SWF Lockdown for August 9, 2006!

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

“This is Ben Hardy backstage,” says Ben Hardy, conveniently located backstage, “and with me this evening are Tom Flesher, Charlie Matthews, and the brains behind the brawn, James Matheson. It’s an eventful night for the Tag Team Champions, with the Grappler taking on perennial thorn in his side Scott Rageheart, and Flesher challenging for the Cruiserweight Championship. James, tell me, what’s the game plan tonight?”

“The game plan? You want me to tell you the game plan? Whaddaya think I am, some kind of idiot? Jesus, Ben, you can’t just walk into an interview and ask a guy to give away his game plan. That’s the sort of thing that’s gonna get you fired. If I told you all about the game plan, then Grappler and Flesher wouldn’t have anything left for the game! Haven’t you ever heard of the element of surprise? Good lord almighty, Ben, what do they pay you for?”

Hardy looks quizzically at Matheson, who appears to be on the verge of having a coronary.

“Well, James, what WOULD you like to share?”

“Why do you think I want to share anything?” shouts Matheson, his mouth running a mile a minute almost before Hardy even finishes talking. “Jesus, Hardy, you’re the one with the interview slot. You’re the one who wanted to bring out the Tag Team Champions and talk to them on international TV. You’re like the guy who walks up to a girl in a bar and says ‘What’s a girl like you doing here?’ Darn it, Ben, when you initiate the conversation, you have to bring your own topics with you, or else you’re just being a numbnut!”

Hardy, shocked, turns to face Flesher. “So, uh...”

“I’m glad you asked, Ben,” says Tom, with a grin on his face. “I think it’s important to analyze my shot at the Cruiserweight Championship with the SWF food chain in mind. You see, at the bottom, we have people like, say, Ciro Vitale, people who can take out Ced Ordonez when he’s not moonlighting as a referee, but not much else. Then, you have people like Mike Cross in the wild. Talented enough, but you can’t build a promotion around a guy like him. He won the Cruiserweight Championship, which brought him up a notch, but frankly, Ben, he’s still light-years behind guys like your Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix.”

“Did you just...”

“And then, of course, far above and beyond the skinny white guys, you have me.”

“Never mind, that cleared it up.”

“You see, Ben, the problem is that you take a guy like me, and a guy like Michael Cross, and you put us in a ring together... sure, it sells tickets. Anything I do sells tickets. I personally have sold tickets to dinner with me. And never mind the sex, Ben, you don’t even want to think about it, I can tell. But the tickets you’re going to sell, they aren’t good tickets. They’re not to people who want to see good, solid, Canadian technical wrestling. Oh no. They’re here to see me rip this kid limb from limb. And Ben, that’s just sadistic.”

“So,” Ben says, “you’re predicting a win?”

“What are you, simple?” shouts Matheson. “Of course he’s predicting a win, just like Charlie’s going to put Scott Rageheart right out of his misery! Come on, guys. You have matches to prep for.”

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

SWF Lockdown!
Live, Wednesday, August 9th, from the Pengrowth Saddledome, Calgary, AL!
(6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

MAIN EVENT
NON-TITLE 10 MINUTE HARDCORE CHALLENGE
Bruce Blank © vs. "The Dean of Wrestling" Jay Hawke
-> Jay Hawke threw down the gauntlet to Bruce Blank at Aftershoxxx when Blank ran his mouth a little too far. These two square off with a ten-minute time limit, but tonight, only pride is on the line!
Rules: A strict ten-minute time limit will be the only rule enforced. In order to win, Blank must defeat Hawke by pin or submission; Hawke can win the match merely by lasting the whole ten minutes. The International Title is not on the line.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

RETURNING CONTESTANT DECISION MATCH
Akira Kaibatsu (#1 Contender) vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins
-> After the somewhat controversial decision in which Akira Kaibatsu defeated Spike Jenkins after being granted extra time, Jenkins protested to Joseph Peters. Peters told him he could be placed in line for a shot at the title if he defeated Kaibatsu. Spike attacked and pinned Kaibatsu after his match with JJ Johnson, but Peters refuses to recognize it. Instead, he offered Spike the chance to invoke the little-used Returning Contestant Decision clause (which hasn't been applied since 2002, when Vanguard used it to eliminate a loss from his record by defeating Frost).
Rules: Standard. As the referee responsible for the contested decision, Byron Dragonson will officiate this appeal match. If Spike wins, he becomes the #2 Contender to the International Championship. Regardless of the result, Akira Kaibatsu will remain #1 Contender.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Michael Cross © vs. "The Superior One" Tom Flesher ©
--> Michael Cross retained at Ground Zero, despite the apparent lack of evidence. Zyon, the Unique Youth, has been knocked out of contention for the time being, leaving #1 Contender Tom Flesher to challenge for the Cruiserweight Championship! But don't get too excited - the winner of this match will still have #2 Contender Landon Maddix knocking at his door down the road.
Rules: Standard with Cruiserweight addenda.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

TAG TEAM MATCH
Two Skinny White Guys (Michael Stephens © and Landon Maddix) vs. Grendel and Insane Luchador
-> Despite Joe Peters' best efforts, the up-and-coming team of Landon Maddix and World Champion Michael Stephens refuse to use the name "The Best Damn Tag Team, Period." As it stands, however, some of the fans are already describing them as such. Grendel and Andrew Rickmen have each been on a bit of a slide lately, so Joe Peters hopes that between the two of them they can chalk up one win. The winner of this match will receive serious consideration with regard to the Tag Team Champions.
Rules: Standard. Mind the tag ropes.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

SINGLES MATCH
Scott Rageheart vs. Charlie "Grappler" Matthews ©
-> Charlie Matthews holds a victory over Scott Rageheart, but that win came in a Tag Team Championship defense. Can Rageheart get the duke when Matthews doesn't have his tag team partner covering for him?
Rules: Standard.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

SINGLES MATCH
"The Beast" Gabriel Drake vs. Mike Van Siclen
-> Gabriel Drake and Mike Van Siclen are two guys who hate Michael Stephens. Between the two of them, you'd think they'd find some common ground, but Joe Peters wants to test out the new talent, so here we go!
Rules: Standard

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

GRUDGE MATCH
Nemesis vs. Manson
-> The Professor has been stewing over Nemesis' pay-per-view loss to Manson, and tonight, the big man gets the chance to avenge that loss! Watch out, though - you might get nailed with MANSONOSITY~!
Rules: Standard.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

OPENING BOUT
??? vs. Martin "Big Country" Hunt
-> Question Mark Man wants a match! We're happy to oblige!
Rules: Standard.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

SWF Lockdown is live in FIVE…

…FOUR…

…THREE…

…TWO…

…ONE…

…GO!!

*BOOM! BANG! BANG! BUH-BUH-BUH-BOOOM!!*

The lights go up and we’re LIVE~ in Calgary! The cameras pan around the arena, taking in the sight of Canadians with signs bearing slogans such as “ISN’T IT TIME INSANE LUCHADOR DIED AGAIN?”, “NEMESIS - DO A PLANCHA!” and “IF FLESHER WINS WE RIOT” before finally settling on the commentary table which is the home (well, the temporary location) of the Suicide King and ‘The Franchise’ Mak Francis, the latter proving that even being stuck in a wheelchair isn’t enough to stop some people from looking cool.

“Fans, welcome to Calgary-”

“Alberta, Canada,” Suicide King cuts in, as a good heel should.

“-the home of true technical Canadian wrestling,” The Franchise continues without missing a beat. “In honour of this fact, tonight we’ll have a ‘2000 year-old’ 7’4 monster going head-to-head in a rematch with a guy who apparently now thinks he’s some sort of messiah-”

“Praise be to MANSON!”

“-and the 10 Minute Hardcore Challenge, pitting a technical wrestler in Jay Hawke against Bruce Blank in a Hardcore environment,” Francis finishes, casting a sideways look at his commentary partner. “King here can’t decide who he wants to win so he’s been trying to toss a coin. I’ve told him you can’t cheat against yourself, but he won’t listen…”

“Go to hell Francis,” the Gambling Man snaps, trying to sneak a peek at the coin underneath his hand without letting himself see.

“And as if that wasn’t enough, we have Two Skinny White Guys taking on Grendel and Insane Luchador,” Mak Francis adds. “This show should certainly be entertaining, but if the fans were hoping for catch-as-catch-can technical classics, I think they came to the wrong place.”

“Peters hates Canadians as much as anyone else does,” Suicide King says smugly.

“COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!”

“COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!”

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The rolling chant rings out across the Penworth Saddledome, and brings an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd in attendance. It quickly transitions into the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire, and as the Smarktron fades down to black jagged white letters flash up words one after another, forming a phrase familiar to anyone who’s been paying attention over the last two and a half years:

‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’

The Smarktron changes again, throwing up clips of notable matches, and as the song starts to build one final clip fires into life - that of Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the-

*BOOOM!*

-blast of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! The main riff thunders out, and through the flame and smoke…

“TOXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

…black hair hanging down over his face and replica England soccer shirt on…

“TOXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

…the SWF World Heavyweight Title slung over one shoulder and anchored in place by a black-nailed hand…

“TOXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

…comes the man formerly known as Toxxic.

“TOXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

“What a poser,” the Suicide King snorts, “he’s probably only out here because he’ll have to enter to Landon’s music later on.”

“Hey, if you had to come out to Disturbed wouldn’t you want to make a separate entrance earlier in the show?” Francis points out.

“I think Toxxic’s ‘come out’ already!” Suicide King chortles, earning himself a mental slap from the Franchise. However, regardless of the Gambling Man’s comments Michael Stephens has now rolled under the bottom rope and into the ring and has beckoned to Funyon for a microphone. The veteran ring announcer dutifully hands the required implement over and Stephens takes it, then looks around at the crowd.

“TOXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

“I’m gonna try and keep this short,” Mike says, raising one hand in a vague attempt to politely ‘shush’ the crowd, “because these days I seem to have an annoying blonde American tagging along with me wherever I go. Now,” he continues, “I won’t deny that Landon and I make an effective team, because we do. However, it doesn’t mean I have to like him, and I don’t.”

“LAN-DON SUCKS!”

“No comment,” the World Champion deadpans. “Now, I think I’d probably better address events at Ground Zero. You see, I think some people wondered if I was still as focused as I used to be; these people clearly didn’t think that Bruce Blank or Zyon were great challenges for me, and figured the big test would come at Ground Zero where they’d see me dethroned without a PPV defence under my belt like so many World Champions have been.

“Thing is, those people were wrong. Zyon and Bruce Blank were big challenges for me. They’re great athletes - in wildly differing ways, but make no mistake about it, both of them tested me. And the people who doubted me were also wrong in another way,” Stephens says, grinning slightly, “because at Ground Zero I was not dethroned. On the contrary, I retained against a man who in my opinion is one of the two most talented wrestlers to have never held the World Title. JJ Johnson-”

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“…JJ Johnson nearly took my head off,” Stephens says, raising his voice to be heard over the cheering, “and I still reckon he’ll hold this belt some day. Not quite yet though. Which means I’m looking ahead,” the World Champion continues, “perhaps even to Genesis. It’s the biggest event of the year, the greatest spectacle in the world of professional wrestling, and if I have my way I’ll be defending this World Title there on the grandest stage of all. I don’t know who I’ll be facing yet, and before I can even start thinking about that I’ve got another test. You see, if me and Landon win this evening,” Stephens says with a faint grin that possibly shows how confident he is of that outcome, “then I believe we will get consideration for the Tag Titles currently held by Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews-”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“-and that will be a test, because I might fall asleep during Grappler’s offence!” Stephens grins, prompting a ripple of laughter. “But anyway-”

OH, CANADA!

The fans immediately begin booing as the Canadian National Anthem begins to play, and Tom Flesher immediately steps through the curtain carrying a microphone. With James Matheson at his side, Flesher carries his SWF Tag Team Title over his shoulder. He stands on the stage, and as the music fades, the fans begin a standard chant.

“YOU SUCK POUTINE! *clap clap clapclapclap*

YOU SUCK POUTINE! *clap clap clapclapclap*”

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that,” snaps Flesher, his trademark smirk on his face. “Frankly, I’m a little insulted. I’ve gone and adopted your big, beautiful country as my hometown – the whole thing! Even Quebec! - and all you can do is boo me and chant at me about fried food? You’re so ungrateful sometimes.”

Pause.

“But I love you anyway.”

“YOU SUCK POUTINE! *clap clap clapclapclap*

YOU SUCK POUTINE! *clap clap clapclapclap*”

Flesher continues, “Besides, you should all be thrilled. Tonight, you get to see me step into the ring with Michael Cross, and you’re all going to remember that tonight was the night that I won my second Cruiserweight Championship! I mean, these sorts of landmark occasions are the things we’re going to tell our grandchildren about. You’re going to see a display of some of the best technical wrestling since Gia Sissaouri and Daniel Igali!”

“Cruiserweight, eh, Sunshine?” Stephens snickers. “I’m surprised you can even make weight. You sure you have both feet on the scale?”

“Hey, that’s between me and the scale,” Flesher says. “I’ve never had trouble getting down to 229.9, and I already made weight tonight. Besides, it’s not the Cruiserweight Championship I’m really after. Sure, it’ll hold my pants up...”

“I think your fat-ass beer gut’s going to do a fine job of that.”

Flesher rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. Next you’re going to tell me that my mom wears combat boots. No, Mikey, the Cruiserweight Championship is just a padder for my paycheck. It’ll keep me and Allison living large until I get a chance to go after that big gold belt.”

Stephens glares up the ramp. “Fancy suggestion, since Landon and I are about to take the Tag Team Titles off you. You think you can even hold me off with Grappler on your side, say nothing of one on one?”

“It seems to me that I don’t have much to worry about in a tag match,” says Flesher. “The last time we were on opposite sides of the ring, you ate a Caffeine Bomb courtesy of yours truly and went down for the count.”

“I could say the same thing about you the only time we were alone in the ring. Hell, that was even in your own hometown! What’s the problem, Tom, are you scared to face me one-on-one again? Do you need to soften me up with Charlie before you’re willing to take me on?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid of you,” says Flesher, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “If you think we won’t sell out the damn Rogers Centre, you’re dead wrong. And if you think you’re going to walk out of Genesis at all, much less with the World Championship, then I’ve got some property in Prince Edward Island I’d like you to take a look at.”

Stephens’ lopsided smile spreads across his face. “Then we’re on, are we? I can’t wait to take you out one more time... but I don’t think you’re man enough.”

“Sign the papers.”

“Then come and have a go... if you’re hard enough.”

The Saddledome crowd bursts into cheers, and the show fades to commercial.

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

BOOM!

The fans in the Saddledome go crazy as the stage erupts in a pyrotechnic explosion! Several cameras pan the crowd as Mak Francis begins shouting to the television audience:

“Welcome to Calgary, Alberta!” shouts Mak. “We welcome you tonight to the sold-out Pengrowth Saddledome, for the second stop in the SWF’s Canadian Tour! Alongside the Suicide King, I’m the Franchise Mak Francis, and King, we’ve got a great night of action lined up! SWF World Cruiserweight Champion Michael Hunt will defend his title against the legendary Tom Flesher!”

“Tom’s already held that title once before,” says King, “and if there’s anyone in the SWF worthy of dethroning Iron Mike, it’s the Superior One!”

“We’ve also got Akira Kaibatsu taking on Hollywood Spike Jenkins in a match where Spike has the chance to become the Number Two Contender to the International Title!”

“I expect Spike to win that match,” proclaims King, “simply because he’s the only one that’s competing for anything; Kaibatsu has nothing to gain and nothing to lose, so you’ve got to question how motivated he’ll be to wrestle against an opponent whom he may not be on the same level as anyway!”

“And, in the main event,” says Mak, “we’ve got a special non-title attraction, where the reigning International Champion, Bruce Blank, will be facing perhaps the greatest International Champion of all time, Jay Hawke, in a special Hardcore challenge!”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” barks King. “There’s no qualifying that statement; Hawke IS the greatest International Champion of all time! There’s no argument!”

“And, kicking things off,” continues Mak, ignoring his broadcast partner, “we’ve got the SWF’s own resident punching bag, Martin Hunt, taking on a mystery opponent. King, do you have any idea who it is?”

“None,” replies the Suicide King, “but if Martin Hunt wants to have any hope of climbing out of the cellar, then he’d better be prepared for WHOEVER it is!”

“Well, there’s no scouting report to work with,” says Mak, “so let’s get right to the ring!”

DING!

The smoke from the opening pyro is just starting to clear up as Hank Williams Junior’s “A Country Boy can Survive” begins to play. Martin Hunt slinks surreptitiously out onto the stage, to a rousing chorus of indifference.

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall!” says Funyon, “Making his way to the ring, from Boone, North Carolina, and weighing two hundred twenty pounds… ‘Big Country’ Martin Hunt!” Hunt removes his leather jacket and hands it to a ring attendant and then lowers himself into a ready crouch as his music fades out.

“Martin Hunt definitely appears to be focused for this match,” observes Mak.

“He might look focused,” retorts King, “but it’s not likely to do him any good!”

“And,” booms Funyon, “His opponent…” Silence falls on the Saddledome as they wait in anticipation to find out who the mystery opponent is…

LEEEET’S GET RETARDED…

Mak and King scream simultaneously: “WHAT?!”

… IN HEEEEEEEEERE!

The fans go nuts as “Let’s Get Retarded” by the Black Eyed Peas begins playing! A flock of birds fly across the SmarkTron as the vocals start up:

(Taboo): And the bass keep runnin' runnin', and runnin' runnin'...

(Taboo and Fergie): And runnin' runnin', and runnin' runnin', and runnin' runnin', and runnin' runnin', and runnin' runnin', and runnin 'runnin', and...

(Will.I.Am): In this context,

There's no disrespect,

So, when I bust my rhyme,

You break your necks.

We got five minutes for us to disconnect,

From all intellect,

Collect the rhythm effect…

Suddenly, the Birdman bursts out from behind the curtain onto the stage, his costume plumed in proud light brown, and speckled in tufts of black and white, resembling the Great Horned Owl, the provincial bird of Alberta. Birdman dancing around excitedly and flapping his “wings” in beat with the music. He stops at the top of the ramp to greet the fans with his signature cry, and they enthusiastically welcome him back:

Birdman: CAW, CAW!

Crowd: CAW, CAW!

“His opponent,” shouts Funyon, “from Parts Unknown, weighing in at two hundred nineteen pounds, the Birdman!”

“What a surprise!” exclaims Mak. “It’s the Birdman, King! The Birdman is back in the SWF!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” groans King. “Who let this jackass back in?” Birdy thrills the crowd with a couple of acrobatic dance moves before running down towards the ring, stopping occasionally as he does so to shake hands with the fans at ringside. He leaps onto the apron and waves at the crowd before running over to the corner and climbing nimbly to the top turnbuckles, where he repeats his birdcall:

Birdman: CAW, CAW!

Crowd: CAW, CAW!

Birdman flips backwards into the ring, and then removes his cloth “wings,” handing them out of the ring to the attendant as his music fades out. Referee Matthew Kivell motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell:

DING!

Hunt and meet in the center of the ring in a tie-up, which Martin easily controls, throwing Birdman backwards effortlessly.

“Birdman’s giving up a lot of power to Martin Hunt,” notes Mak. “But he’s proven before that he’s an exceptional high-flier! Just to clue in some of our newer fans, the Birdman made his debut in the SWF just over two years ago, and had a brief but very impressive run, defeating SWF legends such as Andrea Montgomery and Tom Flesher, and even earning himself a couple of title opportunities before mysteriously disappearing. Hopefully it won’t be long before we found out where he went, or why he’s back!”

“Wherever he went,” snorts King, “I, for one, wish he’d stayed there!” Hunt and Birdman tie up once more, and Hunt takes control again, shifting it into a waistlock, but before he can take Birdman down, the Bird reverses, applying a waistlock of his own. Birdy pushes Martin towards the ropes, hoping to use the momentum to take him over into a rollup, but Hunt hangs onto the ropes and shrugs Birdman off easily. Birdy somersaults backwards and rolls to his feet, springing immediately back into the air as Hunt begins to charge towards him. Martin raises his arm to deliver a running clothesline, but the Bird ducks underneath his arm easily, cupping his hands under Hunt’s neck from behind, leaping into the air and bringing Martin down spine-first down across his knees with an explosive Lungblower! Birdy runs to the ropes as Hunt flops around on the mat like a mackerel and jumps onto the middle rope, flipping back into the ring to crash onto Big Country with a springboard moonsault!

ONE!

TWO!

“Kickout by Martin Hunt,” says Mak, “but this one was almost over in a hurry!” Birdman traps Hunt in a side-headlock as he gets to his feet. Hunt pushes Birdy into the ropes and charges towards him as he bounces off, this time lowering his shoulder to deliver a spear, but the quicker Birdman again evades him, leaping over his opponent on a dead run and continuing on to the other ropes…

WHAM!

… Knocking him on his ass with a running dropkick as he explodes off the ropes! The Bird looks out into the crowd and pauses to salute them with a birdcall:

Birdman: CAW, CAW!

Crowd: CAW, CAW!

“This could be a long night for Martin Hunt,” observes Mak. “Birdman may have been gone a long time, but he’s clearly too much for Hunt to handle!”

Bird goes to pull Hunt back to his feet, who stuns him with a rake of the eyes. Martin scoops Birdman into a slam position, but Birdy slips off his shoulders and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him over to the edge of the ring and leaping over the top rope as he brings Martin’s neck down across it with the Macho Man Neck Snap! Birdy immediately clambers back onto the apron and climbs to the top rope, waiting for Hunt to stumble to his feet before leaping down and drilling him between the eyes with a flying double-axe handle! Satisfied with his handiwork, Birdy salutes the crowd yet again:

Birdman: CAW, CAW!

Crowd: CAW, CAW!

“This is getting to be too much!” grumbles King. “He got the point across the first time; now he’s just overdoing it on purpose!” Birdman runs towards the edge of the ring, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes…

WHAM!

… But Hunt snatches him out of the air and spins around on one heel, driving him into the mat with a Spinebuster!

“Yes!” cheers King. “Anderson Spinebuster; that’ll shut him up!” Unfortunately for Martin, he can’t capitalize on it immediately, for he is still trying to shake his head clear. He eventually pulls Birdy to his feet and twists his arm around in an arm-wringer, only to knock him back down with a wicked short-arm lariat! Still disoriented from the double-axe handle, Martin drops back to his feet for a few seconds, as Birdy remains motionless on the canvas.

“I didn’t know that a double-axe handle could do that kind of damage,” notes Mak.

“It can when you’ve got a glass jaw like Hunt,” replies King. Hunt pulls himself to his feet and walks over to get Birdman. He drags the Bird to the center of the ring and then gives the sign for his patented “Donkey Punch” splash

“Hunt’s going for the Donkey Punch,” says Mak. “If he hits this, he could have a fighting chance!”

“Funny how Hunt’s fallen, don’t you think?” asks King, “I mean, when he debuted two years ago, we’d be speculating that this would be enough to win Hunt the match; now he needs to hit it just to STAY in the match!” Hunt heads over to a neutral corner and begins climbing towards the top rope, but Birdman suddenly pops to his feet and rushes to the corner! He leaps onto the second rope alongside Big Country and grapevines his near leg while trapping him in a side headlock…

WHAM!

… Before ripping Hunt off the ropes with a side Russian legsweep! Birdy rolls backwards onto his feet and immediately leaps off the canvas, spinning in the air as he falls onto Martin’s throat with a legdrop! He remains in place for a cover:

ONE!

TWO!

Hunt kicks out at two! Birdman, however, apparently decides that he’s had enough fun playing around, and signals to the crowd that the end is near:

Birdman: CAW, CAW!

Crowd: CAW, CAW!

Birdy pulls Hunt to his feet and whips him into the corner; he follows up quickly by running into the corner after him, leaping into the air and crashing into his chest with a Stinger splash! Hunt staggers out of the corner as Birdman bounces off of the ropes…

BANG!

… And wraps his arm around Martin's head, slamming it into the canvas with a running bulldog! Big Country flops over onto his back as Birdman pulls himself to his feet.

“Birdman’s heading up to the top!” shouts Mak. “That’s big trouble for Martin Hunt!” Birdman leaps effortlessly onto the top rope and looks out to the crowd to give them one final salute before delivering the coup de grace:

Birdman: CAW, CAW!

Crowd: CAW, CAW!

Birdman leaps fearlessly from the top rope…

WHAM!

… And nails Martin Hunt with the Bird Dropping! Referee Kivell quickly dives into position to count the shoulders:

ONE!

“I don’t think he’s gonna get up from it!” says King.

TWO!

“No way!” agrees Mak.

THREE!

DING!

The crowd explodes as “Let’s Get Retarded” begins to play again. Kivell raises Birdman’s hand in victory as Funyon makes the official announcement.

“Here is your winner, the Birdman!”

“Good night, Martin Hunt; thanks for playing!” Mak taunts Big Country as Birdman leaps onto the ropes to receive the adulation of the fans. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a great start to what is sure to be a tremendous show; don’t you dare go away!”

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

When Lockdown returns everything is dark, everything is silent except for a pair of echoes sweeping through the Saddledome and excited fans doing the wave while waiting for the next match. Once the guttural howl starts “Scientific Remote Viewing” off the crowd turns from doing the wave to booing and jeering the Messiah of Mansonosity as he steps into the spotlight

Mak: This promises to be nothing but hard hitting action King

…

Mak: King?

King: Here you are, read this and you’ll see that Mansonosity is the way to go.

The Suicide King has left his position behind the announcers table and is currently handing out pamphlets to people in the front row instead of commentating during Manson’s entrance.

Mak: What the hell are you doing King??

After handing out the last of the pamphlets King returns to the announcers table, throws Manson a quick double thumbs up as the Raging Bull walks up the steps.

King: Just doing the good work Mak, just doing the good work

Mak: What was that pamphlet about?

King: Here I saved you one, it’s called “Let Manson be your Tower of Power”, I think you’ll find it very illuminating.

The crowd boos like Manson just spat on their babies as he throws back his hood and raises his hand in the air with his index and pinky finger extended. Instead of the traditional spiel from Professor Attenborough the distant rumbling boom is heard as the entrance explodes in a veritable green inferno of fireworks. The fireworks haven’t even died down completely before the Colossus steps through them and heads straight for the ring with more speed that he’s ever displayed before. It’s not until he’s half way down the aisle that the cameras catch on to the fact that Professor Attenborough is actually out there with the monster but he’s hiding behind the Colossus trying his best to stay inconspicuous while Nemesis walks up the ring steps to the apron.

King: He’s not his usual brave self tonight now is he?

Mak: Can you really blame him? Manson made him his primary target, I mean honestly the guy is like 60 or so.

King: “Age is but an illusion” Mak, read the pamphlet

Mak: I think I’ll save it for later.

Manson charges at the big man before he can enter the ring but just as Nemesis puts a hand up to defend himself Manson changes tactics and slides under the bottom rope to the floor and then grabs the Professor by his jacket. If you’ve ever seen a sixtyish man scream like a little girl you know it’s not something to be proud off and well right now the professor is far from proud as he screams in terror. The terror is quickly replaced with a string of curses that’d make a sailor blush when Nemesis leaps off the apron and drives a knee into Manson’s back knocking the Raging Bull into the guard rail.

Mak: That’s a lot of poundage flying through the air King

King: With all the grace of a brick

Mak: and he hits like one too

When the Colossus grabs Manson by the hair the Raging Bull tries to fight him off by throwing a back elbow to Nemesis’ chest but to no avail as the monster hardly even flinches. Instead he throws Manson under the bottom rope into the ring, grabs the top rope with one hand, steps up on the apron and then over the top rope in one smooth motion. Sensing an opening Manson immediately charges like his namesake running straight at Nemesis, when the big man raises a massive foot in the air to block the onrushing opponent Manson simply ducks under it and then bounces off the ropes behind Nemesis. Nemesis attempts to elbow Manson as the Raging Bull rebounds but once again Manson ducks under the assault and hits the ropes on the opposite side. After hitting the ropes twice Manson’s momentum is at an all time high he strikes Nemesis in the chest

WESTERN LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARIAT!!!

King: The power of Mansonosity!!!

The sheer impact knocks Nemesis back, sending him flailing into the ropes where he falls down with both his arms trapped between the top and the middle rope. With his opponent locked up in the ropes Manson’s confidence level grows to unfathomable proportions as he gives the crowd a Devil Horns signal as a means to concentrate the Power of Mansonosity in him. After a running start Manson leaps up with his right foot extending giving the big man a Face Wash, more to humiliate him than to hurt him although the second boot to the face was definitely more to hurt him than humiliate him as he kicks Nemesis square on the jaw.

Mak: I can’t believe it! He’s got Nemesis just where he wants it

King: Oh ye of little faith in Mansonosity, of course he does.

Manson turns his attention away from Nemesis and looks straight at the Professor on the floor with bad intentions written all over his face. Professor Attenborough backs off, trying to put as much distance between himself and Manson. Once the Raging Bull slides under the bottom rope to the floor the Professor has no option but to try and outrun him. Let me repeat that a man over 60 trying to outrun Manson, yeah that’ll work. But the Professor buys himself a little time by pulling the time keeper into the path, trying desperately to get away from Manson. Nemesis and the referee have managed to release the giant from the ropes much to Professor Attenborough’s delight. The Professor’s delight is in turn Manson’s displeasure as Nemesis gets out on the floor and then steps in Manson’s way.

GIANT BOOT TO THE FACE!!

The Colossus seems to be a monster on a mission tonight as he quickly follows up by picking Manson up and then lifting him up in the air in a bear hug type of hold. The Professor taps his knuckles against the ringpost, which Nemesis responds to immediately by running at the ringpost and then slamming Manson against it back first with a sick thud

Mak: Manson seems to really have brought out the savage in the big man.

King: He’s got Nemesis worried, that’s why he’s cranking it up, nothing else.

Nemesis pushes Manson under the bottom rope and then enters the ring himself before the referee can reach ten. Nemesis places a boot on Manson’s chest and then steps up on him with all of his 410 pounds, but for once he doesn’t step right off his opponent, instead he uses the top rope to balance himself while he remains standing on Manson’s ribcage. Of course since he holds on to the ropes the referee starts to count which breaks off his fun, but for four seconds Manson is in hell. To demonstrate his superior power Nemesis picks up Manson and flips him up over his shoulder before wrapping his huge arms around his opponent and starting to squeeze tight.

Mak: The Nemesis lock!!

King: Wow did you just come up with that name yourself? If you had been inspired by Mansonosity then maybe you could have come up with something a bit more intelligent.

Mak: Oh right I could have called it the “Nemesisosity” or something

King: HERESY!!

Nemesis tightens his grip on the over the shoulder bear hug and begins to shake his opponent from side to side to force him to submit from the pressure. Despite his tight grip on the situation Nemesis doesn’t seem to be getting closer to a submission as Manson is trying his best to pry himself out of the vice like Nemesis lock. In desperation Manson kicks back the moment he feels something solid under his feet. It wasn’t a turnbuckle as Manson thought but instead he kicked off the referee’s shoulder as the official got just a little too close to the situation. Either way it has the desired effect as Manson is able to flip himself over the top and land on the ground in front of Nemesis.

King: Come on Manson!! Show him the true power of Mansonosity!!

Manson grabs hold of the bottom rope and slowly begins to shake the rope as Nemesis just looks on awaiting instructions from the Professor. When Manson pulls himself up onto his knees by grabbing the second rope and shaking it viciously Nemesis finally moves in with a giant forearm to Manson’s back but to no effect!! In fact Manson rises to his feet, grabs the top rope and shakes it like a maniac as he looks up in the sky drawing strength from somewhere as both the Professor and Nemesis look on in confusion

King: Oh Nemesis is in trouble now

Mak: Oh come on

King: He’s filling up with the power of Mansonosity!! Nothing will be able to withstand him now.

Nemesis attacks once more, striking Manson across the back of the head with another colossal elbow only for Manson to shrug it off and then whip around attacking Nemesis with a spinning, leaping elbow to the jaw of the Colossus. The elbow drives Nemesis away from the fired up overly caffeinated Manson giving the Messiah of Mansonosity a little more room to move. The Raging Bull charges forward a step or two as if he was going to attack Nemesis once more, but then turns 90 degrees to the right and leaps through the ropes landing on the floor right behind Professor Attenborough. Since he was taken by surprise the Professor doesn’t even have a chance to put up a fight before Manson grabs hold of the old man.

King: TAKE HIM OUT MANSON!!

Mak: And this is your messiah?

The crowd doesn’t know if it should boo or cheer as Manson holds onto the professor with his left hand and then punches him in the face with his right, when he winds up for a second shot they figure that beating up a guy over 60 is a boo’able offence even in Canada and they crank it up. Two right hands from the Master of Mansonosity is all it takes to knock the professor out cold. The inhuman roar of agony that comes from Nemesis surprises everyone, even Manson who claims to have seen everything at least twice. The Colossus stares down at his fallen mentor/controller/manipulator for a moment before he steps over the top rope and then to the floor where he falls to his knees and starts to poke the professor like a kid poking at a dead rat.

Mak: He looks a little lost

King: He’s big, he’s scary but he’s also DUMB! Without someone telling him what to do I think Nemesis is lost.

Manson rolls back inside the ring and just sits in the corner smirking as the referee begins to count Nemesis out

¤ ONE ¤

Nemesis makes a couple of guttural sounds as he tries to shake the professor awake but to no avail.

¤ TWO ¤

King: Look at him, he’s totally lost without the professor.

¤ THREE ¤

Mak: That kinda makes you feel bad for the guy doesn’t it?

¤ FOUR ¤

King: Not in the least

¤ FIVE ¤

At five Nemesis finally moves away from the Professor as he lifts the ring apron up and crawls in under the ring

¤ SI-HUH??

The referee pauses for a moment as if he doesn’t quite believe what he just saw, then he’s forced to do a double take as green smoke starts to billow out from under the ring as flashes of green strobe light is seen under the edge of the apron.

King: Okay what the hell is going on?

Mak: Are you saying this isn’t a display of Mansonosity??

King: Well it’s not in the pamphlet.

The weirdness of the smoke has even caught Manson’s attention, the Raging Bull gets up on his feet and then heads over to the side where the Colossus disappeared only moments ago. Now the referee could probably have kept on counting but well he’s kinda distracted by the lights and the smoke. Fed up with waiting Manson pushes the referee to one side and then jumps down into the smoke. When Nemesis head pops out of the smoke Manson quickly turns to attack him, but when a SECOND Nemesis head appears 3 feet from the first one even the Messiah of Mansonosity does a double take

King: What the fuck?

The green smoke slowly dissipates and Manson is faced with TWO NEMESIS!! Two 5’5’’ maybe 200 pounds, smaller versions of Nemesis wearing identical costumes looking like the big man got shrunken down.

King: Nemesises?? What the hell is that??

Mak: Nemesi?

King: I wasn’t looking for a lesson in grammar I just want to know what the hell happened?

The two Nemeses jumps Manson and tackle him to the ground before the Raging Bull has had enough time to take in what just happened. Then the Nemeses leap up on the apron and springboard over the top rope into the ring where the Referee is still rubbing his eyes thinking he’s seeing double. When Manson slides under the bottom rope into the ring one Nemesis quickly jumps up and sits on the shoulders of the other Nemesis.

Mak: Maybe the professor was right? He said that it was two guys in a Nemesis suit at Ground Zero

King: Oh don’t be ridiculous Mak!

Mak: Either that or Nemesis split in two under the ring

King: - - - Maybe it was them at Ground Zero.

Manson turns to complain to the referee but before the SWF Zebra can make any kind of official ruling the bottom Nemesis has propelled the top Nemesis off his shoulders and straight onto Manson with a cross body block. The Nemeses must have underestimated the power of Mansonosity because he’s caught mid air, but then again maybe they did NOT underestimate Manson’s power as Nemesis #2 drop kicks his identical twin in the back knocking Manson down with the first Nemesis on top of him. The other Nemesis leaps on top of Manson as well and then look at the referee motioning for him to count

Which he seems rather reluctant to do

King: GOOD! These guys are not the legal guys in the ring, call for the bell.

Mak: I’m sorry did you just complain about cheating?

Even without a count Manson still kicks out, throwing both Nemeses off him in a display of power from Manson who went from being the small man in the match to being the big man. It’s a Mexican stand off in the ring as Manson stands tall, clenching his fists as he looks at the two small Nemeses in front of him still trying to figure out what’s going on. When one of the Nemeses flinch Manson reacts instinctively and charges at the two like the Raging Bull that he is, unfortunately for the Raging Bull the two masked men duck down, grab a leg each and then lifts Manson up in the air dropping him throat first on the top rope.

Mak: DOUBLE HOT SHOT!!

King: Illegal Double Hot Shot!

Mak: He’s facing Nemesis in the ring

King: GIVE ME A BREAK!! Nemesis is a 7 foot something giant

Mak: Well I’m sure that combined these two weigh about the same as the Colossus and when one guy was sitting on the other’s shoulders they looked like they could be 7’5’’ maybe 7’7’’ or so.

Both Nemeses stop dead in their track and then turn to look at Professor Attenborough who’s slowly beginning to come to at ringside. Then the two bouncy Nemeses leap over the top rope and scarper under the ring, back to where they came from. Once again smoke begins to billow out only moments after the two Nemeses crawled in there.

King: Oh what next? 4 midgets in Nemesis suits?

Mak: Maybe the power of Mansonosity split Nemesis in half!

King: Now you’re just mocking the awesomeness of Mansonosity, you’ll never get it.

After having regained his breath from the Hot Shot Manson rolls out onto the floor, raises the ring apron up and fans away some of the smoke before looking under the ring. When he stands back up again it’s quite clear that he didn’t see anything at all under the ring as he’s got a very quizzical look on his face. The fans on one side of the arena sees something through, something large and green crawling out right next to the Professor and then crouching down as best he can. Manson gives the smoke a “forget this” kinda wave and then decides to go after the professor once more. The Raging Bull is so focused on the Professor that when he turns the corner he’s so surprised by the appearance of the full sized Nemesis that he’s a bit slow to react. The Colossus shoots up from his crouching position, uses the momentum to leap into the air where he

DROP KICKS MANSON SQUARE IN THE FUCKING CHEST!!

“HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!!”

King: No way!

Mak: WAY!! The Colossus actually did it! He drop kicked Manson in the chest!!

The crowd is totally blown away by the awesome sight of a 7’4’’ monster actually perform a drop kick. Manson? Manson is literally blown away by two giant boots to his chest that sent him crashing into the guardrail with so much force that the concerned referee abandons his count to go and check on Manson’s physical well being. Professor Attenborough has finally gotten his wits so much about him that he starts to call the shots once more, instructing Nemesis to throw Manson in the ring. Nemesis shows that he’s very good at following orders as he grabs Manson by the hair and the trunks and then throws him inside the ring like he was a rag doll and not a 230 pound man.

King: Manson needs nothing short of a miracle if he’s going to be able to win here tonight.

Mak: That might be the only way he’s got left now.

King: Well if anyone has a miracle up their sleeve tonight it’s got to be the Messiah of Mansonosity.

Two steps later and Nemesis is back in the ring as well, climbing the turnbuckles to the second rope while the Professor keeps an eye on Manson ready to warn the Colossus if there is any movement. Nemesis bounces on the rope twice, then pushes his legs up in the air while he pushes his massive body backwards landing the breathtaking N-Bomb on the Raging Bull. After being chased by Manson more than once tonight the Professor is in a foul mood and instructs Nemesis to not cover his opponent just yet, instead he makes an elbow motion to the big man. Nemesis immediately raises his right elbow up in the air and then falls, not drops, not leaps or anything like that but just stands there and then topples over basically like a giant redwood tree that’s been chopped down.

King: Holy shit that could easily cave Manson’s chest in

Mak: When 410 pounds falls on you it’s GOTTA hurt, especially when his elbow hits you in the sternum like that.

The referee drops to his knees to count as Nemesis is on top of Manson but he doesn’t even get to one as Nemesis never had any intention of covering his opponent he’s just kinda slow in reacting. The big man gets up and then looks at the Professor once more as he awaits his instructions to which the professor promptly responds by clenching his fist and pounding the canvas. The crowd holds it’s collective breath as Nemesis takes a 2 step run in and then comes down with all of his 410 pounds in a Senton Bomb that’s also known as the Colossus Drop

Mak: What’s the old saying about sticking a fork in someone?

King: Oh ye of little faith, Mansonosity will see him through.

1!!!

King: The power of Manson compels you!!

2!!!

King: YOURS IS THE MANSONOSITY AND THE GLORY FOREVER!!

3

King: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! My messiah, my messiah why have you abandoned me??

¤ DING ¤ DING ¤ DING ¤

Funyon: The winner of the match NEEEEEEEEMESIS!!

While the Suicide King sobs over his messiah’s loss and Mak tries his best to not laugh at the Suicide King Professor Attenborough enters the ring and struts over to where Manson is laid out on the canvas. It’s quite clear that he’s saying something along the lines of “Where is your power now?” while looking as arrogant and as smug as he possibly can. The arrogant smirk is quickly wiped off his face when Manson twitches, sending the Professor scurrying out of the ring in terror as we fade out.

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

Joseph Peters knew full well that the peace wouldn’t last, it never did during a show. And he had a feeling that Bruce might have an objection or two to his latest edict.

“Tell me this isn’t true” Bruce says as he barges into the office without even bothering to knock. Behind him we see a frighten and shaken St. John Smith trying to loosen Bruce’s grip on his shirt.

“If I knew what you were talking about I could” Peters said, with Bruce it could be one of a thousand things that pissed him off, he was one of the most volatile guys backstage after all.

“What this guy just told me about Hardcore matches” Bruce says while shaking St. John a bit

“If you mean the fact that after tonight I will not allow you to wrestle in hardcore matches then yes, yes that’s true” Peters says with a straight face.

“Are you shitting me? ARE YOU SHITTING ME PETERS!!” Bruce bellows as he slams his hands down on Peters’ desk like an angry bear

Peters takes a moment to straighten up an errant hair, clears his throat and answers Bruce in a calm rational voice

“You’re the International Champion now Bruce, I’ve told you that there are certain adjustments you’ll have to make, you more than any other International champion in the past”

“Why me? I mean I know you don’t like me but why do you have it out for me all of a sudden?” Bruce asks

“Seriously?”

“No lie to me”

“I’m not going to have my federation represented by some dirty farm hand, not the International division Bruce! Every International champion in the past has been acceptable, even Aecas was okay because the general public has accepted dark gimmicks in wrestling – but some redneck who looks like he makes 10 bucks a year? That’s not going to happen.”

“I get the clothes, I get this little girly running around trying to get me to dress better and all – but damn it what’s wrong with a little Hardcore action now and again?”

Peters refrains from asking Bruce just what kind of “Hardcore action” he was thinking of.

“It’s perfectly fine. . . if you want to give me that title right now and never see another shot at it”

Well that shut Bruce up.

“You made your name in Hardcore, you make an excellent Hardcore champion, hell right now you almost personify that division – I need you to personify the International division damn it!” Peters says in no uncertain terms.

“Yeah but never?”

“Oh not forever Bruce”

“Well that’s something” Bruce says with a sigh of relief.

“Only as long as you hold or contend for the International title” Peters clarifies.

“That long? Son of a bitch!”

“Ah cheer up, with contenders lining up it may not be that long” Peters comments

A comment that brings an arrogant sneer to Bruce’s face

“I’m sorry, contenders? You mean Akira who I’ve beaten like 8 or 9 times? Or that little shit Spike who’s been desperately trying to get a shot at me?”

Peters just nods, those are two of the contenders he had in mind

“Heh – the funny part is that Spike didn’t have to pull out all these cheap tricks to get a shot at me, if there is one thing I’ve always been it’s a defending champion, you can’t deny that Peters”

“Alright I’ll grant you that” Peters reluctantly admits, Bruce had been very liberal with Hardcore title matches.

“All anyone has to do is walk up to me and say “Can I have a title match Please” and I’ll grant them one.”

“Even Jay Hawke” Peters asks eying a money making opportunity.

“Clever” Bruce comments “Well if Hawke wants a title shot all he’ll have to do is get down on his knees and BEG for a title shot – the others just have to say pretty please” Bruce says with a grin.

“I’ll be sure to pass that along” Peters lies.

“Now come on Peters we go way back, come on pal this whole “No Hardcore matches” nonsense you don’t mean that do you?” Bruce says trying to sway Peters’ mind

“Oh yeah way back, back to when you cost us a bunch of sponsors for Family Friendly Lockdown, threatened me and humiliated me – we go way back indeed” Peters snaps “My decision stands, no Hardcore matches for you as long as you hold the International title or you’re in contention for it”

Bruce stares at Peters for a moment to see if there is any possible way to sway his mind, but Peters just ignores him and goes back to looking over some paper work.

“Why don’t you just shave my head, paint me blue and make me wrestle as a Smurf” Bruce mutters as he storms out of the office.

After Bruce leaves Peters makes a note

“Check on price of blue body paint”

Then he smiles, he FINALLY had some damn leverage over Bruce and he was damn well going to use it.

*Fade*

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

~OPEN~

"WE'RE BAK MAK!" King sez. "OMGZ KING YOU RYMD!" Mak sez bak. "OMGZ! YOU SED OMGZ!" king sez. "OMGZ! MIKE VAN SICLEN VERSUS GABRIEL DRAKE IS NEXT!" Mak sez bak.

Gabriel Drake walks out, crowd lets out a big "MEH" Drake steps into the ring and nearly trips over his own feet getting to his corner, causing the crowd to laugh their asses off at him.

"OMGZ DRAKE ALMOST FELL! LMAO!" King sez.

Mike Van Siclen walks out to his theme, but halfway down the ramp, some hideous disgusting figure hops out from the crowd with big antlers poking out of it's head and absolutely annihilates Mike Van Siclen with a...

& quot;SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

RRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Mak sez, almost killing himself from lack of breath. "OMGZOMGZOMGZOMGZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ELK RETURNZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" King sez bak.

Meanwhile, Drake is in the ring laughing his ass off when all of the sudden something else comes up from behind him, lifts him high in the air, and viciously slams him down with enough force to kill an adult rhino with the legendary...

& quot;THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE DRIVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" King sez, almost killing himself as well from lack of breath. "OMGZOMGZOMGZOMGZ!!!!!!!! THE IS BACK TOO!!!!!!!!" Mak sez bak. "ELK AND THE RETURNZ!!!!!!!! OMGZ!!!!" King and Mak sez together.

Meanwhile, the entire Calgary audience is going completely apeshit for ELK and THE reappearing, cutting this borefest short before it could start. ELK and THE both disappear into thin air, leaving Drake and Siclen lying in a pool of their own blood, while the referee is just standing in the ring shaking his head at what just happened.

"Dude... that kicked ass!" King says. "Yeah... no shit! What's up next?" Mak replies. "uh... Poker?" King asks. "Nah... I'm broke." Mak declines. "You're always broke... how are you ever going to pay me back?" King states angrily. "Meh... whenever Peters finally pays me more than just slave labor." Mak replies. King can't help but just laugh.

~FIN~

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

SWF Lockdown explodes back onto the airwaves to the sound of Judas Priest’s “Exciter,” the theme music heralding one half of…well, one of the few tag teams in the federation currently.

The “Wait a minute I thought this was Canada” attire of those attending the Pengrowth Saddledome tonight is traditional Western fare, but for as many Stampedes as they’ve seen, Scott Rageheart gets only a moderate reaction. For the moment.

DING DING!

“Ladies and gentlemen, Harts and Smiths, the following contest is scheduled for ONE fall!” Funyon cries from inside the ring, “making his way to the ring, weighing in at two-hundred and forty pounds and hailing from LETHBRIDGE, ALBERTA,”

Funyon pauses for the “hey, that’s our province!” pop, before, “SCOTTTTTT RAAAAAAAAAAGEHEART!” And, what do you know, the supposed home-province pop actually sustains.

Slightly surprised by the warm reception in cold Canada, Scott Rageheart almost cracks a smile as he walks down to the ring, maintaining his usual tattered attire and rough and haggard look. Kerry Staunton is missing, but maybe he just wanted to relax backstage.

“We’re back on Lockdown,” Mak Francis helpfully states, “and this appears to be one of those tacked-on matches to give both guys exposure. It seems oddly lost in the midcard, which I guess it very well should be.”

Rageheart climbs up onto the ring apron and enters the ring, duly noting referee Nick Soapdish before retiring to a corner to do some pre-match stretching. The fans admire his reticence.

“Perhaps, Mak, perhaps,” King agrees, “but with his tag team championship partner looking for double gold tonight, I think Charlie Matthews is going to impress the higher-ups en route to Genesis. If anything, he might bust out the Canadian Backbreaker to please these Canucks. Which reminds me, why are we still here?”

“This is only the second leg of our great Canadian tour, King. We’ve got plenty of stops to go up until Genesis VII.”

“What else is there to see, though? I’ve seen enough fishermen, Eskimos, and, for some reason, cowboys, to last me a lifetime.”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” the shrill voice of James Matheson breaks out across the Saddledome.

YOU SUCK DICK! YOU SUCK DICK! YOU SUCK DICK!

But the Albertans are quick to let their feelings known towards the Manager of Champions.

“…now, that’s not very nice,” Matheson frowns, before continuing, “and hey, I see twenty-thousand perennially-pre-pubescent-looking men here tonight all chanting about a male organ. No wonder your team is the Flames!” Ah, cheap heat.

“But there is one man behind that curtain who is nothing but one-hundred percent pure heterosexual love—and war—machine, he is one half of the greatest tag team champions in the history of the Es Dubya Eff with his partner Tom Flesher, and he hails from the TRUE wrestling capital of the world, Kansas City, Missouri [more cheap heat!], weighing in tonight at three-hundred and six and seven-eighths pounds, he is CHAAAARLIE ‘GRAPPLER’ MAAAAATTHEWSSSS!”

Look into my eyes - you will see

What you mean to me

“Oh no,” Mak groans, “don’t tell me…”

“Shh, we’re not at that part of the song, Mak.”

Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for

You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for

And the entire of the Saddledome groans. Scott Rageheart just wants to fight, damn it!

But, to the maple syrup-kissed voice of Bryan Adams’ “Everything I Do (I Do It For You),” yes, the whole song, Charlie “Grappler” Matthews appears from behind the curtain, sporting a Calgary Flames jersey over his traditional wrestling attire, tag team title belt slung over his shoulder.

The walk. Is. Slow.

“They’re really going to play the whole song, aren’t they?!” King asks, giddy as a schoolgirl.

Take me as I am - take my life

I would give it all, I would sacrifice

“I’m just being told we’ll be taking a commercial break,” Mak cries, “for once, our executive producer is taking mercy on us! We’ll be back with this match!”

*COMMERCIAL*

Head On! Apply directly to the forehead! Head On! Apply directly to the forehead!

*END OF COMMERCIAL*

YEAAAAAAAAAAH I’D FIGHT FOR YOU

I’D LIE FOR YOU

WALK THE WIRE FOR YOU

YEAH I’D DIE FOOOOR YOUUUUUUUU

You know it’s true

Everything I do

Oooooh

I do it…for you.

The jeering is merciless in the Saddledome, and as Lockdown returns from commercial break, Charlie Matthews is *just* entering the ring. Jesus, Mary, and Bret.

…but Scott Rageheart can’t control his frustration any longer, and blindsides the champ, clubbing him with forearms to the back as Nick Soapdish signals for the bell, to a huge pop!

DING DING DING!

“I wish there was a way we could’ve taken a break from *that*,” Mak groans, emotionally exhausted.

“Mak, it’s a power guy vs. power guy match, it’ll blow over quickly enough,” King dodges Mak’s hating on what is undoubtedly the greatest song of all time, at least out of Canada.

Anyway, in the ring, Scott Rageheart hammers away on Charlie Matthews, leaving the Tag Champion on the ropes, literally. Rageheart pounds two quick forearms into the chest of Grappler before taking him by the arm and Irish whipping him towards the opposite ropes, but the larger Matthews reverses. Rageheart rebounds, ducks a big boot by Matthews, hits the opposite ropes, and charges full-on with a shoulder block…but Grappler doesn’t go down! Rageheart, nonplussed, backs against the ropes, builds momentum…

*SMACK!*

…and eats a big boot from the tag champ! Rageheart hits the canvas hard, and Grappler follows through surprisingly quickly, bringing Scotty up to a seated position and lacing his arms through Rageheart’s, locking in a seated full nelson.

“Scott Rageheart certainly caught Charlie Matthews off guard,” Mak notes, dryly, “which meant Grappler had to hit a regular move before resorting to the resthold.”

“What are you implying, Mak?”

“I’m not implying anything, King. I’m saying Charlie Matthews is lazy and has become complacent, a shell of his former wrestling-machine self.”

“…oh.”

However, the resthold doesn’t last too long, as Rageheart is in a position such that he’s able to drape a leg over the bottom rope, forcing Matthews to break the hold. Charlie backs up at the demands of referee Nick Soapdish, but as soon as Scott gets to his feet, Grappler traps him from behind with a rear waistlock. A few Calgary fans rise to their feet in anticipation for a German Suplex, but…nope. Matthews just holds that rear waistlock.

“Technically, this could put some slight strain on the abdomen,” King notes.

“Technically, yes, King. But not in the way it’s applied right now.”

Rageheart breaks Mak’s—and the crowd’s—boredom by issuing a hard back elbow, knocking Grappler goofy and breaking the waistlock. Scotty continues his natural rotation and uses his other arm to slam a forearm shiver into the face of his opponent, and another, and a third! With Grappler on queer street (a place that, for the record, has never seen Matthews before), Rageheart runs to the side ropes, builds up speed, and leaps into the air, driving his knee right into the face of Charlie Matthews and sending him down to the canvas!

FUCK ‘IM UP, RAGEHEART, FUCK ‘IM UP! *clap-clap*

“Lethbridge may be an obscure little town in Alberta,” Mak adds, “but these fans sure are supporting Scott Rageheart. It’s probably 50% home-province sentiment and 50% actually wanting an exciting match.”

“That’s awfully hypocritical, Mak. We’ve both seen Scott Rageheart wrestle, and he can be just as hosserific as Charlie Matthews.”

“No, King, and no one ever will be.”

Rageheart drops down with a lateral press on the tag champ, but Matthews rolls a shoulder up and continues rolling onto his stomach before Soapdish can even register a one count. Meanwhile, for one reason or another, the Canadian-attired James Matheson leaps up onto the ring apron, vigorously untying the pad from one of the top turnbuckles! As Nick Soapdish reprimands him, Grappler is able to surprise Scott Rageheart

*CHING!*

-with a well-placed uppercut to the testicles. The crowd roars their disapproval, but with Scott doubled over, Matthews rises to his feet and charges, slamming his own knee right into the side of Rageheart’s face. This sends the Albertan backwards, against the ropes, allowing Charlie to use that momentum to hoist him up, arms wrapped tightly around his midsection, and the crowd—and entire viewing audience—groans!

“Bearhug time!” King cheers (okay, except him, but then again, he likes Bryan Adams), “it’s never too early for a little Bearhug action, eh Mak?”

“King, I’m trying very hard to remain unbiased here, but this is getting ridiculous.”

“Why? It’s the perfect way to wear down Scott Rageheart, since he has some semblance of hometown momentum, or something.”

But after holding the bearhug in for only a few seconds (though just long enough to elicit the traditional BOOOOOOORING chants), Matthews notices James Matheson STILL discussing something (which is actually the contribution [or lack thereof] of Josh Paul to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays) with referee Nick Soapdish. So, with a full head of steam, Matthews charges, keeping a hold of Rageheart, and rams his opponent’s back into the exposed turnbuckle! Soapdish turns just in time to see Grappler pivot on his leg and slam Rageheart down with a belly-to-belly side suplex, folding Scott’s legs over with a deep cover!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

“So, Mak, why don’t you tell me which is worse: the bearhug, or, as you’d probably call it, ‘blatant cheating!!’ when it’s actually just wrestling a smart match.”

“King, one bores the crap out of everyone in attendance, the other gives the big oaf an unfair advantage. It’s a draw. But at least Scott Rageheart kicked out.”

Matheson is incredulous, which becomes clear by his once again jumping on the ring apron (“What do you mean Paul’s not catching Shields tonight?”) at Soapdish. While the referee tries to remove the annoyance, Charlie Matthews begins to bring Scott Rageheart to his feet—

*CHING!*

-and gets a taste of his own medicine!

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The Alberta crowd adores Scott Rageheart and his cheating ways, and with Grappler doubled over, Rageheart sends a series of lightning-fast knee strikes to the forehead of his opponent, finishing by a big one that sends Charlie reeling up into a standing position. However, the big redwood is cut right down by a kick to the gut, and a double underhook! The crowd explodes, again, as Rageheart musters up the strength to hoist Matthews up and flip him around

*BAM!*

…dropping him with the Tiger Driver!

“Rageheart just hit the Tiger Driver out of nowhere!” Mak exclaims, “this one could be over almost as quickly as it started!”

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

“No, his foot’s on the rope!” King cries, “Soapdish, you moron, Grappler has his foot on the bottom rope!”

Indeed, King’s words are truth, and Soapdish notices his mistake, calling off the pin much to the deflation of the crowd.

“See, I don’t understand that,” King notes of the crowd’s reaction, “that’s just being a smart wrestler and having good ring presence. Comes with years of Championships and Bearhugs.”

“I think the crowd is just deflated because they have a feeling that Matthews is going to make a scintillating comeback,” Mak deadpans.

Rageheart doesn’t let that happen just yet, however. He brings Grappler up to his feet and fires off a forearm shiver, followed by a Kobashi-style chop and a kick to the stomach. He’s got the double underhook, and is going for another Tiger Driver!

Blocked! Matthews is able to duck behind Rageheart, and goes the scientific route, pounding his forearm right between Rageheart’s shoulder blades. Before Scott can fall, however, Charlie traps him in a side headlock and takes two strides forward, before jumping up and smashing Rageheart’s face into the canvas with a bulldog! To add insult to injury, Grappler keeps the side headlock applied.

“See, Mak,” King begins to explain, “this is a side headlock with purpose! He transitioned right out of that bulldog and is keeping the pressure on the head and neck of Scott Rageheart, softening him up for the Powerbomb.”

As Matthews wrenches in the headlock, the Alberta faithful begin clapping in unison, trying to rally Rageheart. And, surprisingly, it seems to work, as Scott fights valiantly, slowly but surely—to the dismay of Matthews and Matheson—up to a standing position! He fires two elbows into Grappler’s sternum, and when that doesn’t work, he simply runs Grappler back first into the nearest turnbuckle, successfully breaking the headlock! Receiving a second wind, Rageheart fires off three elbows to Matthews’ temple, before mustering the strength to hoist him up and onto the top turnbuckle. The crowd’s anticipation builds, but Rageheart wastes no motion in climbing to the second rope, trapping Matthews in a front facelock, and hoisting him backwards, shaking the ring with an enormous superplex!

“Holy crap!” Mak so eloquently declares, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Charlie Matthews so easily manhandled like that with a high-risk move!”

“But it probably took just as much out of Rageheart to lift him,” King retorts, “so, it was a stupid move. Just stick to the strikes, since those seem to be working.”

Still, Rageheart floats over with a cover!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

James Matheson is shocked, and with good reason, and out of lack of anything better to do, distracts Nick Soapdish by sliding his own briefcase into the ring!

“Wait a minute,” Soapdish slowly thinks, “that…that briefcase doesn’t belong in here!”

I guess he’s Canadian.

Proving that heels will ALWAYS be smarter than referees, as Soapdish hands Matheson’s briefcase to the timekeeper, the Manager of Champions™ slides Grappler’s Tag Team Championship belt under the bottom rope! Rageheart does not notice this and stoops over to bring up Matthews, who is on his knees, but Scott gets a face full of title belt!

*SMACK!*

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The force sends Rageheart flying back against the turnbuckle, allowing Matthews to kick the belt under the bottom rope to Matheson (just as Soapdish returns), kick Rageheart in the stomach to double him over, and bring him to the center of the ring in a standing headscissors.

“This is beautiful!” King adulates, “Charlie Matthews is winning like a true champion, taking pages from greats like William ‘Justice’ Hereford, Ejiro ‘Rule’ Fasaki and, of course, his own partner Tom Flesher.”

“To his credit,” Mak concedes, “I’ve never seen a Charlie Matthews match with fewer restholds than this. Cheating or not, he has his work boots on tonight.”

At the dead-center of the ring, Matthews fluidly flips Rageheart up and SLAMS him down with the Powerbomb!

LET’S GO RAGEHEART, LET’S GO! *clap-clap*

The momentum pushes Matthews backwards against the ropes for a second, and he catches his breath, before falling on top of Rageheart in almost a lax cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THR—KICKOUT!! The crowd explodes!

“Scott Rageheart is channeling the spirit of Calgary’s own Jerome Iginla, because he is on fire!” Mak calls in groan-inducing fashion.

“But he’s an idiot! Even if he has the energy required to get a shoulder up, the Powerbomb took so much out of him that it’s not even worth continuing!”

But continue Scott Rageheart does, or is at least forced to as Matthews pulls him up to his feet and traps him in a front facelock! The Calgary fans rise in anticipation of Matthews’ other finisher, but continue to jeer and put their support towards the Alberta native. Still, Grappler is able to hoist Rageheart into the air for the Wake Up Call…

No dice! Rageheart drops down onto his feet behind Grappler, wraps on a rear waistlock, and arches backwards, dropping Matthews right on his neck with a German Suplex! Unfortunately, Rageheart cannot bridge, as the beltshot and Powerbomb proved to be too much on his head and neck. Both men are down, and Nick Soapdish begins the count!

ONE!

TWO!

“How the hell did Scott Rageheart manage that?” King is furious, “I probably couldn’t even manage a comeback like that in the King Dome!”

A beat.

“…yes I could.”

“Home-province advantage or not,” Mak retorts, “we could be facing a double count-out, a great possibility considering the wear both men have taken, legally and not so much.”

FIVE!

SIX!

…Scott Rageheart is moving!

“Scott Rageheart is up to his knees,” Mak begins.

“A position I’m sure he’s used to being in,” King tastefully interjects.

“…and as much toughness as he’s shown tonight, you’d have to imagine that it’s going to come to an end very soon.”

Now both men are at a standing position, and Rageheart charges!

Forearm!

Kobashi-style chop!

WOOOOOOO!

Elbow!

Another chop!

Chop! Chop! Chop!

Kick to the gut!

Double underhook! Rageheart is going for another Tiger Driver…but Matthews goes limp! Grappler drops down to his knees and sweeps Rageheart right off of his feet with a double-leg takedown! The crowd deflates, slightly, but they’re right back into it just as Rageheart is back into it, rising right up to a standing base. This time Grappler barrels through with hard punches to the forehead. He lunges in with a headbutt…sidestepped! Rageheart with a forearm!

Another!

Four!

FIVE!

SIX! (the crowd counts along!)

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

Rageheart spins a three-sixty!

WHOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAA

BAM! The tenth forearm, but Matthews still isn’t off of his feet! Rageheart is stunned, but not as stunned as the Tag Team Champion, who is probably worse off than Mel Gibson in a synagogue. With James Matheson sweating bullets at ringside, Rageheart races to the ropes, builds momentum…

*BOOM!*

…but eats an enormous Lariat by Charlie Matthews!

“And that is probably it,” Mak concedes, “not only was Scott Rageheart nearly decapitated there, but at the very least the wind was knocked completely out of him.”

“Playing possum is an important part of wrestling, Mak. You reel away at the weakling’s strikes and make him think that he’s in control, then—bam!—put him right back where he belongs. This one is academic.”

Perhaps not to Matthews, though, as he—quite frustrated—rises to his feet and jerks Rageheart up from the canvas, squarely into a standing headscissors! Without any wasted motion, he flips Rageheart up and drops to a knee, SLAMMING him with a massive, ring-shaking kneeling Powerbomb followed by a deep cover that Soapdish counts.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!!

The Alberta crowd groans, but then again, since when does a guy ever actually win in his home-province?

“The winner of this contest,” Funyon announces to the deadened crowd, “is the Ess Double-You Eff Tag Team Champion, Charlie ‘Grappler’ Matthews!”

As Matthews rises to his feet and Matheson enters the ring, Grappler does not take his eyes off of Rageheart. Whether it’s respect, disgust, or gratitude, Scott Rageheart has opened up long-dormant emotions from Charlie Matthews.

...

The swirling, final three minutes of “Everything I Do” fills the arena, and a big grin creeps onto Matthews' face. Okay, he looks like just as much an obnoxious asshole as before. Scratch that last thought.

“See, Mak, try to argue with that," King challenges, "because it was hard-hitting, smashmouth wrestling and minimal restholds."

"It wasn't just the restholds, King! There was the incessant cheating on both Matheson's and Matthews' hands! The ridiculous levels to which Grappler will resort to win a match have reached new lows."

"Whatever it takes, Mak. And, in my case, whatever it takes to score this pot over the border cleanly."

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

“We’re back in Calgary in the Pengrowth Saddledome,” Mak Francis says, “and coming up next we have a tag team match that promises to be-”

“One-sided?” the Suicide King interjects.

“Quite possibly,” the Franchise agrees, “although that wasn’t what I was going to say. I was going to use words like ‘exciting’, ‘athletic’ and ‘high-impact’, but then you never learned how to draw money, did you King?”

“What!?” the Gambling Man splutters, “what are you talking about?”

“Well, you’re hardly going to convince people to watch if they think they know the outcome before the match starts,” Francis chides his commentary partner.

“My judgement and business sense is the envy of the world!” King protests.

“Which explains why you chose Michael Craven to represent you at Genesis IV,” Mak Francis nods, “makes perfect sense.”

“…I hate you.”

However, here comes another person that the Suicide King hates, as ‘Bring Me To Life’ by Evanescence kicks up over the speakers. The Canadian crowd don’t have any Canadians to cheer in this match, so they settle for a brief recognition pop for the music which quickly fades away into an apathetic hush, an acoustic effect which rather neatly parallels the career of the person making his way down the ramp.

“Well here’s Grendel, the Spirit of Aggression,” Mak Francis says, “say King, does he have his old mask back on?”

“Possibly,” the Gambling Man says, “you’d have suspected that he’d have reclaimed it from Tom Flesher after their match at Ground Zero, but since that match never took place due to Grendel not turning up-”

“Tom didn’t show up either,” Mak interrupts, although he’s not expecting to be listened to. And he’s not.

“-there’s no way to be sure,” King finishes “besides which, I have a rather more pertinent question for you; does anyone care?”

The answer appears to be no, because Grendel (possibly wearing his old mask again, possibly not) fails to garner much of a response from the crowd at ringside as he makes his way into the ring where he sets aside his giant toasting fork and performs a few stretches.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team event is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms, “introducing first, from Manhattan, New York; he weighs in tonight at 220lbs, this is ‘The Spirit of Aggression’… GRRRRRRRRRRRREN-DELLLLLLLLL!!”

There is a pause, in which the SWF expects the fans to cheer. However these fans are Canadian, and they can’t be bothered. Then the opening guitars of Alice In Chains’ ‘Man In A Box’ start up, and they decide that maybe they’ll make an effort.

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

*BANG!*

The Insane Luchador strides out from the backstage area, through the black-and-red pyro blast-

[“I still say black pyro is impossible!” King hisses.]

[“Maybe they just blast soot into the air! Stop causing trouble!”]

-and into view of the fans in the Pengrowth Saddledome. Apparently it’s OK for Canadians to cheer if you’ve been losing matches for over a certain time period, because Andrew Rickmen gets a rather larger response than his tag team partner as he makes his way down the ramp, slapping hands with the fans on the way to the ring.

“…and his tag team partner,” Funyon declares, “from Eastonville, Pennsylvania; he weighs in tonight at 221lbs, this is the IN-SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANE… LUUUUUUUUUUUUCH-ADORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!”

“LET’S GO RICK-MEN!”

“LET’S GO RICK-MEN!”

The Looch makes his way into the ring under the bottom ropes and jumps upright, then climbs the turnbuckles and raises both arms in the air (completely ignoring Grendel, but then it’s easy to forget him these days). However, soon a new sound thunders out across the Saddledome, a fat riff that stutters before kicking in with everything…

‘WAOW!’

*BOOOM!*

…and as pyro goes off, it becomes recognisable as ‘You Are Godzilla, We Are Japan’ by Lostprophets! Moments later four figures appear at the top of the entrance ramp, one of the two at the front cracking his neck from side-to-side and the other spreading his arms wide, inviting the cheers - or possibly jeers - of the crowd. Meanwhile behind them are two females; one blonde, petite and the very image of Apple Pie America’s gorgeous girl-next-door, and the other one almost a direct antithesis with her dyed black hair, undercut and can of Stella Artois in hand.

“And their opponents,” Funyon booms, “accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye and Amy Stephens, at a combined weight of 442lbs; the team of Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix and the SWF World Heavyweight Champion Michael Stephens… TWO SKINNY WHITE GUYS!!”

Michael Stephens for one doesn’t seem to happy with Funyon finally using the name that’s been bandied around, and the World Champion fixes the veteran ring announcer with an unpleasant gaze. Landon doesn’t seem to care though, and despite the fact that he’s still catching a few boos from the crowd he seems much the happier and more lively member of the team as the foursome make their way down the ramp. Once they reach the ring Mike rolls in under the bottom rope while Megan holds the same cables open for Landon, who whirls into the ring with his trenchcoat flying. Grendel and the Insane Luchador have dropped out to the floor to allow their opponents some time in the spotlight; Landon preens, Stephens just pulls off his personalised England soccer shirt and hurls it into the front row, where two teenage Canadian girls in heavy eyeliner look at it with mild disdain.

“Well, this has been the surprise team of the last few months,” Mak Francis says, “no-one would have expected Stephens and Maddix, who at 13th Hour were doing battle for the title that Stephens now carries, to have formed a tag team and have been so successful. Granted, the formation of this team seems to have come entirely from Joseph Peters,” the Franchise continues, “but they’ve persevered with it and, should they win this match, could conceivably find themselves in a position to get a title shot at Flesher and Matthews.”

“Like a lamb to a slaughter,” King predicts confidently, “or more accurately, like two lambs.”

The music dies down and this is the point in TSWG's matches where everything gets a little awkward. Megan and Amy exit the ring on opposite sides and stand in their team's corner, blatantly ignoring each other aside from the occassional awkward glance. And Stephens and Maddix now have to decide who's going to start the match. Which means co-operating. Which doesn't come naturally where these two are concerned.

"Man, no matter how many times these two team together, seeing an ammicable conversation between them seems so surreal." shares Mak. "After everything these two have been through, it'd be like you teaming with Grand Slam, King."

"Apples and oranges." King says dismissively. "Me and Stevens were polar opposites. These two are a haircut and a bottle of hair dye away from being the same person."

Grendel slides into the ring, electing to start on his side, as still Landon and Stephens are locked in discussion. Neither seems to be making headway with the other, so eventually Landon presents a compromise.

Rock, Paper, Scissors.

"1, 2, DRAW!"

The dinstinctly uninterested Stephens comes up with paper, not even bothering to look down at Landon's hand, which also comes up dead flat. So with a shrug of the shoulders, Landon balls his hand up into a rock, feigns some despair at his defeat, before patting Stephens on the back and telling him to "leave some for me, champ."

"Maddix needs to stick some handles on his tights next makeover," sneers King, "it'd make the carrying of him so much more convenient."

*DINGDINGDING!*

"So it's Grendel starting off against the reigning World Champion."

Stephens looks curiously at the masked opponent, trying to get a read of his body language as any facial emotion he has is hidden to the world. If Grendel is nervous though, he does a good job of hiding it as he rushes the World Champion and skids across the canvas, sweeping out a leg as he passes which stumbles Stephens. He doesn't go down past one knee, but Grendal scrambles back up sharply enough to snatch on a side headlock before Mike can move from there. Determined not to get caught in a hold exchange, Stephens pushes right back to his feet and lands a couple of forearms to the gut before pushing Grendel off to the ropes. As Grendel shoots off the ropes, Mike then confidently sets himself...and gets knocked down with a shoulderblock!

"Get up!" is Landon's far from in-depth advice to his partner, as Grendel hits the side ropes. The demand gets the response it deserves, i.e a glare over to the corner, but nevertheless Stephens does take his partner's advice, kipping up off the canvas and taking Grendel over with an armdrag!

"YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Over in TSWG territory, Landon begrudingly shuts his mouth.

"That was hardly neccessary." King criticises, not one for flash or for that matter panache.

"But it was enough to catch Grendel unawares."

Scrambling through to his feet Grendel wheels around and tries again, but takes a similar armdrag to the last. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Grendel's going to have to keep trying though, as he walks into a third armdrag, this time of the Japanese variety. As Grendel lands, Stephens rolls backwards and keeps hold of the arm, barring it up nonchalantly as he brings Grendel to his feet. Not for any sort of armwork, of course. Instead, he brings The Spirit Of Aggression over to the ropes and shows his own aggression in an irish whip, forceful enough to have Grendel rebounding back face-first into his feet by way of a standing dropkick.

"Nice dropkick," cheers Mak, "very Jim Brunzell esque."

"Who?"

"Nevermind."

Virtually landing on his feet off the kicks, Stephens briefly glances back to his corner to check Landon is either a) impressed or, better yet, b) jealous with/of the agility. The fact Landon is looking distantly into the crowd tells him that b it is, drawing a half-smile as he makes the pin...

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout.

Wrapping on a front facelock, Stephens brings Grendel right up from the kickout and brings a sharp knee up into the chest. A forearm over the back for good measure leaves Grendel in a draggable state, which is just what Stephens does to 'The Assassin' as he backs towards the vicinity of his corner and lifts a hand overhead. Maddix dawdles for a moment, but does accept the 'blind' tag and heads up top. Her man's scaling of the turnbuckle wakes Megan up and she tries to rally the Calgary crowd, which goes down about as well as a July 4th parade with Earl Hebner dressed as Uncle Sam right about now, earning TWSG some boos. Which is too bad, as Landon's high leap off the top and Mushroom Stomp down across the spine of Grendel is pretty impressive.

"Nice double-team wrestling from Maddix and Stephens." comments Mak, unable to hide his surprise. "Considering they were just thrown together on a whim, you have to admire the commitment these two are showing to improve as a team. Apparantly, they're even riding to shows together now."

"Maddix, Megan and both Stephens siblings in one car!?" King questions. "Boy, that must be a bundle of laughs. How they make it to shows without veering into trees mid-arguement is beyond me."

"Especially once the CD player goes on."

"You're not kidding. Lostprophets and Gloria Estefan DO BIG BATTEL!"

With his typcial strutting and preening and the like, Landon takes his sweet time following up on the stomps, driving a forearm over the back of Grendel. A second forearm. Then a third, before backing Grendel into the ropes and shooting him off the other side. Back rebounds Grendel, IL just missing a blind tag as his partner runs into a standing Dropsault! Unlike Stephens, Landon lands fully on his feet and bows grandiosely to his partner, as if it say "anything you can do, I can do flashier". Mike's reaction is typically deadpan, as he points for Maddix to go ahead and cover...

ONE!

TW...

Kickout.

And the abrupt kickout is enough to, again, begrudgingly shut his mouth.

"LAN - DON SUCKS!"

"LAN - DON SUCKS!"

"See what you're encouraging!?" snaps Landon to his partner sulkily, before narrowly preventing Grendel from reaching his corner by dropping an elbow across the back of his head. By the mask Maddix drags Grendel to centre ring, unable to resist taunting Insane Luchador about his partner's predicament as he wrenches on the neck with a simple and unwelcomed cravaté.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

Stephens slams his own head into the top turnbuckle a couple of times to satisfy his despair and bides his time by picking up a conversation with Amy on the floor. Meanwhile, Landon continues to wrench on the neck, apparantly oblivious to the fact that Grendel is powering to his feet and drawing some of the Canadian crowd behind him. An elbow rocks Maddix and a second alerts him that he's in a little trouble, so Landon quickly takes Grendel over with a cravatémare...

*SMACK!*

...and PUNTS Grendel in the spine!

"Ugh," groans Mak in sympathy pain (remembering back to when his lower back actually felt pain), "that's a real jerk move there with that Dragon Kick."

Writhing around on his BUTT, Grendel's mask contorts a little from the pain undoubtedly etched on his face. And it's gonna get worse before it gets better...

*SMACK!*

...as Landon lays in a second Dragon Kick! Grendel kicks his feet in pain, while Landon then backs off the ropes behind and tumbles over the top, grabbing the mask on the way over and executing a Perfect Neck Snap.

"So, what is Landon working on here again?" asks King facetiously.

"Well the Land Of Nod does work both the back and the neck," Mak begins, before realising he's fighting a losing battle and sighing, "but no, King, I don't know."

With things looking grim for Grendel, Landon affords himself time to sit and adjust his hair, in full view of the hard-cam naturally. Getting a little antsy, Stephens extends his arm out and calls for a tag. But as Landon pulls himself up and spots the request he decides that now is the time to capitalise on the prone masked man in front of him, rushing the ropes and springing to the middle rope, flipping back and landing a Quebrada...

...ACROSS THE KNEES!!

"YYEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

A large and distinctive "Bloody hell!" can be heard over the cruel cheers of the Canadian crowd, as Landon holds his gut and squirms on the canvas, instantly regretting his decision not to tag. And now, that's exactly what he's searching for. He's not the only one as Grendel begins to crawl towards his corner, The Insane Luchador completely fresh and eager to get in.

"First slip-up from Two Skinny White Guys and now, Grendel needs to bring IL in." calls Mak. "Grendel's taken all the punishment so far, Luchador might have some rope burn from hanging onto that tag rope but other than that he's at full energy."

Grendel and Landon pass in the centre, both completely focused on getting the tags and not on each other. And with a quick tuck and a roll, Grendel reaches his corner and makes the tag to IL!

"YYEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

On the other side Landon does get the tag to Michael Stephens, but IL has the jump on the World Champion and beats him to the attack with a running forearm. Stephens pops back up quickly but it's IL who has all the momentum and he runs in with another forearm, putting Stephens down again. Cut to an appropriately timed shot of a sign in the crowd, which reads 'IL No Sells Death', as Luchador is indeed very alive and very kicking. Literally, as Michael Stephens walks into a kick to the gut. IL follows it up with a quick kick across the chest, a second which hits somewhere in the middle before popping up and catching Stephens under the jaw with a Shotei strike!

"Insane Luchador taking it to the World Champion!"

"It won't last." predicts King.

Landon wanders in belatedly to help out. But by that time, he ends up wandering right into a prepared Insane Luchador, who ducks his weak forearm attempt and snatches the head, sweeping the leg and dropping Landon with a Russian Legsweep.

"I don't know King," argues Mak, "Luchador's looking pretty good right now."

Looking to even up the numbers, Luchador drags Maddix right back up and tosses him from the ring before re-focusing his attentions on the legal member of team Two Skinny White Guys. He isn't expecting this particular skinny white guy to pop up and catch him turning though, hooking him under the head and arm for a Side Effect. IL blocks the lift though and quickly fires off a succession of elbows, forcing Stephens to let him go, at which point IL 360s and lands a backfist to the side of the neck! Stephens' neck jars and he wobbles on his feet briefly but doesn't go down. So Luchador fires off another spinning backfist. Still Stephens is up, but only barely. Stepping behind The Sensation, IL looks to take advanage of Stephens' weakened state, up onto the shoulder and tumbling forwards with a Victory Roll...

ONE!

TWO!

No!

"Wow, that would have been a huge upset there!" admits Mak.

"Too huge if you ask me." King snipes.

Rolling back through to his feet, Luchador keeps the pace quick as he backs off the ropes. As he starts coming up, the sound of footsteps approaching alerts Stephens that IL is on his way and he instinctively hits the deck once more with a drop down. Luchador vaults the roadblock...

...AND FAKES EVERYONE OUT BY SOARING THROUGH THE ROPES AND ONTO MADDIX ON THE FLOOR!!!!

"YYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

"WOAH!" cries Mak, Landon and Luchador ending up virtually at his feet. "Where the hell did that come from!?"

Whatever Stephens was expecting to happen, that wasnt it as he seems genuinely surprised not to have anyone running at him as he pops back up to his feet. And his distraction with IL and Landon lying on the floor allows Grendel a window to attack, smashing Stephens in the back of the head with an elbow. The masked man then elevates Stephens back to his feet, sending him off the ropes with an irish whip. Foolishly, Grendel decides to duck his head for a backdrop attempt. And faster than you can say "sitting duck", Stephens slows himself down on his return and brings an arm down across the head, guiding Grendel face-first across a knee with a facebuster. Grendel whiplashes back up off the knee and Stephens lands a European uppercut for good measure, putting Grendel down and setting up a cover.

"There's a pin...but Grendel isn't the legal man," Mak quite rightly points out, as no count is made, "and quite rightly referee Sexton Hardcastle isn't going to count the fall."

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Some of the crowd don't like it, but the referee is doing his job and despite a brief glare, Stephens realises the ref is in the right. So Stephens brushes him aside and goes back after the legal man, as he runs the ring...

...AND WIPES OUT IL WITH A SOMERSAULT PLANCHA!!

"YYYEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

"What is it with all these damn gloryhogs around here!?" snaps King, totally no-selling the amazing dive that transpired in front of him.

"Do you have to crap on everyone and everything King? Just because you got a nosebleed just from climbing onto the apron in your day, doesn't mean everyone has to avoid showing some athleticism."

"Wait, wait...MY day? Your comeback was no great shakes there Mak, so my day was your day. Don't play the old man card with me, two wheels."

"Too harsh."

Maddix brushes past the pile of humanity in front of him and stumbles into the ring, meeting Grendel on the way up and locking on a front facelock. Grendel is still feeling the effects of the majority of the match, but Landon's role as Insane Luchador Landing Pad has left him wobbly too, allowing Grendel to backdrop his way out of the weak facelock. Crouching down, Grendel then waits for Landon to drag himself back up, to ignore the pleas from Megan from the floor not to turn around and to step right into Grendel, who ducks the head and takes Landon over with a Northern Lights Suplex, complete with bridge...

...but of course, neither man is legal, so again Hardcastle calls off counting the pin.

"Boy, when did Hardcastle get re-trained?"

"Now now King, Sexton Hardcastle is one of the finest officials in the SWF and always has been." protests Mak, a little too forcefully.

Sitting up, Grendel questions the lack of a pinfall with Hardcastle. Into the ring slides Michael Stephens in the meantime and he grabs hold of the shoulder, spinning Grendel around into a sharp right jab!

Left jab!

Right jab!

Left jab!

cVm ~!

And the Discus Clothesli...

...NO! Grendel ducks...

*SMACK!*

...but Maddix saves face by popping him with a Superkick right as he re-exposes his jaw to the world!

["You really need to drop that from your moveset, hotshot." imparts Landon helpfully.]

Stephens stands with arms folded, scowling at being showed up. He doesn't get the chance to sulk for long though as he spots Insane Luchador climbing the apron in front of him. Luchador springboards to the top and into the ring, as Stephens instinctively shoves Maddix to safety and springs off his feet to pluck IL out of the air with a dropkick that lands right in the gut, driving the wind out of The Ill One!

"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

As Maddix dusts himself off, Stephens tells him that "You owe me one." before beginning to pick IL back up. So, in response, Maddix does the same with Grendel.

"A little mis-communication and hostility," points out Mak, "but only a little."

"And against a better team it'd be crucial. A better team like...oh, I don't know, the World Tag Team Champions perhaps?"

Icy glares are exchanged between the Two Skinny White Guys, that very name probably contributing a lot to it, as Landon hooks on an inverted front facelock, Stephens applying a traditional version from the front. Almost telepathically the two men know what they've got planned. But before they execute it, Landon tells Mike to wait and hand Luchador over his way. Predictably Stephens is wary about that but Landon insists, so Stephens walks over...and Maddix grabs Luchador by his baggy t-shirt, dumping him on top of the inverted front facelocked Grendel and signalling for Stephens to carry on. Stephens applies the front facelock on the stacked Luchador and together, the two whip around, driving their elbows down across the back of his head in stereo which in turn squashes Grendel underneath!!

"YYEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

"Uhm...that was, I think, a combined Landon Eye and Unfinished Business." calls Mak, wishing the SWF had more instant replays. "That was certainly...unique."

"I told you Mak, a trip to the salon away from being the same person."

Together, Landon and Stephens climb back up and stop, staring at each other for a moment. Neither seems that sure how or why, but they just came up with a pretty effective double team move.

Like, you know, real teams.

Maddix eventually smiles warmly, holding his arms to the side almost as if he's expecting a hug. He gets shrugged away by Stephens (which is probably for the best) who remembers the match is still going and drags IL back to his feet. Leaving Maddix to push the winded and motionless Grendel out of the ring as if sweeping him under an imaginary carpet.

"TWO SKINNY WHITE GUYS!"

"TWO SKINNY WHITE GUYS!"

Looking far more jovial about the chants Landon now jogs over and grabs on a 3/4 facelock on Luchador...just as Stephens does the same exact thing.

["Oi! What are you doin', bugger off!"]

["I'm trying to win the match, you ass!"]

["By stealing my bloody move!? Piss off!"]

["It's a different move, I sit out at the side and...look, just run!"]

["You wot?"]

["Run! Up the turnbuckles!"]

"What are they doing?" hisses King under his breath, as about fifteen seconds have passed and still Landon and Stephens stand in the centre of the ring arguing. Mak doesn't seem to know and shrugs, a motion which isn't quite picked up over his headset. His otherwise silence says just as much as the shrug though.

But suddenly, the squabbling team-mates break from their arguement. And with each one stubbornly refusing to back down, both men running towards the nearest tunbuckles in stereo. Both climb up either side of the turnbuckles, managing not to clash knees as they reach the top and vault backwards in stereo...

*BA-BAM!*

"YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

"Laberinto's Sunny Revenge In England!!"

"What!?!" screams King, not appreciating the pretty good ad-lib. "Get out of here...just go, now!"

Stephens lands on his front and bounces to his knees, favouring his gut a little despite a somewhat cushioned landing. Landon meanwhile sits out at the side, giving his coccyx a testing. But at the moment, he seems more concerned with the match, showing no concern for his partner as he hurries him to make the cover. Stephens doesn't appreciate that. He's not dumb and he knocked a little of the wind out himself, but he is dropping an arm over.

ONE!

Whether the dual execution of the move actually did more damage than it would have done seperately isn't really clear.

TWO!

But it at least allows Landon to join the glory.

THREE!!!

*DINGDINGDING!*

"And that'll do it!" announces Mak. "Score another one for Two Skinny White Guys!"

"Your winners of the match... the team of Landon Maddix and Michael Stephens... TWO SKINNY WHITE GUYS!!!"

Up cues "You Are Godzilla, We Are Japan" again. And despite being non-plussed with the choice of theme music, Landon is plenty plussed about the victory and celebrates with a punch of the air, virtually ignoring Stephens' contribution to the ending. To be fair though, Stephens is doing a good job of virtually ignoring Landon altogether as he rolls right out of the ring, high-fiving his sister but staying as un-emotive about the win as possible. Spotting his partner leaving, Maddix quickly rushes over to the ropes questioning him and apparantly Stephens isn't interested in the grandious spotlight celebration Landon has planned. But as Landon throws him a thumbs up by way of a thank you Stephens stops...

...looks to Amy...

...looks down...

...and gives the most non-commital thumbs up in the history of existance back to his partner.

"YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

"Wow...I guess we can call that mutual appreciation, just about." Mak smiles. "Either way, Landon and Stephens continue to make their unorthodox way through the tag team ranks and if I were Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews right now, I'd be on alert. Two Skinny White Guys are getting closer to the verge of an SWF World Tag Team Championship shot with every passing match!"

"You do realise how ridiculous that sounds, right?"

"...yeah, I know."

Megan and Maddix celebrate their way up the aisle now, getting a strangely positive reception from some parts of the crowd, as up ahead the Stephens siblings reach the curtain. And if Mike is happy about the win, he's stubborn enough not to show it, as he turns to Amy and jerks a thumb back down the ramp.

["I don't care if he looks like Spanky or not, that's still my bloody move."]

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

DING DING!!!!

As Lockdown fades back in from commercial, the camera pans the Saddledome’s crowd, and Funyon says, “The following cruiserweight contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP! And now, to introduce the challenger, James Matheson!”

Matheson takes his place on the stage, dressed in a white shirt, red blazer and red tie that subtly suggests the Canadian flag. He holds his Halliburton briefcase in hand, as always, but it now bears a maple-leaf sticker on each side. “My fellow Canadians,” he begins, prompting a chorus of boos from the audience, “good GOD, are you lucky. Not only is the SWF making its first appearance at the Saddledome in quite some time, but you’re lucky enough to have your adopted Canadian hero on hand, and you get to see him win yet another belt to add to his collection! So, without further ado, I give you one-half of the Tag Team Champions and the NEXT SWF Cruiserweight Champion, TOM FLESHER!”

With that, the lights dim, and the hard-rock sounds of another Canadian artist that Tom has adopted as his one-night only theme music begin to blast through the Saddledome!

He was a boy, she was a girl

Can I make it any more obvious

He was a punk, she did ballet

What more can I say

He wanted her. She'd never tell

Secretly she wanted him as well

But all of her friends stuck up their nose

They had a problem with his baggy clothes

As Avril Lavigne’s ‘Sk8r Boi’ blares through the arena, Tom Flesher steps through the velvet curtain dressed in a Team Canada hockey jersey with his Tag Team belt wrapped around his waist. He throws his arms into the air as he struts to the ring, prompting another round of boos from the crowd.

“I know Tom and Grappler talked about adopting Canada as their home country last show,” says Mak, conveniently reminding the home audience of prior developments, “but this is ridiculous!”

“I know. Can you believe a Canadian managed to write something so beautiful and moving without it being ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald’?”

He was a skater boy

She said see you later boy

He wasn't good enough for her

She had a pretty face

But her head was up in space

She needed to come back down to earth

Flesher rolls into the ring and unstraps his treasured title belt, then hands it to Matheson. With that, he strips off his hockey jersey and sets it in the corner before starting to stretch. As his music fades out, the lights come back on for a moment. The lights go dark. With red lights flashing, the opening strains of Queen’s “The Show Must Go On” herald the arrival of the Cruiserweight Champion.

Empty spaces - what are we living for

Abandoned places - I guess we know the score

On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for...

Cross steps out from the curtain, his eyes narrow and focused on his challenger. He knows that he has an almost insurmountable challenge ahead of him. His opponent is twice the Heavyweight Champion of the World, twice Tag Team Champion, even a former king of the mountain in the Cruiserweight division and its predecessor Light Heavyweight class.

Another hero, another mindless crime

Behind the curtain, in the pantomime

Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore

And yet... people forget...

The show must go on!

Cross comes in the Champion tonight.

As he walks to the ring, clenching and unclenching his fists, Cross’s confidence is evident. He glares at the cocky bastard in the center, the man who’s trying to steal his belt and his glory, and he knows exactly what needs to be done.

“Look at the intensity on Cross’s face,” says the Suicide King. “You generally don’t see that sort of thing coming from a guy who’s about to get his mush stomped in.”

“Come on, King, give Cross some credit. He’s been at the top of the division for quite some time now, and he’s even made a strong defense against Zyon, I’m told.”

Cross enters the ring, his belt wrapped around his waist, and stands in his corner as his music fades out. Flesher stares at him, shaking out his shoulders with his trademark smirk.

“The following Cruiserweight Championship contest is scheduled for one fall,” says Funyon. “In the corner to my right is the challenger. Currently residing just across the river from Niagara Falls, Ontario, and weighing in tonight at 104.5 kilograms,”

(“That’s 229.9,” King says gleefully. Mak merely rolls his eyes.)

“he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions... TOM FLESHER!”

The Canadian fans boo Flesher, who turns to acknowledge each section with a wave.

“And his opponent... from Detroit, Michigan, and weighing in at 228 pounds... without a doubt, one of the most destructive competitors ever to step into an SWF ring, he is the reigning SWF Cruiserweight Champion... ‘IRON.’ MIKE. CROSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The Champion gets a healthy pop from the crowd and shrugs off his sweatshirt as he hands his belt to senior official Eddy Long. Long walks the belt over to Flesher, who acknowledges it, and then holds it in the air to show the fans. With that, he hands the title to an attendant and calls for the bell.

DING DING DING!!!!

Flesher and Cross square off in the center of the ring. As Tom reaches out, Cross snags his left arm and pulls it up into an overhead wristlock. Flesher takes a step back, trying to avoid the wristlock, and spins, twisting free and coming up with an armwringer to control Cross’s left limb. He jerks the arm, pulling Cross into a short-arm shotei that the Champion baseball-slides under! As Cross pops back up, Flesher turns around to face him, only to eat a gamengiri! Flesher staggers backward and slumps in a corner, and Cross stand in the center, waiting for him to come out.

“The champ’s got the upper hand early,” says Francis. “You’ve really gotta hand it to him – he’s holding his own.”

“That’s what he’ll be doing tonight after Flesher takes his title and screws his girlfriend,” King snaps.

As Tom staggers forward, Cross hooks him by the arm and throws him to the mat with an arm drag! Flesher rolls through and turns around, only to be tossed to the mat again! Cross backs away, and as Tom sits up, he throws a basement dropkick that nails the Superior One in the neck! Tom flattens out, and Cross makes a quick cover.

ONE!

Long only gets one, though, as Tom gets a shoulder up, and then quickly rolls to the outside to collect himself.

“This looks like it’s going to be tougher for the challenger than we expected,” says Mak. “Of course, Mike Cross is a scrapper. You can’t be too surprised that he’s gonna try to hold on to that belt.”

After a few seconds on the outside, Flesher rolls back into the ring and faces off once again with an extra-confident Cross. Flesher lowers his level and shoots an unusually slow low single-leg takedown. Cross easily fends it off by blocking with his forearm. As Tom starts to get to his feet, Cross pulls him into a side headlock. The crowd cheers as the Champ remains in control.

However, after just a moment, Tom steps around Cross’s body and locks his arms, then launches “Iron” Mike through the air with a Greco-Roman backdrop that dumps him straight onto his upper back! This prompts a groan from the crowd, but Flesher quickly rolls to his stomach and gets to his feet. His bell rung only slightly, Cross is also quick to his feet... but quickly takes a seat again, as Flesher lunges at him with a blast double-leg takedown! Cross bellies down to the mat, and Flesher immediately backs away, giving him the space to get back to his feet.

“Tom baited Cross into that headlock,” King notes, “and then gave him his pilot’s license with that backdrop suplex. You can’t try to outwrestle Tom. It’s just a bad idea.”

As Cross starts to get up, Flesher lets fly with a stiff shin kick that nails him flush at the base of the skull! Cross collapses back to the mat, and Tom covers him for

ONE!

TWO!

But no more, as Cross kicks out with ample time to spare. He rolls to his stomach, giving Flesher the opportunity to spin out to the front and apply a front headlock. Cross struggles to escape, but the mat machine pulls him in and tightens his grip around “Iron” Mike’s neck. Then, with his opponent immobilized, Tom throws a knee strike that hammers Cross’s head! He throws a second, then a third, and then a fourth before Cross manages to kick his leg out and hook it over the bottom rope. Eddy Long begins his five-count, but Flesher quickly releases even before he gets to two.

“Interesting that Taamo’s letting Cross go that quickly,” says Francis. “He’s not usually that willing to listen to the referee.”

“He’s keeping the pressure on,” King replies. “It’s hard to win a match if you don’t have time to recover.”

As Cross starts back to his feet, Flesher hits him with another shin kick to the jaw, but Cross manages to pull himself to his feet nonetheless. Flesher scowls at him and throws a palm strike to try to regain control of the match. Cross narrowly avoids the shotei and quickly sprawls on the mat, executing a crisp drop-toehold that takes Tom to the canvas! As Tom pushes up, Cross yanks back on his leg, applying a heel hook to immobilize the challenger. Flesher immediately reaches out, grabbing on to the bottom rope to save his skin.

“And Cross has Flesher on the ropes, literally!” says Francis. Cross breaks the hold, and Flesher makes sure to keep one hand on the ropes at all times as he gets to his feet. Even as he maintains his footing, Cross sprints across the ring. Flesher turns to face him and immediately takes a stiff forearm blow to the face! The forearm catches Tom by surprise and sends him careening over the top rope and back to the floor. This time, though, Flesher isn’t merely outside to collect himself. He’s rattled, and so when he looks up, he isn’t expecting Cross to dive at him with an elbow suicida! Cross connects, sending Flesher to the concrete floor, and giving himself a chance to slide back into the ring.

“Devastating elbow strike from the Champion,” says Mak Francis, “and while that’s not something you expect from Cross, he knows he has to up his game considerably to take this one. It looks like he’s up to the challenge.”

Eddy Long begins administering his count on the outside as James Matheson tends to his injured protege.

ONE!

“So, do you suppse Flesher’s thumb has healed up at all?” asks King cheerfully.

TWO!

“Well, it appears to still be taped,” says Mak, “but you have to take into account that it was probably never injured in the first place. It seems like the only reason he tapes it is to make it stronger when he jams that thumb into someone’s eye.”

THREE!

Matheson checks Flesher, helping him to his feet. As Tom starts to re-enter the ring, Matheson hops on the apron to make sure that Cross isn’t able to get the jump on Flesher. Eddy Long, of course, finds that slightly objectionable, and turns to order Matheson and his briefcase off the apron. Meanwhile, Flesher gets to his feet and, as Cross turns his attention back to him, casually thrusts his left thumb straight into Cross’s eye.

BOOOOOOOOOOOO

He pulls back, grinning, as Mak Francis says, “Told ya.” Meanwhile, Cross staggers around, unable to defend himself as Flesher charges at him and nails him with a Yakuza kick! Matheson hops down to the floor once again as Flesher grabs Cross from behind and takes him to the mat with a waistlock. Then, Flesher crouches onto the mat, keeping the waistlock, and hoists Cross off the mat into a huge German suplex! At the highest point of the lift, Flesher releases his locked hands and lets Cross go, sending him flying across the ring and onto his neck and shoulders! The released German suplex draws a grudging pop from the crowd, and a stunned but resilient Cross rolls through, getting up but stopping at one knee to regain his senses. Before he can, though, Tom sprints at him and hammers him with another boot to the head!Cross collapses to the mat, and Flesher covers him for

ONE!!

TWO!!!!

NO! Cross kicks out!

“A high-pressure sequence gets Flesher another near-fall,” says Francis, “but he can’t convert it. Cross is just incredibly hard to pin, as he’s shown in the past, and he’s too proud to submit. How do you beat someone who won’t go down?”

“How does Cross plan on beating Flesher?” muses King. “I’d say he’ll have some of the same conceptual problems.”

Flesher grabs Cross by the arm and hoists him to his feet, only to have the defending Champion pull the arm out and toss Flesher tot he mat with another armdrag! He follows up with a kick to Flesher’s head, imitating the stiff strike that Tom landed on him earlier in the mat. This time, however, instead of letting Flesher fall to the mat, Cross follows up by taking a few quick steps and slamming into Flesher’s neck with a running knee strike! That definitely flattens the Buffalo native out, and Cross makes the cover.

ONE!!

TWO!!!!

NO! Flesher kicks out, showing some signs of difficulty, as Cross stands up and waits for him. He uses his position to drop another knee onto Flesher’s neck, then underhooks both his arms as he pulls him to his feet. With Flesher in such a compromised position, Cross is able to lift him up by his underhooked arms and drive him into the mat head-first! The crowd pops like a cherry on prom night as Flesher gets slammed straight down on the crown of his head with the Michinoku Driver!

“Nail in the Cross!” shouts Mak Francis, as Flesher flops down onto his back, and Cross makes the cover. Eddy Long counts

ONE!!

TWO!!!!

NO!

“You’re not going to get Tom that quickly,” says King. “Not with that 18-inch neck, and not with his mental toughness and fighting spirit. He’s going to get up from the Nail in the Cross eleven times out of ten.”

As Tom rolls to his stomach, Cross stands up, then drops down onto him with an elbow to the neck. With that, he lifts Flesher back to his feet and whips him into a corner. As the challenger hits the corner and starts staggering out, Cross measures him, then dives into him for a Northern Lights suplex! The crowd begins to pop, but before Cross can suplex him, Flesher sprawls back and pulls him into another front headlock! That draws a groan of collective disappointment from the crowd, even as Flesher throws another devastating knee to Cross’s head.

“That knee’s as hard as a cinder block,” quips King, as Flesher underhooks Cross’s left arm to set up any number of Cement moves. Sure enough, practically on fumes, Flesher jacks up the underhook and pulls Cross over his hip by the neck, slamming him to the mat with the Flying Cement Job! Flesher wrenches his chin and holds him for a cover as Long counts

ONE!!

TWO!!!!

KICKOUT!!!

“Iron Mike Cross is showing a surprising focus,” says the Suicide King grudgingly. “I didn’t want to say it, but this kid might be alright.”

“Of course he is, King. He’s the Champ tonight, and Flesher’s looking like he’s gonna have a harder time than usual knocking him off the mountain.”

Cross flounders on the mat, and Flesher takes advantage by grabbing his leg and hooking it to set up a half-Boston crab. “Iron” Mike kicks, trying to free himself, but Flesher keeps trying to turn him over onto his stomach. Cross responds by grabbing the bottom rope and using it to pull himself up to the middle rope, then balancing on that and getting to one foot! Flesher smirks at him, but Cross jumps off the mat on his one leg and throws an enzuigiri straight at Tom’s head!

The Superior One, of course, sees it coming.

Flesher ducks the enzuigiri, letting Cross fall impotently to the mat. Then, he plants a boot on Cross’s back, walks over him, and shouts, “Hey, James, that was an easy one.”

“Even taking a beating like he has tonight,” Francis says, “Tom Flesher shows nothing but cockiness.”

Flesher leans on the ropes, trying not to show his fatigue. Even so, he takes his time, catching his breath as Michael Cross starts to get up. “Tom clearly isn’t doing as well as he’d like Cross to think,” Mak says.

“IF that were true,” says King, “it would be an example of the expert mind games Tom Flesher is capable of playing. When you look across the ring and see an opponent who’s still breathing evenly and who’s grinning at you when you’re feeling like you can barely continue, it’s a real morale buster. It would be like if you saw someone, I don’t know, walking around.”

As Cross gets up, Flesher takes one last breath and moves to the center. Cross steps bravely to the middle of the ring, where Tom grabs his right hand and shoots past his left leg. Then, behind Cross, he grabs Mike’s left hand and crosses it over his abdomen, then arches back with a straitjacket suplex! Cross takes a hard landing on his neck and shoulders, and Eddy Long makes the count.

ONE!!

TWO!!!!

THREE!!!!!

NO!!!!!

“Cross’s foot’s in the ropes!” shouts Mak Francis. “He knew he had a foot on, so he didn’t try kicking out! Eddy Long just saw it and waved the pin off!”

“Lucky bastard,” growls King. “All he’s doing is delaying the inevitable.”

Frustrated, Flesher releases the straitjacket lock and rolls over, grabbing Cross by the leg. He stands up, trying for the half-Boston crab again. Instead of an enzuigiri, though, this time Cross merely mule-kicks Flesher in the jaw. Tom staggers backwards, trying to shake off the stiff kick. Cross rolls to his knees, then starts to get up. Smelling blood, he coils back and leaps at Flesher, taking him to the mat with a double-leg takedown. Instinctively, Tom rolls to his stomach. The crowd begins to cheer as Cross quickly hops onto Flesher’s back, reaching down and slapping on a half-nelson. Flesher’s eyes widen, and he realizes exactly what’s going on. He begins fighting as hard as he can, trying to peel the half-nelson off before Cross can complete the full nelson and apply the Iron Cross!

“This could be it!” says Mak, clearly excited to see Cross out-grappling Flesher. “He’s working on that deadly Iron Cross sugar hold, and Flesher’s...”

“... got an 18-inch neck,” yawns King. “No way he’ll tap to that.”

Even so, Flesher fights with every ounce of strength he has left in him, clamping down his free arm to keep Cross from slipping in the full nelson and reaching up, desperately trying to break the half-nelson. Flesher rolls onto his left hip, shaking Cross out of his comfortable seated mount, and quickly spins out to face him before rolling to the outside to collect himself. James Matheson stands waiting with a towel, and Flesher clearly looks rattled as he wipes his brow.

“Taamo’s not looking too confident now,” says Mak. “There’s not much else he can do. Cross is okay on the mat, and he’s a guy who can take the big throws Flesh has and get up from them. About all he can do is...”

As Mak trails off, Matheson clenches his fist and encourages Flesher, then taps his temple. A slight smirk spreads across Flesher’s face as he rolls back into the ring, looking up and almost daring Cross to come for him. Tom gets to his feet and lunges at Cross, throwing a hard palm strike straight for his jaw! Cross steps back, absorbing the blow, but throws a forearm straight back at Flesher’s jaw! Tom grits his teeth, and as Matheson shouts, “Doesn’t hurt you, Tommy, doesn’t hurt you,” he throws another palm strike, this one to Cross’s chest! Cross steps back, but this time pivots backwards and throws a spinning back elbow to Flesher’s head! Tom’s head snaps back, but with Matheson still shouting encouragement, he grits his teeth. “CHAMPIONSHIP ON THE LINE,” shrieks Matheson, as Flesher takes a deep breath and throws a headbutt straight at Cross! Both men step back, shaken. Matheson yells, “Fighting spirit!” and Flesher steps backward. As Cross looks up, all the damage of the match thus far is written in his weary expression...

... which Flesher promptly wipes off his face with another running Yakuza kick! Cross falls to the mat, and Flesher sprawls onto him as quickly as he can to get the cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!!!

THREENOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Cross gets a shoulder up, and Flesher looks out to Matheson.

“No big deal, no big deal,” Matheson shouts, though he looks as if he’s about to have an aneurysm.

“Matheson says it’s no big deal,” says Mak, “but Tom’s just gotten his second wind, and to put out all that energy without getting the win is going to hurt him in the morning.”

“Never mind the morning,” says King. “Flesher’s full of adrenaline, and he’s going to be on that high for about twenty more minutes.”

As Cross sits up, Flesher helps him to his feet with an Irish whip! Cross hits the corner head on. He stumbles backwards, where Flesher lies in wait on one knee. As Cross approaches him, Flesher springs up, applying a waistlock and ducking his head under Cross’s left arm. Then, with all the explosive energy he’s known for, Flesher lifts Cross off the mat and starts to arch backwards!

“Greco-Roman backdrop....” says Mak.

But this isn’t just a backdrop.

Tom angles Cross to the mat, and Matheson shouts, “DRIVE HIM! DRIVE HIM!” Tom arches, and slams Cross back to the mat, straight on the top of his head! The fans unleash a chorus of boos as Cross lays face-down. King, for his part, is subdued.

“BACKDROPPAH~!” he screams, as Flesher cockily rolls over. He grabs Cross by the waistband and leans over him, with Matheson applauding on the outside. Eddy Long drops down to make the count.

ONE!!

TWO!!!!

THREE!!!!!

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With a combination of gasps and cheers from the crowd, Iron Mike Cross shows his steel will by kicking a shoulder off the mat with Long’s hand only a hair’s breadth from the canvas! The fans are on their feet, going absolutely crazy, as Flesher looks up. He looks shocked. He looks angry.

He looks determined.

“HOW did Mike Cross kick out of that one?” fumes King. “That’s the first time in months we’ve seen a backdrop driver out of Tom Flesher, and Cross manages to kick out of it! Unbelievable!”

“That just goes to show the kind of intensity that the Cruiserweight Champion brings to the table!” Mak says, sounding truly impressed. “He’s taken an incredible beating tonight, but he just keeps getting up, he just keeps coming back for more to keep his title belt!”

As Flesher shouts at Eddy Long that he’s sure it was a three-count, Mike Cross tries to shake off the pain of being slammed down on his head. He slides in behind Flesher and reaches up, grabbing him by the thigh and pulling him down into a schoolboy rollup! With the crowd screaming, Long counts

ONE!!

TWO!!!!

THREENO!!!!!!!!!!

Flesher breaks up the schoolboy, kicking Cross free and rolling back to his knees! Cross regains his footing and comes barrelling at Tom, who quickly dives out of the way to send Cross careening into the ropes. As Cross rebounds, Flesher snatches his arm and quickly throws him forward with an ippon seionage, slamming the defending champion to the mat with the judo arm throw! Then, without missing a beat, Flesher snakes in a half-nelson on the left side. The crowd chants, “IRON MIKE! IRON MIKE!” as Flesher tries to tie up the last part of his cobra clutch, and Cross fights valiantly. He tries to peel Flesher’s half-nelson off his head with both hands. As soon as he brings his left arm up, Tom snatches it and pulls it across Cross’s throat, tying up the modified sleeper hold. Then, with fire in his eyes, Flesher drops to the mat and throws his legs around Cross’s waist, locking up the body scissors that complete his deadly King Cobra hold! Half the crowd boos. Half continues the chant:

“IRON MIKE! IRON MIKE!”

Flesher squeezes as hard as he can, tightening the body scissors. He flexes his left arm, forcing the half-nelson deeper in. He pulls Cross’s arm even tighter across his neck. Cross continues flailing on the mat, trying to break the body scissors or free his arm to break the cobra clutch.

Anything to escape the King Cobra.

“Know why they call this a King Cobra hold, Mak?” cackles King. “Because it’s venomous! It’s deadly! Once it sinks its fangs into you, you might as well just turn up your toes and die!”

“Cross isn’t about to,” Mak snaps. “He cares too much about the title. He’s too tough. There’s just no way Flesher’s going to make him tap out!”

Maybe not. But as the camera zooms in, Cross’s eyes begin to fade. His motions become less constant, his eyelids droop, and finally, after a few more seconds, he stops moving entirely. Flesher, though, doesn’t release him.

Eddy Long drops to the mat. He lifts Cross’s free arm.

It falls.

He lifts it a second time.

It falls.

He lifts it a third time.

It falls.

Long calls for the bell.

DING DING DING!!!!

With the bell gone, and his opponent unlikely to make any sudden counterattacks, Flesher releases the King Cobra hold. James Matheson leaps into the ring, grabbing the Cruiserweight Championship as he does, and he meets his charge with a huge embrace.

“The winner of the match... one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions and now the NEW SWF Cruiserweight Champion... TOM FLESHER!!!!!”

As Matheson wraps the Cruiserweight belt around Flesher’s waist, Tom holds the Tag Team Title high in the air.

Like Mike Cross, we fade.

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

SWF Lockdown fades back into frame from the prior segment. The Canadian crowd inside the Pengrowth Saddledome light up as the cameras cut down to the commentating team.

“Fans, we have had an exciting night like no other!” exclaims Mak Francis, “From the opening bell where ‘Birdman’ returns to the Two Skinny White Guys tag team contest to the previous Cruiserweight Title match to now…Number One Contendership to the SWF International Title…kind of!”

“The title was won by Bruce Blank during the Survival of the Fittest tournament,” Suicide King adds in, “And later on tonight, he will go one-on-one with the longest reigning champion in the history of the SWF…the man who unarguably put the International Title on the map…‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ Jay Hawke!”

“At SWF Ground Zero, Akira Kaibatsu defeated Spike Jenkins to win the number one contendership after the match went to a time limit draw. Referee Byron Dragonson allowed five more minutes against the wish of Jenkins and Akira was able to score the win!”

“Spike did what he always does and complained to Joseph Peters, who told him to beat Akira in a rematch to receive his shot at Bruce Blank and he did it fair and square on Aftershoxx!”

“He hit Akira with a chair after his match with JJ Johnson and forced the referee to make a three count,” shouts Francis, “Not to mention Michael Cross came out to distract Akira!”

“The referee made a three count! That is all that matters!”

“Not according to Joseph Peters, who booked this match tonight. If Spike Jenkins wins, he will become the Number Two Contender to the SWF International Title…if not, tough luck.”

“You’re still just mad about the whole neck-breaking thing, huh?”

“Very.”

The camera cuts to the middle of the ring, where Funyon stands all snazzed up as usual. Holding a microphone in one hand, he makes the announcement.

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a Returning Contestant Decision match! First, making his way to the ring!”

Every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl...

And then *BAM*

The heavy drumming of Norma Jean’s “Creating Something Out of Nothing, Only to Destroy It” blasts through the arena as the lyrics pierce the ears of everyone listening.

“Like bringing a knife to a gun fight…

Like Bringing A Knife To A Gun Fight…

LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT!”

Bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. As the growls hit the crowd, Spike walks out wearing a black “Still Remains” hoodie, the hood covering most of his face. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X”, symbolizing his Straight Edge life style. Spike rises to his feet and begins to make his way down the isle towards the ring.

“Coming to the ring at this time…weighing in a total of two hundred and twenty pounds…hailing from Hollywood, California…representing the country of Cambodia…he is ‘Hollywoooooooood’ Spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeenkinnnnnnnnsssssssssssssssss!!!”

Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee and resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. He puts his arms together, forming an “X” across his chest, again promoting his Straight Edge life style.

“Is he still claiming to be the King of Cambodia?” cries Mak.

“Claiming? He’s already been crowned!”

“He’s been crowned King of Cambodia?”

“Yeah,” shouts King, “He did it himself!”

Mak sighs.

“AND HIS OPPONENT!” booms Funyon.

“Protect Ya Neck” by Wu-tang Clan hits, and Akira comes out. He charges down to the ring, slapping the hands of the fans around him.

“Akira is the current number one contender to the SWF International Title, a former multi-time SWF Cruiserweight Champion and SWF Tag Team Champion! One of the hottest stars in 2005 and into 2006!”

“Not to mention he is Internationally known…”

“Right, King!”

“For being a loser! HA!”

“Coming to the ring,” roars Funyon, “Weighing in at a total of One Hundred and Ninety-Five Pounds…hailing from Sendai, Japan…he is ‘THE DEEEEEEEEEEVINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WINNNNNNNNDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD’ AAAAAAAAAAKIRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA KAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH—BAAAATSUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!”

Akira slides into the ring, jumping to his feet and heading straight for the corner. He climbs up to the middle rope and holds both his arms up victoriously in the air to a round of applause from the crowd! Akira hops off the ropes and stands in his corner, waiting for the match to begin. When Byron Dragonson is ready to begin, he signals for the bell.

*DING DING DING*

“And the returning contestant decision match is underway!”

Both men charge out of their corner and circle the ring, meeting in the middle with a collar-and-elbow tie up. Akira uses his speed to get the go-behind and locks in a rear waistlock. Spike tries to fight back for control, breaking Akira’s fingers apart and slipping behind him, locking in his own rear waistlock. Akira tries to do the same, but Spike quickly drops to one knee, bringing his arms around the shins of Kaibatsu and shoving him forward onto his face! Spike shuffles over Akira’s body, landing on top of the Japanese cruiserweights head. Jenkins wraps his arms around the neck of Akira, locking him in a front face lock!

“Spike Jenkins taking control early and keeping Akira on the mat.”

Spike wrenches on the neck, but Akira quickly sits up and spins to his side. The Divine Wind grabs a hold of Spike’s wrist and twists it, sending Jenkins face first to the mat. Akira floats over onto Jenkins’ head, clinching on a front face lock. Spike struggles for air as he begins to be choked out, but fights up to his feet. Spike breaks the lock Akira has on him, holding onto the wrist and meandering his arm into an arm wrench! He drops to one knee, pulling Akira towards him and flipping him over onto his back with a fireman’s carry!

“Jenkins with the takedown on the Divine Wind!”

“Reminiscent of their match at Ground Zero, King,” Mak notes, “Both men are notorious for their mat-wrestling skills.”

Akira hits the mat hard, but Spike gives him no time to recuperate as he grabs him by the back of his mask and pulls him up to his feet. Still holding onto the wrist, Spike pulls his opponent into a standing side headlock. Akira tries to collect his thoughts, but Spike quickly flips him over with a side headlock takeover, bringing The Divine Wind to the mat! Akira immediately counters by lifting his legs into the air and wrapping them around the neck of Spike, pulling him off of the side headlock and into a head scissors! Spike gags for air as Akira applies pressure. Spike twists over to his side, freeing his throat from the leg scissors, but still having his neck trapped. Spike leans forward, balancing on his head and using his hands for support. Akira sits up, keeping his hands up to protect himself from Spike falling over onto him…but Spike pulls his legs in and shoots them back out, ‘dolphining’ out of the head scissors! With Akira still sitting there, Spike leaps into the air and drives both of his boots into the side of his opponent’s head, dropkicking Akira and snapping his head back into the mat!

“Amazing agility by the King of Cambodia!”

“Damn it, King! He isn’t really the King of Cambodia!”

Akira tries to roll away, but Spike pulls him back as he goes for the quick cover!

ONE!

TWO!!

Akira gets a shoulder up! Spike sits up, complaining to the referee that it was a three count; allowing Akira to roll towards the ropes to recuperate.

“Spike complaining to the referee is giving Akira the time he needs to shake the cobwebs out of his head.”

Spike climbs to his feet and walks over towards Akira. Reaching down, grabbing the youngster by the back of his head, he pulls The Divine Wind up to his feet. Pushing him back into the ropes, Spike grabs him by the wrist and Irish whips him across the ring…but Akira reverses it and sends Spike into the ropes! Jenkins bounces off the ropes and charges back towards the awaiting Akira…and drives his shoulder into the smaller cruiserweights, sending Kaibatsu to the mat!

“HARD shoulder tackle by the former Cruiserweight Champion!”

“You’re such a mark for this guy, King!”

Spike charges into the parallel ropes, bouncing off of them and bolts back towards Akira, who rolls over onto his stomach, forcing Spike to leap over him and continue into the ropes. Jenkins hits the ropes and bounces off of them, speeding towards Akira who leaps frogs over Jenkins. Akira lands on his feet and quickly turns around, expecting to catch Jenkins coming off the ropes…but Spike stopped right behind him after the leap frog and catches Akira with a hard back kick to the gut! Kaibatsu drops to his knees as Spike turns around and rips into his chest with a hard sidekick! Akira hits the mat, clutching his chest. Spike drops down for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!!

NO---Akira gets a shoulder up! Spike sits up, complaining to the referee that it was a three count; allowing Akira to roll towards the ropes to recuperate.

“He’s giving Akira time again! Does Spike Jenkins not know the basics of ring control?” cries Mak Francis, “Did I teach him nothing?”

“Spike knows exactly what he is doing!”

Spike climbs to his feet and walks over towards Akira. Reaching down, grabbing the youngster by the back of his head, he pulls The Divine Wind up to his feet. Pushing him back into the ropes, Spike grabs him by the wrist and Irish whips him across the ring…but Akira reverses it and sends Spike into the ropes! Jenkins bounces off the ropes and charges back towards the awaiting Akira…and drives his shoulder into the smaller cruiserweights, sending Kaibatsu to the mat!

“Another shoulder tackle by Jenkins!”

Spike charges into the parallel ropes, bouncing off of them and bolts back towards Akira, who rolls over onto his stomach, forcing Spike to leap over him and continue into the ropes. Jenkins hits the ropes and bounces off of them, speeding towards Akira who leaps frogs over Jenkins. Akira lands on his feet with Spike standing behind him…but instead of like last time, charges forward into the ropes. Jenkins turns towards Akira, who leaps onto the middle rope and springboards back…turning in mid-air…and connecting with a flying body press!

“Springboard cross body by Kaibatsu! He’s got the cover!”

ONE!!!!!

TWO!!!!

“Akira with the flash cover!”

THRE---NO! SPIKE PUSHES AKIRA OFF OF HIM!

“Akira Kaibatsu almost ending Spike Jenkins goals of becoming International Champion!”

Akira quickly jumps to his feet, waiting for Spike to scurry up as well. Jenkins gets to his feet, turns around, and blindly charges at Akira…who flips him over with an arm drag takeover! Spike hits the mat hard and pops up to his feet. He turns around and again blindly charges into another arm drag! Spike rolls over onto his feet, clutching his back, as Akira leaps into the air and connects with a dropkick to the jaw…that knocked Jenkins backwards through the middle and top rope down to the floor!

“YEAAHHHHHH!!!!”

“Fast paced action by these two former Cruiserweight Champions,” begins Mak, “If I was Bruce Blank, I would be watching this match very closely.”

“Why? You know Bruce Blank thinks this style is a joke and that his ultra violence brawling can help him beat anything.”

“This style? Wait…do you mean…wrestling?”

“Well…yeah.”

Akira poses in the ring for the Canadian fans, as Spike Jenkins staggers around the ringside area, holding his jaw.

“Spike Jenkins is a decently fast competitor, but he hasn’t been able to keep up with Akira at all in this match.”

Spike walks towards the ring…but Akira stands by the ropes waiting for him. He pulls back on the top rope and slingshots himself over the top rope…but as he is in the air, Spike rolls into the ring!

…But Akira lands on his feet on the ring apron!

“Spike doesn’t know that Akira landed on the ring apron!”

Spike gets to his face, grinning at the Canadian crowd. He turns around, expecting to look at the fallen body of Kaibatsu…

…But instead gets met with a springboard dropkick from the Japanese Sensation!

“High flying springboard dropkick!” shouts Francis.

Akira quickly crawls over to the sprawled out Jenkins and covers him!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!!

THR---NO! Spike gets a shoulder up!

“Akira was so close to picking up the win!”

The entire arena lets out a sigh, as Akira climbs up to his feet. He reaches down, grabbing Spike by his hair and pulling him up to his feet as well. Akira bullies him back into the ropes, grabbing him by the wrist and Irish whipping him across the ring…but Spike reverses and sends Akira into the ropes. Akira bounces off the ropes and charges back towards Spike, who throws his arm out, looking for a clothesline that Akira easily ducks under. Kaibatsu continues off the ropes, bouncing off them and flying back towards Jenkins. Spike grabs Akira around the waist and lifts him up into the air for a backbreaker…but Akira uses his agility to fully rotate, wrapping his legs around the neck of Spike and flipping him over with a head scissors takeover!

“Head scissors by the Divine Wind!”

Spike rolls up to his feet, dazed from the attack. Akira charges at him, grabbing him by the wrist and Irish whipping him across the ring…but Spike reverses! Akira hits the opposite ropes and charges back towards Spike. Spike goes for another clothesline, but Akira sees it coming. He hooks his arms around the arm of Jenkins and leaps onto his back, attempting a crucifix!

“The crucifix bomb! The same move that Akira used to defeat Spike Jenkins with during the extra five minutes at Ground Zero!”

Akira hangs on the back of Spike, attempting to flip him backwards onto the back of his head with the crucifix bomb…but Spike knows what will happen if he gets hit with it. Spike keeps his feet on the mat, standing guard as he tries to power lift Akira onto his shoulders…finally succeeding after several seconds. With Akira on his shoulders in a Death Valley Driver position, Spike struggles over towards the ropes with the Divine Wind fighting on his shoulders. Making it towards the ropes, he spins Akira to the side, the smaller cruiserweights legs landing on the top rope.

“What is this, Mak?”

“Oh no…”

With Akira’s legs hanging off the top rope and his throat draped over the shoulder of Jenkins, Spike pulls him out towards the middle of the ring as far as he can without letting the former masked superstar fall off of the top rope. After getting as far as he can, Jenkins holds onto the throat of Kaibatsu…and drops down, driving it straight into his shoulder with a stunner/ace crusher!!!!

“GREETINGS FROM CAMBODIA!” shouts Mak.

Akira flops around like a fish out of water, clutching at his throat. Spike simply laughs at the misfortune of the number one contender to the SWF International Title as he drags him away from the ropes and hooks the leg for the cover!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!!!

THREE!!!!

*Ding Ding Ding*

“Number two contender!” shouts The Suicide King.

Spike sits up and gets to his feet as the Canadian crowd around him throws a fit. Akira continues flopping around as he holds his throat in the middle of the ring.

“Here is your winner…and the Number TWOOOOOO Contender to the SWF International Championship… ‘Hollywood’ SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE JEEEEEEEEENKINSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!”

Spike holds his arms in the air triumphantly as he circles around the ring.

“After Bruce Blank finishes the job with Akira, he’ll have Spike Jenkins waiting for him!”

“What about former SWF International Champion, Jay Hawke? Bruce Blank has his hands filled with The Dean of Professional Wrestling tonight!”

“It looks like Bruce Blank has a lot on his plate now that he is the SWF International Champion!”

“Do you think he’ll be able to do it?” asks Mak.

“Well, does Bruce Blank know how to WRESTLE?”

“I don’t know,” Mak starts off, “But it will be interesting to find out.”

“BRUCE BLANK VERSUS WORK RATE! SMELL THE RATINGS!”

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

“JJ!”

Ben Hardy sprints, his pudgy English frame not responding well to the commands his brain is giving it. However, he really must catch up to the man in the track jacket some 20 yards ahead of him.

“JJ!”

The Canadian doesn’t turn his head; Hardy swears. He could probably run faster were he not carrying this microphone.

”And about forty pounds,” his brain notes.

“Shut up!” snarls Ben to himself. The rest of the roster has already called him fat at least twice each – except Johnson, and the ones that couldn’t talk – and he doesn’t need his brain doing it too. Snarling again, Ben closes his eyes and lowers his head, picking up speed…

“What do you want, B-“

And before Hardy can slow his momentum to avoid Zidaning one of the SWF’s bigger stars, Johnson finally turns around just in time to catch a full-on headbutt to the rib cage from the portly Englishman. Ben is aghast – that broke the victim’s ribs in the World Cup, after all – but he’s relieved to see Johnson immediately perform a back roll to his feet and dust himself off.

*CRACK!*

And then the Canadian lurches forward, slamming his elbow into the jaw of the Brit, and the interviewer, where some wrestlers would simply stagger, drops like a stone, out cold.

“Shit!” swears Johnson, looking around to see if anybody saw him. Relieved that nobody did, the Canadian glances around before quietly shoving Hardy under a nearby table with his foot, whistling as he does so. Satisfied that Hardy is out of sight, Johnson quickly turns and begins striding the other way.

“Hi!”

Johnson jumps, startled. A quick glance around reveals that the greeter in question is none other than SWF interviewer Johnny Generic, and Johnson arches an eyebrow.

“Who the hell are you?” asks Johnson.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” grins Generic, “what matters is that I didn’t see anything.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Johnson innocently.

“Neither do I!” grins Generic again, prompting another eyebrow from the Canadian. “So, how do you feel about your loss to Toxxic?”

“Well, I’m disappointed,” JJ admits. “It was a tough loss, and I didn’t like having to submit, but that RTF II is a motherfucker of a hold. I’ve been in the Land of Nod, and that hurt like a bitch, but I fought through it. With my neck the shape it’s in, though, I couldn’t handle it.”

“And what do you think your future is?” inquires the Generic One.

“Well,” ponders Johnson. “Another run with the International Title would be pretty nice, although I’m not sure if I’m in shape for it. We’ll see what works out, and if Blank keeps dealing out beatings like he did on Grappler at Ground Zero, it’ll be-“

“A TRAVESTY!” shouts an annoying voice. Johnson and Generic turn to see James Matheson making his way down the corridor.

“A damn travesty!” shouts Matheson again as he gains overness from this segment. “Grappler never should have lost to Blank!”

“Well,” says Johnson, a bit miffed that he’s been interrupted, “maybe if your boy wasn’t quite so lazy, he’d have gotten the job done.”

Matheson looks stunned, but quickly shakes off the barb. “Well, maybe if you weren’t such a master in the art of choking, maybe you would have been the one at the start of the show.”

Johnson’s face goes from slightly bemused to that of “say another word and I’ll…” in record time.

“Listen, Matheson,” Johnson growls. “I’m going to count to three. As fast as I can. And unless you like the taste of elbow, you’ll be gone by zero.”

“Ha!” scoffs Matheson. “You wouldn’t hit me!”

“Yes, I would,” growls Johnson. “One.”

“Okay, but…” says the manager, a little less confidently, “I’ll call a lawyer.”

“No, you won’t,” snarls the Canadian. “Two.”

“Okay, so I’ll call a judge,” says Matheson, speaking very quickly. “William Hearford, heck of a guy, and I’m sure-“

“Three.”

*CRACK!*

Matheson joins Hardy on the floor. Generic looks frightened as Johnson whirls on him, but the Canadian merely leans into the microphone.

“Anyway,” says Johnson, significantly calmer, “if Blank keeps dishing out beatings like he did on Grappler and The Mouth on Graps’ South over here, he’ll have a hell of a reign, and he’ll be tough to beat. Thanks, Johnny.”

“No problem,” says Generic, slowly backing away as Johnson strides off back the way he came, making very sure to scrape his boot across Matheson’s forehead on his way. As we…

FADE OUT

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

As we come back from commercial break or a match or whatever just happened, the lights in the arena change to orange meaning only one thing…

“Oh God,” sighs King. “What on earth could these two want?”

“I would assume that they probably are coming out here to address their recent woes as a tag team,” Mak says confidently. “At least that’s what it says here on my itinerary. See?”

“Shut up, Mak!” King says with frustration.

“We’re just two guys and we’re having a good time…”

“Havin’ a good time…”

“… havin’ a good time…”

The New Doomtopians make their way out from the back flanked by Lois The Unethical to a reception that would put Kiss to shame! Jeez, the fans must really love this rough-tough group of underdogs. Arrr, me matey. Bunch of pirates up here in Canada.

“Making their way to the ring, former tag team champions…” says Funyon, aching for something to do, “The New Doomtopians!”

The Doomtopian Destroyer climbs up onto the ring apron and then holds the ropes open to allow both Jimmy The Doom and Lois to enter first. Lois goes over to Funyon and borrows his microphone, then hands it over to Jimmy. The Doomstroyer simply stands behind the duo looking as intimidating as ever. Big guy… like, whoa! Yeah…

"Much of helloed, Candiation! Often, with much wonder, perhaspery whyness for Doomtopians? Easily, to said, solidifying much our bonded! With losing in recentlies, however, to a discouragement. Buts, for having on Doomtopia, sameness of being, Destroyed Doomtopia, friendlies with much to an Jimmy the Doom!" beams the Hardcore champion. "Harded forthwith, on timeliness to become, tryation; nexting teamery being of nones lessing tags!"

Jimmy turns around to acknowledge his tag team partner with a hand shake, which he gladly accepts.

“Awww, how nice of them,” King says mockingly. “Are they going to kiss too?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you King?”

… The Doomstroyer doesn’t let go of Jimmy’s hand though when he tries to pull away, and instead pull him in closer, scoops him into the air and then throws him back to the mat with a spinebuster! Jimmy rolls over onto his back as Lois screams in horror. The Doomtopian Destroyer quickly exits the ring, towards the announcers table, forcing Funyon from his chair. He grabs the chair and makes his way back into the ring as Jimmy begins to climb back to his feet, still hurting from the blow.

“This is much better!” King says with glee, “the former champs are disintegrating right in front of our eyes!”

“Why must you take such sick pleasure in the suffering of others?”

“Why?” King laughs, “I’m the fuckin’ Suicide King, that’s why!”

Jimmy staggers back to his feet as The Doomstroyer lines up with his chair and…

WAM!

… sends him back down to the mat! The Doomstroyer holds the chair high into the air to show the dent that has been put into the chair in the shape of Jimmy’s head! By this time, the anger in the crowd is absolutely boiling. Jeers rain down from the stands, disgusted by the despicable acts of a man that had been sent over to protect Jimmy The Doom now turning on him in such a violent manner. He turns to face his former friend to find… he’s pushing himself back to his feet again! This does not please the Doomstroyer one bit, as he hunkers down and starts tapping the chair against the mat in anticipation.

“One is enough!” The Franchise proclaims, “leave him alone! You’re a lot bigger than he is!”

“One is never enough, Mak!”

Jimmy slowly climbs back to his feet, obviously shaken from the attack already. As soon as he’s upright, though, The Doomtopian Destroyer once again floors him with a wicked chair shot! Jimmy lands face down on the mat, breathing heavily and obviously hurt. Lois starts to head over to check on Jimmy, but the big man chases her away with chair in hand still. The Doomstroyer scoops up the microphone that was still left in the ring, then heads back over to Jimmy’s side.

“What’s he got in mind now?” Mak ponders aloud.

With a swift kick, The Doomstroyer rolls Jimmy onto his back revealing that his forehead has been busted open by the last chairshot. His former tag team partner unfolds the chair and then places it straddle across the chest of Jimmy before sitting in it. The Doomstroyer brings the microphone to his mouth…

“You fool! I can’t believe you fell for it this entire time… all of you were completely clueless! But, of course, we’re in Canada. You’re not especially renowned for your intelligence!”

“Booooooo!!!”

“Let me give you all a little clue…”

The Doomstroyer reaches up, grabs his hood in one hand and in one quick motion pulls it from his head to reveal… a mask? A crimson mask.

“It’s the Crimson Skull!” yells Mak. “It’s been this monster the entire time!”

Skull pulls the hair tie out from his hair to let it fall free to his shoulders once again. Slowly, he brings the microphone back to his mouth.

“You see, Jimmy. I’ve been using you this entire time in the hopes that you could get me greater success here in the SWF. And for a while, it was working. We were the tag team champions together, you and I. The fans loved our little goofy act, but to be honest I died a little each time having to come out here with the likes of you. After losing to Tom Flesher and Charlie Mathews again last week, I decided that you’d outlived your usefulness to me. It’s time for me to fly solo once again. But we’re not done yet, Jimmy… we have some unfinished business. Come find me when you’re ready.”

… and with that, Skull throws the microphone down and leaves the ring, walking slowly up the ramp to the back. The audience lets him know how they feel, lashing out at him with insults and slurs from each side. It doesn’t seem to even effect him, though. Back in the ring, Lois goes to check on her man while King and Mak are simply left to analyze what just happened.

.

..

…

*Fade to… Crimson?*

Edited August 10, 2006 by Ace309

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

“Ladies and gentlemen it is now time for the main event of the evening!”

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!

“This match is a special 10 minute Hardcore challenge” Funyon explains as the Canadian crowd cheers for the big man.

”Into the distance, a ribbon of black

Stretched to the point of no turning back”

“Introducing first the man that just has to survive the match for 10 minutes. From the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing in at 215 pounds...he is a 2 times International Champion, "The Dean of Professional Wrestling"...JAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWKE!!”

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

”A flight of fancy on a windswept field

Standing alone my senses reeled”

A single spotlights shines on the Dean of Professional Wrestling as he walks down the aisle with the extravagant robe sparkling in the lights as a confident looking Jay Hawke strides towards the ring.

“He’s looking pretty sure of himself considering what he’s about to get into” Mak says as Hawke walks up the ring steps.

“A guy with his credentials can never be considered an underdog Mak, never” King replies.

“But his credentials are all from WRESTLING, this won’t be anything like that at all it’ll be an all out fight” Mak points out referring to the nature of tonight’s challenge.

”A fatal attraction holding me fast, how

Can I escape this irresistible grasp?”

Hawke steps into the ring, still wearing his robe as the crowd mercilessly boos him as he arrogantly tugs on the top rope to test it’s strength. Funyon waits for his cue and then puts the microphone up to his mouth once more.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND his opponent, hailing from Mobile Alabama he is the reigning SWF International Champion, the self-proclaimed “King of Pain” BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!”

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

”Well every time that I come home nobody wants to let me be

Seems that all the friends I got just got to come interrogate me

Well I appreciate your feelings and I don't want to pass you by

But I don’t ask you about your business don't ask me about mine”

The jeers and the boos intensify as the big man steps through the curtains, show shovel in one hand, chain wrapped around the other as he looks fired up and ready to tear someone limb from limb. Despite the efforts of both Joseph Peters and St. John Smith Bruce is wearing his usual wrestling outfit complete with blood spattered jeans and the beat up cowboy hat.

“Coming out armed, that’s very smart” King says admiring Bruce for not screwing around.

“He certainly looks fired up King” Mak comments as Bruce puts the censors on overtime by stating a few home truths about his opponent.

“This could very well be his last Hardcore match in a very long time, he’s going to make the most of it” King explains.

“Hawke is in major trouble” is the only conclusion Mak can come to.

”Well it's true I love the money

And I love my brand new car

I like drinking the best of whiskey

Playin’ in a Honky Tonk bar”

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

“Neither of these seem to really connect well with the fans” Mak says as he tries to figure out if he should just call Bruce “Controversial” and claim that he’s really the fan favorite tonight or not.

“Bah these sheep wouldn’t know a good wrestler if he walked up to them and hit them over the head with a bat”

Hawke doesn’t look perturbed by the weapons that Bruce are brandishing but instead gets right in the International champion’s face and starts to tell him how he thinks the world should be run. Bruce just grins as he grips the chain even tighter, chomping at the bit to get this match underway. When Bruce turns his head to demand that referee Eddy Long rings the bell Jay Hawke becomes a flurry of action as he pulls a lead pipe out from the sleeve of the robe and swings at Bruce

*THUD!*

Fortunately for Bruce he’s able to shift his weight enough to avoid being hit in the head by the lead pipe but he does take a very hard blow to the left shoulder, a blow so hard that it knocks the big man down instantly. Hawke yells at the referee that he needs to ring the bell and then grins when he hears it.

* DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*

[09:59]

Jay doesn’t seem to be in too great of a hurry as he slowly unties the belt on his robe and then takes it off. Once it’s completely off Hawke throws the robe over Bruce’s head before striking the big man in the back 2 more times with the lead pipe.

“Well damn I didn’t expect Hawke to take the advantage right off the bat” Mak says with surprise as Hawke casually puts his boot on the side of Bruce’s face and pushes the big man back to the ground again.

“He’s Jay Freaking Hawke Mak, his mind is his greatest weapon” King says “You don’t think he was coming out here unprepared? I’ll bet you anything that he’s watched all of Bruce’s Hardcore matches so that he knows what to expect” the King says as Hawke saunters around Bruce, not attacking just taking his sweet time in there.

“Hiding a lead pipe didn’t hurt either”

“Never has Mak, it never has”

The Dean of Professional wrestling stands with one foot on either side of Bruce’s body as he bends down and slides the lead pipe under Bruce’s throat, making sure that the robe is still covering his face. Then with a grace and elegance hardly ever seen in Hardcore matches Hawke drops backwards onto his posterior pulling back on the lead pipe and thus also Bruce’s head as he begins to choke out the King of Pain.

“He’s not going to just sit back and let the time run out Mak! Hawke is here to beat Bruce at his own game!” King says excitedly as the crowd boos Hawke’s antics

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

We can’t see Bruce’s face but if we could it would probably be turning blue right about now as Hawke has Bruce’s airflow expertly cut off with the lead pipe. The big man searches the canvas blindly hoping to find something to help him break out of the choke hold before it’s too late. Bruce gets his hand on the snow shovel, grabs it and then blindly swings it over his head catching Hawke on the side of the head with it.

*BWAP!*

Hawke releases his hold on the lead pipe and falls backwards clutching the right side of his head in agony. Blank gets up on his knees, throws the robe to one side and then stares at Hawke with murder in his eyes as his facial color returns to normal now that he can breathe again.

“He can’t rest for too long here King, he’s on a very tight deadline” Mak says.

“Look at Jay, he’s got all the time in the world” King says with a grin as Hawke rolls to the floor to try and get the spots out of his vision.

“Oh of course HE does” Mak says with a disgusted snort.

When Bruce gets back to his feet he immediately rushes over and tries to grab Hawke by the hair before he gets too far away from the ring. Hawke quickly counters by poking the big man in the eyes and then reaches in to sweep Bruce’s massive legs. With a mischievous grin Hawke pulls Bruce over to the corner and then rams the big man’s right leg into the ringpost

*SMACK!!*

After bouncing the knee off the steel Hawke twists one of Bruce’s legs over in front of the other, hooks it with his own and then falls backwards while locking a ring post assisted figure four on Bruce Blank.

“TOTALLY LEGAL!” King yells out before Mak can even complain.

“Yeah but not very well applied” Mak points out

Hawke is off center thus the pressure on Bruce’s legs is not really that great but that doesn’t seem to bother the Dean of Wrestling as he holds on to Bruce’s foot as he lays back on the mat.

“Does he look like he cares Mak?” King says as Hawke taps the side of his head

“Oh you bastard! You cheap bastard!”

“What did I do now Mak?” King replies in confusion.

“Not you, him, Hawke – he’s just stalling for time now” Mak says as the camera catches a shot of Hawke peaking at the clock on the SWF-Tron

[07:30]

Tries as he might Bruce can’t shake Hawke off, his legs are trapped around the ring post unless he can think of a way to get Hawke to break the ringpost assisted figure four. Not being known for his subtlety Bruce does what he does best – reaches for a weapon. This time it’s the heavy steel chain that he grabs and winds around his hand a few times. Hawke has no idea what’s going on in the ring he’s just pleased that the time is ticking by.

*WHOOOOOOOOOOOO-CHANG!!*

He’s much less pleased with Bruce swinging the chain like it was a whip and striking Hawke across the chest and arm.

“Holy shit he could have split Hawke’s head open if he had hit in 5 inches to the right” Mak says with dread in his voice.

“That’s one way to break the hold” King calmly calls as Bruce is released from the submission hold.

Once he’s free Bruce slides under the bottom rope and gets to the floor. After testing his legs to see how hurt they are Bruce grabs the chain and wraps about half of it around his massive right forearm. The moment Hawke gets back to his feet Bruce comes at him with a steel chain assisted Lariat that Hawke is fortunate enough to duck under and thus save his own hide. Then he grabs the loose end of the chain as Bruce runs past him and pulls on it, only for Bruce to put on the brakes, turn around and totally level Jay Hawke with a left handed Lariat so stiff that it could star in several porn movies.

*POW!!*

HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!!

Bruce stands over the fallen Jay Hawke for a moment and rubs his hands in anticipation of the ass kicking he’s planning for his opponent. Bruce wraps the chain tightly around his fist as the crowd boos.

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

Once his fist is sufficiently wrapped up in steel Bruce drops to the ground, driving his fist into Hawke’s forehead. And then again

*KA-CHING!!*

Bruce doesn’t bother to get up after the second fist drop but instead just rears back and clobbers Hawke once more

*KA-CHING!!*

“Oh my god he’s going to make mince meat out of Hawke” Mak says as Bruce’s last blow cut Hawke open sending two streaks of crimson running down the Dean of Pro Wrestling’s forehead.

“Crap!!”

“What’s the matter King?”

“Damn it I don’t know if I should root for Hawke or Blank now” King says obviously have a problem picking a favorite in the heel Vs heel match.

“Here is an idea, be impartial” Mak says

[05:00]

When the half way point of the challenge is announce Bruce realizes that he needs to stop toying with Hawke and try to put him away. He grabs Hawke by the hair and the trunks and throws him into the ring only to follow right behind him.

Cover!!

ONE!!

TWOO!!

FOOT ON THE ROPES!!

Hawke may have had his brains rattled, his head busted open but he’s still connected with what’s going on enough to put his boot on the bottom rope. The foot on the rope pisses Bruce off who quickly hooks the leg previously on the rope and then rolls back putting all his weight on top of Hawke

ONE!!

TWOO!!

THR-KICKOUT!!!

Bruce doesn’t bother with a third pin-fall attempt he knows that it’s a lost cause right now and instead gets back to his feet. The frustrated champion grabs Hawke’s discarded robe, gets a good grip on it and then

*RRRSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHH!!*

“That was a thousand dollar robe!!” King laments as Bruce turns the beautiful robe into rags by tearing it down the middle.

“Oh that’s just petty!”

But it’s more than just petty as Bruce quickly wraps half of the robe around Hawke’s neck and then pulls his opponent off the mat. With one hand on the remains of the robe to control Hawke and the other on his trunks Bruce has no problems in tossing Hawke over the top rope so that he ends up hanging off the apron by the neck. Bruce tightens his grip on the rope and puts a foot on the middle rope to give him added leverage as he quite literally tries to hang Hawke with his own robe.

FUCK YOU BRUCE!! FUCK YOU BRUCE!! FUCK YOU BRUCE!!

“I know that there aren’t supposed to be any rules here but that’s too much, someone stop the damn match before we have a fatality in the ring!” Mak yells out wishing that he had the use of his legs so that he could jump in and break it up.

“There is only about three minutes or so left and then it’ll be over Mak, just turn your head if it’s too brutal for you. . . cupcake” King says as he laughs.

Hawke’s arms and legs flail in desperation as he tries to get some much needed air into his lungs and after a little bit he manages to actually sit on the apron to break the strain on his neck if only for a second. A second is all he needs to slip a hand under the robe noose and loosen it enough to breathe.

[02:30]

Instead of trying to hang Hawke again Bruce changes tactics and pulls Hawke back inside the ring where he keeps him under control with a series of double axe handle blows to the back of the head that drives the Dean of Pro Wrestling into the canvas. After the axe handles comes the cowboy boot shots to the shoulder and the back of Hawke’s head as Bruce lets lose in a speed hardly ever seen from the big man.

“My god Hawke’s face is like three inches UNDER the canvas”

“I think Bruce was entirely too damn cocky and arrogant going into this thinking it was no big deal, well it’s a big freaking deal now isn’t it?” Mak exclaims as Bruce tries to inflict the maximum amount of pain in the shorts possible time.

“Then he’s an idiot, Hawke wouldn’t have held the title for that long if he couldn’t adapt” King replies.

Bruce picks Hawke up, places him on the top turnbuckle with his back to the ring, then he traps Hawke’s right leg under the top turnbuckle and pulls him down into the Tree of Woe, trapped helplessly upside down in the corner. Bruce backs up 4 or 5 steps and then gets a head of steam

*WHAM!!*

The entire ring shakes as Bruce throws all his weight into Jay Hawke driving his knee into Hawke’s sternum and the side of his cowboy boot into Hawke’s face. Then for good measure he backs up and

*WHAM!!*

Sandwiches Hawke in the corner once more with a single-minded determination of a level that Bruce hasn’t never displayed before. With the clock rapidly ticking down Bruce takes a moment to roll out of the ring, grab Funyon by the shirt and then toss the big man out of his chair so that Bruce can grab it and use it on Hawke.

Meanwhile Hawke is keeping himself busy with 3 things, being trapped upside down, hurting and turning the nice clean canvas corner a ghastly shade of dark crimson as he’s been busted open so badly that blood drips from his hair in large, chilling drops.

“Oh man I’m not sure if Hawke will survive this match after all” King says retracting his previously confident statement.

“It’s just over a minute or so away but I got to agree with you, it looks really bad” Mak concurs.

After tossing the chair into the ring Bruce quickly enters as well, grabbing Hawke’s foot to release him from the ropes, dropping him to the canvas like a bad habit.

[01:00]

“Don’t toy with him!!” the Suicide King yells out as Bruce puts the chair on top of Hawke as he lays face down on the canvas.

Bruce raises his boot and then brings it down hard on the back of the chair

*THWACK!*

And then a second stomp followed by a third, fourth and fifth

*THWACK!*

When Bruce turns to the crowd for a second and grins from ear to ear over the pain he’s inflicting on his opponent the crowd totally loses it

YOU SICK FUCK!! YOU SICK FUCK!! YOU SICK FUCK!! YOU SICK FUCK!!

Bruce kicks the chair off Hawke, rolls him over and then drops to his knees with both hands square on Hawke’s chest.

ONE!!

TWOO!!

THR-HALFANINCH!!

Somehow Jay Hawke is actually able to raise his right shoulder about half an inch off the canvas, hardly enough room for an ant to crawl under it but enough to break the count. Bruce quickly drops his entire weight down on Hawke, especially on the right shoulder as he goes for another cover

ONE!!

TWOO!!

THR-HOWTHEHELL??

“I can’t believe Eddy Long didn’t count to three!” King yells out outraged over the officiating

“If the shoulder isn’t down you can’t count King” Mak says in a snooty superior voice that makes the Suicide King feel like throttling Mak.

[00:30]

With Funyon leading the crowd in the count down Bruce almost leaps back to his feet and then grabs the limp, beaten, bloodied Jay Hawke by the hair and tries to pull him up. Hawke demonstrates what the expression “dead weight” means as he’s totally unresponsive as Bruce tries to pull him up to his feet. It’s not until Bruce reaches down and grabs his opponent around the stomach that he’s able to finally move him.

“They should just stop this now because Hawke is out!” Mak says

“He kicked out, he can’t be totally out of it. . . but I must admit it’s close” King says with a worried tone in his voice as Bruce lifts Jay Hawke up in a power bomb position.

[00:15]

Bruce manages to steady himself and get Hawke into the correct position with the limp opponent up on his shoulders.

[00:10]

Bruce runs forward with a running power bomb in mind.

[00:09]

Aimed straight at the chair Bruce leaps through the air

[00:08]

Driving Jay Hawke forward in a power bomb position

[00:07]

*THWACK!!*

[00:06]

The impact is felt in the first few rows as Jay Hawke strikes the chair back first

[00:05]

And bounces over on his side from the momentum of it all.

[00:04]

Bruce grabs Hawke by the shoulder and flips him over

[00:03]

Frantically covering his opponent as he keeps an eye on the clock hoping to beat it.

[00:02]

ONE!!

[00:01]

TWOO!!!

[00:00]

* DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*

THRE-TOOLATE!!

“He pinned Hawke but it was just a second too late to actually matter” Mak explains as the crowd roars in disapproval of Bruce’s antics.

“He did it?? I mean HE DID IT!!” King says first surprised, then with confidence “As I predicted all along”

Bruce is livid! He’s cannot believe that he was a split second too late and that Jay Hawke just made him look like a giant ass! And Bruce damn well doesn’t need anyone’s help with that! The International Champion just sits on the canvas in a state of shock until the announcement is made.

“Ladies and gentlemen Jay Hawke survived the FULL TEN MINUTES!!” Funyon explains as the crowd weren’t sure if the count was actually on time or not.

Once the announcement is made Bruce finally snaps out of it and gets back to his feet. He stands there for a moment with his hands on his hips, looking down at Jay Hawke as if he’s trying to figure out what to do.

“Man you’ve GOT to respect Hawke for that display, I mean I don’t really like the man but DAMN!” Mak says.

“I’ve always respected Jay Hawke, I guess the question is – does Bruce?” King says as they both watch what’s going on in the ring.

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

Bruce stands there for a moment then he turns his back on Hawke and leaves the ring, something which actually draws a pop from the crowd as they all expected Bruce to attack Hawke. Instead he rolls to the floor, grabs the International title off the time keeper’s table and then heads back into the ring with HIS gold under his arm.

“What is he doing?”

Bruce unstraps the belt and drapes it across the canvas right in front of where Hawke is laying. Then he gets down to one knee, grabs Hawke by the hair and raises his head so that he can see the gold.

“You see that? That’s as close as you’ll EVER get to it again!” Bruce says and then punches Hawke in the jaw

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

“Oh come on he’s helpless!!” Mak yells out

“I can’t really think of a better time to hit someone Mak” King replies.

The last shot is Bruce picking up the International title, tapping it before pointing to himself.

*Fade*

Edited August 10, 2006 by Ace309

Ace309 · August 10, 2006

“Man,” grumbles Mike Van Siclen to himself as he heads out to his car, “this day has just been one fucking thing after another… first, someone slips a laxative into my breakfast this morning, then that idiot Hardy gave me bad directions to the arena… And if I ever find out who glued my boots to the inside of my locker, they’re fucking dead!”

Van Siclen stops to scowl at some fans who snicker at him as they walk past. “Ugh! All I want to do is get a good night’s sleep and get out of this hellhole first thing in the morning!” Van Siclen walks past a few more fans who chuckle at him, as well as one who breaks down in gut-busting laughter.

“What the hell’s so funny?” wonders Van Siclen, as he turns the corner outside the Saddledome…

“AAAAAAAAAAH!”

“MY CAR!”

Van Siclen drops his gym bag to his side and stares in open-mouthed horror at the disfigured pile of scrap that was once his prized ’64 Chevrolet Impala.

“WHO THE FUCK DID THIS TO MY CAR?”

Van Siclen runs over to what used to be his car, shouting at the fans that are gathered around it, enjoying a good laugh at his expense.

“Get away, you vultures!” screams Van Siclen. “Get the fuck away from my car!” The fans disperse, but not before infuriating Mike with a few more guffaws. Van Siclen’s eyes are bulging with rage, and a vein appears to be on the verge of popping clean out of his neck. A low, guttural growl escapes through gritted teeth, as he shakes in futile anger. Suddenly, something catches Van Siclen’s eye: he whips his head around to see something spray-painted across what’s left of his windshield…

… In aquamarine:

YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE.

I WILL NOT BE CHEATED OUT OF MY RETRIBUTION AGAIN.

PUT YOUR AFFAIRS IN ORDER, VAN SICLEN… YOU’RE ON BORROWED TIME.

- WC

Van Siclen scans the sky, half-expecting Wildchild to come running in from out of nowhere, but finds only a few more Canadian fans, reveling in his misfortune.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

Edited August 10, 2006 by Ace309

SWF Lockdown for August 9, 2006!

Recommended Posts

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Ace309 0

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Browse

Activity