If one could look at James Evans after his match up against Simon Lyman, people would see James in quite the happy state. He was happy because he achieved victory. James would tell you that he knew it was a count out victory, but it was a victory nonetheless. He would tell you that he would have rather had pinned the bastard or made the son of a bitch tap out on live television to let the world know that even heroes fall, but to James, his win over Simon was about something else. It was about proving a point to the powers that be in Supreme Championship Wrestling.

James wasn’t even bothered about Donovan Kayl running out and standing in between his partner Simon and James. James was alright with it because he wanted Donovan to look deeply into his eyes so that he could see what was going on in his mind. The wheels were turning, putting out an idea which was that James Evans was not fucking around, that James Evans was not in the SCW to play games with anyone, that James Evans was the real deal and that he would have hurt Simon Lyman even more if he deemed himself to do so.

Yes, James felt that Simon got away lucky. The man thought he had James’ number even before the bell rang. Simon got in some good hits but James was doing nothing more than playing Simon. James wanted Simon to feel like he was in control, that he had James right where he wanted him. James loved every single minute of it. James was doing nothing more than biding his time, waiting for Simon to make a mistake, to get just a tad overzealous and then it happened. Simon went for the Asai moonsault and James sat his opening. When Simon crashed into the barricade, sailing through the air like fucking Superman only to crash and burn like a 747 into the Twin Towers, James knew deep down that it was all over. James knew that all he had to do was move in for the kill.

And James did just that, sending Simon through the barricade then nearly shattering the soon to be gimp’s spine onto the steel steps with that spinebuster. James loved it all, especially hearing the sound of bones popping and the boos from the crowd as well as the sound of shock and horror coming from the stands. James would sit here and tell you that he was eating it up, that the crowd’s response was doing nothing but making him want to do more to cause Simon further injury. James would also admit that he did grow a little frustrated with the fact that Simon Lyman would simply not stay down. The commentators played it up as if Simon was showing all heart when to James, the fucker was doing nothing more than showing stupidity.

And speaking of stupidity, James cannot help but think of that when the SCW pops into his mind. He completely destroyed Simon Lyman, one of their golden boys on live television, showing a new vicious side, showing absolutely no fucking remorse and then they decided to leave him off of the Under Attack card for their next pay per view. James Evans is a huge star. He is basically a fucking goldmine that the SCW seems to ignore. They try to pretend that they are not sitting on that goldmine, smothering and trying to weigh him down. James shook his head and laughed at the stupidity of the SCW. He claims it ran by a band of Canadian idiots who have no idea what makes a great wrestling product. Hell, the entire fucking Triad is ran by nothing more than a bunch of morons, who haven’t the slightest clue as to what makes wrestling good, what makes it fun. They think that by putting women in World title matches and allowing them to compete for titles other than the Women’s Championship. The wrestling world has bought into the mentality that bitches such as Beyonce and Iggy Azalea have been force feeding the entertainment industry for the last few years by saying that women matter, that they deserve more opportunity, that they deserve to be a major part of every television show produced by Supreme Championship Wrestling as well as every fucking pay per view.

But yet, they will not allow James Evans to have a match.

How fucking stupid. That is almost as moronic as letting Chris Lawler come back to the SCW and compete for the World title right off the bat. James Evans is a bigger star than the SCW World Champion in Dawn Lohan. Dawn Lohan has had to sleep with half of the roster to stay relevant. She has had to become a part of some group in order to stay relevant. James Evans got the fuck out of dodge when it came to the SCW placing him in a group.

James Evans does not need to be a part of a group. James Evans does not need anyone. James Evans does what he wants, when he wants, to whomever he wants. And that is why James has been added to the Under Attack card. He wasn’t on their originally. He wasn’t going to be a part of the show, but David Helms stated that he wanted to teach James a lesson, so he begged for James to be added to his match against Collin Cole.

The SCW is stupid for not having something for James to do, besides placing him against jobbers and then not giving him a shot at the SCW World Tag Team Championship after he completely dismantled Simon Lyman. David Helms is also stupid, because he is going to get more than he bargained for. David Helms is going to regret asking for James to be to the match. James has been waiting for the chance to annihilate David Helms and to send him packing into an early retirement. And Collin Cole may not be all that stupid, but he is going to be an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire.



“Are you sure you should be doing this? Especially this soon?” I am driving down the highway, Briggs’ voice is blaring into my ears.

“Yes. I need to get this started as soon as possible, Briggs. I want to get this done and over with so I can move on with my life. I don’t want to be doing this forever. I know you said that I would have to do this for as long as it took, but I want to make sure it doesn’t take that long,” I say as I shake my head at the thought of being undercover, working for Sanders for an extended period of time.

Briggs replies, “James…I feel like you are rushing this process. I can understand that you want to get in and get out, but this takes time, son. If you rush it then you could end up blowing your cover. Things could get ugly and they could get to the point where I will not be able to protect you.”

I sigh, “Well Briggs, I am just going to take my chances. This guy from New York…his name is Dirk Denton. He is a two bit nobody who wants to be somebody. He is a legend in his own mind, but he is always willing to work with anyone that could possibly give him some sort of name recognition. I feel like as soon as he meets Sanders then Dirk will jump at the chance to get hooked into the pipeline. You can track them both.”

“And when I track them both…what do you expect to happen?”

I smirk, as I speed past a church van full of kids, “You can track them. Dirk will do something stupid and more than likely get caught. Once he gets caught, I am more than certain that he will give up Sanders in order to get himself out of a little jail time. It is just the way he’s built.”

There is a long pause before Briggs gives a response, “Well, I still don’t like it and I hate to admit it, but that could work. But let me tell you from experience, James…if you are not one hundred percent sure then you need to rethink this whole thing. Now are you one hundred percent sure that things will go down the way you described to me?”

There is a slight bit of hesitation that washes over me as the question rests in my mind, but I shake my head, as if I am shaking away that hesitation, as I respond, “I am sure, Briggs. This is going to work and then we won’t have to deal with one another ever again…” Saying this is going to work makes me feel doubt, as I tell myself that it is going to work over and over again, telling myself that it HAS to work.

Briggs then chimes in once more, “Alright James. I will back you on this. I wish you the best of luck.”

I bring the car to a stop in a parking space at the airport, “Alright, I appreciate it but I gotta run. I am picking him up at the airport,” Before Briggs can answer, I click the phone off as I step out of the vehicle. I look around for a few moments before my eyes rest upon him. Dirk Denton. I met him while living in New York City. I used to get some good weed off of him. I met him through a kid I used to play pool with. Dirk would always hook me up and he could always talk a big strong game, but deep down, I have always known that he is nothing short of ignorant.

He spots me and Dirk walks towards me, wearing his cheap ass suit and a greasy smile on his face. We shake hands and he picks me up, hugging me. I shout for him to put me the fuck down and he does. Dirk apologizes, before I motion for him to follow me. He throws his luggage in the back of the vehicle before climbing into the passenger seat. Once inside, there is a silence that falls over us for a few moments, before I finally speak, “Are you ready for this? I need to know for sure Dirk. I need to know that your shit is together.”

Dirk nods, “Yeah man, I am ready to go. I am ready to talk some business. Where’s this guy at?”

I smirk as I start the car, “Don’t worry. You’ll meet him soon enough…”


“Sanders…I’d like you to meet my good friend, Dirk Denton.”

Sanders strolls over from his seat at the bar of his place. He has a smirk on his face, as I stand beside Dirk, watching as Sanders makes his way towards us. Once Sanders reaches me, he and I shake hands and share a hug. Sanders then looks at me, then at Dirk, before looking at me again, “Who did you say this was, James?”

I look at him, a bit confused, “This is Dirk…Denton…the guy I told you about…from New York…We spoke about him not too long ago, man.”

Sanders throws his head back and laughs. He even slaps his knee, before nodding and patting me on the shoulder, “Oh yeah…that’s right. Sometimes, James, I am telling you…I feel like I have smoked myself retarded…” Sanders then looks over at Dirk, who nods at Sanders and flashes a goofy grin, “Dirk, go to the bar and order yourself something to drink. I need to speak with James in private.”

Dirk looks confused this time, “Is there a problem? I am here to talk business…”

I say, “Dirk…”

Sanders cuts me off, “I wasn’t asking, Dirk. Now go to the bar and get yourself a drink. You and I will talk soon. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot.”

Dirk shrugs his shoulders and mumbles as he makes his way towards the bar. Sanders and I lock eyes, as I speak, “There a problem, Sanders?”

Sanders shrugs his shoulders now as he responds, “Do you think there’s a problem?” I shake my head no, anticipating Sanders’ next move, as he speaks once more, “If your guy is legit and if you vouch for him then I don’t think that there will be a problem. But I am going to need to talk to him alone so I can gauge what sort of guy that he is.”

I lock eyes with Sanders, that doubt that I felt when talking with Briggs slowly returning, “Do you not trust me, Sanders?”

Sander smirks but it doesn’t take long for that smirk to fade, “I don’t really trust anyone James. I trust you more than I trust most people if you want a real answer. But I have been doing this for awhile and I have my ways of conducting business. If you don’t like it then you can take Dirk and get the fuck out of here…”

I slowly lift my hands up in surrender and smile, “Not a problem, Sanders. Just take it easy on him. He’s not like you and I…”

Sanders nods his head, “Yeah I noticed that. I can’t make any promises but I will do my best.”

I reply, “That is all I ask…Just call me when you’re ready for me to come back…” Sanders and I shake hands before I wave at Dirk and head out of the bar. Once outside, I climb inside the vehicle and look at the reflection of my face in the mirror, and just let out a sigh before driving off.


“What the fuck happened? I say as I step inside of the bar, seeing Dirk lying on the floor, his face covered in blood. There is broken glass on the floor as well, circling him. I then look at Sanders, “What the fuck happened, Sanders? What did you guys do?”

Sanders looks at me coldly, “You brought this piece of shit in here. I thought highly of you James but this makes me question that. This faggot did nothing but run his mouth and make a mockery of me. He doesn’t fucking know me…”

I look back over at the nearly lifeless body of Dirk, as he coughs and spits up some blood. I then look back at Sanders, “So you had to beat the shit out of him? He looks like he is about to fucking die, Sanders. Jesus Christ man…”

“Well, James he is going to die…” I had made my way over to Dirk before Sanders said that. As the words escape my mouth, I slowly turn my head and look at him, “He cannot come in here and disrespect me and expect to live to tell the tale. This faggot has to fucking die, James and I want you to kill him.”

“What the fuck you talking about, Sanders? I’m not killing him. There is no way in Hell. You can do it yourself or have one of your dip shit goons to do it,” I shout before turning and looking at Dirk once again. I grab a dish towel off of the bar counter and begin to wipe his face before I hear Sanders voice chiming in from behind me.

“Either you do it, James or I will have my dip shit goons as you so elegantly called them kill not only Dirk but I will have them kill you as well.”

I feel a shiver run down my spine before speaking, while keeping my eyes on Dirk, “Is that a threat, Sanders? Because if it is then you better make good on it otherwise I am going to make you eat those fucking words…” I hear footsteps getting closer as some of Sanders’ crew begin to crowd around me. I turn my head to the right and left, eyeing each one of them before turning my head to the right once more as I hear a gun cock in my ear. I look at the barrel of the gun, my eyes following the hand, the arm, the shoulder before seeing that Sanders is holding the gun. I smirk, “So it’s like that…”

Sanders hisses, “It is like that, James. I am not fucking around. I don’t fuck around in situations like this. You caused this now you get to fix it. If you don’t then I will fucking kill you myself. I am giving you a chance here James…”

I tell myself that there may be a way out of this. I tell myself that I just have to be smart. I lock eyes with Sanders and hold his gaze for what seems like an eternity, with shivers continuing to race up my back, before I finally reach out and grab the gun. I stand up, keeping my eyes locked with his, before he speaks once again, “Next time…don’t be so fucking stupid…”


The rain is pouring down and we are in the middle of an open field. It is empty and quiet minus the sound of the falling rain. The rain is running through my hair, over my eyes and down my face as I stare, not only at the back of his head, but the barrel of the gun silently shaking in my right hand.

I hear him sobbing, as the rain pounds the dirt around him knees, turning it into mud. The sound of the mud splattering onto his clothes echoing in my ears, as I continue staring at the gun as well as the back of his head. My hand is shaking as I hold the gun, a nine millimeter Glock. My finger barely touches the trigger, as I can feel the nervousness, the fear soaring up and down my body, coursing through it like the blood in my veins.

I ask, trying to keep my voice from being shaky, “Why the fuck did you do this, man?”

He sobs in between his words, “I…didn’t…mean…to…James…I’m sorry…”

I grind my teeth, “You’re sorry….GAHHH…” My fear fades for a moment, transforming into anger, as my leg extends, my foot connects into his spine, kicking him to the ground, before I continue to speak, “You’re fucking sorry?!?! I told you to keep your cool…I told you not to run your mouth…yet you didn’t fucking listen…”

He slowly pushes himself up from the mud, his face covered in it, but I kick him back down and once again, pointing the gun at the back of his skull. He slowly turns his head to the right and looks at me through the corner of his eye, speaking to me, spitting rain and mud, “I’m sorry…James, I really am…You gotta believe me man…I didn’t know…I’m sorry…”

I remember Sanders’ words, as I grind my teeth again, my hand still shaking as I respond, “But you did know, Dirk…you fucking knew because I fucking told you. You always have to know better…you always have to know more…you can’t just stand there and shut the fuck up…you always gotta say something to make it seem like you’re bigger and more important than you are…”

Dirk pushes himself up and slowly turns to face me. Mud matted in his curly black hair, mud all over his tan face and black beard. Tears well up in his eyes and stream down his face, mixing in with the raindrops, as he stares at the gun before locking eyes with me, “I know man…I know…I’m a fuck up. I talk shit all of the time. I never knew that it would put us in this situation.”

I shout, refraining from pulling the trigger, as I shove my finger into Dirk’s face, “You’re damn right you fucked up. You talk more shit than you should. And it was you…YOU…that put us in this fucking situation. YOU DID…”

Dirk runs his hands over his face, as he sobs even more, his cries growing even louder before removing his hands from his face, as Dirk begins to plead, “Please don’t do this James…Call him up. Just call Sanders up and tell him that I will be better…that I will do much better and I will stop being such a fucking asshole. Tell him that I won’t be so fucking stupid anymore man, I promise James…I fucking promise…”

There is a part of me that wants to tell him that I will do that, that by talking to Sanders and telling him that Dirk apologizes…I want to tell Dirk that by doing that then everything will be alright, but I know that it won’t be. I know that there is no way in Hell that things will be okay. Sanders sent me out here with Dirk after knocking him out to do one thing and one thing only. He sent me out here to kill him. I want to let Dirk live but something tells me that if I don’t kill him…if I let Dirk live then there is a chance that Sanders will have me killed. I look at Dirk, ignoring his tears and his cries, as I remember something my father once told me.

He told me that in this business, in this fucking life, that it is either kill or be killed. It truly is survival of the fittest.

I shake my head, before cocking the gun, pointing it at Dirk, pressing it into the middle of Dirk’s forehead, as I speak once again, “But I have to Dirk. You don’t understand. I have to kill you. I can’t just let you go. If I could, I would have done that already but I have to think about myself…”

Dirk sobs and goes to speak, but I stop him, “Crying and begging isn’t going to help you Dirk. As I said, I have to think about myself. I want you, in your final moments, to put yourself in my shoes, to put yourself in my position. If I were to choose to let you live, do you have any idea of what that would do to me? That would put my life in danger and I don’t want to spend any more time than I already do looking over my fucking shoulder…”

I tell myself that I am not a good person, that I can’t be a good person living in this world, living this sort of life. I tell myself that I am speaking the truth when I say that I have to think about myself. I press the tip of the gun into his forehead a bit more, as I say, “You did this to yourself, Dirk…”

And then I pull the trigger. The gun explodes just like the back and front of Dirk’s skull. Blood and brain matter spill out over the muddy field. Dirk’s body falls to the side, what is left of his skull landing in a pile of mud. Instead of looking like melted chocolate, it becomes a small river of red. I just stand there, not knowing what to do, or if I should really do anything. I just stand there, unable to take my eyes away from the scene before me, the scene that I created. I think it takes a few minutes to hit me, but when it does, it is like a bullet in the back of my skull. My mind begins to race as a rocket of knowledge and realization crashes into it.

I realize that I have just committed murder. I stumble back, dropping the gun. I look at my hands. They are shaking like I have a case of Parkinson’s. I cannot stop them as they shake almost uncontrollably. I look down at the gun, knowing that I have to pick it up, but I am afraid to. I am not sure why but I am afraid of the damn thing. I close my eyes, bringing my shaking hands to my face. I cover my face, closing my eyes as I can hear the echoes of my heavy breathing ricocheting off of my palms. My heavy breathing slowly turns into an agonizing groan, as the fact that I just killed man nails me in the skull like I am taking some hard hitting lefts and rights.

I bring my hands from my face as another realization hits me. It tells me that I need to get the fuck out of dodge. I begin to move frantically…until my eyes land on the gun once again. I freeze once more, unable to take my eyes off of it. I curse it under my breath, just as I curse myself at the same time. I tell myself to grab the gun. I slowly bend down, my hands and my knees beginning to shake. I tell myself again to grab the gun. The words flash into my brain, telling me to grab the gun, to just grab the fucking gun already. I close my eyes and shake my head, taking in a deep breath before opening my eyes and snatching the gun out of the mud. I then turn and begin to race towards the car. Along the way, my legs feel heavy at first, like I am wearing concrete blocks for shoes. The car seems so far away, but I keep moving forward. I feel sick. I feel sick.

I am going to be fucking sick. I tell myself to keep it together, to just keep it together. I finally reach the car, and I open the door, practically falling into the driver’s seat like a drunk fresh out of the bar. I close the door behind me and I begin to yell and scream as I slam my fists into the dash, the steering wheel and the roof of the car, my body shaking in anger and frustration.

I tell myself to breath slowly, telling myself that I need to get my shit together. The feeling of sickness subsides, but I know it won’t take long for it to come back. I reach into my pocket and pull out the phone Sanders gave me. It shakes along with my hand. I flip it open and press DIAL, before placing it to my ear. I take a few more deep breaths and quickly exhale as someone comes onto the line, “Hello…”

My eyes land of their reflection in the mirror. They seem lifeless as I say, “It’s done…”

The voice comes back, “Is he dead?”

“Yeah he’s dead, he is very fucking dead…He’s missing one half of his skull fucking dead…just get out here and clean this shit up…”

I feel myself growing sick again as the words escape my mouth. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, as the voice responds, “Where are you?”

I tell my location, stumbling on my words. I then hang up the phone. I tell myself to get out of there, to just get the fuck out of there because I am probably going to be killed as well. Sanders is more than likely pissed off at me for introducing him to Dirk because it turned out to be nothing more than a waste of his fucking time. I tell myself to turn the key and start the car. I tell myself to get back onto the road and just drive, to just fucking drive as far and as fast as I can without getting caught. I shake my head, telling myself that I need to calm down, that everything will be alright. Sanders wanted you to kill Dirk because he was a fucking idiot. I tell myself that if Sanders wanted me dead then he would have had us both killed right then and there.

And then I feel it returning, the sickness. I try to fight it but it is no use. I turn my head and vomit all over the passenger side floorboard. I cough and gag, telling myself to get it together, to stop being a bitch and get my head and ass wired together. I sit back up in the driver’s seat and I put the keys in the ignition, telling myself that I need to get the fuck out of here. I tell myself that I can’t deal with it, that I can’t live like this, that I just can’t…

But I don’t move. The car is started, the engine is running and I just sit there. I am staring out at the corpse of Dirk, a man I once called my friend from my time in New York. And then I look away from the body, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The lifelessness in my eyes is gone. I tell myself that I am looking at a face, but I ask myself…

Who am I?

What am I becoming?

…Or what have I already become…



At Under Attack, I will be stepping into the ring against a man on his way out as well as a man trying to regain some sort of footing on the slippery slope we call the ladder of success here in the SCW. It is a love hate triangle so to speak. In one corner, you have David Helms, a man who started out with long shaggy hair, looking ever so much like a fucking meth head ready to suck dick in order to score his next fix but got a few title shots, winning said titles en route to earning the illustrious title of Supreme Champion. In the opposite corner you have the man the world has called Collin Cole, the Bird of Prey of Supreme Championship Wrestling.

Sunday night however, this little birdie is my prey and he will fall right into my clutches when the bell rings. Insert evil laugh here. Yes, Collin, you and I will finally dance in the squared circle. You get to tango with the devil in the pale moonlight and trust me, I am not talking about David Helms. He is no Devil. I am that Devil. I am the evildoer of this contest. I am the villain. I am the one that you will team up with Mr. Helms in order to take me out early so you both can fuck one another to the delight of the fans that make up the moronic fan base collectively known as the SCW universe.

Yes, you two will want to go out and give the people a show. You will want to bring the house down and give the people much more bang for their buck. You two will want to wrestle and compete against one another out of respect. Jesus fucking Christ, the very thought of doing any of that makes me want to puke my guts out before finding a gun and giving myself the Kurt Cobain. You see, I don’t want to compete out of respect for someone. I have made it obvious that I respect no one because no one respects me or even shows me the slightest little bit of respect, Collin. And I am sure that you don’t respect me at all Collin. You can come out, stand in front of the camera, pick up a microphone and tell the world that you respect David Helms and that you respect this business. You can even say that you would have some respect for me if I didn’t do this or that. Well, fuck that and fuck you, Collin.

You see, I am not the SCW powers that be. I am not fucking stupid. I know better than that. I know you don’t respect me. I know that you look down on me because it appears that I have no honor for anyone that competes under the SCW banner or the fans that give their money to the SCW, paying for overpriced seats and concessions just so that they can escape from their boring shitty lives. But I once had honor, Collin. I had honor and respect for just about everyone I had met in the SCW and competed against, no matter what “side” they were on. But you see, the fact that people brushed me off because I would take time away due to frustration, and the fact that I continuously got passed over made me pull out my cock, dangle it over “honor” and “respect” and pissing all over those concepts.

The SCW and its bullshit roster took all of that away from me, Collin.

And you have helped them.

How have you helped them? Because you are just like everyone else, Collin. You talk the same crap that they all talk. You bring up how I have left and come back. You bring up how I have always gotten in my own way and you know what? I used to listen to all of that. I used to let it get to me, letting it get under my skin like some sort of virus, allowing it to spread through my heart, breaking it, and into my mind, filling it with fucking poison.

And I let those words drag me down. I let them consume me, letting them define me and why did that happen? Because I was weak Collin. I allowed people to get inside of my head, but that is no more. Someone like David Helms was able to get inside of me as to where I would panic when preparing for a match against him. That just isn’t the case anymore. Just as I will not let someone like you drag me down either, Collin. I know that you want to get back on track here and win another championship. I know that you have been picking up some credible wins lately, beating Jake Starr in one hell of an upset, as well as beating Tommy Valentine one, two, three. That is two wins over former World Champions in less than a month, Collin. I am sure you are patting yourself on the shoulder and kissing your reflection in the mirror.

I have no doubt that you are feeling on top of the world, quietly thinking to yourself that the sky is the limit.

I am sure, despite what you may think or say to the camera when you decide to address the SCW universe as well as David and myself, that you will think that I am going to be an easy win if I decide to even show up. That you are going to be able to dissect me in and out of the ring before getting yet another victory. I am sure you see as some pompous asshole that is nothing more than a bitter employee who needs to take his ball and go the fuck home. I am sure you think that you will able to dig down deep to muster enough strength and motivation to outdo me so the spotlight can shine brightly upon you.

But I am not going to allow that Collin. If you think that I am then you are probably higher than Ace Marshall my friend. You see, I have watched you step into the ring against David Helms and feud with him, competing against him on the biggest stage of them all. I couldn’t help but question…where was my big money main event worthy match at Rise to Greatness? I have dealt with…scraps. I am kept away from the top of the card, and I am not competing against those considered main event talent. So in a way, at least with the way that I am seeing it…is that you have surpassed me, Collin and as I am sure you can guess…that doesn’t sit well with me.

I am going to make sure that you don’t surpass me again. I am going to make sure that I am standing tall this Sunday at Under Attack. I am going to be fighting to climb up that ladder and to reach the spot that I have fucking deserved for years. I am going to be fighting to show that I have what it takes to be a consistent threat and a perennial contender to every major championship in this company. I am going to be fighting so that the world never takes its eyes off of me again. I am must see. I have what it takes to be the SCW United States Champion for a second time. I have what it takes to become the SCW World Heavyweight Champion. I have what it takes to compete at the top tier level and to be seen as a mainstay main event guy. And because of the fact that I have what it takes then that means that I DESERVE it ALL.

(Whispers) I deserve…it…all…

And I am not knocking your talent, Collin. You have talent. You have skill. You’ve overcome two former world champions in the last few weeks. There is no way I can deny your abilities, but you see I can deny you a victory this Sunday. I can knock you down a peg or two, which is exactly what I am going to do. You are a former SCW United States Champion, winning it on the biggest stage the SCW has offered you to perform upon, so I know that you what it takes. I just have to make sure you don’t have what it takes to beat me. And I am not going to allow you to steal from me, Collin. I have been doing this a lot longer than you and I am going to get whatever it is that I desire. I have allowed myself to be surpassed. The shit isn’t happening just in case you haven’t gotten that memo.

It is my time, Collin. Not yours…not anyone else’s but mine. The SCW has held me back. Fucks like you have held me back. It’s just not going to happen anymore. It is time that the SCW gets a clue and realizes that I am going to be a superstar, that I am going to be a main event guy in this company, and that I will go down as a legend and that I will be known as one of the very best in this industry before all is said and done. And there is nothing anyone can do about it.

Not even you, Collin. You what it takes to have your moment and own your piece of time in this business, but for now you need to make the smart decision and step aside.

Don’t be like the SCW.

Don’t be stupid…