Look Into My Eyes, Mox

That's right, Moxie. Focus on the mask.

Concentrate of the fact that I look like some low-grade superhero from a Sci-Fi double feature.

Because that's exactly what you're supposed to do.

Think about it, kids. If the rumors are true, and I'm some pedigreed second-generation wrestler fresh out of one of the most intensive wrestling academies on Earth, why would I wear this mask? If I'm really the son of a legend, and trained by two other legends on top of that, why hide my face?  Well, there are two possible reasons. One, maybe all of those rumors were started by me and maybe they're all hype. Maybe I'm some unskilled nobody, and the only way I could get signed anywhere was to have a gimmick, a cool looking mask.

or...

I am everything that the rumors say I am and more. And on top of all that, I'm the smartest guy in the room. Maybe the best way to distract from everything I am was to hide it all in plain sight by dressing it up so garishly that the disguise simply couldn't be ignored. By slapping a mask on my face, I've forced you to come out and address me as a sterotype.

Which is it that's true? Well, I'm not gonna tell you, but the good news boys is that you don't have to wait very long to find out.

But the real difference between you and me, Mox?  The one great thing about this mask?  It's the ultimate poker face.  Unlike you, I'm giving nothing away.  Your every facial expression, from your shit-eating smirk to your arms-crossed 'Now I'm being serious' look tell me everything I need to know about you, Moxie. You wanted to come off as sarcastic, quick-witted and sharp... but you waited until you thought none of your opponents would be watching to say anything about this match at all. Your bravado is an act. Your declaration of skill is a lie. Your actions in the past, the things you've admitted that you've done to get ahead, they show that you know you're not as skilled inside the ring as you know that your opponents are. That's why you weasel your way around this business looking for shortcuts, looking for back doors.

Well, you've got nowhere left to run, Moxie. This time, you've got 3 opponents. I have no idea if Cid and The Madman are gonna buy your little show, but I don't. I see through your act, top to bottom. I've seen your type before, and I'm the one who's not impressed. Look into my eyes, am I lying? Never mind, it was a hypothetical question, Moxie. My eyes betray nothing. That's the advantage the mask gives me. You, your eyes tell me that you know now, just like you've always known, that you're not the strongest, the fastest or the smartest in this match. You are the guy, beyond any doubt, who will break any rule or grease any palm to get the win, but up here, in Canada, that's just not going to be enough. You're not going to be enough.

This is Canadian X pro-wrestling, and I am The Spyder. You, Moxie? You're the comic relief. You're the funny-on-the-mic guy who gets a few laughs with his pier-side language and his 5th grade insults, but the really funny thing about those guys, Moxie? They languish in the mid-card. That's your future. You're gonna lose this match, likely you're gonna be the guy who takes the fall, because you're a clown getting into the ring with 3 athletes. You're the joke, and you're the punchline, Mox.

Sorry about your luck.

The fact is, I expected you, and everyone else, to underestimate me. I also didn't expect you to show up at all, at least not once you realized that you were going into this match against real competition. But I'm glad you finally opened your mouth, Mox. I'm glad because now I know what everyone's role is, and I know who the one guy in this match who least deserves to be in Canadian X actually is.

Moxie, you are your name. You're Moxie, you're bravado, you're hype. White, Madison and I? We're athletes, we're warriors, we're for real. The only question left is which one of us is gonna pin you, which one is gonna make you tap out.

Bet on me, Moxie. Bet your ass it's gonna be me.