Posted on July 8, 2022 at 9:39 pm by Xander Azula

The world is full of pessimists these days, so it’s a refreshing change of pace to see Scott Stevens be the king of looking on the bright side.

From bragging about your lackluster performance while on the winning War Games team, to boasting about your multiple unsuccessful shots for the World title last year, to patting yourself on the back for having more history-making moments “even in defeat,” there’s an underlying theme.

You want to be remembered, you just don’t care how.

I’m just glad we’ve gotten to the real heart of the issue, here.

Asking me why you keep getting brought back isn’t the big counterargument you think it is, because the answer is clear as day to everyone else.

You keep coming back to the excitement of nearly no one, putting on the same song and dance over and over again.

Acting as the very dancing monkey you accused me of being.

And for what?

To get a rise out of people?

To remind them that you still exist?

Or truly, just to please your GOD?

Insisting you’re not a puppet is negated by admitting you only answer to Lee Best.

It’s one thing to kiss your boss’s ass, Stevens

It’s another to have it so far up there that you can’t see where you’re going.

Especially when it’s the same road you’ve been down before.

Talking utter nonsense, in the hopes that maybe I’ll be so annoyed that I’m thrown off my game.

The only discord I care about is the chaos my goddess called me to create.

Which makes facing you at a show by that name oddly poetic.

So spare me your inside jokes and references, Stevens.

Save them for someone who cares.

I’ve grown and adapted, while you’re still spinning your wheels in the mud.

Using arguments that people last year couldn’t make a dent with.

Invoking names that mean precisely squat to me.

Especially when you “can’t remember” the name of a fellow Hall of Famer.

I’m not sure what point you were trying to make, but I’m sure Scottywood will let you know how he feels about that.

Meanwhile, Max Kael is dead and Shane Reynolds is probably looking for scraps somewhere.

And bringing up ChristPlow in 2022 just reveals how little you care about the present.

Which suits you just fine, Scott Stevens.

After all, you’re still playing that old record of all the stuff you did in days gone by.

Spewing the same bullshit over and over on loop.

Letting it wear itself out like the tiresome trope it truly is.

All of a sudden, it makes more sense why you’re the HOW Archivist.

Because you live in the past.

That would explain why you think everything I’ve said sounds so familiar.

You watch enough old footage to take notes on, and it’s bound to all blend together eventually.

But even if I was repeating what others have said, shouldn’t that be a sign?

If you have several people telling you over and over again that you’re doing something wrong, it doesn’t mean they’re all out to get you.

Or that they hate you because they ain’t you.

It means you’re doing something wrong, Scott Stevens.

And if you can’t let that sink in, there’s no helping you.

Which is fine by me, I’m not here to stage an intervention.

That ship sailed a long time ago.

I’m too busy gearing up to beat the living hell out of you inside that cage.

To make an example out of you.

I wish I could say that beating you would be an honor, the way beating Kostoff to qualify for War Games was.

I wish I could say that it would mean something to me, the way beating Brian Hollywood did.

No, at this point you’re just the second milestone on the path I’m walking.

There won’t be another shot at the 97Red for you when I’m done.

Just another trip back to obscurity.

Where you can be left to your own devices, and stew on the past some more.

Where you can continue to pay no mind to current affairs.

Watching as the world moves on without Scott Stevens.

Maybe the GOD will take pity on you.

Maybe he’ll sign off on a little theatre inside the Best Arena.

A spot for you to put on your little performances for a dwindling audience.

Eventually, you’ll just be a sad little clown with no one laughing.