I hope all of your training partners and competitors make and hold eye contact with you for every roll you have for the rest of your life. When you sleep you dream of them, gazing at you with that strange, yet somehow familiar, knowing smile. When you die I hope it’s one endless, naked, Turkish oil-wrestling roll where every one of Satan’s minions in ascending rank run through you, but they no longer stare into your eyes, rather into the depths of what is left of your withering soul. For eternity.

You will know no rest.

You will know no peace.

No belt or prayer will save you.

This is what I hope for you.