Why

Who inspires you everyday?

My inspiration isn’t just a person — it’s a force. It’s the people who refuse to break. The ones who wake up in the dark, push through the pain, and keep fighting long after the world stops watching.
 

I’m inspired by the youth the Pinball Foundation stands up for. Young warriors who walk through storms most adults couldn’t survive. They carry scars, but  also a  fire, and if they can keep swinging at life, then I can damn well swing for them.
I’m inspired by the ones in my corner, my family, my crew, the people who demand the best from me. Not because it’s easy, but because they know what I’m capable of. They don’t hype me up… they hold me to a higher standard.
 

That’s my “who.” The unbreakable. The relentless. The ones built from grit and heart.
They’re the reason I step into the ring with my chin down, my hands up, and a purpose bigger than any punch I’ll ever throw​.

 

Inspiration Song:

TBD

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Inspiring Quote:

“It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.” — Mark Twain
Some fights are chosen. Others are answered. I’m here because this one matters. When you fight for yourself, you hit hard. When you fight for others, you hit like hell.​

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What should your opponent watch out for?

They should watch out for the shift in the air when I start walking them down. That feeling that the lights got brighter, the crowd got quieter, and the canvas under their feet suddenly feels like it belongs to me.  I don’t throw punches. I deliver consequences.  I don’t pressure. I collapse space.  I don’t chase. I appear.

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What's the first thing you'll do after you win?

First thing I’m doing? I’m hanging on the ropes like I just escaped a Jurassic Park scene, gasping for air like, “Somebody call Uber… for my lungs.”  I’ll stare at my coach with that “bro, why did we sign up for this?” face, then point at my opponent like, “Good fight, but also… why were you hitting me so hard?”  I’m giving the crowd two thumbs up — not because I planned it, but because my arms are too tired to put them down.  Then I’m marching over to my corner like a newborn deer on ice, grabbing the water bottle, and missing my mouth at least twice because my hands will be shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.  After I regain 12% of my dignity, I’m finding the kids this was all for and saying: “Listen… I fought for you. You’re welcome. But next year, let’s raise money by selling cookies or something.”  Then when the cameras come in for that big post-fight moment, I’m hitting them with the classic champ line:  “Yeah, I trained hard… but honestly, adrenaline and fear did 90% of the work.”  And as they lift my arm, I’ll whisper: “Careful… it’s still loading.”  Finally? Victory selfie. Big smile. Sweat everywhere. And I’m captioning it: ‘Won the fight. Lost the ability to walk up stairs.’