Post by The Dragon on Nov 16, 2022 12:00:32 GMT -5
Part 1 - Maroon
And I chose you
The one I was dancin' with
In New York, no shoes
Looked up at the sky and it was
The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me
And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was-
“FUCKKKKKK!”
Isn’t it ironic that Taylor Swift, of all people…my celebrity crush since hearing Fearless for the first time in 2008…became the reason I was slamming my hand against the stereo system, purely in my haste to shut it off?
Maroon was my favourite song on the new album, until the lyrics brought *that* memory flooding back. It took a while to sink in, but when it did? Well…it hit me like a freight train.
I danced with a barefooted girl in New York once…on a roof terrace, of a bar, on Pier 17. My arms wrapped around her, her face buried in my chest, flowing chestnut curls covering up the stains on my shirt, the result of both of us having a little too much to drink, I’m not sure who spilled what. We didn’t care who was watching us, if they even were…as in that moment there was just her, and I, and nothing else.
Joanie.
I’m sure we all have our fair share of first date stories, right?
After all, whether you like it or not, dating boils down to little more than a numbers game. That’s if you’re doing it properly. Not too selective, not too judgemental…just putting yourself out there, seeing what comes. That’s always been my style. The fact of it is…most first dates aren’t memorable, for one reason or another. Maybe there just isn’t a spark…or someone, usually the guy, is only in it for one thing. They may succeed, they may not, but when that little box is checked, one way or another? They’ve drawn a line under it and moved on, it doesn’t go further. Overall, the success rate? Usually not that high.
In truth, I don’t remember a lot about my first dates. That may sound almost cold but really? I’m sure my female companions felt much the same about me. I’m sure one or two happened to see me on TV or something in later life, wondering how different things could have been, but even then I don’t expect many saw us not getting together as a big loss. You just have to keep rolling those dice, shake off the disappointments right there on the spot, and move on to the next one.
Some, of course, stuck in the memory. Those woeful stories, nights that were memorable for all of the wrong reasons of course, but these were the positives. The romances you’d tell your kids about, even if they weren’t all happy memories. The ones that got away, the girlfriends, the wifes, the fiancees. The ones you built stories with…built lives with…
Except…One, in particular, which keeps coming back to haunt me.
Especially now she’s gone.
When I met Joanie? The timing was all wrong. I was a few short weeks out of a broken engagement, finding myself in the place that started it all. New York City. It’s where I was in town to wrestle a show, where I’d met Amber, and where our relationship had first blossomed into nearly three years together. She was going to be my ‘one’...the girl I asked to take my last name. For the first six months I’d take every show I could around New York to spend time with her, that was until she moved with me to Florida. If I weren’t such a stickler for maintaining prior obligations? I wouldn’t have even been near this place again, too many memories, and JJ…well she was on the run from her husband so, safe to say neither one of us was ready to be starting something new. Yet…we had a mutual friend, who insisted. Literally booked a table at one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, knowing I could afford to foot the bill, and gave us both a few hours of notice to get there. Thanks Tony.
We ate dessert before main…and then skipped the main altogether. We opened up about why neither one of us should have been on a date that night…and we laughed. We drank until we could barely stand, and we laughed some more. We danced what was left of that whole night away, and while we would probably never be each other’s person?
I thought I’d made a friend for life.
That was until after a while, the replies stopped coming. Her phone, disconnected. Her apartment, emptied. Her best friend Tony, the reason we’d gone on that date in the first place? Was none-the-wiser. No forwarding address, no alternative phone number, nothing. It could have been an elaborate ruse of course, but the look of concern on Antonia’s face suggested she really wasn’t fucking with me on this one. That girl was a lot of things…but a liar wasn’t one of them.
I cursed myself for thinking of her. Those dark curls swaying against a spangly black dress as we walked back to the rental car neither one of us was in a fit state to be driving. The sounds of my whooping and hollering to go faster as she nearly totaled a six-figure rental car maybe thirty times over. I relive that night more times than I care to admit, and I hate that I was wasting even a second’s thought on her…on ANYONE who clearly didn’t value my place in their life enough to stay in touch. I wish that she hadn’t…fixed me…
…It would be that much easier, if only I didn’t owe her so much…
Joanie pulled me out of the darkness. In one single night, I saw myself again. The multi-time World champion…The distinctly average actor, working hard to become an above-average one…the guy with a million stories to tell…the guy who wants to write a million more…a man who loves hard and fights for the ones he loves even harder…a born winner, a serial over-achiever…
She helped me realise I could win again. Be great again. Find happiness again.
I guess I needed to know she found happiness too.
Whether she wanted me there, or not.
Tony gave me the one thing she knew. A name. She nodded and pointed and said “Yep that’s the guy” and that was all I needed.
Chester Hamilton. Chief Financial Officer. Bigshot looking guy, three-piece tailored suit on the “Our People” page. Salt and pepper stubble and cold, dark eyes. He looked like the calculating type and that fit the bill. I remember what she told me, although it wasn’t much, we tended to want to stick to happier topics but her words stuck in my mind and it painted such a picture. So controlling, so…narcissistic.
I saw shades of myself in myself. A younger me. A more selfish me. The Mark who didn't care about the cost to human life as long as HE was okay. The guy who didn’t give a damn who he fucked over if it suited HIS narrative. I hated that part of myself and I swallow it down so hard when it threatens to come back again. I remember how dangerous, how damaging…
Fuck…
She went back to THAT? By choice?
I don't think so.
"Hey Google, give me directions to the airport…"
I had to get her out of there. Now.
TBC…
Part 2 - Not on my level…
And it's been awhile
Since I can say that I wasn't addicted
And it's been awhile
Since I can say I love myself as well-
*Start Instagram Live feed*
Hey guys, how’s it going!?! So I’m just moving through the airport here at Miami International. It feels weird getting back out on the road again after mainly taking bookings around Florida lately…but for those of you who know me from my time in Sin City Wrestling, I’m headed out a few days early to VEGAS BABY to catch up with a few friends from my old stomping ground. Let me just get myself into the Lounge here…
*Mark’s face on the camera is replaced by the glare of the yellow-white strip lights of the American Express Centurion Lounge reception area. A muffled conversation can be heard, as a credit card is passed over the top of us and passed back*
Hey, how’s it going? Yeah, here you go…thank you so much…
*With entrance gained, the phone is scooped back up, bringing Mark’s face back into view as he walks inside, glancing around the environment looking for a good place to set up camp*
Sorry about that…looks like it’s pretty empty in here soooo minimal weird looks towards the British dude talking to himself on his phone. Anyways, I figure this is a good time to talk about who I’m facing for my first appearance back in Vegas in what…six months? It’s been a while…and since my opponent couldn't beat the self-appointed King of the Midcard, I guess they want to start me off easy, huh?
Funny, that moniker should have been mine.
Cross is a midcard guy. He’s too undersized. We don't want some Cruiserweight holding the World Heavyweight title, nobody wants to see that.
Yet the bigger they were, the harder they’d fall…and I’d bring down so many I couldn’t be ignored.
Cross is a midcard guy; he doesn't have the same draw as a lot of the big stars, he spends too long working on his wrestling, not enough on his brand.
And yet my name is sung from the rafters, my shirts litter the audience, my posters go up on bedroom walls…and don’t even get me started on Japan…
Cross is a great guy to have on the roster, he’ll mentor the rookies, help bring them along.
I can…and I do…until there comes a time they get thrown to me like lambs to the slaughter. In the ring there’s no friends, there’s no master and student, the only lessons to be had come the hard way. Talent is great but talent alone? It can’t outsmart experience. It can’t out-endure hard work. It can’t out-wrestle bigger talent. I build them up now…I’m happy to do my part…but I’ll probably have to go dismantle them again later.
When you look back over my history? I am far from a midcard guy, no matter how much those behind the scenes want to keep me there. There are reasons for it of course: my own stubbornness, my own determination, my own desire to be the very best that I can be…and then the hunger to gain another 10% on top of that out of pure, unadulterated hard work. I could easily be that King of the Midcard guy, enjoying a kind of semi-retirement in…I don’t know, Florida, Hawaii? Except, my work ethic never quite lets me do that. My life is all about accomplishing little goals, taking every tiny opportunity and I always ask, as I tick another from the list, why stop there?
After all…Flynn does call himself the greatest of all time in the same breath. Maybe that’s one to put to the test in the future, who knows…GOAT status in one match? I didn’t know it was that easy.
The truth is we're in a results-based business, and we always will be. I can't see a single situation where we wouldn't be, not really. That's not entertainment, that's not sport, that's not the kind of thing you can package up and sell to anyone. And you know what, as long as that's the case, as long as I can step in the ring and go toe-to-toe with a guy? Well the only inevitability is that I WILL be fighting myself to the top of that pyramid. I’ve made a career out of disappointing back offices, surprising fans, and defeating everything you put in front of me.
I cannot be denied. Only slowed down. Never stopped.
And I guess that brings us to Samantha Voxx…0-2 on her record Samantha Voxx. “Maybe I don’t belong with names like KPN and Jason Cashe, maybe I’m in over my head…” Samantha Voxx, as I quote from around a month or so and let me tell you, Miss Voxx…if you think you were in over your head before? Well you haven’t seen anything yet.
You know what? I’d have actually liked you to use your powers out there. Might have made it interesting for me, as well as for the fans in the audience, who doesn’t love a real firework display? Although…I guess defeats, straight-up? Those only set your own career back. A mortal vs immortal defeat on your record? Well that probably sets witchcraft back another 150 years or so, I figure you gals know how to use YouTube these days, right? These things live long in the memory and well…I don’t think either of us want the guilt of THAT hanging over us now, do we?
Don’t get me wrong, it may seem like I’m joking but I actually love what you do.
I respect what you stand for. I admire that you’re a role model and you know what? The fact you could probably turn me inside out, or something? Kinda hot…but that also scares the shit out of me to be completely honest. I don’t think I need to do this, but let me remind you…
…there’s no cauldrons. No broomsticks, no spells. There’s ropes, and a mat, and a referee…the only magick on display is how hard and how fast my foot can connect with your face…and the only incantations worth a damn are one…two…three.
You’re stepping into my sanctum now.
I’m sure you’ve done it already, take a look at the roster, the names, the achievements, done the World Series of Wrestling thing all over again. I’m sure you’re worried about drowning. You can wax lyrical all you want about the incredible talent, you can laud over the exceptional careers that the guys who put this all together, James Raven and Chris Page have had in their own right even. You can understand how they’ve assembled some of the best of the best to be here and I bet you’re in awe of it all in a way. I get it, after all that was my creative inspiration for my little video package on the last Monday Night Brawl, but I hope you got the real message out of that.
I’m probably the most dangerous one of them all.
Every single member of this roster has a target on their back. Every single member of this roster is in my cross hairs. Every single member of this roster will go down swinging, if they're lucky. Every single member of this roster will move out of my way, or I'll make them move.
Is that because I hate everyone equally?
No.
It’s because I fucking love winning.
Let me tell you something. Every one of my biggest achievements, every single one of them…it was nothing personal. I had a job to do and a goal in mind. Give me an opponent, pay me my appearance fee, I’ll find a way to win. An assassin, the very definition of a contract killer. There is no motion, there is only success.
There’s no potion that can protect you from my vitriol.
Everyone has to start somewhere, and it’s unfortunate that I have to start with you, dear Samantha. I take every opponent on their merits and despite your record here, you have plenty of upside. I don’t see you as an easy target, as a pushover, as a free mark on my scorecard. It’s not like that. I’ve run the Pythagoras, I’ve meticulously gone over the numbers and you know what they’re telling me?
The only magic show on display? Is going to be mine. How does he hit that hard, it’s like defying the laws of physics? How does this guy not get tired, it’s like he’s got lungs of steel! How does he bound up to the top rope with such confidence, even though he has a terrible fear of heights!?
Confidence.
Do you remember, as a child, you might dress up as Spiderman, right? You’d run around telling everyone you were Spiderman. You’d jump and climb and swing like you were Spiderman. In that young, child-like state, before the realities of the world and adult problems started weighing you down, you believed wholeheartedly that was who you were.
You acted a whole different way, for a while.
The only time it changed? Was when you took the costume off.
That’s a powerful thing to harness.
Now…I’ve heard it said that *behind the scenes* Mark Cross is one of the nicest guys in wrestling. Note the emphasis there. Something happens to me, a lot like that kid on Halloween, when I lace up those boots…when I hear the crowd chant my name…when I step through those ropes…when that bell rings. Something transformative. A switch that suddenly flips in my mind when it’s time to go to work.
You know what that means?
It means I’m not going to be fucking nice to you Samantha.
21st November 2022. If any of my fans from the old days of SCW are in the area, and feel like coming along to the CCPE Arena? Well I’d love to see your faces and hear your voices but let me warn you…it won’t be anything you haven’t seen before. The dismantling of another opponent. My arm raised in the air in victory. The quest to sit at the top of the pyramid…and the sweet sweet taste of success. Thanks guys!
*Stream ends.*
And I chose you
The one I was dancin' with
In New York, no shoes
Looked up at the sky and it was
The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me
And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was-
“FUCKKKKKK!”
Isn’t it ironic that Taylor Swift, of all people…my celebrity crush since hearing Fearless for the first time in 2008…became the reason I was slamming my hand against the stereo system, purely in my haste to shut it off?
Maroon was my favourite song on the new album, until the lyrics brought *that* memory flooding back. It took a while to sink in, but when it did? Well…it hit me like a freight train.
I danced with a barefooted girl in New York once…on a roof terrace, of a bar, on Pier 17. My arms wrapped around her, her face buried in my chest, flowing chestnut curls covering up the stains on my shirt, the result of both of us having a little too much to drink, I’m not sure who spilled what. We didn’t care who was watching us, if they even were…as in that moment there was just her, and I, and nothing else.
Joanie.
I’m sure we all have our fair share of first date stories, right?
After all, whether you like it or not, dating boils down to little more than a numbers game. That’s if you’re doing it properly. Not too selective, not too judgemental…just putting yourself out there, seeing what comes. That’s always been my style. The fact of it is…most first dates aren’t memorable, for one reason or another. Maybe there just isn’t a spark…or someone, usually the guy, is only in it for one thing. They may succeed, they may not, but when that little box is checked, one way or another? They’ve drawn a line under it and moved on, it doesn’t go further. Overall, the success rate? Usually not that high.
In truth, I don’t remember a lot about my first dates. That may sound almost cold but really? I’m sure my female companions felt much the same about me. I’m sure one or two happened to see me on TV or something in later life, wondering how different things could have been, but even then I don’t expect many saw us not getting together as a big loss. You just have to keep rolling those dice, shake off the disappointments right there on the spot, and move on to the next one.
Some, of course, stuck in the memory. Those woeful stories, nights that were memorable for all of the wrong reasons of course, but these were the positives. The romances you’d tell your kids about, even if they weren’t all happy memories. The ones that got away, the girlfriends, the wifes, the fiancees. The ones you built stories with…built lives with…
Except…One, in particular, which keeps coming back to haunt me.
Especially now she’s gone.
When I met Joanie? The timing was all wrong. I was a few short weeks out of a broken engagement, finding myself in the place that started it all. New York City. It’s where I was in town to wrestle a show, where I’d met Amber, and where our relationship had first blossomed into nearly three years together. She was going to be my ‘one’...the girl I asked to take my last name. For the first six months I’d take every show I could around New York to spend time with her, that was until she moved with me to Florida. If I weren’t such a stickler for maintaining prior obligations? I wouldn’t have even been near this place again, too many memories, and JJ…well she was on the run from her husband so, safe to say neither one of us was ready to be starting something new. Yet…we had a mutual friend, who insisted. Literally booked a table at one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, knowing I could afford to foot the bill, and gave us both a few hours of notice to get there. Thanks Tony.
We ate dessert before main…and then skipped the main altogether. We opened up about why neither one of us should have been on a date that night…and we laughed. We drank until we could barely stand, and we laughed some more. We danced what was left of that whole night away, and while we would probably never be each other’s person?
I thought I’d made a friend for life.
That was until after a while, the replies stopped coming. Her phone, disconnected. Her apartment, emptied. Her best friend Tony, the reason we’d gone on that date in the first place? Was none-the-wiser. No forwarding address, no alternative phone number, nothing. It could have been an elaborate ruse of course, but the look of concern on Antonia’s face suggested she really wasn’t fucking with me on this one. That girl was a lot of things…but a liar wasn’t one of them.
I cursed myself for thinking of her. Those dark curls swaying against a spangly black dress as we walked back to the rental car neither one of us was in a fit state to be driving. The sounds of my whooping and hollering to go faster as she nearly totaled a six-figure rental car maybe thirty times over. I relive that night more times than I care to admit, and I hate that I was wasting even a second’s thought on her…on ANYONE who clearly didn’t value my place in their life enough to stay in touch. I wish that she hadn’t…fixed me…
…It would be that much easier, if only I didn’t owe her so much…
Joanie pulled me out of the darkness. In one single night, I saw myself again. The multi-time World champion…The distinctly average actor, working hard to become an above-average one…the guy with a million stories to tell…the guy who wants to write a million more…a man who loves hard and fights for the ones he loves even harder…a born winner, a serial over-achiever…
She helped me realise I could win again. Be great again. Find happiness again.
I guess I needed to know she found happiness too.
Whether she wanted me there, or not.
Tony gave me the one thing she knew. A name. She nodded and pointed and said “Yep that’s the guy” and that was all I needed.
Chester Hamilton. Chief Financial Officer. Bigshot looking guy, three-piece tailored suit on the “Our People” page. Salt and pepper stubble and cold, dark eyes. He looked like the calculating type and that fit the bill. I remember what she told me, although it wasn’t much, we tended to want to stick to happier topics but her words stuck in my mind and it painted such a picture. So controlling, so…narcissistic.
I saw shades of myself in myself. A younger me. A more selfish me. The Mark who didn't care about the cost to human life as long as HE was okay. The guy who didn’t give a damn who he fucked over if it suited HIS narrative. I hated that part of myself and I swallow it down so hard when it threatens to come back again. I remember how dangerous, how damaging…
Fuck…
She went back to THAT? By choice?
I don't think so.
"Hey Google, give me directions to the airport…"
I had to get her out of there. Now.
TBC…
Part 2 - Not on my level…
And it's been awhile
Since I can say that I wasn't addicted
And it's been awhile
Since I can say I love myself as well-
*Start Instagram Live feed*
Hey guys, how’s it going!?! So I’m just moving through the airport here at Miami International. It feels weird getting back out on the road again after mainly taking bookings around Florida lately…but for those of you who know me from my time in Sin City Wrestling, I’m headed out a few days early to VEGAS BABY to catch up with a few friends from my old stomping ground. Let me just get myself into the Lounge here…
*Mark’s face on the camera is replaced by the glare of the yellow-white strip lights of the American Express Centurion Lounge reception area. A muffled conversation can be heard, as a credit card is passed over the top of us and passed back*
Hey, how’s it going? Yeah, here you go…thank you so much…
*With entrance gained, the phone is scooped back up, bringing Mark’s face back into view as he walks inside, glancing around the environment looking for a good place to set up camp*
Sorry about that…looks like it’s pretty empty in here soooo minimal weird looks towards the British dude talking to himself on his phone. Anyways, I figure this is a good time to talk about who I’m facing for my first appearance back in Vegas in what…six months? It’s been a while…and since my opponent couldn't beat the self-appointed King of the Midcard, I guess they want to start me off easy, huh?
Funny, that moniker should have been mine.
Cross is a midcard guy. He’s too undersized. We don't want some Cruiserweight holding the World Heavyweight title, nobody wants to see that.
Yet the bigger they were, the harder they’d fall…and I’d bring down so many I couldn’t be ignored.
Cross is a midcard guy; he doesn't have the same draw as a lot of the big stars, he spends too long working on his wrestling, not enough on his brand.
And yet my name is sung from the rafters, my shirts litter the audience, my posters go up on bedroom walls…and don’t even get me started on Japan…
Cross is a great guy to have on the roster, he’ll mentor the rookies, help bring them along.
I can…and I do…until there comes a time they get thrown to me like lambs to the slaughter. In the ring there’s no friends, there’s no master and student, the only lessons to be had come the hard way. Talent is great but talent alone? It can’t outsmart experience. It can’t out-endure hard work. It can’t out-wrestle bigger talent. I build them up now…I’m happy to do my part…but I’ll probably have to go dismantle them again later.
When you look back over my history? I am far from a midcard guy, no matter how much those behind the scenes want to keep me there. There are reasons for it of course: my own stubbornness, my own determination, my own desire to be the very best that I can be…and then the hunger to gain another 10% on top of that out of pure, unadulterated hard work. I could easily be that King of the Midcard guy, enjoying a kind of semi-retirement in…I don’t know, Florida, Hawaii? Except, my work ethic never quite lets me do that. My life is all about accomplishing little goals, taking every tiny opportunity and I always ask, as I tick another from the list, why stop there?
After all…Flynn does call himself the greatest of all time in the same breath. Maybe that’s one to put to the test in the future, who knows…GOAT status in one match? I didn’t know it was that easy.
The truth is we're in a results-based business, and we always will be. I can't see a single situation where we wouldn't be, not really. That's not entertainment, that's not sport, that's not the kind of thing you can package up and sell to anyone. And you know what, as long as that's the case, as long as I can step in the ring and go toe-to-toe with a guy? Well the only inevitability is that I WILL be fighting myself to the top of that pyramid. I’ve made a career out of disappointing back offices, surprising fans, and defeating everything you put in front of me.
I cannot be denied. Only slowed down. Never stopped.
And I guess that brings us to Samantha Voxx…0-2 on her record Samantha Voxx. “Maybe I don’t belong with names like KPN and Jason Cashe, maybe I’m in over my head…” Samantha Voxx, as I quote from around a month or so and let me tell you, Miss Voxx…if you think you were in over your head before? Well you haven’t seen anything yet.
You know what? I’d have actually liked you to use your powers out there. Might have made it interesting for me, as well as for the fans in the audience, who doesn’t love a real firework display? Although…I guess defeats, straight-up? Those only set your own career back. A mortal vs immortal defeat on your record? Well that probably sets witchcraft back another 150 years or so, I figure you gals know how to use YouTube these days, right? These things live long in the memory and well…I don’t think either of us want the guilt of THAT hanging over us now, do we?
Don’t get me wrong, it may seem like I’m joking but I actually love what you do.
I respect what you stand for. I admire that you’re a role model and you know what? The fact you could probably turn me inside out, or something? Kinda hot…but that also scares the shit out of me to be completely honest. I don’t think I need to do this, but let me remind you…
…there’s no cauldrons. No broomsticks, no spells. There’s ropes, and a mat, and a referee…the only magick on display is how hard and how fast my foot can connect with your face…and the only incantations worth a damn are one…two…three.
You’re stepping into my sanctum now.
I’m sure you’ve done it already, take a look at the roster, the names, the achievements, done the World Series of Wrestling thing all over again. I’m sure you’re worried about drowning. You can wax lyrical all you want about the incredible talent, you can laud over the exceptional careers that the guys who put this all together, James Raven and Chris Page have had in their own right even. You can understand how they’ve assembled some of the best of the best to be here and I bet you’re in awe of it all in a way. I get it, after all that was my creative inspiration for my little video package on the last Monday Night Brawl, but I hope you got the real message out of that.
I’m probably the most dangerous one of them all.
Every single member of this roster has a target on their back. Every single member of this roster is in my cross hairs. Every single member of this roster will go down swinging, if they're lucky. Every single member of this roster will move out of my way, or I'll make them move.
Is that because I hate everyone equally?
No.
It’s because I fucking love winning.
Let me tell you something. Every one of my biggest achievements, every single one of them…it was nothing personal. I had a job to do and a goal in mind. Give me an opponent, pay me my appearance fee, I’ll find a way to win. An assassin, the very definition of a contract killer. There is no motion, there is only success.
There’s no potion that can protect you from my vitriol.
Everyone has to start somewhere, and it’s unfortunate that I have to start with you, dear Samantha. I take every opponent on their merits and despite your record here, you have plenty of upside. I don’t see you as an easy target, as a pushover, as a free mark on my scorecard. It’s not like that. I’ve run the Pythagoras, I’ve meticulously gone over the numbers and you know what they’re telling me?
The only magic show on display? Is going to be mine. How does he hit that hard, it’s like defying the laws of physics? How does this guy not get tired, it’s like he’s got lungs of steel! How does he bound up to the top rope with such confidence, even though he has a terrible fear of heights!?
Confidence.
Do you remember, as a child, you might dress up as Spiderman, right? You’d run around telling everyone you were Spiderman. You’d jump and climb and swing like you were Spiderman. In that young, child-like state, before the realities of the world and adult problems started weighing you down, you believed wholeheartedly that was who you were.
You acted a whole different way, for a while.
The only time it changed? Was when you took the costume off.
That’s a powerful thing to harness.
Now…I’ve heard it said that *behind the scenes* Mark Cross is one of the nicest guys in wrestling. Note the emphasis there. Something happens to me, a lot like that kid on Halloween, when I lace up those boots…when I hear the crowd chant my name…when I step through those ropes…when that bell rings. Something transformative. A switch that suddenly flips in my mind when it’s time to go to work.
You know what that means?
It means I’m not going to be fucking nice to you Samantha.
21st November 2022. If any of my fans from the old days of SCW are in the area, and feel like coming along to the CCPE Arena? Well I’d love to see your faces and hear your voices but let me warn you…it won’t be anything you haven’t seen before. The dismantling of another opponent. My arm raised in the air in victory. The quest to sit at the top of the pyramid…and the sweet sweet taste of success. Thanks guys!
*Stream ends.*
