Blood. Sweat. Tears. Not just the liquids of a human body. Each one has their own meaning. A symbol of the determination involved. Every time I step in to a ring, look to the mat, and see the stains of blood on the mat, I realize that I'm not the only one with a heart. I'm not the greatest to ever grace this ring, nor am I the greatest now. My mentor opened my eyes to this with his own fall and rebirth.
But it doesn't mean I can't become the greatest. I'm as much of a human as anyone else. Even with my delusional thoughts of superstardom, I realize that I am NOT unparalleled. I am merely flesh and blood. But there is more than just physical.
The mind is far stronger than the body. This, I've realized, is what can make you or break you. The mind possesses the power to overcome fears; repair wounds; and most importantly, a strong mind is the backbone of superstardom.
And then there’s Jeff Jackson eh? Lover of hardcore and perpetual chaser of clout? The man who had to found a company to become a world champion? Someone who was gifted a chance in this? This is who you have me facing? No matter. Last week I got through the bullrush of Tom Marrow, Benji, or whatever he’s called, and cracked the fuck outta his face. You got dusted by an old man. You’re gonna get dusted by a young man come Evolution so, either way, you can't count on a win. Just another tally in that growing loss column.
He actually thinks he can compete with me.
Heh, your delusional. I don't care how big you were elseware. You haven't accomplished shit here. You were handed this spot. You didn't earn it, like I earned mine. I mean come on, what have you done since you got here? Nothing. I won't even go through my accomplishments, that would take this entire rant. I've got confidence, ability, titles and clout to my name.
What do you have?
A record with more losses than wins? Come on, be real with me for a moment. It's good to see you've filled your head with false confidences. I mean I truly am happy for you. But the fact of the matter is, you can't even out intro me Jeff. You can't bullshit a bullshitter. Is that how the saying goes? I expect you to show me something decent, and you throw crap in my direction.
I can't tolerate that.
Christ, I'm not even going to be able to make you look good in that ring. A match that you’re involved in is simply a shit show. So go do whatever it is you do to wake up those last few brain cells you have.
Let me be real with you for a second.
You can't win this one. You're on a losing streak Jeff. I'm only going to further it for you. Right along with crushing the rest of the confidence you're attempting to rebuild. I'm sure you've watched my matches, seen what I can do. It's shit that you can't match. Shit you can't even dream of resembling.
It's not working. Just like your attempt of making ONE. Last. Run.
I expected something....anything from you other than the “old man in the best shape of my life, ready for one last run” trope. I guess I'm sadly mistaken. My fault for giving you more credit than you really deserved. Jeff, it’s time to realize that you can’t compete with me, but I know you’ll try anyway. So go home, binge watch my matches, and think of what you're going to do in the ring. Think of how you're going to stop me. Plan your attacks and defenses. Then when the reality that you can’t sets in, think of the golden opportunity you were handed, and how you’re going to react once that final bell rings and I’ve snatched it from your hands. Think of how you’re going to continue in the tournament next week with zero points to your name. Think hard on it, because that is your fate once I crack your skull in the middle of the ring.
Two words, two more points….BALLGAME!