♣Water brushes up upon the the rocky wall of the Peblinge Sø; the middle lake of three. O’Hara feet dangle mere inches as the sun rises above the century old buildings on the other side. Light bounces from his glasses as he digs his arms further into his jacket. The chilly morning, the icy northern winds served no means to pause. He enjoyed the peace and tranquility as he ran around Copenhagen’s lakes.♣

I never imagined I would be sitting here one year ago. Not literally of course. I had the world in the palm of my hands; I showed no care for the world around me. I thought my place in this business was protected, I didn’t imagine it could go so wrong. The poster boy, the headline act, the man who was gifted so much. It made me far from humble, it made me narcissistic to a degree I almost feel sick realising what I had become.

I hate everything I once stood for.

♣The heat from the sun was well welcomed. Less and less the cold bothered him and as the sun continued to rise, more people emerged behind him. People running, cycling under the leave stripped trees. Slowly the city began to wake up♣

My fall was deserved. I sat on that pedestal, too blind by the glory I had obtained to see anything like it coming. I could have prevented it. I watched as he groomed another to be nothing more than a puppet to achieve his greatness; oh how this story would have played out if the marionette was cut from his strings before the puppet master even had a chance to pull just one. It was there for me to prevent but instead my own idea of “greatness” thought the moment would be sweeter. Once or twice I considered the possibility of defeat yet I settled for the idea that if defeat were to come, I would be praised for a valiant death. It did not come. There was no pride, no honour in that defeat and instead I was left to pick up the pieces of the crown I wore.

♣O’Hara dips his head and chuckles to himself before raising it back up. He shakes it with a smile across his face, still fixated on the buildings on the other side of the lake♣

As a kid, I had an awful habit of poking what should not have been poked. In the bush, everything wants to kill you and that is not a tired cliche, everything in my country will indeed want to kill you. So often at this time of the year we would foolishly wander into the bush instead of sticking to the open grass plains and the old bat and ball of cricket. So often we would find snakes curled in the hollowed out bottom of a tree, away from the unforgiving sun, seeking comfort in the shade. Without fail, each and every time we would find the longest stick and poke it repeatedly until it lashed out at us. Immediately we would run, we would jump on our bikes; we would do anything. We deserved to get bitten, we deserved to come close to death. I wish I learnt that lesson long ago. Redacted from the history books but I will not hesitate to mention his name. I poked the “monster” Dark Demon one too many times. For stripping that title away from me, from costing me that match at Reckless Wiring. Without him, it’s me who walks in and out of Pain For Pride as EAW Champion. Without him, I don’t even leave King of Elite without it. How bitter it tasted, all those months and in the end, it wasn’t before the world. It wasn’t in that ring that I crushed his skull in and sent him into that retirement home. It was my rage getting the best of me and in a damn parking lot. Perhaps I should have poked the monster one last time; it would have been a fitting moment to cut the head from the body, to crush that skull on the grandest stage of them hall. How sweet it would have tasted for millions to see a bloodied and broken men laid at my feet; no mercy, no pause to anything. I took pride in defeating him.

But I still lost.

Time and time again I faced the misery of defeat. Constantly I buckled when it mattered; I felt no hope in my future, I felt as if a career here was no longer worth striving to maintain. And those five months were played out, constantly on repeat. Constantly reminded of how far I had fallen since King of Elite. Sitting in that ring, I realised how far my obsession to obtain “revenge” had taken me to the brink of madness. I felt empty, I felt hollow; I needed to rediscover that fire at whatever the cost. On the grand stage, like a lit match coming into contact with a pool of gasoline, the fire returned. A bittersweet moment now that I look back at it.

♣The sun breaks full over the buildings; the blue hue in the skies became richer, as did the colour of the water below him. The chilly air remained and only picked up. Waves crashed against the wall, few drops landing on the worn trainers on O’Hara’s feet♣

The Mighty Don’t Kneel. A grand plan. A grand idea of eventual dominance. Unlike so many, the dream was for it to become a brand. People who backed one another across all brands, a stable that didn’t need to work together to achieve one goal, rather individuals great enough to achieve many without such support. Nobody could have stopped us; Cerberus, Nick Angel and Diamond Cutter inside the Hellfire No Way Out match bent the knee as we took those tag team championships. The events of the past six months did not enter my mind; I did not entertain the setbacks but realised that the tag titles could not fill the void left by the World Championship. I held disdain for the man I carried these titles with. Whenever I was reminded that Eddie Mack and I share something in common, I remembered it was his hands it happened. When I was the sole survivor at Territorial Invasion, I realised the man was going to turn his back on me. Like I told you Drastik, a tiger can’t change it’s stripes. I did what I felt I had to do and if it meant killing The Mighty Don’t Kneel, if it meant having a failed reign as the Tag Team Champions, then so be it. Yet TMDK began to slowly strip me of the humility I thought I was humbled into obtaining; it slowly rotted away and was replaced with narcissistic tendencies once again. I thought I was bigger than the brand, the company as a whole when I was fired yet couldn’t stomach the idea of letting what I was working towards, King of Elite, be in vain. Humility died when I returned and expected to be handed a spot in the Elimination Chamber; forcing my way into it only fed my ego. It was only again at the bottom of a bottle that I realised I was replicating the same steps I took as EAW Champion. That, is why I had to lose. Such a smoothie had a sweet beginning but on the bottom sat filth and a poor aftertaste when it was finished. I needed to feel the way I did a year ago, I needed to remind myself of the bitterness when your exterior is ripped away and you’re cold, only cold standing there looking for direction.

♣O’Hara removed his sunglasses and tucked one leg into the top of his jacket. His eyes fixated on the water and in the reflection he could only continue to smile♣

Now, I know the question that’s being asked, why does any of this matter? For Drastik, it’s the education on this last year that he needs. The true, unbiased, harsh reality of the year I’ve endured. That sun will set tonight and when it does, so too will the last twelve months of my career. When it rises tomorrow, no matter the result in the evening, I will be free of every painful memory, ever happy moment, every gut wrenching decision I made, every night drunk and disorderly trying to mask the pain that I wasn’t the EAW Champion any longer. The greatest baggage we carry is that of the past and so I look to shed it once it rises again. Free from the weight that has caused me to shift back and forth between ideas about how I should feel about my place in this business. I never wanted to be the man I have become but I hold no regrets over the decisions I have made. In the end, I’ll be left with accepting that I can’t correct a past mistake and the feeling that none of it was worth it or welcoming the opportunity to right a wrong, feeling everything I’ve done has been justified. My moral compass spins tirelessly as it struggles to find north, a direction to point me in and behind the brash words of confidence, I struggle to accept who I stand as today but not for a second do I regret the means I fell to that led me here. On these chilly shores a clear mind prevails and I realise just what is truly important in this match. Perhaps I’m just repeating myself at this point, what will fall out next certainly is recycled.

I’m fighting for everything.

I’m fighting to prove my rise to the top was not based on luck; it was skill. It was the wits to realise the circumstances I found myself in and realise the golden opportunities that laid before me. I’m fighting to prove that ONE MOMENT ON THE THRONE IS NOT ALL THERE WILL FOREVER BE. I won’t let that be it, I won’t let it be the only time I reign. I’m fighting to correct a mistake that still over a year later haunts me. Of all the people to have held that briefcase, I’m the most disgraceful. I’m the one who thought he was “great enough” to stare the champion in the eyes and tell him to count the days until he departs with that title and still couldn’t get it done. And this crown can’t change that, it won’t but I never got the satisfaction of my efforts at Pain For Pride resulting in a moment of glory; instead it was a moment of complete dismay and everything I thought I had achieved then became fucking wasted. This crown can’t change that, but it can give me the satisfaction I was robbed of. It’s because of the past year that I can only look back and see how to avoid making the same mistakes. I can only look back in hindsight and see the flaws that led to my downfall. With those lessons learned the future seems nothing short of bright. I can’t lose this match, I refuse to allow it to slip by but I can’t stop myself from being humble in this moment and realising it’s not as inevitable as both my opponents believe it is to them; what I felt it once was to me. Is it wise to pin so much on a match that can go so wrong? This night should be my fabled Shangri-La; a paradise where I conquer the ghosts of last year’s event and find true peace and happiness. Corny, I know. Instead, it’s just another war torn field I step upon, filled with those ghosts and haunting memories of every failure I’ve ever had.

I think it’s time that we play a game of “How Much Can Drastik Mask His Failure?”. My title is far, far greater; it’s much shorter and doesn’t put people to sleep. You’re more than willing to keep correcting me, I do wish for a touch of forgiveness as the world gives me barely an inch to work with yet you’ve got a whole foot. Though I’m sure it wasn’t up until mental midgets like yourself ran this business that most of it was worth remembering. You lost your second World Championship to Mr. DEDEDE correct? Correct. You had a number of small feuds, I’ll take your word for it as say you won them all! You were fired. Correct. Now, here is where I wonder. All I can find, words written and not spewed from your mouth is that you didn’t get “CLOSE” to coming back, you actually did and you lost. From what I see, you lost time and time again, frustrating defeats and you begun to expect better treatment. Your ego flared up, it seems. Odd how that’s a common theme in your career now isn’t it? Again, I’ve only got an inch to work with here. Yet even then, I’ll take your word for it. I’ll take your version of reality and you make the parallel between your frustration and my frustration now although you just confirmed what I’ve been saying all along; the difference between us being that you were gutless and feared the idea of fighting for your position in this company while here I am, scratching and clawing regardless of my frustrations. No matter the version of history we stand by the same conclusion can be made; you couldn’t deal with the reality of being on a lesser rung than those you once shared the top few with. If you could swim up stream it would have fit perfectly into the idea that you’ve always proven people wrong, no matter how much they tried to be write. Perhaps you learnt that lesson later on, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on that one. No, it’s indeed the moment I was talking about but I appreciate giving me another inch to work with. Adorable swipe at the past year of my career but my first and thus far only reign was more impressive than the first two years of your career combined. Call it a flash in the pan reign as you wish, I just wonder what makes your pitiful attempts as champion? Please, do answer that I would love to hear how great they were. Drop the idea that you merely captured it twice, it’s worth nothing if you couldn’t have defended either but hey, an inch remember?

Problem with having an inch is that the only option is to make the most of it or roll over and the latter is something I have always refused to do. I don’t have your unabridged history. I can’t follow every week, every match, every victory, every setback, every controversy so I make do with what I’ve heard, twist every small detail I learn until there’s nothing left, that whole inch. But I’d rather fall on this sword than the one you wield. I’d rather stumble and fall in my arguments than stand so tall as if this world cannot touch me. I would rather be humble in corrections than arrogant in the face of facts; no, I certainly have landed more shots than you’re willing to lead on. Such desperation compared to calm, level headed man that spoke of this match before he even qualified. It’s not hard to see it Drastik. Ridiculous it may be but the world does not snicker behind my back, they snicker behind yours. They do not laugh at my attempts, they laugh at your arrogance; you believe the horse you sit on reaches into the skies but the world sees just a man full of delusions riding a mule. I could tell you how I represent the fight this generation has; I had the toughest block of this tournament and instead of bitching and moaning, “Oh woe is me”, I fought tooth and nail to reach this place. I could tell you how I represent the lack of ego that drives this generation; we are not such fickle people than the one you see each time you stare into the mirror. I could tell you I represent how we, this generation, have redefined the meaning of applying yourself to something; I took note of how special you thought you were, how unique you were when you said you’ve never failed when you’ve applied yourself. Much of this generation has worn the same pride across their heart and walked out with that which they desired. You’re right, we’ve achieved just as much in the last year; you did it in less than half of it. Because of that you walk into this match with more confidence than myself and Jones. You walk in without belief your armour is damaged, we tasted defeat; our armour is certainly battered. But these are not strengths, they are more weaknesses than anything. You don’t expect much of a fight - even if one is presented, you won’t be fazed as a Drastik victory is inevitable. So what happens when you must scrap with us to obtain it? When your victory becomes less and less certain as the match closes in on its terminus? That, my dear friend, is where your pride, your confidence, your arrogance turn from your greatest strength into your greatest weakness.

♣O’Hara surveyed the lake as the wind died down; fish broke the surface of the water and leaped into the air before crashing back down, swans and ducks filed out of a small island to the north.♣

Strangely, not a single, lowly hair on my body shot up.

Oddly, I did not have any sense of fear course through me. EAW’s rogue element is an admirable idea that I’m sure to many others would have sent shivers up and down their spine although history has yet to prove any merit to those words, Tiberius. Not even a mountain of dirt has been shifted by your actions. I mean, the only time you’ve managed to even come close to that goal was when you were following the orders of someone else. Even then you fell short of your grand goal of reshaping this land to what it once was. But that tends to fit right in with the bulk of your words; this idea of what you will do. What you will do as King, what you will do when the crown sits upon your head. Credit where it’s due, you reek of confidence; there is no other option, nothing else to consider but the idea that this match is your’s to take. Victory is almost inevitable, defeat is nothing more a percent so small that such luck is better spent elsewhere.It’s much of the same arrogance and confidence that I see as a weakness from Drastik yet I know the bitterness of Road to Redemption will make the fight to survive, to keep your claim to the crown alive just a bit longer. The empty feeling you’re bound to be left with will have the same sense of familiarity you held just a month ago but will hurt much more. In my world as king, as I take back the reins of this generation, you have your place; I cannot say the same about the other however. Do not wish to die on this battlefield, do not wish for a valiant death because it will not come. There will be no pride, no honour in standing with your fists clenched and swinging for the fences, barely able to stand; just prolonging defeat. I expect it however; I expect nothing less. You have always fought until the end.

But like so often, this is one you cannot win.

♣O’Hara pulls himself up off the edge of the path. Once again the chilly winds of Denmark sweep over the city and O’Hara again buried his arms into the pockets of his jacket. He makes his way up the stairs before disappearing into the sea of people lining the pathways♣

Are you truly illiterate? I can’t imagine the days of old when people thought your words carried any weight; I surely would have turned my chamber upon myself and blasted a bullet through my own skull. Can you not differentiate between what I fear becoming and what I may just end up being? Can you not understand I do not wish to be a flash in the pan champion yet my current course is set to end as such? Did the educational system fail that bad that you must have your handheld every step of the way? Stop paying for a cameraman who at this point I’m sure serves a greater albeit private purpose and hire a tutor for God’s sake. What you believe I’ve flipped flopped about I’ve explained at great length but it flies over your head countless times; for whatever reason that may be, I’m sure it’s through no fault of your own. Do you want a medal for being correct on one or two issues? Must I grovel at your feet and praise the heavens above that you were right? The only arrows you’ve successfully landed are those even a child could make but at this point I’m more convinced than ever that it’s rather appropriate with such a midget mentality. We don’t throw parades because the dwarf at the supermarket managed to reach the third shelf, we don’t throw parades because the kid with special needs managed to accomplish a goal that impacted nobody else but their self esteem. We don’t throw parades because Drastik managed to land a few arrows on the board. We snicker at the dwarf who can’t reach the fourth, we snicker at the special needs kid because he looks awkward doing it, we snicker at you because the forests are full of arrows you missed the board with. Perhaps if you slowed down for a moment you wouldn’t be making such a fool of yourself and maybe you arrows would land on the board. But why change now? You made this bed of misery and failure, crafted by your unquenchable pride and now you must sleep in it. I don’t think our friend Tiberius has had much of a problem understand the complexity of my story, the flip flop between the two and while he might mock it, he gets it. He doesn’t waste his breath and spill such winded and mundane monologues to try and make it seem as he was never mistaken in the first place.

It’s funny how you can only look back in hindsight and judge my decisions for the future. The missing part of the formula is success? As far as I can see, you didn’t leave as champion the first time. You were fired but returned, so eager to once again conquer the mountain...but you lost. You lost time and time again, you thought you “deserved” greater opportunities but when this world didn’t hand them to you a swift “retirement” followed. Tell me, the first time you quit, where is the success? See you won’t admit to that, will you? Perhaps somewhere along the way when I was throwing out Alternative Facts you tried to correct it but friend, I couldn’t give a rat’s arse then and I truly don’t care now. Any kind of attempt at correcting it I’m sure will be a bubbling mess full of painful excuses. No matter how much you try to point at what laid ahead for you, no matter if you fall back to those future glorious returns, these are the footsteps you first crafted, these are the footsteps I walk besides at this stage of my career. They’re forever cemented in the ground and you can’t change that. You walked away the first time because you couldn’t handle it; you couldn’t handle defeat, you couldn’t handle your pride being knocked around but surely if that’s not the case, spew on and try to convince me otherwise once again, maybe I’ll give you an ear. For all I see is just that, the footsteps of a coward who couldn’t hack it in this business. But of course you’re blinded by delusions that none of that mattered yet I wouldn’t be shocked if you pathetically tried to pulls comparisons to prove even at that point in your career you were superior. Ah, how the superiority complex shines brightest when you wish to hide it the most although I would most certainly like to see the attempt. The jester you are, not fit to be a king, will be all that I see. Don’t cling to the idea of being the “x-factor”, to me that word gets swung around so often it’s lost any prestige it once held. Rather it’s become a mocking buzzword to highlight the possibility one could have on the contest, born and nurtured by hype and nothing more. Can I speak for TJ? No and I won’t. However, I’ve highlighted already the reason why I certainly faze you out of much of the discussion, that being you can’t admit your failures and setbacks. You try and defend them, you point to 2011, you point to 2013, you point to whatever fucking year you gave that under the table handjob to get back into this place when the world saw you as nothing more than a cancer, but that doesn’t excuse you from the reality that the FIRST time you walked you weren’t walking out on top. And that, my friend, sets the tone for much of your tapes. For everything you send my way, send his way follows the same pattern. I would rather not subject myself to this constant feeling of deja vu every time you decide to open your mouth. You can’t compare your first few years in this business to mine because you know what I’ve forged so far trumps everything you did. You cover your ears, shut your eyes over the idea that this world is harder to succeed in because you know it’s right; you know that makes everything I’ve accomplished just that much better.

Fall back to your precious reigns, fall back to the times you stabbed this company in it’s back; I don’t blame you. You can’t hang with this generation and you feeble, midget mind can’t comprehend that. How grand it will be when people line the streets - men, women and children - to kiss my feet for finally removing the cancer that is Drastik once and for all? A true king in their eyes, one beyond any sense of doubt is what I will be treated as. The hit that your ego takes this Saturday will surely see it shatter into a thousand pieces and with the bonus I’m bound to collect as the King of Elite, I’ll pay for a seat on the first flight out of Copenhagen.

I often wondered the meaning of the phrase I coined. Do we all sit above it, waiting to be thrown in it or does irony exist that we’re already there? The more I ask myself this, the more I begin to believe the latter to be true. Upon the waves of this violent sea, no matter how much we try to swim to land, we cannot expect the waves that crash upon us; we cannot control the winds, we can’t control where it sends us. We fight against the waves but the sea will inevitably consume us all. No raft, no driftwood to keep us afloat. It’s by our own might and endurance that we survive these harsh, unforgiving elements. Foolishly, you believe land lies ahead but none of us find it. Not even the greats find land; they’re just the ones who kept their heads above the surface long enough not to drown. They fought the waves of violent storms that seemed set to send their careers to a watery grave; they saw daybreak and the monstrosities become no more than ripples. We’re at the mercy of the elements and nothing more. However, the phrase is fitting to be used against Drastik regardless, the man acts as if he’s the messiah and thus walks on water; untouched by the waves that throw us around. Props for using it correctly and not butchering it. This “midlife crisis” is a fair point; so desperate to keep my head above the water that even yesterday a great Australian holiday came and passed me by without even it slipping into my mind. Not a drop of beer fell onto my tongue, feet not fit tightly in pluggers nor my package tucked comfortably in budgie smugglers. A stark contrast to last year where I held nothing but from celebrating it but perhaps it paints how much this crown has consumed my mind. Now that is clear evidence of a midlife crisis. Certainly leave the demise of my hair out of this discussion. I don’t wish to call upon people for sympathy or pity; whether you want to see my story as one of desperation, a desire to correct or nothing more than an attempt to tug at heart strings is beyond my control and I don’t seek to change that. It’s just one will lead to further hate while the other can lead to humility in the wake of defeat. I’ll drag you down into the ocean, throw you to the mercy of the waves, the elements and push your head under the water. Who will see the sun rise above the tides? Who will float on their backs, gleaming with pride and happiness while the other lays face down in misery with their hopes dead in the water? Who will remain trapped in the storm, swept up the waves and throw off course from their desired destiny? For one of us the sun will not shine and we will continue to fight the waves; neither of us will allow the sea to consume us yet both will watch as waves crush upon Drastik and he’s sent to a watery grave. There is an ounce, a fraction of me that wishes to see Tiberius Jones conquer the sea but at my expense? It’s merely folly. I wonder if you can handle it; it’s not sickness of the waves that bother me, I’ve recognised the reality I’ve been fighting them for months now.

We all write our own stories Tiberius; all chapters do not follow the same trend and they do not end when we say they do. If so, this chapter of my career would have started the moment I lost the title and will conclude with obtaining the crown; a happy, positive note. Instead there have been multiple written since and all but one have had a happy note to finish on. I am indeed the protagonist and you, Drastik, everyone who dares stand across from me are the antagonists but I do not care for such labels nor the acknowledgement of our stories; I’m an antagonist in your’s, I’m an antagonist in his. You said it perfectly, the other just wishes to be a thorn in our sides; we wish to write our happy ending to this chapter and force the other to see one of misery written in theirs. In your story, I’m lost at sea while in mine, you are new to elements and are destined to struggle against the waves. You have not fought them for as long, you could have no idea how to overcome them. Once upon a time, I saw a Fata Morgana loom in the distance and I thought it was set to send me to the depths. I waited and waited for it to come, I fought the waves as best I could, I kept my head above the surface but this wall of water still seemed set to consume me. This is advice, Tiberius. Do not fear the mirage that appears after your inevitable defeat; fight the waves and the sun will rise soon enough.

Land does not exist in this vast, violent ocean Tiberius; you can only do your best to keep yourself from drowning.

I’ve turned what should have been so simple into a complex mess. What does the crown mean to me? Must I need to obtain victory? One moment I don’t, the other I do. One day I need it to correct the misery of failing to cash in my Cash In The Vault, the next I believe I can go on without it; still build those needed steps to reach the pinnacle again. It’s a confliction of two beating instruments; my heart tells me I need this. Humble, it cries out that I must hold the crown in the greatest of light, reminds me of that failure and everything I’ve done to reach this point; reminds me that if I can’t truly bury my morality and the standards I held so high, then let it not be in vain. Yet my mind, arrogantly believes it is not needed. It believes it to be nothing more than a material item that serves no greater purpose than to fuel my ego. It spawns excuses. It, influenced by doubt, tries to cover the basis to make the possibility of defeat seem like a pointless reality, one not to be concerned with. Maybe it is cold feet I’m feeling. Six months I’ve had this match in the back of my mind; for six months I thought I had prepared myself for it. Even when in a place that mirrored the ends of the earth as my future hung in the balance, I could not think of anything but the crown. I was consumed by it. This is what happens when you’re nothing more than a man crushed by the weight of the crown, Tiberius. In perhaps the most honest moment I will have all well, I don’t know if I have it in me to succeed once again. I don’t know if I’m fit to carry that crown, I don’t know if I’m fit to reign upon the throne again. Perhaps Drastik in his ramblings is correct; I’m just the greatest flash in the pan of this generation. Perhaps that’s all I’ll ever amount to and what you envy will be long forgotten as you yourself carve a greater career, a greater legacy. When you spend so long obsessed - on nearly a daily basis - with achieving something, the nerves kick in more than you could ever imagine. When I won the tag titles, I didn’t care, I thought about this moment, this match, winning that crown. When I stood tall over my friend at Territorial Invasion, I had my shot at a World Championship, but I didn’t care; I still couldn’t shake my mind off becoming the King of Elite. Maybe I lost that chamber not because of some mental obstacle I felt I had to overcome, rather I lost because I only wanted one thing; the crown. And as we tick closer and closer, as the hands spin time and time again, I dread that I can’t do what I did so often as a rookie and that’s take the opportunity by the throat.

But no matter what my mind tries to say now, my heart will emerge when it matters most.

I searched for answers in the wake of defeat a year ago at the bottom of every bottle I stumbled across. I was set on leaving but could never pull myself to actually do it; it was my heart that convinced me to stay when my mind told me to run. And it will be that way once again come King of Elite. The determination to right the wrong of 2015 will see me to victory. The desire to be remembered as something more than just a flash in the pan champion fans much of the flames; that is not a career worth remembering and it’s a career I’d rather walk away from, forget that I even had one. I will fight. Fight to correct the past. Fight for my future. Fight for my career. Fight until every drop of blood, every bitter bead of sweat, every salty tear falls from my body and there is NOTHING, absolutely nothing for me to throw at you; there, there is a humbling defeat at my hands and I will take pride in defeat knowing I gave it all. My heart will be content with such an effort. That’s why I fight, that’s why I hold the idea of fighting in such high regard. Because I leave nothing left in the tank when I tape my fists and throw my weight behind every punch; that I find glorious, in defeat and victory. It’s wise, far from petty to cash that crown in on a man you defeated to obtain it. Take the crown, wait to until I reign as champion and walk to my kingdom to take the throne; I welcome the challenge but will fight to ensure that your confidence comes undone. But that is no more than a hope, an idea, a what if scenario; something you will not have the chance to even entertain. You can’t stop this. You can’t stand between me and the crown; I’ve waited too long, placed too much upon this night to claim it. Sure, this multi-personality disorder will make it seem near impossible to understand what I want but beyond my words, as stated, my heart knows what is true; my heart knows that the crown is not an option but a requirement. At least to obtain true satisfaction in my attempt to claim the status I once had.

Again, like I’ve said so often this week, you will not deny me it.

SERENITY NOW! SERENITY NOW! SERENITY NOW!

No, I don’t scream it from the rooftops, there is no reason. I hear the words of a madman and it does not crawl under my skin. I hear the delusions of a veteran on an ego trip; his words fall flat on the floor, swamped by dust and fitting right in. Calm? Perhaps I’m not calm. Perhaps I won’t walk to that ring with peace and serenity; in my mind the doubt ticks over time and time again. Back and forth the the battle pushes and pulls on what I believe is right, what I believe is wrong; what I must do, what I can’t afford to lose. However, everything I’ve done to get to this point has been in a calm manner Drastik. Three weeks I lurked, three weeks I pondered over the decision to end my partnership with Xavier Williams; it was calm...it was calculated. I could have been anywhere at any time but I wanted it to happen for the world to see. I knew even if Monroe didn’t want me back on Dynasty, the powers that be that reign above him would. So I waited and I picked my opportunity to floor Lucian Black. It was calm...it was calculated. Perhaps I was far from calm as I drove the sledgehammer into the skull of The Mexican Samurai and cost him his spot in the chamber; that was cold but far from calculated. I walked into the chamber with peace on my mind and accepted the reality of defeat; I was calm. And if that all paints me as frantic in execution, then I’d take that as a compliment; at least I get it done. When I’m backed into a corner, I frantically try to salvage something of merit to hold close to my chest - to avoid having to face the disappointing reality that I just wasn’t good enough - It’s still a far greater option than taking a note from the book of Drastik and checking out, walking away to keep my ego in tact. I could do that now, I could check out, I could depart this company and wait a year and come back as if this defeat never meant anything simply because “I checked out”. You have no right, no grounds to question how I found my way back to this place when your first instinct, throughout your entire career has been to run when you’re backed into a corner. Fighting to obtain something you desire, having to face an uphill battle has always been nothing more than something you feared. Quickly I’ve learnt no matter what I say, your delusions will still prevail; your arrogance will still get the better of you. Still, you will act as if you’ve backed me into a corner, as if I cower in your mighty presence but I see nothing more than a child with that schoolyard mentality. Is there anything else you’ve got to your arsenal than pathetic and hardly successful attempts to illustrate your perceived dominance?

Once again I point to your all consuming God Complex as the dividing line between victory and defeat. You stand tall and mighty, “timeless” yet weathered. Cracks in your stone, rust upon your steel. You’ve made this climb many times and to that, perhaps you can’t be blamed for taking such a stance. Yet you can’t see defeat. Us lowly members of a newer generation cannot possibly hold a candle to someone like you. So highly dogmatic in your views; you speak as if your opinion is unquestionably correct despite how much Tiberius and I prove it to be wrong; none of it stops you from making ridiculous claims and then backtracking repeatedly to until you’re proven “correct” - it’s why so many of your words go unmentioned. But your God Complex does not reign alone. You fear the reality of being inferior. You throw your reigns, your moments of glory as champion in our faces, everyone’s faces because it’s all you have; this generation looks beyond mere numbers and realises that there’s little to be proud of. You could never tie the laces of Robbie V, of Jaywalker, of Mr. DEDEDE, of Y2Impact. No matter how many times you climbed to the top, your career will always be deemed as inferior to the legacies they forged. Below your attitude of superiority, your attempts to belittle and mock the words that spill from our mouths, there is true feelings of inferiority; that is the superiority complex. But you will deny it. You will clutch to even the short straws if you must to prove me wrong; this week says otherwise however. No matter how far into the woods your arrow travels - beyond the target - you still take immense pride and joy in the shot you take. You miss more often than you connect but that doesn’t stop you; you must fill that void of inferiority Drastik and by whatever means possible. It’s however these complexes that have blinded you from the reality you don’t cut it in this day and age.

The “dreaded” out of touch routine may not be near the bullseye, but unlike much of your shots, It’s still on the board.