"Mr. McNeil?"
Ignore it, it'll go away. New images. A world title, shimmering beneath the sun lit sky. Eye catching rays gleaming from the nameplate. Ronnie McNeil engraved boldly among the beauty illuminated before him.
"Excuse me, Mr. McNeil?"
God damnit, what is so important? I thought to myself, my eyes still remained firmly closed, my neck relaxing on the plastic chair of the outdoor cafe.
"Yes?" I asked, impatience in my tone. It was a young kid, probably about 13 or 14. Had a piece of paper and a sharpie in his hand, and excitement in his eye.
You sign one, you gotta sign hundreds more.
"Mr. McNeil, could I please have your autograph."
The kid asked, the excitement of meeting a celebrity up close and personal still twinkling in his eyes. It was a quick decision.
"I think you have the wrong guy kid." I said, a smile on my face. Similar to one you'd see if shopping for a used car. "Sorry." I added for empathy.
The price for fame.
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I enjoy this Buff, watching you decide on whether you'll have enough to get by me. You're banking on the one fact that I somehow mess up this opportunity. You're hoping I wouldn't bring the talent that's been proven better than so many. You're probably watching this right now, stomach in your throat, wishing you had taken this week off.
Sorry, that ship's long since sailed.
You've already decided that you would be successful after this match, regardless of a win or loss. For a hero, you lack the confidence I'd expect. You're doubting yourself, and I'm reading it all over you.
The smell of fear is a thick cologne, my friend.
It's been too long since I've felt this excitement for a pay-per-view. There's meaning again. Reason. There's charts everywhere, giving out the top five's of the HWA. I haven't seen myself on many. That's a problem for me Buff; I like to be the best. My losing streak didn't help matters.
I can't lose anymore.
If I do, I get lofted in to that mid card category, floating among the ranks; the best thing going would be the Spotlight Title. I'm too good for that shit Buff; I'd be wasting my time. I belong at the end of the shows, my name filling the Main event venue.
I won't lose.
Like an animal backed in a corner, I have no other choice but fight; fight for my life. My life as the best, my life in the fast lane. I'm a superstar Buff, and I don't want to lose that status. I worked hard to get where I was, and that's at the top. Where I belong.
I can smell the blood, ready to do this battle again. This is David against Goliath, and I understand I am David. But it makes things so much sweeter, for when I continue to win after Blood, Sweat and Tears, I can regain my status. I can, once again, be the best. It's what I strive for, and live for.
I'm a born competitor.
This win will be for Senester. This win will be for either Eddie or Hans. I'll be sending a message to every mother f*cker up top, letting them know I'm ready for my title while adding to the prestige of the one I hold now. Where will you be after this Buff? I can tell you. Picking up the pieces again. You have absolutely no idea. It's like a giant being awoken, or a riot being stirred.
Your chances of survival are slim.
Soon you'll recognize.
I'm a born Legend.
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