Great job, Mike. I’m proud of you, buddy.
You got through this week, this whole series of promos, and you didn’t suggest that your last one wasn’t necessary.
Nice to see a change of pace for once…even if that tells me you know what’s coming.
See, you’ve been trying to disrespect and disparage me all week saying I didn’t deserve this match, when the record books clearly show that I earned this.
You can call it what you want, Mikey. A fluke, a TKO, a schmozz even…I call it an opportunity.
And it’s one I’m gonna make the most of come Saturday.
At every turn you’ve claimed to be in control, to firmly grip the helm of this ship…but here, at the final destination, you’ve slipped.
All this shit you’ve talked about me can’t make up for the plain honest truth, which is that we’ve only faced off the once. Just once, Mike. Yeah, you caught me that time…but it’s not like we’ve been at war.
Now that I’ve listened and watched you play out the same routine time and time again, feeding your own ego at the cost of being original?
The fun and games are over, Mike. This is war.
My goddess is no longer laughing, and neither am I.
See, in this exchange of verbal barbs and quips throughout the week, there is one thing you’ve failed to comprehend…and that is my sheer determination.
You say I don’t have the talent, the willpower, or the strength to beat you…but mentally, I’ve already outlasted you.
You thought you had this match in the bag from day one, but I’ve been preparing myself for a marathon, not a sprint.
And this marathon has reached the final half mile.
I’ve taken my last water break, letting you get one last one-liner in on me like it’s gonna affect the outcome.
I’ve made a career out of subverting expectations, and making the proud humble…and on board the USS Octane, I’ve got a nice bowl of crow for you to feast upon.
Every stupid nickname, every childish insult, every instance of “I’m rubber and you’re glue” has brought you wandering out further and further from shore…and now, your feet don’t touch the ground.
This is the domain of chaos, now.
I have been luring you in with this insane notion that this was just another easy breezy beautiful squash of a fight for you to put on your mantle…but as you try to paddle back to the beach, you find that the current has pulled you away…and into the jaws of the shark.
You’re out of your comfort zone, Mikey. You have been since this week started.
You didn’t know what to do with yourself, because you didn’t get to take the lead on dropping promos…so you went for broke, trying to throw everything but the kitchen sink at me in the hopes of destroying my hope.
Should’ve brought the sink with you.
Because now, as we get ready to step inside that cage, I am ready to dismantle you…physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I will be fed, I will be satisfied, and I will take that title from you in front of your precious dad, in front of your beloved trainees, and in front of the whole world.
They will bear witness to the end of an era, the death of Michael Lee Best as the HOFC Champion.
And then, I will rebuild the division in MY image.
Chaos will have its way.
Everyone will finally see you for what you are, Mikey…a fraud, a failure, but most of all, human.
You’re no Son of GOD, not when I’m done.
You wanted the smoke, Mike?
The whole fucking thing is about to burn down, now.
My goddess has determined it to be so, and her will be done.
Steve Harrison and Steve Solex should’ve been the warning signs that I am more than capable of defeating people you actually know anything about, Mike…but you refused to listen.
You covered your eyes, claiming to see no evil.
You covered your ears, claiming to hear no evil.
But you refused to shut your mouth, choosing ONLY to speak evil…and that is the biggest mistake you’ve made this week.
We’ve reached the final stretch, Mikey. I can see the finish line from here.
Whatever you do, don’t stumble or trip. Lord knows you did enough of that this week.
But I’m the one making mistakes, right?
Show some damn respect.
So long, Mikey.