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The silence is deafening.
Colt Crawford, a man who has been unable to keep his mouth shut since entering this company, he's now suddenly very, very quiet.
Shamed, yet again, by another loss to Saber. Just as Saber always falls in defeat to me, so too does Colt to Saber.
That pretty much sums up the current pecking order of the three of us to this day, no?
Which explains why nobody, not a single body, believes that next Sunday at Showdown, Colt Crawford is in with any kind of a chance to defeat Jamie Krenshaw. It's not on the cards. It's not even in the deck.
And it seems Colt knows this. It seems that the walking wrestling tragedy in waiting, the one-man HGH silo, has finally seen himself for the grisly, pathetic failure he is. And we have Saber to thank for this, right?
Wrong.
As with every other good thing that takes place within this wretched company, the credit lies with me. See, for a while there, Colt Crawford was actually gaining some momentum. Sure, it was all due to his mentor Brian Clark affording him opportunities he didn't deserve but still, for a while, he made the most of those opportunities. He captured Tag Team Gold with Saber, he qualified for a World Title match at Devil's Dance. He was, some may say, on a roll.
And I stopped it all.
First, I took his Tag Team Title. Krunch and I marched into a Turmoil match and easily dispatched of everyone in sight and when it came down to us vs. Colt and Saber, we did what we've continued to do for the past four months. We won. We won the Tag Team Titles and we still hold them to this day. I like to think that loss took something out of Colt. Dented his pride, wounded his ego, clarified his self-delusion. Evidence points to this being the case because on the very next show, his brain exploded and he turned on Saber. He got himself disqualified and gave up on a chance at reclaiming his belt because, honestly, he knew he had no real shot at winning anyway.
And here's where the downward spiral really began to take hold. Destroyed by his defeat at the hands of myself and Krunch, Colt attempted to reclaim his pride, to instill that false sense of self-belief to it's former level. He tried to do so by finally taking out Saber, a man I've beaten about fifty times in the past year.
He failed. But, hey, no matter, somehow he'd qualified for a shot at the vacant TWD World Title. "This is it!" he thought. "NOW I can take my rightful spot atop the TWD!" But as with all his other proclamations, he was wrong, being led astray by an unwarranted confidence in his (quite frankly, shitful) abilities. And this is where I destroyed Colt Crawford. At Devil's Dance, galvanised by delusions of grandeur, Colt stepped into that Five-Way match convinced he was finally about to get what he deserved.
He did. Unfortunately for Colt, what he deserved was an embarrassing beat down at the hands of The Virtuoso of Violence. He was decimated and, along with Filipe Barroqueiro, left as an afterthought in the minds of the audience and the other competitors. Long story short, he lost. And that's pretty much how any story involving Colt Crawford has ended for the past, ooh, say three months? And it all started with those Tag Team Titles. With me. Not Saber.
So at this sweet, sweet resounding silence we're all currently enjoying in the absence of Colt's constant yabbering, the plaudits are owed to me. The credit's owed to me. Your thanks are owed to me.
I'll just add it to the tab.
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 36-0. |