Do you really want me to tell you what I see, Seth? Do you really want me to tell you the TRUTH, Seth? Because honestly, someone needs to, and sitting in some musky basement somewhere up in the ass-end of Razorback Point listening to yourself isn't doing you any good.

Here is what I see, Seth.

I see Seth Copeland. I see a man that used to have to carry a sledgehammer around with him because he couldn't convince anyone around him that he was as lethal as he wanted to pretend to be.

I see a puppet. Of the Communion, Kash, RJ Stone, yourself, whoever. I see a puppet with his strings suddenly cut and left with a newfound freedom that scares the Hell out of him because he just isn't quite sure he can make it on his own...after all, he hasn't been able to up until this point.

That voice of yours told you that they all laughed at you. That's true. They all did. All of them. Each and every one of them. But that same voice told you that no one was laughing anymore. Untrue.

I'm laughing Seth. Me. And me alone.

I don't know if we will stand across the ring from each other on Underground or not, Seth, but let me dispell some things for you.

If you think, even for a moment, that you are going to go into Underground and steamroll me, then your plain *beep*ing stupid.

Your supposed juggernaught-like size, all 6'4 and 284 lbs of it, just isn't quite that much bigger than I am, now is it, Seth?The main difference is how we choose to use our sizes.

You, you're a wrecking ball. From point A to point B with as much damage as possible. The proverbial Bull in a China Shop. You're the retard in the middle of a full-fledged temper tantrum. There is no thought. There is no planning. There is no strategy in alything you do, Seth. Nothing.

Me, on the otherhand. I have the finesse to go along with my size. I have inner-peace enough to THINK as I act. To process the information of what is happening around me. To understand the implications of what is going on. To adapt.

You're just a brainless bull running through the streets of Barcelona.

You claim that I'm going to be another member of your body count? That my "hype" is going to clash with my "ability"? That youre a focused machine and that nothing will stop you?

Wrong. Dead wrong. I can stop you, Seth. I can eliminate you in the first round just like I can Shaman. Just like I can Carnage.

And if you look past me, and if you dismiss me, and if you consider me to be nothing more than "hype", then you need to take a much longer and much harder look at that cute little inkblot you have as a signature.

Do you know how you stop someone like you, Seth?

You break his arms. If that doesn't work, you break his legs. If that doesn't work, you cut off the bloodflow to his brain, or the air to his lungs...

...just like everyone else. You see, Seth, you are no different than anyone else on the WWA roster. None of us. And if you and I get paired together, Seth, I will beat your pompous, self-delusional, arrogant ass. 

Nothing can stop you? Please. There are 7 other people besides yourself in the tournament that can stop you. You claim to have made a name for yourself in last years Harrington Cup, but the truth is, that same name can be shattered at this years.

And Shaman, you'd be well-served to pay more attention to the immediate than the distant. Sure, your fate is being decided as Korver and Cog go at it to decide who's the next US champion...that's right, I said "NEXT" because either of them can beat you from pillar to post, and you know it. But the thing is that you have seven other men looking at you not only as the WWA US Champion, but as one of the 2009 Harrington Cup finalists. You have a target on yoru back, Cheif, and the pool of people aiming at you THIS WEEK consists of Copeland, who already beat you, and myself, who eliminated you at the IDR.

How safe do you feel?

In my opinion, the best thing you can do to save your US title reign, is to win this week. The worst thing you could to your career, is to get me as a draw.

Shaman, it isn't that I don't respect you, because I, honest to God, truly do.You're a legend --unlike Copeland. You're an icon --unlike Copeland. And you're truly are one of the most vicious, powerful, blood-thirsty men to ever lace up a pair of boots in the WWA --unlike Copeland. BUT, if you run around the reservation chucking tomahawks at everything that moves, well, all you get is a bunch of cut down teepees. If you focus on one target, it's likely you'll hit it.

I think youre rampaging through the reservation, Shaman. I don't think you're focusing on the target.

See, everyone else in this tournament, Suckland, yourself, Watkins, Trendkiller, and Adams have nothing to fight for. Almost everyone of them are looking towards something else.

Suckland wants to break anything that moves because he has the mind of a child. You're looking forward to either Korver or Cog. Watkins has a much more important match on the horizon, Trendkiller...well...you know what, I think I'll leave his name out of my mouth until needbe. And Adams has been to the top of the mountain.

I haven't. THIS is MY big chance. This is MY opportunity. This is MY World Title Match. Superbowl. World Cup. Finals. Whatever you want to call it.

I want it so bad, I can taste it.

So whether it is Suckland, Shaman, or Scotty Carnage, it really doesn't matter. I have the eye of the hunter, you all look like prey.

The endgame is simple. I will win this tournament. This is why I came to the WWA, for chances like this, and no one will take it away from me.