Post by Ace Anderson on Apr 20, 2006 22:42:34 GMT -5
As much as Ace would never admit it, and as much as it even pains me to do so, Lantlas might be right. Ace should have never lost to The Byrd. However, there is something that Lantlas, and everyone else, fails to mention. It might be the fact that Ace Anderson has the most wins in Pure Class Wrestling history. It might be the fact that Ace Anderson has ranked in the top five in the Power Rankings, and even at number one, more than anybody. Lantlas is number one a couple of weeks in a row and all of a sudden he thinks he’s the king of the Power Rankings. So he’s beaten The Byrd, whom Ace Anderson lost to, and then defeated in Greatness-like fashion. So he lifted up American Nightmare over his head. Ace would Exemplify that fat bastard if the moment called for it.
The one thing that seems to piss me off the most, is the fact that nobody recognizes the cold, hard truth. Ace Anderson ALWAYS comes through in the clutch. I hate to brag, but I have to re-cap, to myself, so that I really know how Great Ace Anderson is. Triple threat match for the Tag Team titles. Victory. Hell, starting back at the Icemann Invitational Tournament, Ace Anderson has won every important match-up he’s ever been in. Save for one, but that was a draw. Sean Hunter, fell to the OLD Ace Anderson, which is a feat within itself. How that sorry excuse for a wrestler ever defeated anybody is beyond the imagination of Greatness. He loathed that part of himself, and would never go back to it again. After that, LoKi fell. Ace Anderson claimed his first gold, a hundred thousand clams, and a shot at the World Title. Then he defeated Mark Lightning, a man who was very hot going into the match-up, the very next week. Let’s not forget Slither and Non Compos Mentis at the same time on more than one occasion. Let’s not forget not getting pinned for like, eight months. Let’s not forget defeating Grimm twice, and David Van Dam. Matches in which people doubted Greatness.
How can they call Ace Anderson the paper champion? Say he struggles with rookies because of ONE FUCKING MATCH. Are they trying to get under his skin and rattle him? It’s only going to make him more determined to kill them. The bottom line here is, I’ve always came through in the clutch. Even before I was Greatness in the Flesh. Hell, back when I first started training to become a wrestler, I won when it mattered. I can still remember it like it was yesterday.
Starting out with no wrestling background whatsoever, and training to become a professional wrestler, wasn’t easy. Not at all. Hell, I was a fat kid for most of my childhood so I wasn’t even athletic. Everything I had now, I took in a pool of sweat. An abundance of hard work was required just for me to get into the Hearts School of Wrestling. I had to train for a year before they would even let me in. I was only twenty years old, and I had a dream. I wanted to wrestle professionally. I wanted to make a name for myself. I’d say I made a name for myself when I was twenty-two, during my second year at the school.
I was brutal. I remember it so clearly. It always incites me to try harder, to train harder, to improve. I was the worst wrestler they had ever seen at the Hearts School of Wrestling, but it was my determination that allowed me to stay. I was the worst wrestler, and the hardest worker. I was constantly trying to improve, but it just wouldn’t click. I’d make mistakes during moves, not mistakes that would hurt somebody, but I wouldn’t finish a move right or I would move the wrong way and it would be sloppy. “There is no room for slop in the business. If you’re going to give us slop, you might as well quit and go to the farm.” they’d always tell me. It became more important than the words of the bible. I had to clean up my act, and I had to improve.
There were times when they’d make me do a hundred push-ups because I’d make such a bad mistake. They’d end up picking their jaws up off the ground after I’d complete the hundred push-ups. Usually they’d just make them go until they couldn’t. Guys would pretend to flake out at like sixty or seventy, but not me. Those guys that flaked out had skill. My skill was almost non-existent, so I had to prove that I had something to give them. After the push-ups, they’d send you away for an hour to recuperate. Didn’t want you wrestling with sore arms.
During my time there, I did what seemed like twenty-five thousand pushups. That’s only my five years as a student. I may have done half as many when I returned as a teacher, but only to stay in shape. When students would have to do them, I’d do them with them, to challenge them.
During my second year, I was improving little by little over time. Nearing the end, I was actually showing some improvement. They also liked my size. They were very surprised by my increasing athleticism for a big guy. I wasn’t the fastest guy there, but I wasn’t the slowest either. I could also lift more weight than I could count. As a twenty two year old kid wanting to be a wrestler, I sure did have the body, and I sure did have the drive. The skills were coming to me.
At the end of each year, you have a match that is as real as a match can get. There is no crowd, but they do grade you. These matches are important, because they are the best chance you get to prove yourself. For some reason, a reason I still don’t understand, they put me up against the best second year they had. His name was Jimmy Mitchell. He probably went on to do good things at some big promotion, but I never heard from him after we graduated. He was an excellent wrestler, but we didn’t get along too well. I can understand why.
He already had his style. He was about six foot three, two forty. In great shape. He had a speedy style based around mat wrestling. I was still trying to figure out what I was good at. I found out, during that match. I had always liked suplexes, and submissions. I thought they were a good base for any offence.
I could almost say that I look at this match as the most important match of my wrestling career, because it is what sky-rocketed my confidence and my stock in the Hearts School of Wrestling. I can recall it, every detail. It’s funny how you can remember defining moments in your life like they happened yesterday, even if it was eight years ago.
We both came out, Jimmy and myself, and we stepped into the ring, no sparring gear or anything. This was to be a real match. For some reason, I wasn’t even nervous. I got this feeling all over my body. It was like a tingling feeling, except more intense. My body became an extension of my mind, and it could do whatever I wanted it to do.
We tied up in the middle of the ring, standard collar-elbow tie-up, and his speed took me. He quickly had my grip broken, and had me locked into a side headlock. He wrenched it, and I tried to fight out of it. It gave him a couple of elbows to his stomach, and then bounced off the ropes. I whipped him across, but he came back, and somehow ended up behind me, and had me in the headlock again. His speed was incredible. How I was supposed to beat him, I couldn’t figure out. Yet. I gave him another set of elbows, and whipped him. I knew he was going to try for the headlock again, so I prepared myself. When he came back, and used the same speed to get behind my, I expected him to reach around to lock his arms, and I grabbed one of them.
I gave it a quick jerk to loosen it, and then I managed to maneuver around him and lock him in a hammer lock. He cried out in pain. A hammer lock is such a painful move. After a couple of seconds, I could start to feel him breaking my grip, so I pulled his arm out straight. I twisted it around, going under his arm, and I gave him a shot to his shoulder. This hurt him, I could tell.
What a tactician I was, and I didn’t even know how. I placed his now damaged arm over my head, and then put my arm over his head. I hooked his tights, and gave him a quick snap suplex. He went over, and my back came down a split second after his. The sound of the mat meeting his spine was incredible. The feeling of delivering that suplex to another man against his will was incredible. I stood up, while he grabbed at his back.
I walked back to his feet, and I grabbed one of his legs. A quick step-over toe hold, and he was wincing in pain once more. I had to get rid of his advantages. I started to focus on his left leg. Step-over toe holds, leg grapevines, but he kept coming back at me. He managed to break my grapevine somehow, and he got to his feet quickly.
Before I knew it, I was hit with a standing drop-kick. It hurt as I went down, but I knew I had to get back up quickly, because he would be doing the same. We got up at about the same time, but I think it was only because his left leg was slowing him down. He came at me faster than I could get at him, however, and he caught me with a knife-edged chop right across my chest. It stung. He hit me with another one. I had to do something. I couldn’t let him beat my chest until it was blood red. By instinct, I chopped him back. It was HARD. It hurt my hand, but I know it hurt his chest more. He grabbed at it, and stumbled back. I approached him, half expecting him to turn around and boot me in the face. He didn’t, and I reached him with his back to me. I wrapped my arms around his stomach, and pulled him over as I fell backwards. A perfect German suplex. Here is a guy who could hardly do a proper scoop slam at the start of the year, executing a German suplex in a real match. I was surprised at myself.
No time to celebrate though, as I jumped up and hurried to his legs. I had an idea. I locked him in Boston Crab. How fitting, me being from Boston and all. I wasn’t thinking about that though, I was thinking about making him tap. He wouldn’t, though. Damn, he was resilient. He somehow broke my Boston Crab, and I had to stand up. He tried, but he couldn’t. His legs were hurting too much. I picked him up, and hooked him in a Capture suplex position, his left leg up. For some reason, I didn’t bring him over. I just picked him up off the ground, and started to squeeze. He was feeling it. He was crying in pain.
I didn’t think I could be so innovative. Hell, I didn’t think I could possibly be winning this match. But I wanted it so much. I knew this guy wasn’t the type to give up. He’d pass out first. I loosened my squeeze on him, and instead pick him up and give him a huge powerslam. I didn’t go for the pin right away. Foreshadowing of Ace Anderson’s arrogance, now that I think about it. The students who were watching were cheering. I stood up, and taunted to them, forgetting about my opponent. I took a bit too much time, as he somehow managed to catch a second wind, and he came from behind and hooked me in a school boy.
I went into panic mode, as the ref dropped down to count to three. He got to two and a half, and then I kicked out. If only I could have been so lucky against The Byrd. Damn Eddie Lane. Mitchell wasted no time. He started laying the boots to me. After that, he bounced off the ropes and hit me with a running elbow drop. It hurt my chest. I was feeling it. He started working over my arm. Trying to take away my advantage, that being my strength. He hooked me in an armbar, and he pulled as if he was trying to pry it out of the socket. The pain moved deeper, into the pit of my stomach, and I was wondering if I would end up losing this match due to my own stupidity.
I wouldn’t have it. Something clicked in the back of my mind. I was pushing it, it was as though what Ace now refers to as the Greatness Factor came into light. I powered out of that armbar, somehow, and I made it to my feet. I grabbed him, and whipped him into the turnbuckle. His back hit hard, and he gasped and leaned forward. I wasted no time in taking a full charge, and diving at his body with a huge splash. I could feel his body almost crunch between my two hundred and eight pound, muscle-savvy frame, and I whipped him across the ring again.
I followed it up with another huge splash, and then wasted no time in whipping him to the ropes. He was coming back, running at me, and I picked him up. I ran forward a few steps, and delivered a massive spinebuster, that rocked the ring and shocked everyone there. The raw power surging from me could be felt by everyone there. I wasn’t the inexperienced, hard working guy anymore. I was the inexperienced, hard working guy that was pounding the piss out of their pride and joy. After that spinebuster, I covered him up. I didn’t want a repeat of that stupid move I made. The referee dropped to the mat, and counted to three. I don’t know what caused me to do it, but I jumped up and I raised my hands, my index fingers and thumb touching, forming a diamond shape. My pinkies were sticking out, and my middle and ring fingers folded like a fist. And that became my trademark for the rest of my time at the Hearts School of Wrestling. Me and the guys would just do it, I thought it meant “great”, because what I did was nothing short of great.
I climbed out of the ring, and the instructors approached me.
“McDonald, where the FUCK did you come from? Why haven’t you been doing that all year?” they asked, shocked and amazed.
“I don’t know man, I really don’t know. I just got in that ring, and I got this feeling. Everything clicked. I could really feel something unreal going through my body. I love it. I LOVE WRESTLING!” I yelled, overzealous.
“Well it makes sense, when you beat the best we have to offer, rather convincingly. Next year you can lead the third years if you keep this up,” one instructor said to me. Jimmy overheard this, and this angered him. “however, that arrogance in the ring might get you killed.” That was said with a stern look. If only he knew that arrogance is what separates Ace Anderson from the rest of the world. Jimmy slowly climbed out of the ring, and I walked over to him.
“Hey man, great match. I gave it my all. Sorry about the leg, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do.” I told him.
“Don’t be sorry. Sorry is weak. You can’t be weak. I was weak, and look where it got me.” he walked away from me without saying another word, and went straight to the locker room. That stuck with me as well. Weakness is bad. Check. The rest of my time at the Hearts School of Wrestling was loaded with improvement, and betterment, and tweaking of my style. I loved the suplexes, and I loved the submissions. Pain became my game. If they can’t move, they can’t win, that became my motto. After I graduated, I was invited back to help the newcomers. That’s when I met Benjamin Banks. But that’s a whole other story.
Who would have thought Ace is based so much around my origins in wrestling school? Who would have thought that Ace’s excellence stems all the way back to eight years ago. That one match, was the origin of my excellence. I found the real reason why I started wrestling. To inflict pain. The thrill of victory. To get back at the demons of my past through inflicting pain on others. Two wrongs may not make a right, but it sure as hell does make me feel good.
The Greatness Factor existed even before Greatness in the Flesh. It came to life during that match, when I thought hope was lost. I wanted to win that match. I wanted it so bad. So I made it happen. Lantlas doesn’t realize this, but whenever I want to win as much as Ace does, it just happens. He can bring his Elvish Tale or his Elven Path or his Elven whatever, and I’ll bring the Greatness Factor. It will be a clash of the titans, that is for sure. Elf vs. Greatness in the Flesh. I know the winner, and Ace knew the winner before the match was booked. It’s too bad Lantlas won’t know it until it’s too late, and Mr. Anderson is standing above him, laughing
The one thing that seems to piss me off the most, is the fact that nobody recognizes the cold, hard truth. Ace Anderson ALWAYS comes through in the clutch. I hate to brag, but I have to re-cap, to myself, so that I really know how Great Ace Anderson is. Triple threat match for the Tag Team titles. Victory. Hell, starting back at the Icemann Invitational Tournament, Ace Anderson has won every important match-up he’s ever been in. Save for one, but that was a draw. Sean Hunter, fell to the OLD Ace Anderson, which is a feat within itself. How that sorry excuse for a wrestler ever defeated anybody is beyond the imagination of Greatness. He loathed that part of himself, and would never go back to it again. After that, LoKi fell. Ace Anderson claimed his first gold, a hundred thousand clams, and a shot at the World Title. Then he defeated Mark Lightning, a man who was very hot going into the match-up, the very next week. Let’s not forget Slither and Non Compos Mentis at the same time on more than one occasion. Let’s not forget not getting pinned for like, eight months. Let’s not forget defeating Grimm twice, and David Van Dam. Matches in which people doubted Greatness.
How can they call Ace Anderson the paper champion? Say he struggles with rookies because of ONE FUCKING MATCH. Are they trying to get under his skin and rattle him? It’s only going to make him more determined to kill them. The bottom line here is, I’ve always came through in the clutch. Even before I was Greatness in the Flesh. Hell, back when I first started training to become a wrestler, I won when it mattered. I can still remember it like it was yesterday.
*******************************
Starting out with no wrestling background whatsoever, and training to become a professional wrestler, wasn’t easy. Not at all. Hell, I was a fat kid for most of my childhood so I wasn’t even athletic. Everything I had now, I took in a pool of sweat. An abundance of hard work was required just for me to get into the Hearts School of Wrestling. I had to train for a year before they would even let me in. I was only twenty years old, and I had a dream. I wanted to wrestle professionally. I wanted to make a name for myself. I’d say I made a name for myself when I was twenty-two, during my second year at the school.
I was brutal. I remember it so clearly. It always incites me to try harder, to train harder, to improve. I was the worst wrestler they had ever seen at the Hearts School of Wrestling, but it was my determination that allowed me to stay. I was the worst wrestler, and the hardest worker. I was constantly trying to improve, but it just wouldn’t click. I’d make mistakes during moves, not mistakes that would hurt somebody, but I wouldn’t finish a move right or I would move the wrong way and it would be sloppy. “There is no room for slop in the business. If you’re going to give us slop, you might as well quit and go to the farm.” they’d always tell me. It became more important than the words of the bible. I had to clean up my act, and I had to improve.
There were times when they’d make me do a hundred push-ups because I’d make such a bad mistake. They’d end up picking their jaws up off the ground after I’d complete the hundred push-ups. Usually they’d just make them go until they couldn’t. Guys would pretend to flake out at like sixty or seventy, but not me. Those guys that flaked out had skill. My skill was almost non-existent, so I had to prove that I had something to give them. After the push-ups, they’d send you away for an hour to recuperate. Didn’t want you wrestling with sore arms.
During my time there, I did what seemed like twenty-five thousand pushups. That’s only my five years as a student. I may have done half as many when I returned as a teacher, but only to stay in shape. When students would have to do them, I’d do them with them, to challenge them.
During my second year, I was improving little by little over time. Nearing the end, I was actually showing some improvement. They also liked my size. They were very surprised by my increasing athleticism for a big guy. I wasn’t the fastest guy there, but I wasn’t the slowest either. I could also lift more weight than I could count. As a twenty two year old kid wanting to be a wrestler, I sure did have the body, and I sure did have the drive. The skills were coming to me.
At the end of each year, you have a match that is as real as a match can get. There is no crowd, but they do grade you. These matches are important, because they are the best chance you get to prove yourself. For some reason, a reason I still don’t understand, they put me up against the best second year they had. His name was Jimmy Mitchell. He probably went on to do good things at some big promotion, but I never heard from him after we graduated. He was an excellent wrestler, but we didn’t get along too well. I can understand why.
He already had his style. He was about six foot three, two forty. In great shape. He had a speedy style based around mat wrestling. I was still trying to figure out what I was good at. I found out, during that match. I had always liked suplexes, and submissions. I thought they were a good base for any offence.
I could almost say that I look at this match as the most important match of my wrestling career, because it is what sky-rocketed my confidence and my stock in the Hearts School of Wrestling. I can recall it, every detail. It’s funny how you can remember defining moments in your life like they happened yesterday, even if it was eight years ago.
We both came out, Jimmy and myself, and we stepped into the ring, no sparring gear or anything. This was to be a real match. For some reason, I wasn’t even nervous. I got this feeling all over my body. It was like a tingling feeling, except more intense. My body became an extension of my mind, and it could do whatever I wanted it to do.
We tied up in the middle of the ring, standard collar-elbow tie-up, and his speed took me. He quickly had my grip broken, and had me locked into a side headlock. He wrenched it, and I tried to fight out of it. It gave him a couple of elbows to his stomach, and then bounced off the ropes. I whipped him across, but he came back, and somehow ended up behind me, and had me in the headlock again. His speed was incredible. How I was supposed to beat him, I couldn’t figure out. Yet. I gave him another set of elbows, and whipped him. I knew he was going to try for the headlock again, so I prepared myself. When he came back, and used the same speed to get behind my, I expected him to reach around to lock his arms, and I grabbed one of them.
I gave it a quick jerk to loosen it, and then I managed to maneuver around him and lock him in a hammer lock. He cried out in pain. A hammer lock is such a painful move. After a couple of seconds, I could start to feel him breaking my grip, so I pulled his arm out straight. I twisted it around, going under his arm, and I gave him a shot to his shoulder. This hurt him, I could tell.
What a tactician I was, and I didn’t even know how. I placed his now damaged arm over my head, and then put my arm over his head. I hooked his tights, and gave him a quick snap suplex. He went over, and my back came down a split second after his. The sound of the mat meeting his spine was incredible. The feeling of delivering that suplex to another man against his will was incredible. I stood up, while he grabbed at his back.
I walked back to his feet, and I grabbed one of his legs. A quick step-over toe hold, and he was wincing in pain once more. I had to get rid of his advantages. I started to focus on his left leg. Step-over toe holds, leg grapevines, but he kept coming back at me. He managed to break my grapevine somehow, and he got to his feet quickly.
Before I knew it, I was hit with a standing drop-kick. It hurt as I went down, but I knew I had to get back up quickly, because he would be doing the same. We got up at about the same time, but I think it was only because his left leg was slowing him down. He came at me faster than I could get at him, however, and he caught me with a knife-edged chop right across my chest. It stung. He hit me with another one. I had to do something. I couldn’t let him beat my chest until it was blood red. By instinct, I chopped him back. It was HARD. It hurt my hand, but I know it hurt his chest more. He grabbed at it, and stumbled back. I approached him, half expecting him to turn around and boot me in the face. He didn’t, and I reached him with his back to me. I wrapped my arms around his stomach, and pulled him over as I fell backwards. A perfect German suplex. Here is a guy who could hardly do a proper scoop slam at the start of the year, executing a German suplex in a real match. I was surprised at myself.
No time to celebrate though, as I jumped up and hurried to his legs. I had an idea. I locked him in Boston Crab. How fitting, me being from Boston and all. I wasn’t thinking about that though, I was thinking about making him tap. He wouldn’t, though. Damn, he was resilient. He somehow broke my Boston Crab, and I had to stand up. He tried, but he couldn’t. His legs were hurting too much. I picked him up, and hooked him in a Capture suplex position, his left leg up. For some reason, I didn’t bring him over. I just picked him up off the ground, and started to squeeze. He was feeling it. He was crying in pain.
I didn’t think I could be so innovative. Hell, I didn’t think I could possibly be winning this match. But I wanted it so much. I knew this guy wasn’t the type to give up. He’d pass out first. I loosened my squeeze on him, and instead pick him up and give him a huge powerslam. I didn’t go for the pin right away. Foreshadowing of Ace Anderson’s arrogance, now that I think about it. The students who were watching were cheering. I stood up, and taunted to them, forgetting about my opponent. I took a bit too much time, as he somehow managed to catch a second wind, and he came from behind and hooked me in a school boy.
I went into panic mode, as the ref dropped down to count to three. He got to two and a half, and then I kicked out. If only I could have been so lucky against The Byrd. Damn Eddie Lane. Mitchell wasted no time. He started laying the boots to me. After that, he bounced off the ropes and hit me with a running elbow drop. It hurt my chest. I was feeling it. He started working over my arm. Trying to take away my advantage, that being my strength. He hooked me in an armbar, and he pulled as if he was trying to pry it out of the socket. The pain moved deeper, into the pit of my stomach, and I was wondering if I would end up losing this match due to my own stupidity.
I wouldn’t have it. Something clicked in the back of my mind. I was pushing it, it was as though what Ace now refers to as the Greatness Factor came into light. I powered out of that armbar, somehow, and I made it to my feet. I grabbed him, and whipped him into the turnbuckle. His back hit hard, and he gasped and leaned forward. I wasted no time in taking a full charge, and diving at his body with a huge splash. I could feel his body almost crunch between my two hundred and eight pound, muscle-savvy frame, and I whipped him across the ring again.
I followed it up with another huge splash, and then wasted no time in whipping him to the ropes. He was coming back, running at me, and I picked him up. I ran forward a few steps, and delivered a massive spinebuster, that rocked the ring and shocked everyone there. The raw power surging from me could be felt by everyone there. I wasn’t the inexperienced, hard working guy anymore. I was the inexperienced, hard working guy that was pounding the piss out of their pride and joy. After that spinebuster, I covered him up. I didn’t want a repeat of that stupid move I made. The referee dropped to the mat, and counted to three. I don’t know what caused me to do it, but I jumped up and I raised my hands, my index fingers and thumb touching, forming a diamond shape. My pinkies were sticking out, and my middle and ring fingers folded like a fist. And that became my trademark for the rest of my time at the Hearts School of Wrestling. Me and the guys would just do it, I thought it meant “great”, because what I did was nothing short of great.
I climbed out of the ring, and the instructors approached me.
“McDonald, where the FUCK did you come from? Why haven’t you been doing that all year?” they asked, shocked and amazed.
“I don’t know man, I really don’t know. I just got in that ring, and I got this feeling. Everything clicked. I could really feel something unreal going through my body. I love it. I LOVE WRESTLING!” I yelled, overzealous.
“Well it makes sense, when you beat the best we have to offer, rather convincingly. Next year you can lead the third years if you keep this up,” one instructor said to me. Jimmy overheard this, and this angered him. “however, that arrogance in the ring might get you killed.” That was said with a stern look. If only he knew that arrogance is what separates Ace Anderson from the rest of the world. Jimmy slowly climbed out of the ring, and I walked over to him.
“Hey man, great match. I gave it my all. Sorry about the leg, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do.” I told him.
“Don’t be sorry. Sorry is weak. You can’t be weak. I was weak, and look where it got me.” he walked away from me without saying another word, and went straight to the locker room. That stuck with me as well. Weakness is bad. Check. The rest of my time at the Hearts School of Wrestling was loaded with improvement, and betterment, and tweaking of my style. I loved the suplexes, and I loved the submissions. Pain became my game. If they can’t move, they can’t win, that became my motto. After I graduated, I was invited back to help the newcomers. That’s when I met Benjamin Banks. But that’s a whole other story.
*******************************
Who would have thought Ace is based so much around my origins in wrestling school? Who would have thought that Ace’s excellence stems all the way back to eight years ago. That one match, was the origin of my excellence. I found the real reason why I started wrestling. To inflict pain. The thrill of victory. To get back at the demons of my past through inflicting pain on others. Two wrongs may not make a right, but it sure as hell does make me feel good.
The Greatness Factor existed even before Greatness in the Flesh. It came to life during that match, when I thought hope was lost. I wanted to win that match. I wanted it so bad. So I made it happen. Lantlas doesn’t realize this, but whenever I want to win as much as Ace does, it just happens. He can bring his Elvish Tale or his Elven Path or his Elven whatever, and I’ll bring the Greatness Factor. It will be a clash of the titans, that is for sure. Elf vs. Greatness in the Flesh. I know the winner, and Ace knew the winner before the match was booked. It’s too bad Lantlas won’t know it until it’s too late, and Mr. Anderson is standing above him, laughing
