A Holiday Fuck You

A Holiday Fuck You

Posted on December 9, 2023 at 5:34 pm by Mike Best

I wasn’t gonna do another blog, but fuck it. 

Didn’t really leave me much of a choice, right? Not a lot of room to “be the bigger man” after you drop something like that on the front page of the number one wrestling company of 2011. But you know that— you know that even the King of Zero Effort can’t do nothing after something like that. So where do we begin? 

Hey, first off, you’re right. 

I didn’t bother to look at the schedule. Embarrassing. I was so hyped up on trying to make a main event I gave a fuck about for the pay-per-view that I discounted everything and everyone around me, in an effort to make it about me. Fuckin’ A right I did. I’ll cop to that 100%. I think that you forget that of the two of us, I’m the one with all the self awareness. You’re correct— I’m selfish. I am disregarding all the mid level hard work that this mid level roster put in for this whole mid level pay-per-view. I do have a dumb friend named Cheddar Bob who shoots himself with his own gun. The fuck is your point? 

The match would still slap. 

The only mistake that I made was not suggesting it to you two months ago, so you could tell me “no” and then come back to me with it in three weeks like it was your idea in the first place. But I’ve already wasted more than enough time even pretending to defend myself, here… honestly, I’m way less interested in acknowledging what you said and way more into telling you a little bit about yourself. You know, since we’re “all good here and just being annoying”. 

I’ll cop to this:

I shouldn’t have called you lazy. 

You’re not lazy. You’re the hardest working pencil pusher in wrestling, and second place isn’t even close. You eat, sleep, and breathe 97 Red. You’re the furthest thing from lazy, I just knew that would really piss you off. But what the fuck is hard work worth, when you’ve become the least inspired, creative motherfucker on the planet? You work really hard at keeping the company open, and that itself has become the full time job. Keeping people engaged. Keeping the houses sold out. Selling snake oil to babies and morons. The most successful pay-per-view we’ve had in years was In God’s House. You wanna know why it was so successful? 

Because it was fucking new. 

And whose idea was that, again? 

Was it yours? Or am I the motherfucker that called you and said “hey, everything is stale, I know you’re gonna say no, but let’s do something different this year”? Of course, I wanted to call it Massacre at the Mansion, but as always you had to make it about yourself. Same as this ICONIC that I’ve “only been responding to”— I haven’t exactly seen your boys, the “Dead Interfed Tag Team Champions” contributing much more than their very presence to the shows, but I’ve sure seen a whole lot of you begging like Keith Sweat for my attention and my jacket size, so pardon me for giving the squeaky wheel the gist of my focus. What do you expect, that I’m gonna come out and cut a promo every week about Jatt Starr? I literally couldn’t give a fuck less about Jatt Starr. I couldn’t give a fuck about him eleven years ago, when people actually wanted to see us fight. 

Or maybe you want promos against Dan. 

Yeah, six weeks of “I respect you, let’s fight” will put asses in seats. Sorry I didn’t do more with “hey, how about we end another show with the Final Alliance attacking a guy”, but I’m not engaged because nothing engaging is happening, dickhead— do a better job at YOUR job and I’ll do a better job at mine. And the fact that you’re gonna call me out on my failures at 50/50 is a fucking joke, because there has never been anything 50/50 about our partnership.

Your show. 

Your bookings. 

Your decisions. 

Always has been, always will be. So don’t call me out in public because you’re salty that you had to learn how to do Photoshop. I can only handle so many years of “Oh, Mike executed my booking 100% and it was greatness” before I go download another PS5 game. The entire time I was “co-running” this company, I was allowed to run ONE SHOW on my own, without you standing over me and telling me exactly what you wanted done. And hey, forget all those shows I filled in for you, because you needed me. Fuck that whole PPV I ran for you. Because you didn’t want a 50/50 partner. You just wanted someone to help you do the work, and execute your vision. 

Not a tag team partner. 

A fucking lackey. 

And then you wonder why I don’t wanna become another cog in the Final Alliance? So I can, what, stand next to you and hear you talk about how your stable holds all the gold? Fuck you, motherfucker. I won this title. I earned this championship. You can drop the mic and convince everyone that you just eviscerated me in a news post, but you’re just as full of shit as you’ve always been. 

The actual audacity. 

If I were you, Lee, I’d make sure there’s some shenanigans between now and the end of ICONIC. I’d overbook some Final Alliance nonsense to end this go home show. Shit, I’d stack the deck and make sure one of the Gump Brothers wins the title this week, because you’ve got two chances to take this title off of me before December 31. After that, my contract expires alongside everyone else’s, and you know what? 

I don’t think I’m gonna re-sign. 

Maybe I’ll go see if sVo wants to add the HOW World Championship to their collection. Maybe I’ll get Halkum on the line and see about defending my title in a new and improved UTA— we all saw how well you fared the last time I exiled myself to UTAH, right? Brian Hollywood will be the champ and HOW can go back in the closet for three years. Or fuck, maybe I’ll take my hat in my hands and go apologize to Lindsay Troy herself for everything that happened with Tyler, and hug it out with Brandon Youngblood. 

Fuck it. 

I’ll be a free agent. 

You and I have until the final bell of ICONIC to get right, Lee, because if they raise my hand at the end of that match and I don’t feel like we’ve resolved this little Cold War that is assuredly heating up, I can promise you that I will take your title and I will go find another playground to play in. I don’t even feel like I’d be abandoning HOW, because the HOW I love died a long fucking time ago. This is just your little kindergarten playroom, and if everyone doesn’t play the games you want to play, they don’t get to play at all. 

Nah, fuck that. 

I’ve outgrown it. 

I’m just as good as I’ve ever been, and you can’t keep up anymore. Another match with Stevens and Zion proves it. And here I am a whole promo later, with just as little to say about them as I had before. The fact that you even let those two near a Final Alliance jacket makes the entire thing look like a joke, and giving them title shots while telling ME that I’m making light of how hard everyone else works is a fucking joke. You cling on to some of the most useless potatoes in wrestling history, and it’s only because they blindly follow you. Darin Zion is never gonna tell you no. Stevens? Just happy to be here. 

Happy to be doing anything

The hardest part of this title defense is how fucking limp and empty it feels. I know I have to go out there and give it my all, but I’m fucking flaccid. Like a defending Super Bowl champion tasked with beating down a high school football team. The fuck do you even expect me to do? Put them over? Make them sound like a threat? Neither of these guys has put so much as a significant dent in me since like 2015, Lee. I won Scott Stevens’ kid from him in a cage match and broke his nose. You can’t reinvent that. You can’t come back from that. And that almost makes it the perfect metaphor, doesn’t it? 

HOW is Scott Stevens. 

Once upon a time, it was something to behold. But here it is, week in and week out, beating its chest and pretending it’s still 2013. Trying to gaslight the world. Just saying it’s the best and hoping everyone believes him. Tell me why HOW is number one, Lee. Tell me what makes it the best in 2023. Is it the diverse roster full of killer talent? All six of them? Is it the massive fan engagement?  Or is it the way you change your mind about people every three seconds, put out attention seeking news posts putting over and burying your flavors of the week? Literally almost ready to wrap this up, and then I see that you took the time to thank everyone on your four person roster but me, and then use the opportunity to again tell me I’m a do nothing. 


Fuck you. 

We’ve now moved past “annoyed”. 

Since suddenly it’s okay to put cancer on camera, and you can hug it out with Solex and talk about how he’s the only one there for you, how about the guy who fucking kept your cancer secret for months? The only person you had to talk to about it, because NO ONE else fucking knew? How about the fact that I single handedly kept this company afloat when you had to abandon it for a month or two at a time? How about the times I LITERALLY RAN HOW when you abandoned it for MONTHS last era, without so much as a text message? Your “what have you done for me lately” is fucking showing, especially considering it wasn’t even a year ago that the man you put over in a news post today was hard fired from HOW and given no potential timetable to return. 

Oh wait, he did some backstage work. 

The only thing that gives anyone value to you. 

No one on planet EARTH gets saltier than Lee Best when someone else has time with their families. When they have something fun to do on a Monday. When they have any other fucking priority in their life than catering to his constant need for attention. See, because this is all his has, you’re on the naughty list if you have anything else to focus on or look forward to. Look at all the vitriol he’s spewing about me. And for what? 

Because this is still a passion for me. 

But it’s no longer an OBSESSION. 

It no longer occupies my entire life. I don’t stop everything I’m doing to cater to his immediate needs and fulfil his most trivial desires like a validation seeking puppy. He’s mad at me because I grew up. 

And he didn’t. 

That’s all these fucking tantrums are. And fuck, maybe I’m just throwing tantrums over here too, but at least I’m looking to make things better. You’re just burning it down, man. That circle of trust keeps shrinking, and you always blame the person who leaves, never acknowledging that you’re the common denominator. America is gone. STRONK is dead. As I’m writing these words, Conor Fuse just retired. You can keep pointing fingers all you want, man, but this ship is sinking. 

But hey, as long as you’re having fun. 

I’ll try to have fun this week, dismantling two guys I wrestle every time you don’t have any better ideas for who I should face on any given week. And I’ll find a way to let that keep me motivated. I’ll find a way to be motivated for ICONIC. I’ll find a way to give a fuck about going into 2024 with the belt, too, whether I’m defending it here or somewhere else. Because hey, point that finger over the sweatpants, too— it’s definitely not the fault of the promoter who has lost his ability to promote. 

Or maybe I’ll just job to Stevens. 

Fuck it. 

That’d be something different. 

I don’t know, man. I’m glad you’re having fun. Thanks for taking what used to be the most fun thing I had going on in my life, and turning it into a bitter obligation I feel to a man who texts me nine seconds after he does something because I haven’t responded to it quickly enough. Thanks for putting me in a position to waste two good promo opportunities on venting all this bitterness, because despite not being a competitor, you always have to have the last word. Thanks for reducing all of my fourteen years of contributions to your company into a petty thank you letter to the rest of the roster, just to spite me. 

Thanks for nothing, Lee. 

Go fuck yourself.