beginning to believe that you truly think I'm not important, or talented. I'm truly beginning to believe that I don't matter to you. Well, maybe I should matter to you. Let's do a quick rundown of our history, ok?
First, you approach me after my win at Mayday in the cockiest manner, thinking you're the best damn thing since sliced bread and your shit doesn't stink. We have our match at Overload and I DECAPITATE YOU. Next week you come back to me, "wah wah wahhh you beat me, no more shot at Jasta..." I, being the good man I am, offer a rematch, however this time give you stipulations and the match pick. You go on to challenge me to YOUR specialty, a tables match and say if I lose I must wear a clown wig and make-up for pretty much the rest of the year. Well, I throw out that if I win I want to cut your hair in any way I want. So, we lace up our boots and go at it again. This time...I beat your ass...AGAIN. This brings us to last week. You and Jasta vs Dru and I. Well, after Dru and I get our asses handed to us, Jasta pins me. You didn't. Jasta did. Thus far I've been pinned by the best of the best and that's it. You technically haven't beat me, yet I seem to be nothing. The rookie that came from nothing has beat the veterans ass down two times now and I'm STILL nothing? Pathetic, Micheal.
What REALLY pushes my damn buttons is when I approach you and ask how the hell you beat someone like Jasta but not me, you have your smug little comment "I let you win." Ladies and Gentlemen of New York, can I please have a BULLSHIT?
In response, the crowd screams...
BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT!
Thank you, folks. And let's see, Mike. I'm assuming you just let m bust you wide open and stain my fists with your blood, too? You, my friend, are a FOOL if you think I, along with the crowd, believe that. I'd expect a dumb ass to say that. So I guess that makes you a dumb ass, doesn't it?
So, tonight, right here in Madison Square Gardens, we go at it again. This time you can let me win all you want, because as soon as you let down your guard I'm going to chew you apart. Let me win and I won't only beat you, I'll give you the worst ass whooping of your life. Now, Micheal, I'm pissed. Now it's not just a wrestling match, it's a brawl.
Micheal, Micheal, Micheal. I'm beginning to believe you think I'm nothing. I'm beginning to believe that you truly think I'm not important, or talented. I'm truly beginning to believe that I don't matter to you. Well, maybe I should matter to you. Let's do a quick rundown of our history, ok?
First, you approach me after my win at Mayday in the cockiest manner, thinking you're the best damn thing since sliced bread and your shit doesn't stink. We have our match at Overload and I DECAPITATE YOU. Next week you come back to me, "wah wah wahhh you beat me, no more shot at Jasta..." I, being the good man I am, offer a rematch, however this time give you stipulations and the match pick. You go on to challenge me to YOUR specialty, a tables match and say if I lose I must wear a clown wig and make-up for pretty much the rest of the year. Well, I throw out that if I win I want to cut your hair in any way I want. So, we lace up our boots and go at it again. This time...I beat your ass...AGAIN. This brings us to last week. You and Jasta vs Dru and I. Well, after Dru and I get our asses handed to us, Jasta pins me. You didn't. Jasta did. Thus far I've been pinned by the best of the best and that's it. You technically haven't beat me, yet I seem to be nothing. The rookie that came from nothing has beat the veterans ass down two times now and I'm STILL nothing? Pathetic, Micheal.
What REALLY pushes my damn buttons is when I approach you and ask how the hell you beat someone like Jasta but not me, you have your smug little comment "I let you win." Ladies and Gentlemen of New York, can I please have a BULLSHIT?
In response, the crowd screams...
BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT!
Thank you, folks. And let's see, Mike. I'm assuming you just let m bust you wide open and stain my fists with your blood, too? You, my friend, are a FOOL if you think I, along with the crowd, believe that. I'd expect a dumb ass to say that. So I guess that makes you a dumb ass, doesn't it?
So, tonight, right here in Madison Square Gardens, we go at it again. This time you can let me win all you want, because as soon as you let down your guard I'm going to chew you apart. Let me win and I won't only beat you, I'll give you the worst ass whooping of your life. Now, Micheal, I'm pissed. Now it's not just a wrestling match, it's a brawl.