You, my friend, are in trouble.
You have denied me; you have frustrated me; you have been costly to my sleep and my palms. It seems like forever since I started trying to get one over on you, and I haven't been successful yet.
It may appear that you're winning.
You don't know me that well yet, but we're just going to keep getting a whole lot closer. You're going to meet my grip a dozen – hundred – thousand times, if necessary. I'm going to pull on you until I'm at your level. You will break before I bend. I will not stop. I will not wear down – but you might, and then I'll grip your next of kin with my chalky hands, and pull again.
Rings: don't think you're safe. You're next.