“And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive.”
For the first time in a truly long time I’ve felt alive about competing inside of a HOW ring. When you’re challenging for the World title it motivates you, but when you facing Mike Best for the World title it gives you that extra pep in your step to bring him down a peg or two.
I’m physically and emotionally exhausted from preparing for the match, and I fucking love it. I browsed the show archives at the HOTv headquarters and watched every match of my opponent until my eyes bled looking for anything I could use against him in my match against him Saturday. My body is aching from the training I’ve been doing to get myself ready for this match. Waking up at five in the morning and going to bed at midnight and doing it all over again has got me giddier than a school girl on prom night. Hell, I got all dressed up in my custom-tailored 97 red-colored suit with black button up and red tie when I did my radio interviews to promote my up-coming match with Mike all over the Windy City for their local channels as well as their Twitch and Facebook live feeds. Mike, of course was the heavily favored hometown hero and I was the forty to one underdog.
I truly felt alive.
I felt like my old self.
I’m was happy going back and forth with the radio hosts like old times and they kept warning me Mike is going to respond and eviscerate you and I said probably because no one does a promo better than Mike Best. I was expecting the worse from Mike because I’ve seen him annihilate folks verbally and they quit the next day. I’ve seen people try to get in Twitter wars with him and look worse than Frankie the Cameraman with crayons stuck up his nose, and then it happened. Mike Best opened his mouth and spewed his venom and anger and I all I could say was meh. I know people are out there going do you know what he asked for and what he’s offering and such and I heard all of it and it’s still meh.
Mike wants to get onto me about being predictable and cookie cutter when the motherfucker is the most predictable of them all. Rhys Townsend made a fucking hashtag out of it because it happens so much.
Telling you don’t respect me along with your brother, father, and others when actions speak different. If Max didn’t give a fuck than why did he take me under his wing and basically was the catalyst to helping me win the HOW World title for the first time? Sure, Lee has embarrassed me, but why is it that when the lights go out and the cameras are off that we’ve shared a beer and talked about sports among other things? More importantly, why does he continue to want me to get better? Don’t get mad at me because I have a better relationship with your family than you do. Because at the end of the day Mike, you’ll never be Jatt Starr in Lee’s eyes and Max will still try to smother you with a pillow while you sleep to prove you are the weakest of the two.
Then the same old tired Stevens clichés continue when you bring up the tampon incident, the Lonesome Loser stuff among others. Oh, you forgot about the Polish sausage incident with Da Bears fans in New York that one time.
Your whole blog was #PREDICATABLE.
My bad Mike, what I meant to say was, “Stevens says” it was #PREDICTABLE.
Good try at the “Tribal Chief” burn there hoss, but if I was of Samoan descent and wearing red colored leis around my neck it may work, but I have more important things on my plate than doing Haka dances with my cousin The Boulder or getting Fast and Furious with Vin Diesel. Big Dogs focus on what matters, you know?
I respect the effort, but the execution could have been better says the French judge.
I also love how you took a page out of my old playbook to describe words and phrases to me and I’m happy to see you can read passed a second grade level with your Hooked on Phonics progression. Soon, you’ll be able to read War and Peace all on your own without asking if it has pictures in it.
Michael, you can be in denial all you want, but I am the only person in the history of HOW you actually give a fuck about. You brought me into High Octane Wrestling and you watched me succeed when no one else believed I could. I am your pet project of sorts. Outside of yourself and your self-stroking servitude, everyone else you brought into HOW has flopped harder than my, “Vote 4 Stevens” campaign. I am your success story when it comes to finding and grooming talent and maybe one day when you have twenty more Stevens like successes maybe Lee will finally hand over those golden keys you’ve been wanting for years. Until that day happens though you’re regulated to being second best to Jatt and third best to Max….or is it America? I can’t fucking remember. However, you’ll eventually get there even if it happens in a galaxy, far, far, away.
I got a good chuckle when you compared my tactics to Brian Hollywood, MJ Flair, Perfection, and Darin Zion. Let’s be honest Michael, the difference between myself and those four individuals is my tactics work. When I speak you fucking listen because I have done something those four only dream of doing and that’s defeat you. You don’t need to fact check that because it’s engrained into your mind and burned into that twisted soul of yours.
You say I’m being set up for failure and this is an insurance policy, but if you read between the lines it really means tune up match to get you ready for Mike vs Max and whatever identity he is conjuring this week for the millionth time and you actually believe people are going to pay big money to see you defeat him again for the umpteenth time? I mean if they want to see that again they can just watch the replay of you two from No Remorse on HOTv.
Just saying my dude.
Our match is much more special because it takes place every five years. Literally.
This isn’t my final humiliation, but the beginning of yours because a simple random title defense in your eyes is going to cost you everything. All those months of planning and all that money you think you are going to made is all about to get flushed down the toilet. It wasn’t I who was set up for failure, but it was in fact you by your father because that’s what he does. I’m not getting my hopes up Mike, I’m just stating the obvious because how ironic is it that the man you say that’s special kinds of stupid can see the plan, but Kneesus Christ can’t?
You know, as I continued to read your blog an old saying came to mind.
Tell a lie long enough and you start to believe it.
I’ve already beaten you and I will do it again this Saturday and it won’t be about being in the right place at the right time, lightning striking twice, or your focus is on The Minister it’s simply I was better than you, again.
Mike, I’m very aware that I’m coming into your house to take your title because the last time I was in your fucking house I put my balls on your forehead and made you call me daddy while Bobby Dean watched and jerked off in the corner. I broke into your house and stole your property from you and this time you know I’m coming so be a good little bitch and have it polished and ready for me, okay.
You want to know the saddest part of your attempt to put the fear of Kneesus in me was the little wager you offered at the end. In typical Mike Best fashion you copied and pasted your own challenge over and over again. It was career matches in OCW, it was “death” matches in HOW, it was who’s dick was bigger between you and La Flama Blanca in UTAH.
Rinse and repeat Mike.
Rinse and repeat.
At least I do it with style.
Regardless of who recycles their trash better, I appreciate everything you’re willing to give me at the expense of what I would have to give up to call my bluff and have everyone call me a coward or I don’t keep my word.
I’m so confident that I’m going to beat you for that title of yours that I accept your stupid little challenge.
Bet you didn’t think I would agree to that, did you?
However, let’s raise the stakes.
Let’s sweeten the pot even more shall we.
I agree to the terms of your offer especially the ring, but let’s make it more interesting because when I beat you not only will I have your ring, but you’ll be gone from that illustrious hall. That’s right Mike, when my hand is raised in victory and I am announced as the new World champion you will be a Hall of Famer no more. Your records, accolades, and championship reigns will remain intact, but that golden plaque and that bronze bust of you will be removed from the wings of the all time greats and the greatest thing of all it will be me who did it. I could’ve easily pulled a Zion or Hollywood and said if I beat you I get your spot, but I have more respect for the prestige and honor it goes with being in that place than those two Queen karaoke rejects.
Did you honestly think you had me shook? I mean did you wake up this morning and think to yourself that I wouldn’t agree to this? I told you I would sacrifice everything including my family to become the champion again and I am a man of my word. I trumped your trump card and put you behind the eight ball because now if you don’t accept my challenge you’re a scared little bitch and aren’t as good as you say you are. I mean if I’m catching an ass whooping there isn’t anything to be scared of, but are you going to risk it all? That is the million dollar question, or better said that it’s a Hall of Fame worthy question.
What do you say?
Accept the bet?
Or accept the truth?
Regardless of the decision I’m fucking you up and taking everything from you this Saturday.