The WWA World Title belt glistens around my waist. It gleams upon me in a way that it never has upon anyone else. I gaze down upon its beauty, its radiance, and know that we shall never part.

Over the last eight years it has been worn by many men. Craven Moore won this prize on two occasions. He hopes that a victory over me this Monday will secure him some kind of right to a third attempt.

No chance.

I have watched the tapes. I’ve seen the footage of Moore with the World Title in his hands. It didn’t glow or glisten. The gold faded when it was around his waist. It was the same dull metallic colour that it was around Mal’s waist.

Worn.

Dirty.

Useless.

Wasted.

But around my own waist, the World Championship belt looks…content. It looks proud to be around my waist. You could say we share a mutual admiration for each other, although I might sound like that embarrassment Somers.

Last week, Moore left me in a broken heap on the mat. He hopes to do the same this week. He hopes to prove his point one more time. But why? Is it because he truly believes what I have done is wrong? Is it because he’s trying to protect the WWA from my corruption?

Hell no.

Moore is greedy. Perhaps even as greedy as myself. Moore is after what is rightfully mine. Had I not become World Champion at Birthday Bash he’d have gone no further with his little ‘grudge’. Like all past stars, he’s trying to achieve his former glory. Well those days are long past. Moore should stick to his pathetic B-Movies. He’s a nobody. A former Champ in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Just like Mal Somers.

Just like Ian Tense.

Craven Moore is just another name to strike off my list of failed legends.

He won’t beat me on Monday. I have an ace up my sleeve and a belt wrapped firmly around my waist.

The Devil will have his day.