I remember when I signed up for the Denucci Cup… All the talk and all the bravado, everyone talkin’ ‘bout this strap of leather with some tin on it that was gonna become the most coveted title in High Octane.
It was gonna dwarf the World Title in importance, contenders would line up from ‘round the world for a chance ta win that little strap from Mikey Best. He’d have an endless parade of top contenders, the best of the best comin’ out ta take their chance against the greatest man ta hit someone with a knee.
We’d have people comin’ from everywhere, lookin’ fer their moment in the sun. Here ta dethrone the forever champion. The sultans of shit talk, lined up from ‘round the globe lookin’ ta cement their status as the king of fighting.
Each matchup was supposed to be this detonation of nuclear level force, unstoppable men versus immovable objects if you will. Instead, what we have, is a half-assed test that makes Kim Jong Un feel embarrassed about our impotency. This division was supposed ta be yer crowning fucking achievement Michael, yer chance ta really be known as the greatest ever.
Instead it’s wheeling out Scott Stevens in a retirement match, it’s rolling a half dead Brian Hollywood out in front of fans. It’s trying ta put some fight back inta Scottywood. This division is like John Sektor goin’ ta rehab. It might have some bright spots but ultimately it’s a fuckin’ failure. An afterthought in High Octane, hell the match that happened at War Games was just something so Pappy Lee could try ta keep yer little title relevant.
This horse shit division is a direct reflection of its champion. An absolute fuckin’ mockery of what it’s supposed ta be. Where’s the fire at Mike, where’s the killer at? Where’s the man that said he would elevate this dumpster fire to main event every pay per view?
I sure don’t fuckin’ see it, and nobody fuckin’ else does either. Ya go on radio with yer hands out fuckin’ beggin’ fer people ta step up. Beggin’ fer people ta get involved. Stop talkin’ and fuckin’ do somethin’ ‘bout it Michael. Yer division is a fuckin’ failure. I told you what Eric Dane said last night, just ta see if I could get a rise outta ya.
Part of me expected the Twitter warrior ta come out, ta jump down Eric Dane’s throat and tell him how you’d murder him. Challenge him ta a death match, berate him until he felt forced ta show his face here.
Instead I got a wet fart. Yer apathetic ass couldn’t muster more than a ‘fuck him.’ Fuck you Mike, the HOFC title deserves fuckin’ better. It deserves a real fuckin’ champion, somebody who’s gonna look fer the battles that need fought, not some prize fighting pissant who waits ‘round fer it ta show up.
Ya claim yer The Greatest like Muhammad Ali, ya claim yer the best knock out artist ever like Connor McGreggor. When really, really yer Lennox fuckin’ Lewis. Dodgin’ the thing that would make you care, dodgin’ what would make this division matter. Dodgin’ hurtin’ people’s feelin’s.
Y’all Mike Best grew a fucking conscious.
God, I can’t believe yer follow up ta a tournament ta remember yer best buddy Rob has been this shit. I’m sure he’s done a few flips in his grave watchin’ how truly shit this division has been. And it’s all because ya allow it Michael, it’s all because ya let it be like this.
So I’m gonna do ya a fuckin’ favor. I’m gonna make yer little piss pant tantrum division fucking relevant again. I’m gonna do it fer yer buddy Rob, and when I’m done shovin’ yer teeth so far down yer throat that they’ll be findin’ them in yer chest X-rays I’m gonna make this septic pile of shit division and title mean somethin’.
With a real champion, a champion who will call people out, tell them to put up or shut up, with a real fuckin’ leader at the front this division it can be great. It’s just a shame that it won’t be you ta lead the charge.
Ta do it though Mike I’m gonna need Muhammad Ali ta come out one more time and get sent ta do Parkinson’s awareness commercials with Michael J Fox. So fer the last time in yer fuckin’ career, can the real Mike Best please show up?