Back, when the land was fresh and the Rocky Mountains, there was a dinosaur. There were plenty of course, but one springs to mind. It was called Tenontosaurus from what you mammals call the early Cretaceous. Not too big, not too small. One of the plant eaters, and as plain as you could get for a standard. The bare minimum of what lived in the world around it.

Just like you Jack.

See, the one thing that Tenontosaurus had over his cousins, the small fast ones and the big brawler ones, was that it was the standard of it all. There would always be room for a standard, not big enough for the giant hunters to bother with and too large for the scampering beasts underfoot. If it could just be the normal one among all these other animals, it would find success.

But even you humans know that wasn’t the case. See, around the fossils of a Tenontosaurus, they found evidence of dominance. Their bones clawed into, bite marks across them. And among them, the remains of hunters. Strong. Smart. Clever. Powerful for what they were.

The Deinonychus.

About as large as a man, with these sickle claws that could pin down prey with ease for them to eat alive. But these weren’t their only benefit. See, these hunters were clever. One on one, the Tenontosaurus was too large to take on its own. Two would struggle, but in groups of three? They would overwhelm. Swarm the Tenontosaurus, have too many places to come across and slash just right, and they would fall with ease.

Deinonychus was so successful, they turned the standard of Tenontosaurus into a standard meal.

In a world of bright colors and strange monsters stalking the ring, you come as normal as you can. Throw the gimmicks out, be just yourself and embrace the combat as you can. And for other places, this might work. But here? This isn’t a valid strategy. Here monsters roam in leather and mask, hungering for flesh.

Three hunters stalk your ring, fighters proved among the ring as monsters in their own right. Three of them, with one single goal: you. Rivalries will be put aside, a goal in the ring. One that doesn’t have the flashy gimmicks or strange twists to help protect him. No armor on your body, no distracting moves to save you.

All you have Jack, is the average you represent. And against one, it might’ve worked. Against two you could have had that chance. With three beasts after your hide? You can’t stop us all. And we will wear you down, bit by bit. From the blows you shall fall, panting from the strain. And then, and only then, will I rip your spine out from your body and claim it as my trophy.

It will sit nicely on display next to the Tenontosaurus, a benchmark for the standard. And a reminder that overwhelming might means being more than just the standard, but the most adaptable.