Post by Fauche on Jul 1, 2021 15:16:56 GMT -6
Chuckling to himself, Punk lifts his mic again to respond to his opponent.
Punk: That's funny. I could've sworn you'd promised me I was facing the "best version" of AJ Styles a few times already. Like when I practically had you beat coming off a few years of sitting on the couch, or when I out-performed you in the Rumble, or when I wasted you in a title match for a belt I wasn't even trying to win. You probably told Bray that he'd be squaring off against the "best version" of AJ Styles at Mania, and I'd bet that we saw that "best version" of you barely scrape past Old Man Bill at Backlash. Now what? We're all just supposed to hold our breath and wait for you to kick it up a notch one more time? Yep. Sure, pal.
Punk: Look, I really don't want to get in this whole thing again. I'm not just telling you that you're mentally stuck at one speed because I like the sound of my own voice. I mean, I do like the sound of my own voice, but that's not the point. What I'm saying, and have said ten times already, is that short of a life-altering wake-up call and massive overhaul of your attitude and philosophy towards the sport of pro-wrestling, there's only so far that "Phenomenal" natural talent is going to take ya. There's a glass ceiling over your head that you haven't even noticed while you're too busy trying to look down on everyone else. I could keep hammering that point home you could keep denying it, we could soak up every second of T.V. time until they finally ring that bell and let us settle it... but why bother? What's the point in wasting breath on you anymore?
The Samoan steps forward again.
Joe: Like what would be the point in addressing the hypocrisy of criticizing my being out here while you hide Slater and Rhino in the back and pretend like would have made it this far without them?
Punk: Oooh! Good question, Joe. We could do a deep dive on these tell-tale, textbook signals of insecurity.
Joe: Get to the bottom of why AJ here accepts the assistance of two career jobbers without ever admitting he needs it.
Punk: And how stupid it makes him look when he expects us not to notice.
Joe: Mmmhmmm.
Punk: Cause me? I'm not ashamed to hang out with Joe.
Joe: Likewise.
Punk: This is a partnerships. We're equals. Joe might not be an active member of the roster right now, but whenever he is, he's a straight up killer. It's a bloodbath, man. That's why I asked him to come in in the first place, because I needed a steady hand to navigate through all the bullshit. I get to focus on the in-ring work now - I handle the wrestling, Joe handles everything else. When the bell rings at Final Battle, I'll feel a lot more confident then I would otherwise knowing that Joe'll be watching and waiting should things somehow go sideways.
Joe: I'll be watching close. Real close.
The Samoan Submission Machine looks like he'd be downright giddy to get his arm around AJ's neck and quiet down the southerner for good, but he restrains himself as Punk goes on.
Punk: You act like I should be ashamed of that, but buddy, that's how this game is played now. I came back in all bright-eyed and bushy tailed, but it straight up isn't possible to work here without fighting dirty anymore. It would be dumb as hell to pretend otherwise - to diminish Joe's work by acting like I didn't need it or want it. And yeah, sure, in a perfect world we'd all play fair and be sportsmanlike but unlike you, I understand that I don't get paid to live in my own personal dreamland. Gotta make do with what's actually happening.
I look at that big picture, where I stand in it and who's holding the gold right in the middle of it all. Every angle, every opportunity, every option - I weigh them against each other and with every resource at my disposal exhausted, I bite down and do whatever it takes to get the job done. That's how I cleared out my bracket and that's how I'm going to beat you. Now sometimes... sometimes that looks like breaking a few rules. Other times, like this fight between us, well that requires some creativity. Pure Rules. Extraordinary measures for a special occasion. I'm willing to turn on a dime and flip the script when the moment calls for it.
It's one thing to say "I'll beat Bray Wyatt next time because I'm ready now". Mother fucker, I stay ready. I'm not getting distracted by the magic show or caught up in my own glory. I want that belt off the Clown and no matter what, I'm going to get the job done. You're all talk but the same outdated style. Whereas you can believe everything I say because I'm a good student and I show my work. Not to mention that as much as I learn from my own shortcomings, I learn twice as much from yours and everyone else's. I know why Goldberg lost you, I know why you lost to Goldberg, I know why I can confidently say that come Summerslam it'll be Punk against Wyatt instead of Orton. AJ, I'm always watching. I see it all and I'm ten steps ahead of this entire roster. You plebs and your Revolution are an old model, outshone and outperformed by our Renaissance.
Brooks points over AJ's shoulder, up towards the titantron.
Punk: Like the songs says, "The Dog Days are over..." Finally. Finally! Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinally I'm where I'm right where I want to be - stepping over the man who proudly claims ownership of this company, this brand and all the bullshit that comes with it - to move on and take the belt from the most overrated piece of work to call himself world champ since Larry Sweeney, and maybe even more than him. How and old, grizzled bastard like me is the most forward-thinking, enthusiastic and capable man to drag this company into its second decade is mind-boggling. I'd rather be at home, happily retired and at peace that this place was in good hands. But it's not. Its been in your hands, and Bray Wyatt's, and rather than watch another half-baked rookie fail at taking the ball from ya, I'll just do it myself. One last crippling loss for Styles, one more G1 Climax win for Punk followed by the most important world title reign the UWF has ever seen. That's the future that you can't see with your head so far up your own ass. That's where we're going.
He pats his partner on the shoulder, brushes past AJ and steps through the ropes to leave the ring. Samoa Joe lingers a little longer, staying back to make sure AJ doesn't try anything before following Punk down to the floor and up the ramp. A fiercely mixed reaction follows the Renaissance boys up the ramp - half a crowd eager to see AJ go down and maybe curious to explore that promised change, while the other half worries about what that future might look like.
Punk: That's funny. I could've sworn you'd promised me I was facing the "best version" of AJ Styles a few times already. Like when I practically had you beat coming off a few years of sitting on the couch, or when I out-performed you in the Rumble, or when I wasted you in a title match for a belt I wasn't even trying to win. You probably told Bray that he'd be squaring off against the "best version" of AJ Styles at Mania, and I'd bet that we saw that "best version" of you barely scrape past Old Man Bill at Backlash. Now what? We're all just supposed to hold our breath and wait for you to kick it up a notch one more time? Yep. Sure, pal.
Punk: Look, I really don't want to get in this whole thing again. I'm not just telling you that you're mentally stuck at one speed because I like the sound of my own voice. I mean, I do like the sound of my own voice, but that's not the point. What I'm saying, and have said ten times already, is that short of a life-altering wake-up call and massive overhaul of your attitude and philosophy towards the sport of pro-wrestling, there's only so far that "Phenomenal" natural talent is going to take ya. There's a glass ceiling over your head that you haven't even noticed while you're too busy trying to look down on everyone else. I could keep hammering that point home you could keep denying it, we could soak up every second of T.V. time until they finally ring that bell and let us settle it... but why bother? What's the point in wasting breath on you anymore?
The Samoan steps forward again.
Joe: Like what would be the point in addressing the hypocrisy of criticizing my being out here while you hide Slater and Rhino in the back and pretend like would have made it this far without them?
Punk: Oooh! Good question, Joe. We could do a deep dive on these tell-tale, textbook signals of insecurity.
Joe: Get to the bottom of why AJ here accepts the assistance of two career jobbers without ever admitting he needs it.
Punk: And how stupid it makes him look when he expects us not to notice.
Joe: Mmmhmmm.
Punk: Cause me? I'm not ashamed to hang out with Joe.
Joe: Likewise.
Punk: This is a partnerships. We're equals. Joe might not be an active member of the roster right now, but whenever he is, he's a straight up killer. It's a bloodbath, man. That's why I asked him to come in in the first place, because I needed a steady hand to navigate through all the bullshit. I get to focus on the in-ring work now - I handle the wrestling, Joe handles everything else. When the bell rings at Final Battle, I'll feel a lot more confident then I would otherwise knowing that Joe'll be watching and waiting should things somehow go sideways.
Joe: I'll be watching close. Real close.
The Samoan Submission Machine looks like he'd be downright giddy to get his arm around AJ's neck and quiet down the southerner for good, but he restrains himself as Punk goes on.
Punk: You act like I should be ashamed of that, but buddy, that's how this game is played now. I came back in all bright-eyed and bushy tailed, but it straight up isn't possible to work here without fighting dirty anymore. It would be dumb as hell to pretend otherwise - to diminish Joe's work by acting like I didn't need it or want it. And yeah, sure, in a perfect world we'd all play fair and be sportsmanlike but unlike you, I understand that I don't get paid to live in my own personal dreamland. Gotta make do with what's actually happening.
I look at that big picture, where I stand in it and who's holding the gold right in the middle of it all. Every angle, every opportunity, every option - I weigh them against each other and with every resource at my disposal exhausted, I bite down and do whatever it takes to get the job done. That's how I cleared out my bracket and that's how I'm going to beat you. Now sometimes... sometimes that looks like breaking a few rules. Other times, like this fight between us, well that requires some creativity. Pure Rules. Extraordinary measures for a special occasion. I'm willing to turn on a dime and flip the script when the moment calls for it.
It's one thing to say "I'll beat Bray Wyatt next time because I'm ready now". Mother fucker, I stay ready. I'm not getting distracted by the magic show or caught up in my own glory. I want that belt off the Clown and no matter what, I'm going to get the job done. You're all talk but the same outdated style. Whereas you can believe everything I say because I'm a good student and I show my work. Not to mention that as much as I learn from my own shortcomings, I learn twice as much from yours and everyone else's. I know why Goldberg lost you, I know why you lost to Goldberg, I know why I can confidently say that come Summerslam it'll be Punk against Wyatt instead of Orton. AJ, I'm always watching. I see it all and I'm ten steps ahead of this entire roster. You plebs and your Revolution are an old model, outshone and outperformed by our Renaissance.
Brooks points over AJ's shoulder, up towards the titantron.
Punk: Like the songs says, "The Dog Days are over..." Finally. Finally! Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinally I'm where I'm right where I want to be - stepping over the man who proudly claims ownership of this company, this brand and all the bullshit that comes with it - to move on and take the belt from the most overrated piece of work to call himself world champ since Larry Sweeney, and maybe even more than him. How and old, grizzled bastard like me is the most forward-thinking, enthusiastic and capable man to drag this company into its second decade is mind-boggling. I'd rather be at home, happily retired and at peace that this place was in good hands. But it's not. Its been in your hands, and Bray Wyatt's, and rather than watch another half-baked rookie fail at taking the ball from ya, I'll just do it myself. One last crippling loss for Styles, one more G1 Climax win for Punk followed by the most important world title reign the UWF has ever seen. That's the future that you can't see with your head so far up your own ass. That's where we're going.
He pats his partner on the shoulder, brushes past AJ and steps through the ropes to leave the ring. Samoa Joe lingers a little longer, staying back to make sure AJ doesn't try anything before following Punk down to the floor and up the ramp. A fiercely mixed reaction follows the Renaissance boys up the ramp - half a crowd eager to see AJ go down and maybe curious to explore that promised change, while the other half worries about what that future might look like.