The scent of pine needles and the mid-summer aroma of lush, freshly cut lawn encompassed Sawyer’s remote log cabin in between the shoulders of The White Mountains. The wooden structure exuded a weathered charm, and its stone chimney provided overwatch from the rooftop. A wide wrap-around porch provided mesmerizing views of the forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was home at a time of need. When he could, Sawyer would venture back to where his heart always was, nestled in nature’s splendor. He felt a deep connection with The White Mountains and the surrounding area. He believed the mountains were guardians, protectors, and most importantly, listeners. They never shunned Sawyer when he reached a dead end.
Sawyer watched Hayden, his wolfdog hybrid, sleep comfortably, hoisting The Valor Championship over his shoulder. The sun beamed off the plate, guiding his eyes to a duo of monarch butterflies playing tag in and out of the bushes. It reminded him of simple times. There was a lot on his plate. He spent the last week tucked away — processing, managing but, above all else, keeping his chin up and planning. It wasn’t about retribution as many would believe; Sawyer’s stance stayed the course. His primary focus was bettering himself every day. Despite recent disappointments, he found ways to keep his mind active and busy. He wouldn’t allow himself to dwell over Salvation. As tempting as it was to chastise Christopher Sabertooth and his goon squad, Sawyer remained focused on the task at hand — The Valor Championship and doing everything in his power to fight on its behalf.
Sawyer knew he was born for this. He was born to wrestle until his body waved the white flag. He was born to blaze trails and leave his mark on PCW and the entire sport. He was born to inspire the young, the starry-eyed so that one day they could follow in his footsteps. He was born to reinvigorate the old, so the light would return to their eyes again. He was born to uplift the fallen, so they can return to the saddle and believe in themselves even when no one else will. It fueled his fire and was proper motivation to keep competing.
Sawyer gazed into the blur of trees beyond his property line.
“It is one thing to have a passion for competition; it is another to have success while doing so. I have witnessed able men and women from different walks of life, and from different upbringings, burst onto the scene. Some possess exciting promise, others possess unwarranted arrogance. I have witnessed both sides relish in their fifteen seconds of fame and ultimately flame out to a bitter end when the dust settles. It is no doubt a cruel reality, but a necessary one. To separate yourself from the rest of the field, you need to excel in many areas. We have our strengths, we have our weaknesses. I will not act as the all-seeing eye. I will not be a gatekeeper. I will not direct traffic to and from PCW, but from my experience, some are more cut out for this than others. It is the nature of the beast.
I do not see a beast in Alejandro Rivera. While he is a bruising fighter from the mean streets of New York City, his run has been mediocre if not predictable. I’ve grown weary of how many countless inner-city fighters I’ve seen try to translate their street cred to in-ring prowess. It seldom pans out, unless you’re James Christ. I see the fire in your eyes, Alejandro, but it is misguided. I see someone trying to break through the glass ceiling, but not holding himself accountable. I see someone sick of being disrespected yet showing little respect for his peers. Respect is thrown out the window when you’re running your mouth and spewing nonsense. Respect is shelved when you have a grudge against damn near everyone for no other reason than blind fury. The rage in you is palpable, but so far you have not been able to harness and use it effectively. Instead, it has backfired; it has led you to point the finger at James Christ and others because you’re insecure. What have your bravado and contempt gotten you? Nothing. You thought you were tough so James Christ kneed you in the mouth and put you down after a week of trying to intimidate him This week will be no different.
I will knock your head off with the sole of my boot. I will show you the respect you’ve afforded others. The respect you so direly need for vindication. The respect you crave to complete your story. What are you but the scraps James Christ left me? Pick yourself up off the ground, Alejandro. It is time to stop being a sheep in wolf’s clothing. It is time to stop blaming others. Nobody is going to pick up the baton for you. It is up to you to grab it and run with it. You will not earn championship opportunities by feeling slighted. You will not earn championship opportunities just by showing up. I am challenging you this week to show me something. Show me you’re more than just a multi-sport hybrid hopeful. Show me something more than anointing yourself as one true king by knowing how to rule yourself as opposed to others.
Or you will continue to flounder as has been the status quo. You will continue to toe the line of inconsistency. You will continue to be your own hype man without any substance whatsoever. You will continue to childishly demand respect until your lungs burst. You will continue to feel sorry for yourself without gaining any traction. You will continue to believe you’re a fearless fighter until you have no fight left to give. Until I call your bluff and simply ask you one burning question while you lay in a crumpled heap.
Yesterday at 11:42 pm by 
Subject: King Nothing 
