It doesn’t take a Doctor to diagnose your current condition, Dr. Death. You’re angry.
Anger – it’s such a multifaceted emotion.
Let’s think of anger as an onion.
The outermost layer is anger. You’ve been betrayed by your best friend; a man you considered a brother. You’d risked your own life by rescuing him from yours truly and in his brutal betrayal, he peeled back that layer.
Next is frustration and inconvenience. How could you be so foolish to trust a man that hid from you in secrecy, the reason for his pain. He refused to let you see the very song sheet he used to betray you. You’re frustrated and the inconvenience of such deceit has been peeled back.
Beneath that second layer, is hurt. This man, whom you trusted, brutally violated that trust by attacking you with violence. He assaulted you. He peeled back that layer of the onion by decimating you, humiliating you, in front of those you thought you were better than.
Once you peel off expectation, you’ll discover a sense of entitlement. Entitlement to the truth, to Championships, to glory – to a friend who wouldn’t betray you. Entitlement and expectation of friendship and brotherhood. Thereafter follows attachment, now broken. Ignorance finally comes last, and you were mightily ignorant in being unable to see what was coming.
But you see Dr. Death, this onion of yours was nurtured in the manure of wrong ideas. The idea that you could trust someone who wanted the same things as you, as if they wouldn’t come between you.
It was tilled by self-centeredness. You both, despite your actions to the contrary, only ever have cared about yourselves. Had you cared about El Mariachi Muerte, you wouldn’t have competed in Lambs. You wouldn’t have placed yourself in a position to take what belonged to him.
It grew in the soil of ego. Both of you, determined to be the greatest Champion – determined to be better than each other.
If even one layer of this onion is present, it’s enough to fill the room with a strong smell and make you cry. You can chop, slice, or dice it, the smell remains.
And all your layers have been peeled back.
What you do now is the most important. You see, you can cook that onion with love, forgiveness, and patience. You can turn that foul smell into something consumable and decent. You could forgive El Mariachi Muerte and make things right.
Or you can take that pungent onion, stick it in your beak and breathe in the rotting smell of anger, frustration, inconvenience, hurt, expectation, entitlement, attachment, and ignorance.
In that instance, it’ll make you cry, dear boy.
And through the foggy tears of anger, Stubbins Doom will be there to take advantage and take back my OSW World Championship. See, I can’t smell your onion, Dr. Death.
But we know which one you’ll choose, don’t we?
When the tears fall at Ring of Dreams, so will the remnants of O’Death.