Twas the night before Christmas, and alarm bells were ringing. Even with all of the people still singing.

Bobby knocked that guy like this, knocked this guy like that, he even knocked out the dude with a cool Christmas Hat.

Bobby’s heart grew three times sizes this year, don’t ask me, ask your bros in the chat.

He came without presents, he came without beasts, he came without some fancy ass Christmas Feast.

He brought it all, for all, for the people, at least.

Too many for the wrestling world to cast.

He got in a sleigh and forgot his past.

ON DASHER

ON DANCER


ON PRANCER AND VIXEN

ON COMET AND CUPID AND DONNER AND BLITZEN!

Bobby cracked a whip, and eight reindeer did fly, off without hesitation into the night sky. Bobby looked into the back of the sleigh at Santa.

Sorry, my guy.

Bobby continued as Santa would squirm, he came without posture, like some kind of worm. He delivered to the people their desired Christmas cheer but also Bobby was available to be the bringer of fear.

Replacing a grinch, Bobby stood in it's place, just look at his big ole' dumb face, and no, I don't exactly mean my picbase.

I'm not really the best just the best of what's here. I deliver the goods, polished, new veneer. Sparkling, dazzling, beguiling, only with a better sneer.



Adeyemi.

Look man, you only have to consider one thing and one thing only here.

Sure, I could talk about how I punched half of the ticket that sent you on to win War Games.

I could talk your ear off about what I have done throughout my career, and vice versa.

I could just tell it to you like I told Seb, nobody gives a shit about your dad he can stop being on TV for a while.

But let’s face facts, I have one question for you; are you a chosen one?

I mean, you never see Lucy Wilde get picked to go head to head with any of the rest of Thad’s buddies, but you and me, well, we’re fit to spill each other’s blood just fine.

Think about that for a moment.

Now, I’ll give credit where it’s due, you’ve had me pegged all year. You’re absolutely right, Prince, people hate me.

People are going to hate me, and that’s a problem for them.

Because they make me a problem.

You’ve seen me operate, with honor and on short notice, at War Games. I didn’t become a problem for you, I let bygones be bygones, figured you were just spewing word salad the rest of the times and telling the truth then, or vice versa, it wasn’t really my concern at the time, and it still isn’t. You can say whatever you want about me, Prince, tell the people why you hate me.

I will clarify why you hate me.

I’m not hated because I run my mouth, Prince, I’m hated for backing up what I say time and time and time again. I pointed to the nihilist and proclaimed there was no reason to believe in them, and lo, I was vilified after I proved it with a Bobbybomb and a smile.

I’m not hated because I play dirty, no. I am hated because I win dirty. It isn’t like I’ve done sneaky, underhanded, and downright gnarly shit to people because I thought it was cute, I did it because it was effective. Respect the warrior, fear the assassin.

I’m not hated because I have a devil-may-care sensibility about all of that. I’m hated because I don’t care what the critics think of it when I’m standing, upheld by my own results.

I am hated for being self-made. I didn’t get the okie-doke from a suit, a legend, or even an announcer, I went out and got nasty with it, looting, plundering, razing, pillaging, and conquering.

I feel you may understand where I’m coming from on that one.

So, are you a chosen one, Prince? Is it the lineage that makes you…

Bobby points to the camera.

...or your actions?

Are you being handed opportunities, or do you go out and make your own?

See, for some of us, the war hasn’t ended, it’s just begun. A revolution, Prince, and it isn’t coming, it’s here. It’s alive. It’s breathing.

Can you get past the hate you have for me? The hatred for the idea that I am holding the seat you want as someone beyond mere championships, the hatred for the fact I am still a man of the people, for the people, and you’re still figuring it out?

Think about it. You can hate me all you want, but if you want change, if you want to represent the fans, to represent this business, this sport, this art, yourself, and even people you hate, you gotta stand taller than the petty squabble and take aim at the hearts of lions and emperors, otherwise you’re just their goon.

And I’m not going to pester you by asking “what would Ned do” or “didja see what Mark did”, no, Prince. What would a man like you or I do right now?

I fought for you at War Games, Prince, and I got bounced because two of your men didn’t care that I did, and I have no shame whatsoever about it.

In time, I will bring you the goddamned heads of an emperor and a lion on a platter, because the people deserve a better future, because I deserve a better purpose.

And if you don’t run with it, run from it.

Thing is, Prince, where are you aimed? Do you want to become the next lion, the next emperor, or the liberator?

The brass has started bringing in guys my size, Prince, to fight me. To beat me. To humiliate me.

I reckon, if anything, you’d know by now, humiliating Bobby backfires ten times out of ten. After all, the reason I fought at War Games was successful.

But hey, I’m not Jonathan Bacchus, too. The man who proved himself to be a champion you now find to be a problem. I get it, Prince, more than you know. I have been in this company nearly 10 years, a lifetime for most, a pittance to a few, and I have called out more champions than most could probably name.

Shit, if you haven’t figured it out by now, for every bit that you hate me, I respect you, because I see you doing what I did when I was hungry, when I was mean, when I had nobody but myself to rely on. When I step in that ring, when my music fades, when the fans all scream my name and pray for blood, when the referee starts to sweat knowing…

…I am there, and there’s no knowing what comes next…

I have nobody but myself to rely on.

TK won’t be there.

Schism and Flynn won’t be there.

The history, the potential, none of it will matter because the moment is upon me.

That moment, Prince, that fraction of time we experience as the present, presses on me to act, to get results, to finish what I started, to start something to finish, and to be the man I am, the man you are too. The end. The stopping point. The culmination.

This ain’t the immovable object meeting the unstoppable force. Been there, done that, won each time, being immovable or unstoppable depending on who you fucking ask.

Will I do the right thing? Shit, the right thing to do is hoist you up on my shoulder and point you out, warning the world of you, how you are the future, how you are the domination waiting the foolhardy and out-of-touch.

But doing the right thing would be doing you a disrespect.

I respect Prince Adeyemi.

And will beat that respect into him.