The camera opens in the state of the art Casanova Center in Eugene, Oregon. Located at the heart of the University of Oregon campus, the student athletic center is perhaps the finest, and most expensive, of its kind in the entire country. The expansive weight room contains every manner of luxury and nuance, but its charms seem mostly lost on one visitor in particular.

Sitting quietly on a weight bench near the far wall, he is dressed in black athletic shorts and a plain, white tanktop, providing a stark contrast to the sea of kelly green and bright yellow swirling all around him. He remains still, with his head bowed, even in the midst of all manner of co-eds, whose appeal is exponentially enhanced by their aesthetically pleasing workout attire.

In fact, the man appears almost devoid of all movement and sound altogether, save for the occasional rise and fall of his shoulders and chest, in accordance with his slowed breathing.

But you know what they say about looks. They can be pretty damn deceiving. For as the camera draws near, its shadow crosses over the man's black Nike's, capturing his immediate attention and spurring his subsequent transformation from nondescript statue into the charismatic young athlete who arrived in the WWA just over two shorts months ago.

Colby Korver.

Removing the earplugs from both ears, Korver silences his iPod and begins the frank exchange of ideas for which he has become increasingly associated with each passing WWA broadcast.

"Unless you want to become intimately familiar with the business end of a forty-five pound weight plate, I strongly suggest that next time, you exercise some discretion and announce your arrival like the respected journalist I know you really are. Deal?"

Korver quickly signals the end of the brief lecture with his immediate foray into the pressing matters at hand.

"I promised myself I wasn't going to go overboard with this. I mean, we all know that The Cog isn't exactly operating at maximum cranial capacity. Now granted, it took a great deal of creativity and meticulous planning to pull off the big reveal at Rage in the Cage; but unfortunately, its looking more and more like that was kind of it. I mean, it's important to make a good first impression, but it's also a really good idea to make a second impression at some point. You know, aside from eliminating yourself from the Independence Day Rumble. And the jailyard quality tattoo. And the awesome haircut.

But then The Cog came out earlier this week and ruined any chance of continued silence on my part with his stories of Schmolby Schmorver and whatever backyard bush league club he used to call home. Well Cog, I have a story of my own. I hope you enjoy.

Hickory Dickory Dock,
The Cog had a countdown clock.
When it finally hit zero,
Here came the self-proclaimed hero,
Whose not even worthy to hold up my jock.

So bring your Defragmentation. Bring your metal brackets and your crazy moveset. Bring your Ghost. Bring your ever-running mouth. Hell, bring your green hat. Because when you step into the ring with me, you're going to wish that you had kept your identity a mystery and never signed your name to that WWA contract.

Because I am going to beat you.

And it's going to be convincing.

And there's absolutely nothing that you can do about it."