Here is the thing.

The screen is filled with the image of Mike Williams in all
black, hoodie strings tying the fabric tight to his head, jogging down a quiet
city street. Early morning fog covers the streets but his breathing even.
Steady. Seems to be a theme.

I know what it feels like to get in the ring with Fella for
the first time. That intense feeling of getting ready to fight a legend. You
tell everyone this isn’t a big deal. You threaten him in interviews and in the
gym, you act like this is any fight. You glaze over with confidence and you
make goddamn sure that no one thinks you are nervous. You get ready like a man.

The pace, again, quickens. Cheeks puff legs stretch.

Inside, though, you feel like David with no slingshot. A
child fighting a man. There is a bit of fear. Shit, I was in the end of two
years in the ring and Fella was a vet then. I did the same thing you did.
Challenged him to man up. Told him that no one thought I’d win and swore I
would. I stood in the Gorilla Position, sweat dripping in my eyes. Stinging. My
muscles exploded. I was bigger in those days. 
I heard the crowd scream his name. I heard the catcalls. I saw through
the curtain and this mass of humanity knowing I would lose.

The energy fades and the run stops, slowly. Profit pulls
keys out of his pocket and sits on the steps of a fairly nondescript
brownstone.

We locked up and it felt like a losing battle. Like you, I
let his experience bring me to the edge of losing but I came back. The crowd
even quieted and a few screamed my name. I smelled blood in the water and so
did he. I attacked his weak spor and it didn’t kill him.

Mike starts tossing the keys up, hand to hand.

Here is the big difference, Josh.

He tosses them one last time and the keys fall to the ground
and silence settles in for a moment.

I won, bitch. I was the newcomer put in the high pressure
situation and I won. I didn’t live to fight another day. I didn’t need to say
my second shot was deadly. I went into battle with a legend and came out with
my stripes. Noone has been able to call me kid since. No veterans threatening
to treat me like a little bitch making cakes. No, you cunt, they had to see me
as a man. Because I won. That 3 seconds meant that in any fed in the World, I
was a contender. I mean, shit, Josh, I wouldn’t sign a contract without there
being a title shot written in it. The wars before that fight made me the guy
who could grasp victory. That fight made Profit a very motherfucking big deal.

You, however, won’t be getting a shot anytime soon.

We all saw Unknowns message for you. I’ve been watching that
man for years. He is not to be fucked with. I mean, do you think he won’t dust
off what is left after me? You pissed off a lot of people, Sandwich Boy. I
mean, Fella left you weak. I’m going to cripple you, but none of us, not a single
guy on this roster, want to be the guy Unknown is coming for. I’ll fuck that
man up if I need to, but he’s never had to pick off his own trainee before. He
knows you. You can say whatever you want about not being afraid, son, but I
never had to fight the guy who broke me in. I couldn’t imagine that kind of
fear.

So, do I think, I’m getting Josh Jones at 100%? Nope. Do I
care? Nope.

You just need to know, I know your heads in that cage with
Steve and in that foreboding future with Unknown.

But the present is where I knock your head off.  The truth is a bitch. Now go make me a
sandwich. I want this to be personal. Because, I'm sure one day, beating you will be a big deal. Right now, its just swinging at the guy who makes the food.