There is a difference between being watched and being remembered.

Old School Wrestling understands that difference even if it doesn’t always say it out loud.

For weeks now, this match has been promoted like an event. A moment. A performance worth anticipation. Whispers of “show-stealer.” Talk of something special waiting to happen when the lights finally come up and the camera finds its mark.

That language matters to me.

Because I’ve lived inside it before.

Awards don’t come from excess. They don’t come from indulgence. They come from restraint, from discipline, from knowing exactly when to act and when to let silence do the work. They come from moments that survive the edit.

Glitter understands attention. You understand appetite. You understand how to pull eyes toward you and keep them there through sensation alone. The human body as a spectacle. Desire as the engine. Pleasure as proof.

That isn’t accidental.

That’s instinct.

But cinema teaches you something hunger never will.

Appetite fades.

What survives is intention.

I don’t treat the ring like a playground or a confession booth. I treat it like a frame. Every step is placed. Every pause earned. When I walk the apron, I’m not posing I’m setting the shot. When I wait, I’m not stalling I’m letting the moment breathe.

Because if everything is movement, nothing is meaningful.

Triumph isn’t about how much you give the audience. It’s about what they carry with them after the lights go down. Long after the noise has blurred together and the indulgence has been spent.

This match matters because it isn’t about winning a crowd. It’s about proving what kind of performance deserves to be remembered once the applause fades.

You believe pleasure proves power.

I believe memory proves value.

You burn brightly in the moment.

I am built to endure beyond it.

I don’t need to overpower you. I don’t need to dominate the frame. I only need one moment perfectly placed, precisely timed  where everything else has no choice but to stop around it.

That’s how performances become legendary.

Not by excess.

By inevitability.

If Turbo becomes chaos, I understand…..Chaos is easy to sell. Chaos feels alive. But chaos is forgotten the moment the next scene begins.

I am not here to be consumed.

I am here to leave something behind.

And when this night is over when the crowd argues, when the critics debate, when people try to decide what mattered most

They won’t talk about how loud it was.

They’ll talk about what held.

They’ll talk about the moment that refused to disappear.

That’s the performance I was promised.

That’s the performance I intend to deliver.

……..ACTION!