”When the sky’s falling, I take shelter under bullshit.”
– Scott Lynch
In the realm of success, where the fierce currents of ambition converge, I stand as a steadfast voyager navigating the turbulent waters of the corporate world. I am a man defined by an unyielding determination to achieve victory, conquer every challenge, and leave an indelible mark of triumph in the sands of time.
From the earliest moments of my career, I was instilled with a fervor—a relentless drive that urged me to surpass limits and shatter barriers. I was drawn to the exhilarating dance of strategy and precision, where the thrill of competition echoed through the corridors of power and ambition.
For me, victory was not merely a desire; it was an unquenchable thirst that propelled me forward, urging me to outshine, outmaneuver, and outperform. The pursuit of success became my raison d’être—a pursuit that demanded sacrifices, unwavering dedication, and an unrelenting commitment to excellence.
Each day dawned with a singular focus—a laser-sharp clarity that honed my mind toward the objectives that lay ahead. The mornings greeted me with the promise of conquest, a canvas upon which I painted the strokes of my strategies and aspirations.
In the boardroom, I commanded respect with the authority of my knowledge and the conviction of my decisions. I navigated the intricate web of negotiations and deals with precision, my eyes fixed on the prize that awaited at the culmination of each endeavor.
The pursuit of victory was a solitary journey—a path fraught with challenges and obstacles. But I embraced each obstacle as an opportunity, a stepping stone toward greater heights of success. Failure was not an option; it was a lesson, a catalyst that fueled my determination to emerge stronger, wiser, and more resolute.
I thrived in the midst of pressure, where the crucible of competition forged my resolve into tempered steel. The weight of responsibility that rested upon my shoulders was not a burden, but a mantle I bore with pride—a testament to my unwavering commitment to the job at hand.
However, the pursuit of victory came with its costs. The relentless pursuit of excellence often cast a shadow over other facets of my life. Relationships dwindled in the wake of my unyielding dedication, moments of respite were scarce, and the simple joys that adorned life eluded me like distant stars in the night sky.
The boundaries between ambition and obsession blurred, as the thirst for success became an insatiable hunger—a hunger that fueled my every action, my every decision. The pursuit of victory became a relentless chase, leaving behind a trail of sacrifices and missed opportunities.
In the crucible of ambition, personal connections became casualties—neglected in the pursuit of triumph. Time, that elusive currency, slipped through my fingers like grains of sand, leaving behind the ache of moments lost and relationships strained.
Yet, amidst the whirlwind of my pursuit, there were moments of introspection—moments where the relentless heartbeat of ambition slowed, allowing fleeting glimpses of the toll it exacted upon my spirit.
In the solitude of my office, surrounded by the trophies and accolades that adorned my success, I found myself confronting the hollowness that lingered within me. The victories I had amassed felt hollow, devoid of the fulfillment I had once sought in the relentless pursuit of triumph.
It was in these moments of quiet contemplation that I realized the delicate balance between ambition and fulfillment. The pursuit of victory had propelled me forward, but it had also left an emptiness—a longing for something beyond the conquest of success.
With a newfound clarity, I sought to redefine my priorities—to reclaim the fragments of life that had slipped through my grasp in the pursuit of triumph. I yearned for a balance—a harmony that harmonized ambition with a life rich in meaning and fulfillment.
I began to carve out moments of respite, cherishing the simple joys that had eluded me in the tempest of my career. I rekindled connections that had languished in neglect, seeking solace and redemption in the relationships I had pushed aside in pursuit of victory.
As I embarked on this journey of self-discovery, I found a sense of fulfillment that transcended the triumphs I had amassed. It was a fulfillment rooted in the balance—a delicate equilibrium between ambition and contentment, between the pursuit of success and the quest for a life that encompassed meaning beyond the boardroom.
The fire of ambition still burned within me, but it burned with a different intensity—a flame tempered by wisdom and the realization that victory, in its truest sense, lay not solely in conquering the corporate battlefield, but in finding harmony within oneself and the world beyond.
Today, I stand at the intersection of ambition and introspection—a man no longer solely driven by the thirst for triumph, but by a quest for a life that embraces success and fulfillment in equal measure. The pursuit of victory remains an integral part of my being, but it now coexists with a deeper understanding—a realization that true victory lies in the balance between ambition and a life lived with purpose and fulfillment.
”Cowards shrink from challenges, weaklings flee from them, but warriors wink at them.”
– Matshona Dhliwayo
Did you guys read all of that bullshit?
None of it is true. None of it is real. But it sounds good, right? It sounds inspirational and important like some dude who has gone on a journey of self-discovery ready to accept his legacy. It sounds like the premise to a Hallmark Christmas movie starring a retired wrestler who has crossed over into the mainstream and now functions mostly as a pin-up model for middle-aged housewives. It’s corny and trite, but then again, so are a lot of things in our profession these days.
You turn on the damn TV and all you see is an endless string of forty-five-minute monologues about how someone feels, or how sad they are, or how happy they are, or how they’ve finally discovered the true meaning of Christmas. Every story is the same, every ending is the same. Predictability is everywhere. The professional wrestling I grew up loving is fading away, replaced by melodramatic junior high girls talking about their favorite hair products.
The only solace I get from this business at all is that I get to punch people in the face for a living. I don’t have to wear a glove. I can ball up my fists and drive it through the bridge of someone’s nose with impunity. I can watch the blood splatter all over the ring and feel the rush that comes with it.
And I don’t really care about legacy or honor anymore. I don’t care about any of it. I just wanna beat somebody up, man. I just wanna do what I was fuckin’ born to do.
I don’t want to talk about motivations, the why where, and whatnot. I just want to step through the ropes and then fight until I’m the only man left standing. I want people in this business who don’t get their feelings hurt by the slightest of insults, or go on a rampage to get someone canceled if heaven forbid you disagree with them in some way. It makes me wanna throw up. Wrestling is going woke, and I fucking hate it.
I’m sorry, Mike. I really am.
Zach Kostoff is a child.
I think we all know that there’s gonna be some sort of twist before this whole thing goes down at ICONIC.
One of those twists will not be that you and Kid Kostoff win the tag team titles. Hell, I’m 99.9% you don’t give a great big pile of donkey shit about the tag team titles, even though you should, even though every championship should mean something. But I’ve already been down that road with Townsend, man.
I wish things were different. I do. But this is what it is. I have a job to do, and I hate that you’re in the crosshairs, but I don’t make the rules. I would love to have had announced a one-on-one rematch between the two of us at ICONIC. God knows I’ve got plenty to prove, especially where you are concerned. I didn’t get the immature version of you, the one all of these Hall of Famers who come back think you still are.
No, I got the fully formed top of his game, best in the business version of Mike Best. I’m glad we got to do it, but what we’re doing now, no one’s heart seems to be in it. And so, if my heart can’t be in it, I guess this has to be about business. And the thing is, my loyalty to Him is endless. Even though I know that in the end, you will always be number one in His eyes, I wouldn’t be here if not for your father. And you can call me a simp if you like, you can say it makes me weak, but I don’t think you will. I’m pretty sure you understand my situation, just as I understand yours. So… all that there is left to do is get into a ring and fight it out and hey, let’s just see what happens.
As usual, the cards are stacked against you, all the more opportunity to overcome the odds. Everyone thinks you’re winning at ICONIC, I’m sure. Don’t you think so? It’s the smart bet, probably. But I don’t know, I’m kinda smart, myself. Maybe the twist won’t come from Dad. Maybe the twist will come from me. I’d say maybe it will come from Jatt, but I would need to hear him stop complaining that I haven’t called him this week long enough to think he has anything up his sleeve.
And you, Zach.
What are you doing?
I mean, really. What the hell are you doing? Watching you wrestle is like watching two paraplegics fuck. You are the reason why doctors advocate regular masturbation, to keep fuck ups like you from being conceived. You’re just like your dad, only without all of the talent, toughness, or respect. Hell, your own partner knows it and says it out loud. I hope you get into this match and get everything you want out of it because the fact of the matter is that what you’re likely to get out of it is your fucking head ripped from your body and placed on a pike. Seriously, go jump in front of a moving truck. I hope you slip into a coma and die. I hope you’re the last person in a human centipede.
That’s how much I respect you, kid.
Sorry bud, what you ain’t got, you can’t inherit, and this is gonna be a really bad week for you, I guarantee it.
And hey, Jatt.
What’s up partner?
You’ve been bitching for a bit now that I haven’t reached out to you, didn’t check up on you in the hospital, didn’t wish you happy birthday, didn’t lick your Hall of Fame balls so they wouldn’t get dry and pretty much anything else a terrible person like me could do to a precious angel like yourself.
Listen, I would call you. I would. FRIEND.
But I’m sorry, I really just feel like you should man the fuck up and stop being such a crybaby bitch. Yeah, we’re friends and all, at least as far as I am concerned, but if you want to sever this business arrangement, I’ll tell you what. You do your job this week, and I’ll do mine. And then, you an stick to yourself, train your little ass off for ICONIC and prepare yourself to do your job again. But the one thing you really need to start learning right now is this…
NONE OF THIS IS ABOUT YOU.
None of this is about me either. This is all about the HOW World Championship. It’s about High Octane Wrestling itself. But your feelings got hurt.
Man, who gives a shit?
You’re better than this, so fucking do better, man. Be the Hall of Famer you are. Being the fucking Mayor of Jattlantis, the Grand Emperor of Jattanooga, or whatever the hell else. You can make all the goofy jokes you want because I know they’re coming, but after you do, get your fucking head straight and come to work.
Get back to what you were when we were mowing down tag teams from all over the world to win and keep these titles. Get back to that, because I’m not losing my fucking belt to Zach fucking Kostoff. I’m not losing my championship to a talentless fuck who isn’t even old enough to buy beer.
I may not give a shit about my legacy anymore, but I still have some pride left, and I still know how to get the fuckin’ job done. I will always… always do my job and finish what I’ve started. If he commands it, it shall be done.
That’s the way it is.