Chuck Woolery

The 1812 Overture in MIDI form plays hmm, i don't know this number... "Hello?" "Is this Mike Van Siclen?" "... yes." "Do you know who this is?" "Probably Thoth, you goofy bastard." --- Post your cell phone number below, and maybe Thoth will call you too!

Hawke's match had me rolling. Read it.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STORM, FRIDAY, MARCH 13TH, 2005, LIVE FROM THE SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE IN SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA! (10:00 PM EST, 7:00 PM PST; check local listings) The SWF invades Sydney, Australia on the eve of two VERY big matches, neither of which has been announced yet but both of which will occur on next Wednesday's super-Lockdown, LIVE from Japan! Until then, however, the SWF will touch down in Sydney with a preview show that you WON'T want to miss! SEND EVERYTHING TO: chirs3! MAIN EVENT SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Wildchild (SWF Cruiserweight Champion) v. Insane Luchadore (SWF Hardcore Champion) -> It's a night of firsts for the new, more hardcore-centric version of SWF Storm. This is the first time that the Hardcore championship will not be defended, as Insane Luchador chases 'better' things -- Cruiserweight gold, against the Wildchild! Will the Cruiserweight title find a home with the only actual luchadore in the fed, or will it stay with the Bahama Bomber? Rules: None. Word Limit: 6500 Marker: chirs3 HARDCORE MATCH SPECIAL GUEST COMMENTATOR: Toxxic, the SWF World Heavyweight Champion Ejiro Fasaki v. "Maniac" Bryan Rodgers -> When the World champion is sitting in on your second match in the federation, you know you've got it made. Such is the case for the SWF's newest Maniac, Bryan Rodgers, who pulled off an impressive victory over Martin Hunt on Smarkdown. Rodgers is a bad, bad man, and he looks like he'll fit right in on a bad, bad show on Storm. In his first appearance on Storm, he'll be taking on Ejiro Fasaki, who's run off a string of victories since bringing in his sister Melissa to keep him on the straight and narrow. Under the watchful eye of Toxxic, something is bound to go wrong for one of these two men... but which one? Rules: None! Word Limit: 5000 Marker: Justice HOUSE RULES MATCH RUSSELL CROWE'S FAVORITE MATCH Lil' Buck v. Jay Hawke (SWF International Champion) -> This match is also known as the "Drink and Drink and Drink and Drink and Drink and Drink and Fight" match. Hawke sips on chardonnay, while Lil' Buck is all the time sippin' drank and blowin' dank, and when these two types of drunks collide you better watch out, it's gon' be ON. Can Jay Hawke maintain his technical focus when he's in the club gettin' tipsy, or will Lil' Buck's half-drunken brawling prove effective once again? Rules: A coin will be flipped at the beginning of the match. Whoever loses this coin toss will take a shot of Hot Damn! 100 proof cinnamon flavored alcohol at the one minute mark. The winner of the coin toss will take a shot of Hot Damn! at the two minute mark. They will alternate shots until a pinfall occurs. Also, no rules otherwise, and the International title is not on the line. Word Limit: 5000 Marker: Chuck Woolery SINGLES MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins v. "The Franchise" Mak Francis -> Why are they fighting again? Spike lost to Mak... but needs to avenge himself, if only in his own eyes, before he can go after Toxxic again. Mak, meanwhile, is sliding, and feels that an old opponent may be just the thing to get him back in the swing of things. Can Mak keep his Franchise tag, or will Spike show just how Hollywood he is? Rules: Normal wrestling rules. Word Limit: 5500 Marker: Ace309 HARDCORE TWO ON TWO MATCH SPECIAL GUEST ANNOUNCER: Johnny Dangerous, one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions! Arch Griffon and Manson v. Martin Hunt and Danny Dagda -> Arch Griffon and Manson are on a tear, and if the rumour mill is working properly they're going to get some VERY good news on Storm. Until then, here's a couple of jobbers. Kill them, would you? Rules: None. Word Limit: None, although I'm sure it won't take long. Marker: chirs3 Also Appearing: Too many names to mention. Just watch the show!

Excellent show... I'll leave comments for the face trio when I get back tonight, as their match was damn good too. The Storm card will come at five pm EST or so, and you guys will get a bit of a break on due time as a result.

I'm sticking with my earlier vote of confidence in Ashlee, but given the lack of positivity in this thread I'd also like to suggest "Life is Short" by professional Christian rapper John Reuben.

“Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown!” Longdogger Pete announces. “It is now time for our main event.” The camera pans across the audience, buzzing with excitement, and hundreds of colorful signs are visible. Among the more creative are “EJIRO FA-SUCKY,” “SPIKE FOR MILITARY DICTATOR,” and “MADDIX FEARS LEON RODEZ.” “And we’ve got a hell of a match coming up,” says Suicide King. “Manson and Arch Griffon are one of the hottest new tag teams here in the SWF – you might even say they’re on fire, which sounds a little Riley-esque. Tonight, though, their winning streak may be stopped dead by the combined forces of Jay Hawke and Revolution Zero.” “Let’s not forget the man who could be the deciding factor in this match: Ejiro Fasaki. Simply put, he’s one of the best singles performers in wrestling today. But as a tag team competitor, there is no one better. Whether you admire their code of ethics or not, Justice and Rule may very well be the greatest tag team in SWF history.” “Indeed. Not to mention the fact that he’s a former world champion.” The booming voice of Funyon signals the advent of the match. “Ladies and gentlemen… the following is a six-person tag team match scheduled for ONE FALL!” 'WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!' As the crashing chords of Otep’s “Battle Ready” descend upon the arena, the entryway is lit up by red and gold pyrotechnics. Scott Pretzler and JJ Johnson, the foot soldiers of Revolution Zero, appear on the stage. Neither man cracks a smile as they proceed toward the ramp. Seconds later, Jay Hawke emerges behind them. He looks around, clearly annoyed at being denied the use of his own entrance theme. “Introducing first, at a combined weight of six hundred sixty pounds… the team of JAAAAY HAWKE, JJ JOOOOHNSON AND SCOTT PRRRREEETZLEEEER!” “These gentleman have been in something of a rut lately,” notes Pete. “Pretzler failed twice to keep the Cruiserweight title from Wildchild, and Johnson lost his Hardcore Championship only days after winning it.” “Bullshit. The very fact that they lost the belts means they had to win them in the first place. Correct?” “I suppose.” “And how exactly is Hawke ‘in a rut?’ He’s the International Champion, for crying out loud! I don’t think the word ‘rut’ means what you think it means.” The rule-abiding scumbags follow one another in single-file up the ring steps. Pretzler calls them into a circle and begins discussing strategy. “And, their opponents…” POP POP POP POP POP POP POP POP! HERE WE ARE, BORN TO BE KINGS! WE’RE THE PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE! YEAH![/i] “At a combined weight of seven hundred sixty-five pounds and being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki… the team of MAAANSON, ARCH GRRRIIIIFOOON, and EEEEJIROOOO FASAAAAAKIII!” The three make their way down to the ring, slapping hands with audience members as they go. Sliding into the ring all at once, they climb the turnbuckles and salute the audience, who respond with cheers. They make the decision for Ejiro to begin the match. The opposing team selects Scott Pretzler. The other members proceed to the apron, leaving Pretzler and Ejiro alone in the ring. *DING DING DING!* The two circle one another. Pretzler darts forward and attempts a double-leg takedown, but Ejiro takes a step back and kicks him in the face. He recoils, and Ejiro drops to the mat, locking on a front headlock and segueing it into a grounded half-nelson. He tries to force Pretzler onto his back, but the Critic frees his head and spins behind Ejiro. Clamping on a rear waistlock, he dumps the veteran with a belly-to-back throw that puts him on his hands and knees. Pretzler releases the waistlock and reaches over Ejiro’s shoulder, hooking an arm under his left leg and clasping his hands together. Ejiro finds himself curled into a ball. Pretzler leans back, flipping him back into a cradle. ONE! TWO! No! Ejiro powers out of it and rolls to his feet. He throws a dropkick, which Pretzler manages to sidestep, but instead of standing up he follows with a leg takedown of his own. Pretzler is caught off-guard and is thrown from his feet. As Ejiro tries to roll him up in a cover, Pretzler flips over onto his stomach and slides backward, reaching up and bracing an arm against Fasaki’s waist. Again, he is able to encircle both arms around his opponent’s waist and pull him into an overhead throw. “Ejiro is skilled on the mat,” King notes, “but he’s just no match for the skills of Pretzler. Remember what happened the last time these two met in the ring?” “Yes, a darn good match and a very close contest. There’s no telling what could result from this pairing tonight.” Evidently it will not be much, as Pretzler makes the tag to his partner as soon as he is able to stand. Hawke looks at him in puzzlement. Already? Ejiro recovers and hits Pretzler with a forearm to the back, leaving Hawke with no choice but to help out his partner. He steps into the ring, grabs Ejiro, and whacks him with an elbow while Pretzler crawls to the apron. “That’s odd,” says Pete. “Pretzler was barely in there at all. And he had the advantage.” “Perhaps he wants to study Hawke’s abilities. Perhaps he’s testing him. Auditioning him…” “So it’s Ejiro in there with Jay Hawke,” says Pete, “and remember, the last time these two men met one-on-one, Ejiro scored the win.” King replies, “Yeah, but that’s one to the few blemishes on the International Champion’s record. And if there’s one thing Jay Hawke knows, it’s how to adjust to his opponents.” Jay Hawke twists Ejiro’s left arm, then clamps down on it, bending the shoulder at the socket. Hawke maneuvers it into a top wristlock, then trips Fasaki’s heel with his foot to send him to the canvas. Ejiro fights the pain, being sure to keep his right shoulder off the canvas to prevent himself from accidentally being pinned. “Jay Hawke working over the arm of his opponent here,” says Pete, “trying to wear down the former World Champion.” “And set him up for the Wing Span,” adds King. “Or the Snowflake Clutch. Or any other number of submission moves.” Jay Hawke releases pressure on the hold, but keeps Ejiro’s arm in that position while bending his wrist against the canvas. Jay Hawke then leaves his feet, dropping a leg across the bent arm. Ejiro screams in pain as Arch Griffon tries to step into the ring, only for referee Paul Reubens to prevent him from entering. “Oh my God!” yells Pete. “That move could have broken Ejiro Fasaki’s arm!” King says without remorse, “I hope so! That way we don’t have to deal with this pansy version of Ejiro anymore!” With the referee distracted, Jay Hawke puts both hands around Ejiro’s throat, choking the life out of him. Griffon finally gets back onto the apron. By the time the referee turns around, Hawke has a seemingly innocent Fujiwara armbar locked in, pulling back to try to force Ejiro to submit. Ejiro tries to crawl over to the ropes, but he’s not making a whole lot of ground with the pain going up and down the left arm. Manson decides not to wait for Ejiro to make the ropes, entering the ring and stomping on Hawke’s head to make the save. “Smart tag team wrestling,” Pete notes, “as Manson saw his partner was in trouble and refused to let him submit.” “I just love how when someone like Manson does that, it’s smart tag team wrestling,” says King, “but when it’s someone like Jay Hawke, it’s cheating and a travesty. Stop being so biased out here.” Jay Hawke shakes off the shot to the head and locks in a side headlock. He squeezes the head, but Ejiro fights it off and tries to make his way to his feet. He does so, firing off a couple of elbows to the midsection to loosen his opponent’s grip. He begins to back off like he’s going to run into the ropes, but Jay Hawke grabs as much of Ejiro’s short hair as he can and pulls him down to the canvas. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Jay Hawke takes a quick look at the crowd with a smirk on his face, then turns back toward Ejiro Fasaki and drops a knee across his chest. Ejiro rolls over, trying to get to the corner to make the tag, but Hawke grabs him by the legs. He hooks his feet on and around Ejiro’s knees, then grabs him by the wrists and rocks backwards, elevating him perpendicular to the mat. “Surfboard by Jay Hawke,” shouts Pete, obviously impressed. “He obviously needs to make sure his own shoulders don’t fall to the mat, but what a tremendous move this is!” “All the pressure to the knees, the arms, and the back,” says King. “Ejiro might need a lot of help to survive this one!” His partners try to give him that help, but the referee is there to prevent Arch Griffon from getting into the ring. Scott Pretzler takes a quick glance at JJ Johnson, who nods. The Critic then decides to prove that he’s always the opportunist. He ascends the top rope and, making sure the referee’s still distracted, levels Ejiro with a picture-perfect guillotine leg drop while Ejiro’s still locked in the surfboard. The crowd pops in spite of itself as Hawke releases the hold and covers the opposing legal man while Pretzler slides out of the ring and the referee turns around: ONE! TWO! TH--Manson makes the save thanks to a boot to the head. “We haven’t seen too much of that teamwork from this team tonight,” notices Pete, “but what little we’ve seen has been spot on.” King replies, “That’s what makes this team so dangerous. Even though Pretzler and Johnson don’t really get along with Hawke, all three men are here to win.” Jay Hawke takes advantage of Ejiro Fasaki’s prone position, grabbing a hammerlock while driving a knee into the back to keep him grounded. The Dean tightens the grip on Fasaki’s left arm, dropping knees into the shoulder in an attempt to charley horse the arm. “Look at Hawke tighten the grip here,” says the Suicide King. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he wants to take that arm home with him tonight.” “If he’s looking for a submission here, he might have to break the arm off,” claims Pete. Jay Hawke retains his hold of the left arm, but Ejiro is once again making his way back to his feet. Ejiro pushes Hawke back toward the ropes, loosens Hawke’s grips to the point that it’s now more of a standard armbar, then uses a quick arm drag takeover to take The Dean down. Hawke’s quickly to his feet, and Ejiro is quickly off the ropes to take Hawke down with a running forearm smash. Ejiro’s off the ropes again, but JJ Johnson reaches for him. Ejiro’s out of his reach, but it’s enough of a distraction to get Ejiro to turn around. Ejiro turns toward Hawke, and the Dean catches him coming in with a thumb to the eye. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “Ha ha ha!” laughs King. “Just when these idiots in Chile think their heroes are getting back into it, there’s the brilliance of the Dean of Professional Wrestling!” Jay Hawke drags Ejiro Fasaki over to the ropes on his half of the ring and drapes his opponent’s throat over the middle rope. Hawke chokes him against it until the referee counts to four, then yells something over to the other corner. Whatever the comment was, it was obviously directed at Arch Griffon, as the angry SWF superstar tries to reenter the ring again. With the referee trying to cut him off, it gives Hawke the opportunity to use the middle rope for an illegally-aided hammerlock. “Come on, referee, turn around!” cries Longdogger Pete in protest. The referee does indeed turn around, but Hawke has not only released the hold, but he’s just finishing a snap mare. “You know, Pete, for as much as you complain about the officiating, you’d think you were actually in the ring doing a better job of it,” says King. Hawke immediately grabs the left arm and locks it into a short arm scissors, and with the pain in the arm, Ejiro temporarily loses the sense of where his shoulders are, and they drop to the canvas: ONE! TWO! Shoulder up. Ejiro, having been nearly caught napping, begins to crawl his way to the ropes. As he’s just about to reach them, Hawke releases the hold and drags Fasaki out to the middle of the ring. He drops a leg across Ejiro’s chest, then goes for the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Ejiro quickly tries to make his way to his feet, but Hawke grabs him by the head and tosses him down to the mat face-first. He drives a knee to Ejiro’s back, then sits down on him, puts Ejiro’s arms over Hawke’s knees, and pulls back on the chin. “Camel clutch firmly applied here by Jay Hawke,” says Pete, “and he’s got Ejiro Fasaki tied up.” King continues, “This move could be the end of the match, but at the very least it should set Ejiro up for Pretzler’s Snowflake Clutch.” Ejiro pulls his right arm free and uses it to pull himself towards the ropes. “E-JI-RO! E-JI-RO! E-JI-RO! E-JI-RO! E-JI-RO! E-JI-RO!” The crowd’s chants help him get closer to the ropes. He’s two feet away… “E-JI-RO!” …a foot away… “E-JI-RO!” …and Jay Hawke pulls him away from the ropes by the hair. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” He waits for the referee’s count of four before letting go of the hair. Jay Hawke quickly locks Ejiro into a reverse chancery. Ejiro tries to punch his way free, but Jay Hawke kneels down, driving the back of Ejiro’s head across the knee. “Inverted backbreaker,” says Pete, “and with Hawke’s ring positioning here, now might be the time to tag in one of his partners.” But Hawke’s got one big move in mind before he makes that tag. He grabs a waistlock and tries to take Ejiro backwards, but Ejiro hooks his leg around Hawke’s to block it. “Hawke is going for the German suplex,” says Pete, “but Ejiro is fighting it!” Ejiro blocks it again. He shoots an elbow, but Hawke ducks, and Ejiro spins around. Ejiro is going for an armbar takedown, but Hawke keeps one foot planted behind him to keep Ejiro from getting enough leverage to take him down. Jay again wraps his arms around Ejiro and lifts him up for a Northern Lights suplex, but Ejiro spins around and takes Hawke down, still holding onto the arm. “Tornado single-arm DDT!” says Pete in excitement. “This might be the break Ejiro Fasaki needs to make that hot tag!” King predicts, “No way! No way in hell!” Ejiro Fasaki crawls over to his corner, and he reaches for Manson’s outstretched hand. Scott Pretzler enters the ring, drawing attention away from the corner. Fasaki makes the tag… “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” …but Pretzler turns the referee around and, having not seen the hot tag, tries to get Manson back out of the ring. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Pete screams, “He made the tag!” “But the referee didn’t see it,” King confirms as Hawke drags Ejiro to the corner for Pretzler and JJ to both choke Fasaki in the corner. They release Ejiro’s throat as the referee turns around. Hawke, sensing an opportunity, charges into the corner with his right arm outstretched for a lariat, but Ejiro drags Hawke to the mat by the arm, locking it into a scissors before reaching for the face. “Cobra crossface by Ejiro Fasaki,” shouts Pete. “This one could be over right here!” Hawke thrashes violently, fully aware of what the hold can do to him. In horror, his two teammates rush into the ring and attempt to break it up… but Manson and Griffon do the same! Manson grabs Johnson by the tights and tosses him bodily over the top rope, then follows him out. Finding his path blocked by the hulking computer nerd, Pretzler tries to tackle him by the legs, only to be booted in the stomach. “YEEEEAAAAHHHH!” Realizing that his opponent is setting up the Arch Nemesis, Pretzler drops to the mat in alarm before the knee strike can connect. He rolls on his side, under the bottom rope and out of the ring. Griffon, his rage awakened, goes after him. The Crossface is locked in tight! Ejiro leans back, wrenching the neck back as far as it will go. The crowd has begun to chant. TAP! TAP! TAP! “You remember what happened the last time Hawke was in this position?” asks Pete with excitement. King does not answer. Despite having taken little damage during the match, Pretzler is still in no mood to become the victim of the Arch Nemesis. As he recovers near the announce table, he sees Griffon exiting the ring in front of him – and takes off! He runs around the steps and past the side of the ring. Before he can make it halfway to the ramp, he stumbles and Griffon grabs him by the shoulder. POW! He delivers a beefy European uppercut to the cruiserweight. Pretzler stumbles back before returning the favor with his own version of the move. Griffon responds by grabbing his head and bashing into the ring apron, drawing the attention of the referee. “How much longer can Hawke hold on?” Pete gasps. Melissa pays no attention to the men brawling around her – instead, her focus is on Ejiro. “Come on,” she shouts. “Make him tap out!” On the other side of the ring, Manson and Johnson have begun to trade strikes. WHUMP! A stiff punch connects with Johnson’s cheek. SMACK! JJ lands a high roundhouse to the ribs. CRUNCH! A hard right hook sends the Canadian’s teeth rattling. CRRRACK! Johnson leaps into the air and delivers a spectacular back spin kick. Manson’s head snaps back and he slumps against the guardrail, momentarily incapacitated. JJ is now free to assist his partner in need. He turns around and is about to slide into the ring… but his path is blocked by Melissa. The young Asian woman puffs out her ample chest as a means of looking intimidating, but Johnson does not seem frightened at all. He grabs her by the hair and stares hungrily into her eyes. “Oh, no,” Pete moans. “Not this!” Johnson makes no sound other than heavy breathing. The crowd’s reaction causes Ejiro to look up, and he sees his sister in peril. He immediately releases the hold. BOOOOOOOO! To make matters worse, the brawl between Pretzler and Griffon has intensified. Holding the Ontarian in a military press, Griffon surges forward and hurls him into the front row. He steps over the guardrail with hate in his eyes. Referee Reubens leans through the ropes and shouts at them. “Break it up!” Ejiro stands up and marches across the ring in the direction of Johnson and Melissa. Hawke writhes on the mat behind him, clutching his neck. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY SISTER!” Ejiro bellows, sliding out of the ring and throwing himself at Johnson. The referee remains fixated on Griffon and Pretzler. Ejiro grabs Melissa by the waist and pulls her away from Johnson’s grasp and is about to charge toward him… …when a black-clad figure suddenly emerges from the crowd. WHAM! The brass-knuckled fist of the World Heavyweight Champion buries itself in Fasaki’s forehead! “What the hell is Toxxic doing here?!” cries Longdogger Pete. “He’s not even supposed to be in this country!” Ejiro topples like a tree struck by lightning. BOOOOOOO! Manson has managed to stand and groggily moves in to make the save… but Johnson cuts him off with another flurry of kicks. Toxxic shoves Melissa aside, picks up Ejiro, and rolls him into the ring. Hawke rolls on top of him just as the referee turns around. ONE! TWO! THREE! *DING DING DING!* “Not like this!” screams Pete. “Here are your winners… JAAAAY HAWKE AND REVOLUTION ZEEEEEROOOO!” Upon hearing the announcement, Griffon pauses and looks up at the ring. Realizing what has just occurred, he howls with frustration and continues his battery of Pretzler. Neither Manson or Fasaki are immediately aware of their loss. “For three guys who claim they never cheat… Revolution Zero sure does cheat a lot!” Pete is indignant. “Maybe their opponents could learn a lesson from that.” Security has managed to pull Griffon away from his hapless victim. With a broad grin on his face, Toxxic runs into the ring and heartily congratulates his teammates. “You did it,” he can be heard shouting. “You bloody did it. And you didn’t even need any help!” “Somewhere, some day, this has got to stop,” Pete says bitterly. “But until then, I’m Longdogger Pete, and this is SWF Smarkdown!”

“No, seriously. Mr. Jenkins, you can not go into his office!” “Get out of my way…NOW!” “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins bursts into the office of Commissioner Thomas Flesher as SWF Smarkdown returns to broadcast. Flesher’s secretary stands between the former SWF Cruiserweight Champion and the door to his old rival. “Please, Mr. Jenkins! He isn’t here! If you want, I can schedule an appointment!” “I know he is inside that office…now MOVE!” “For the love of God, why did I have to take this job?” she cries as she moves out of the way. Spike doesn’t even bother looking at her as he continues to the door. He grabs the door knob, turns it, and pushes the door open… *SMACK* “AHHH!” The loud clunk of a body hitting the floor echo’s throughout the office. Spike looks stunned for a moment, not sure what to do. “Learn how to knock, asshole!” cries the voice of a woman inside the room. Spike opens the door and enters the office, looking down at Allison Onita. She holds her forehead as she angrily looks up at Spike. “Sorry…” Spikes looks around the office and then back down at Onita. “What are you doing? Where is Flesher?” “She was waxing my knob!” comes the voice of the Superior One, entering the office behind Spike. Spike turns around to face off with the man who now controls SWF Smarkdown…who happens to be the same guy that ended his first Cruiserweight Title reign. “She was…what?” “Waxing my knob.” Spike looks down at the doorknob…seeing his own reflection from the cleaning. He shakes his head in confusion, as Flesher eyes him up and down. “So…what can I do for you?” “You know damn well what I want, Flesher.” “Why should I know what you want? All because I’m the commissioner doesn’t mean I’m a mind reader…” Flesher says before being put to a halt by a shove by Jenkins. “Don’t toy with me!” “If I were you, I’d watch who I’m shoving. If you want to start something, then by all means. But you will NOT march into my office and shove ME around! Do you understand?” “Don’t act like a tough guy, Flesher. I’m not in the mood. You KNOW what I want!” “Toxxic, correct?” “You’re damn right!” “Well, too bad.” Flesher turns to walk over towards his desk, but Jenkins steps in front of him. “What do you mean, too bad?” “I’m not booking you in a match with Toxxic.” “Why not?” “Well…” responds Flesher, “One, you two would kill each other; Two, you don’t deserve it.” “I DON’T DESERVE IT?” yells an angry Jenkins. “No, you don’t. Despite what you may think, you HAD your shot. But you decided to put your title shot on the line in that series against Mak Francis. Now don’t get me wrong, that was a great series. A lot of good wrestling and it made a lot of money. But you LOST.” “I was robbed.” “Not this again…” “YOU robbed me!” “What are you talking about, Spike?” “Match two of our series. The Pure Rules match. You were the referee. I was out of the ring! That hold should have been broken!” “You had no more rope breaks!” “I was out of the ring!” “You are just looking for an excuse now.” “Give me Toxxic, damn it!” “No.” replies Flesher, with ease. “Then I will go take him out myself.” “Go do whatever you want, Spike.” “Oh yeah? Go do whatever I want?” Spike repeats the commissioner’s words, “How about I take out your top talent in the parking lot? Huh? Injure him and take him out of action for several months? How about that?” Flesher takes in a deep breath and sighs, “I hate when you two do this to me…you know you sound exactly like Toxxic…” “What did you say?” rage now filling Spike’s voice. “I said you sound exactly like Toxx…” Flesher is cut off before he can finish the World Champion’s name. “Don’t you EVER say that! Do you understand me?” “Calm down, calm down. No need to go crazy…” Flesher stops to think, “Okay. You want Toxxic? You have to earn it.” “I’ll beat whoever you put me against.” “Oh…really now? Well, in that case…you have a match tonight.” “Perfect. Against who?” “You’ll find out later.” “Is this some kind of joke?” replies Jenkins. “Don’t worry. You’ll be VERY happy with my choice for your opponent.” Spike eyes Flesher down, before grinning at the Superior One and nodding his head. “I’m glad we are on the same page.” Spike turns and storms out of the office. Flesher just stares in the direction that he walked in as he shakes his head. “I don’t think we are even reading the same book…” Flesher grins as Smarkdown goes to a commercial break.

The dusk sky is a beautiful bright red orange. The purplish tint of an approaching nightfall creeps towards the arena but the Chile heat refuses to drop below anything lower than 90 degrees. The Estadio Nacional is truly a sight to behold, it’s cyclopean girth housing literal oceans of screaming fans. It’s not even shoulder to shoulder, it’s neck to neck, sardines would be envious of the spacing. The SWF doesn’t make it’s way this far below the equator very often, and as a result the fans have come out in drones. Pete: So King, do you have any theories pertaining to the identity of the mystery man? King: Blast this heat! Is an indoor arena with air conditioning to much to ask for? Pete: Oh..well there’s lot’s of speculation concerning the identify of the mystery man. Is it a returning superstar, a debuting superstar, a superstar from another federation? Or perhaps it’s a legend returning for one night only in a special match, ironically enough you’ve participated in several of those matches since your retirement. King: Hey, I never hid behind a mystery man disguise. I had to inform cities weeks in advance that I was showing up, that way they could make the proper preparations for a celebrity of my status. If I showed up and the city wasn’t prepared, I would literally get gang raped by thousands of screaming women. Pete: Hey, it looks like Funyon is ready with the announcements. Suddenly, the crashing guitars of Lamb of God’’s ““Black Label”” blast over the PA but it’s barely a blip on the sonic radar, the arena is far to large and loud for the music to be audible. On cue, the hooded figure of Spike Jenkins steps through the entranceway, where he is shockingly greeted with the biggest ovation of his career. Dropping to one knee, Spike pauses for dramatic effect before bringing his arms up in the symbol of an “X”! Imitating their SWF hero, the masses religiously repeat the gesture in a sign of goodwill. Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at 225 pounds, hailing from Hollywood, California.....”Hoooooollywoood Spike Jenkins! Keeping his head down, Spike sprints down the narrow walk way in a hurry, doiing his best to ignore the largest crowd he’s ever seen. Rolling into the middle of the ring like someone trying too hard to be weird, Spike rises to one knee and peels off his hood. Gliding his eyes around the endless sea of humanity around him, a wide eyed Spike uncharacteristically wanders into his corner without the slightest attempt at playing the pulsating crowd. He’s nervous as hell and it shows. Not only is Spike wrestling in front of the largest television crowds in wrestling history, he also has no idea who he’s facing and there’s nothing scarier than the unknown. Continuously scratching his hair in what appears to be a nervous habit, Spike breathes heavily as he looks to the locker room. Funyon: And his opponent...... All eyes eagerly turn to the dressing room, where in just a few short seconds the much speculated identity of the mystery man will at last be revealed. There’s a small shift in the curtains, than another and another. The drapes peel apart, exposing the shadowy silhouette of a muscular man who is surprisingly no taller than six feet. Spike squints to the point that he looks like Clint Eastwood staring at the sun but he still can’t see anything. The thousands in attendance collectively hold their breaths as the figure takes a step forward. The light of the setting sun expose the lower half of the enigmatic character, evidently his favorite color is black since that’s the color of not only his boots but his tights and kneepads as well. Funyon: weighing in at 250 pounds..... The figure continues to move forward, while most of his face is still hidden in darkness his wide shirtless torso and lower chin have reached the light. Having enough pieces to solve the puzzle, a young kid can be heard yelling out,”Da....but he’s cut off by the rest of his section, who have spontaneously erupted into cheers and howls. Evidently, the young kid’s observation is no longer necessary, they can see for themselves and they like what they see. Based on the reaction the lucky few are close enough to see, this guy is certainly a fan favorite. Funyon: hailing from Louisville, Kentucky....... Stepping out of the shadows, the mystery man reveals himself to the screaming masses! The reaction is magnificent, unlike anything that has been heard before! Speaking as loud as he possible can, Funyon belts out the name of the mystery man! Funyon: DANNY WILLIAMssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!!! Thrilled to be back, Williams howls on the platform like a wolf whaling at the moon. The reception makes the one the new Pope got look microscopic in comparison. Unable to accept what his eyes are telling his brain, Spike does a complete double take. Upon repeated inspection, Spike concludes that the man on the platform is indeed the former World Champion. The legend who brutalized Frost in cage match, made Francis tap in under a minute, knocked out Kibagami and others with simple elbow smashes is indeed the same man standing a few hundred feet from him. Pete: It’s been way over a year since we last seen Danny Williams and he’s still as popular as ever! King: Nah, television down here is just a few years behind. Back in my hotel room, I was watching Detroit win the NBA Championship. Fired up by the riotous crowd, Williams takes off! Speeding down the aisle in a blur, Williams smacks hands with a few fans before diving head first into the ring. The panic stricken Spike greets the returning superstar with a wildly swung Lariat! Ducking under the mis-timed ambush, Williams darts for the ropes. Picking up some steam, Williams bullets back at his would be attacker, dropping Spike with a nifty Flying Forearm! Showing off his superior athleticism, Williams entertains the crowd with a snapping kip up. Soapdish frantically calls for the bell and were underway. DING! DING! DING! Stunned by the thunderous blow, Spike foolishly stumbles to his feet. Crack! Only to be leveled by a powerful running elbow! Spike makes the same mistake two more times with each Running Elbow earning a bigger and bigger pop! Since Spike can’t get to his feet in a timely manner anymore, Williams forces him up by his arm. With a roar of effort, Williams fires Spike into the buckles! Blam! Spike crashes into steel of the corner but the worse is yet to come. Performing a dazzling cartwheel, Williams springs off his hands, crushing his cornered opponent with a hard back elbow! Grabbing his chest like a heart attack victim, Spike aimlessly wanders into the center of the ring. Getting a good running start, Williams jumps onto the second rope with catlike agility. The fans “ah” in admiration as Williams springs off the ropes with a beautiful back elbow, knocking Spike flat on his ass! Pete: Williams is on fire! King: Until we get out of here, can you refrain from using the words: hot, fire, hell..etc. Hustling to his feet, Williams catches a rising Spike with a high picture perfect dropkick! Blam! The impact of Williams’ big black boots blows Spike through the ropes and out of the ring! Wiping some rapidly forming sweat from his brow, Williams briefly sits up one knee, pondering his next move. It doesn’t take long for Williams to decide what he wants to do next as he backs to the far side of the ring, encouraging the already nuked Chili fans to get louder. Licking his lips with anticipation, Williams closely watches Spike’s every move. As soon as Spike is upright, Williams launches himself off the ropes! Speeding across the ring, Williams dives through the ropes like a human torpedo, blasting Spike’s skull with a thunderous diving elbow smash! Having never seen the unique high flying attack before in person, the rabid crowd rewards Williams with a monestrous pop that can be felt throughout the continent. Pete: Elbow Suicidaaaaa!!! Despite coming off an incredibly long lay off, Williams has miraculously not missed a step. King: Of course Williams looks sharp, there’s no telling how long that sneaky bastard has been training for this match. Breathing slightly harder than he’d like to be, Williams pulls himself up with the guardrail. Once dry as bone, Williams’ body is now spotted with beads of sweat. After taking a second to catch his fleeing breath, Williams rolls the near limp carcass of his fallen foe back into the ring. The calm afterglow of the stunning high spot quiets the crowd but it isn’t long before their screaming and whistling again. Pushing the attack, Williams springboards onto the top rope where he patiently waits for the opportunity to strike. Rising to his full height on the top rope, Williams resembles a demi-god with his hulking frame silhouetting the star light sky . Once the shell shocked Spike is where he wants him, the returning fan favorite takes flight! Swooping down at Spike like a bird of prey, Williams drops the punch drunk heel with an awe inspiring Diving Elbow! Rolling to his feet, Williams scrambles to the top of the nearest turnbuckle! Kicking off the top rope, Williams boldly springs backwards at his grounded target! Free falling to the canvas, Williams extends his arm to his side, driving his bent elbow into the chest of Spike Jenkins! Pete: What an elbow drop! Shaken up from the fall and possible fatigued, Williams momentarily lays on his back with his stomach pumping up and down at an alarming rate. The lighting quick combo of high flying moves earns Williams an electric standing ovation from the Chile crowd, whom have been totally won over by the relentless high flying action. King: Williams is starting to look a little lethargic, Pete. Pete: Stamina is the hardest asset to develop outside of the ring. Much like a boxer, you can train religiously in a gym but there’s still nothing as grueling as stepping in the ring and engaging in combat. King: Not to mention it’s the damn tropics out here. Returning to life, Williams somberly sits up. Keeping his mouth hung open in a constant state of fatigue, Williams sluggishly crawls atop Spike’s carcass for the pin. Pete: It looks like this one might already be over! Also believing that Spike’s number is up, the fans loudly count along with Soapdish. “Uno!” “Des!” No! The impressed crowd “ahs” in surprise as Spike strongly kicks out. Despite his lungs burning with every breath of dry hot air, Williams pushes himself off the mat. Doubled over and breathing hard, Williams sucks in as much oxygen as his pumping lungs can take in. Knowing that he has to put Spike away in the near future, Williams jerks the cruiserweight off the canvas by his hair. With a cry of “Pooooowerbomb!”, Danny stuffs Spike into a standing head scissors. Dipping his knees down low, a sweat soaked Danny Williams wearily wraps his arms around Spike’s stomach. What should be easy for a man Williams’ size proves to be most difficult as the former Champion struggles to execute one of his favorite power moves. Pete: I think your right about Williams being lethargic, King, he really looks blown up. King: Of course I’m right, I made career off observing other’s weaknesses and exploiting them. Pete: And cheating. King: It’s called strategy Pete, something you could have used more of during your in-ring career. Pete: I used strategy. King: Oafishly bumbling around the ring like a hungry ogre isn’t a strategy, Pete. Realizing that he’s in for an epic struggle, Williams arches his back at a sharp angle. The cheeks of the former champion flair in and out as Danny sucks as much oxygen in his body as possible. Doing what they can to aid Williams, the Chile fans create a rallying ruckus. Feeding off the energy of the crowd, Williams gets a much needed adrenaline boost. Letting out a cry of effort, Danny Williams strenuously flips Spike onto his hulking shoulders! Ka-Boom! The thousands in attendance jump out of their chairs as Williams slams Spike into the canvas with a devilishly hard Powerbomb! Leaning on his tippy toes, Williams pushes Spike’s folded corpse into the mat, holding him down for the pin. Having seen Williams finish others with this move on t.v., the fans count along. “Uno!” “Des!” Tr-No! Spike thrusts out his legs like a horse, kicking Williams a good couple of feet away! The fans can’t help but sigh at the outcome, Williams struggle was in vain. Pete: This could be the turning point of the match. Williams is running out of ammo and he hasn’t gotten anywhere, meanwhile Spike has yet to even fire. King: I don’t think Williams counted on Spike being this big of a problem, that egomaniac probably thought he was gonna get fed an easy victory because it was his return match. The sun has at last ascended leaving the warming glow of the arena lights to bask down on the squared circle. Though the sun is gone, the humidity remains, making the simple of task of breathing laborious. Dripping with perspiration, a confused and spent Danny Williams ponders his next move. Not having a huge variety of options, Williams decides on a second Powerbomb. Once more the massive crowd rises to the occasion, giving Williams the support he needs to carry out his quest. Digging deep, Williams hastily positions Spike for another Powerbomb. Pete: If Williams can find the strength to hit this, Spike is finished! King: I don’t think Danny has another Powerbomb in him. This is the point in the match where he should be slowing things down to a methodical pace, using an Abdominal Stretch with the aid of the ropes, a chokehold with his wristtape, not another Powerbomb. After taking a few seconds to charge himself backup, Danny lifts with every ounce of strength he has left! Refusing to cooperate with his own demise, Spike sandbags like his life depends on it. Williams grunts and groans, his arms tremble with his strain, and with a sudden surge of power he hoists little Spike into the air! Before Williams can follow through with the move, his exhausted legs and back crumble beneath him! Spike rides Williams to the mat, squashing him with a Lou Thesz Press! Pete: Williams was too weak to hit the Powerbomb and now the match may be over! King: I told you, that musclehead was making a big mistake! He’s sabotaged his own comeback! The residents of the Estadio Nacional come to their feet as Soapdish starts the count. “Uno!” “Des!” NO! Williams uses what little strength he has left to push Spike off his chest! Spewing sweat by the gallon, Williams stumbles to his feet while clutching his chest. Before Williams can take more than a couple of steps, he crumbles back to the canvas in a pool of exhaustion. Sensing that something is terribly wrong, the cheers of the crowd turn to confused murmurs. Not wanting a wrestler to suffer a heat stroke on his watch, Soapdish carefully investigates Williams, who is somberly shaking his head “No” at every question. Pete: It looks like we may get a stoppage. King: This is the worst comeback since Nielsen of the Jungle threw away the ICTV belt. Popping himself in the head a few times, Spike comes to his senses for the first time in a long time. Looking around the jam packed arena with sleepy eyes, Spike stiffly wobbles to his feet like a drunk with a hang over. Suddenly remembering where he’s at, Spike spots a very drowsy Danny Williams slothfully pulling himself up with the ropes. Grinning from ear to ear, the once fearful Spike becomes full of confidence. Steadying himself, Williams turns from the ropes. Smack! Smack! Smack! Only to get driven back into them by a flurry of roundhouse kicks! Grabbing Williams’ wrist, Spike shoots his fatigued opponent off the ropes with a whip. Danny hits the opposite ropes and springs back into the waiting hands of Spike, who cruelly whips him into the ropes a second time! Williams’ rubbery legs weakly carry him back to the ropes, catapulting him right back into Spike’s clutches! Once again, Spike opts to whip Williams, forcing him to stay on the go. Pete: I’ve never seen this before! King: Of course you haven’t it’s strategy. He’s not giving Williams a chance to rest, he’s gonna make him run as long as he possibly can. Finally, Williams collapses in the middle of the ring, unable to take another step. Spike no longer cares about his opponent’s legendary past or the danger he poses, all he sees is a harmless blown up has been. Showing off his superior stamina, Spike performs a series of taunting jumping jacks. Letting everyone know why he can do this, Spike drops to his knees and crosses his arms. This doesn’t go over so well with the Chili crowd, who are starting to take offense to Spike’s repeated gloating and self promotion. As a result, a few scattered “boos” can be heard amongst the crowd noise. Having taunted the crowd enough, Spike grabs a handful of Williams’ wet tangled hair, pulling him up to his knees. Smack! Smack! Spike whelps Williams’ chest with two quick roundhouse kicks, knocking enough sweat off the fan favorite to fill up a baby pool. Crack! Spike completes the combo with a brutal kick to the face! The shocked crowd “ohs” in unison as Williams crumbles to the canvas, both hands tightly covering his busted mouth. Standing a conquering boot on Williams’ chest, Spike busts out another straight edge pose as Soapdish starts the count. Uno! No! Williams rolls on his side, stopping the count. Pete: Spike got a little cocky with that pin and he may have missed a gold opportunity to put Williams away. Unfazed by the kickout, Spike remains cheerful and cool. However, Spike is slightly frustrated with the fact that Williams is still down. Bored with his fatigued opponent, Spike takes the initiative in hopes of motivating him. Taking a few steps back, Spike calmly measures his agonizing opponent... Smaaaack! before brandishing his back with a bruising cowboy kick! Sitting up, Williams cries out in anguish. Not impressed, Spike punts Danny’s back again, demanding that he get up. Smaaaaack! Instead of getting up, Williams stiffens up from pain. This isn’t the answer that Spike wanted so he repeats the question but this time he asks a little harder! SMACK! O.k, a whole lot harder. Clinching his teeth and balling up his fist, Williams muffles what was no doubt a very loud tortured scream. Trembling with pain and anger, Williams heroically rises to a vertical base. Spike nods his head in approval, this is the Danny Williams he wanted to face. Dripping sweat and shaking, Williams motions to his chest, beckoning Spike to kick him again. This brave display of fighting spirit, rallies the fans into a frenzy. Accepting Williams’ challenge, Spike lays into the former Champion with some of the nastiest kicks he’s ever thrown! The kicks are vicious and swift! Sweat clouds fly off Danny’s chest like rain but when the smoke clears, he’s still on his feet. Reminding Spike of his short coming, Williams roars in his face like a wild beast, daring him to try again. Spike responds by dropping back into the ropes, using the cables to propel himself forward! Charging Williams at full speed, Spike swings up his leg.... BLAM! blasting Williams with a jaw shattering Yakuza Kick! Williams stumbles into the ropes but to Spike’s surprise, he springs forward... Crack! scoring with a surprise Running Elbow! The blow rocks Spike, damn near knocking him off his feet. Hoping this is the start of a comeback, the thousands in attendance raise the proverbial roof. This sudden display of power alarms Spike, who reacts quickly. Aiming to put Danny down for good, Spike bounces back into the ropes, coming back with an even sicker Yakuza Kick! Blam! Teetering like a drunk, Williams lumbers back into the ropes for support, somehow finding the strength to launching another attack! Bouncing back, Danny swings out his bulky forearm for another Running Elbow but Spike wisely avoids the strike! Ducking under the meaty appendage, Spike grabs a suffocating Sleeperhold! King: Smart move from Hollywood! Instead of trading blows like a moron, he used his brain and out smarted that musclehead. Fading rapidly, the already fatigued Williams sinks to the canvas in a matter of seconds. Now that he has Williams right where he wants him, Spike happily mounts his back, fluidly adjusting his grip to the dreaded Dragon Sleeper! Pete: The Silver Lining! With Williams already being fatigued, it’s doubtful he can survive long enough to escape! King: Brains over brawn, Pete! You big guys can develop your arms and chest all you want, in the end it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t haven’t developed your brain above a third grade level. Violently jerking his head up and down, Spike works up a gushing sweat as he struggles to squeeze every pint of blood from Williams’ brain. Williams’ limbs thrash about like he’s having a seizure, an involuntary side effect of oxygen depravation. Sensing that Danny is in serious peril, the fans come to their feet. Concerned, Soapdish asks Williams if he wants to call it a night. Unable to respond vocally, Danny frantically waves his finger in the face of the official letting him know that he’s not gonna submit on the night of his return. Moved by Williams’ repeated bravery, the Chile fans refuse to let the match end like this. Doing the only thing they can for their ailing hero, a small chant breaks out in the stands. Soon that small chant grows into a thunderous battle cry with everyone in the building stomping and cheering in near perfect unison! “DAN-E! boom! boom! DAN-E! boom! boom! Even though he’s drifting in out of consciousness there’s no way that Williams isn’t gonna hear countless thousands screeching his name. Not wanting to disappoint his newly won fans, Williams digs deep and fights back. Running on fumes, Williams epically crawls towards the ropes, carrying Spike on his back like a work horse. Snorting, puffing, and kicking like a mule, Williams claws his way to the ropes, he holds out his hand, his fingers glance the bottom rope......... but Spike drags him back by tights! Pulling Williams back to the hellmouth that is the center of the ring, Spike hastily reapplies his submission finisher. The heartbroken fans can only watch as a smirking Spike picks up where he left off. “Give it up, Danny!”, snarls Spike as he makes sure that Williams’ present stay in the hold is far worse than his previous. Foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, Spike frantically twists and turns Williams’ head in a variety painful directions! Deprived of proper blood circulation for far too long, Williams begins to feel an uncomfortable numbness grow from his feet and spread to the rest of this body. It isn’t long before Williams grows limp in Spike’s arms. Laughing to himself, Spike releases the hold and rolls Danny over. Brining his thumb across his throat, Spike lays across Williams in a underwear model pose. You can hear a pin drop as Soapdish starts the count, each number a proverbial nail in his comeback casket. One! Two! .............. Two1/2...... NO! WILLIAMS GET’S HIS SHOULDER UP! The sonic bombardment that follows nearly shakes the building to it’s foundation! Pete: Spike has been far too cocky tonight. Williams may be rusty but buried beneath all that crud is a former World Champion that can’t be taken lightly. King: Spike needs to learn how to use the ring to his advantage. Did you see how close he was to the ropes? All he had to do was put a foot up there and the match would be over. More annoyed than upset, Spike jumps to his feet with a grumble. Snatching a handful of sweat soaked hair, Spike strains to get Williams on his feet only to find that he’s worthless deadweight. Getting a little frustrated, Spike begins to tauntingly flick his boot in Danny’s face. In a commanding voice, Spike shouts, “Get up, Get up!” Having a boot repeatedly shoved in your face may not be as nice as a warm cup of coffee but it will get you on your feet. Weary eyed and somber, Williams slowly pulls himself up in a nearby corner. This doesn’t stop the abuse as Spike starts bitch smacking Williams’ head from side to side, further enraging the hostile crowd. Soapdish starts getting in Spike’s face, ordering him to quit acting like a punk and wrestle. Not looking to be disqualified, Spike grab Williams’ arm and tugs it for a whip. Refusing to cooperate, Williams hooks an arm around the top turnbuckle, refusing to move as Spike requested. Spike responds with another bitch smack but it doesn’t produced the results he hoped for. No longer effected by the taunting strikes, a wide awake Williams stares at Spike with fiery defiance. Not liking what he sees, Spike rips an open hand uppercut up Williams’ chin! With his victim stunned, Spike confidently whips him out of the corner but Williams stubbornly clings to his arm.... CRACK! pulling the cocky superstar into a nasty short arm elbow! Knocked silly, Spike wobbles in his boots like a human punching bag allowing Williams to spin in place and.... CRAAAACK! knock his block off with an elegant Rolling Elbow! Spike goes down like a sack of bricks while the fans return to their feet in jubilation! Still not completely together, Williams doubles over with his hands on his knees, taking a second to catch his breath. Once Williams gathers his bearings, he rises to his full height with a frightful snort, ready to extract revenge on the man who disrespected him. Pete: I think those smacks knocked away the ring rust that’s been plaguing Williams. King: Well, they pissed him off that’s for damn sure. Totally out of it, Spike cluelessly wobbles to his feet, completely unaware of the lurking danger behind him. Wrapping his massive arms around Spike’s thin waist, Williams snaps back at a high angle, driving Spike into the canvas with a powerful German Suplex! Bridging on his tippy toes, Williams holds Spike in place for the pin. “Uno!” “Des!” ............ “TRE-aaaaaaah!” exclaims the crowd as Spike barely kicks out of the pinning predicament! Pounding his fist into the mat, Williams angrily jerks Spike to his feet, when Hollywood suddenly swipes his hands off and launches a desperation Rolling Elbow! Crack! Williams doesn’t even flinch. Letting out an animalistic growl, Williams smoothly spins off his pivot foot and... CRAAACK! drops Spike with another devastating Rolling Elbow! The capacity crowd is liquid lava, loudly cheering Williams on in hist quest for revenge Pete: I don’t think trading elbows with Danny Williams is the best way for Spike to get back into the match. King: You don’t say. Proudly standing over Spike’s remains, Williams smacks his head from side to side, ordering him to get up. Once Spike starts to come to, Williams marches to the ropes, where he let’s the crowd known he wants more noise. Soon, Williams has everyone in the building acting nuts. The freight train rumble of stomping feet can be heard for miles, shaking the entire continent like a great earthquake. Finally, Spike wobbles to his feet. With all eyes on the ring, Williams explodes off the ropes, strongly throwing out his arm to his side! SMAAAAACK! Williams’ forearm stiffly connects with Spike’s throat, knocking him off his feet and into the air! Back flipping to the canvas, Spike lands on the back of his skull with a sickening crunch, folding his body in half like a sheet! Pete: An Axe Bomber? AN AXE BOMBER! King: Whatever it what he turned him inside out with it. Williams collapses atop Spike’s broken remains, loosely covering him for the pin. Ready to erupt, the electric crowd screams along with the count. “UNO!” “DES!” ................. “TRES!” DING! DING! DING! Jumping off Spike’s body, Williams joyously leaps into the air while the arena erupts into a riotous celebration! Of course Williams is dehydrated so he fumbles back to the canvas, where he begs for water. Pete: What a remarkable return from Danny Williams, who with a new move has defeated top contender, Spike Jenkins! King: I think we watched a different match, Pete. Williams looked like crap tonight and he’s lucky he was against a cocky little bastard who got too careless. Pete: Those are valid points. Williams may be back but he’s not in top form and a more focused and better prepared Spike Jenkins could prove to be a much greater challenge. Fans, we have to take a short commercial break but stay tuned, there’s more to come!

A camera stands inside of the locker room, and standing at his locker, accompanied by his sister Melissa, is Ejiro Fasaki. He gets ready for his match. Rule is interrupted as he ties up his boots. “Ejiro! We need to talk to you for a moment,” says Manson. He comes into the picture with his tag partner Arch Griffon. The two are already in full gear awaiting their match. “Yes, guys?” Ejiro asks. He's a bit annoyed as he was just about done getting one boot tied up. “I’m going to make this brief,” says Manson. The Raging Bull looks behind him to his tag partner for a moment. The two share a brief nod. “We’re worried about you.” “What in the devil do you mean?” asks Ejiro. “Do you have our backs tonight?” asks Manson. “We realize that you are trying very hard to not be a complete asshole in the ring. You want to be a good guy. But this is a problem for us tonight. If Revolution Zero and Hawke play their cards right, they can turn this into a two on three match if you can’t match their intensity with us.” “I see your point. But I really doubt this match is going to be very dirty. This is Flesher’s show. He wants pure wrestling, plain and simple. I don’t think those three want to piss him off tonight,” Ejiro reasons. “True. But …” Griffon chimes in then pauses. “If all goes to hell tonight … you will be there beside us?” Ejiro pauses for a moment, and looks to his sister for support. Melissa gives him a look of indifference. He then turns back towards his partners. “I’ll do what I can.” Arch and Manson look at each other for a moment. Manson looks back at Ejiro and nods. “Well see you out there,” says Manson. Griffon and Manson walk off, leaving Ejiro to get back to his boots.

SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial for Danny Williams’ Strong Style Ribs: “Try the new Roaring Potato Salad with any meal!” and a coked-up camera man pans around the Estadio Nacional, the fans screaming wildly, before coming to rest in front of Longdogger Pete and Suicide King. “Welcome back to Smarkdown, live from Santiago, Chile! We’ve had some exciting action already tonight, King, and it promises to get even better!” Pete shouts. “If you mean Revolution Zero and Jay Hawke taking apart Ejiro Fasaki, Arch Griffon, and Manson, then hell yes, it’s going to get better!” King yells back. “Well, there is that, but don’t forget Spike Jenkins finally getting a chance to take on the mystery man. The match was scheduled for Battleground, but unforeseen circumstances postponed it until tonight. But right now, we’ve got one doozy of a match! Lil’ Buck is facing ‘The Franchise’ Mak Francis! Funyon is in the ring, so let’s get this started!” Pete exclaims. The stadium lights go off, and as the arena plunges into darkness, a digital xylophone echoes, followed soon after by violins. “So do you wanna be a Franchise...And live large...A big house...five cars?” “Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall!” Funyon begins. The scoreboard sparks to life with a photo-negative image of Mak Francis, which is quickly replaced with the words ‘The Franchise’ in green, pulsating in time to the beat. “ The rent charge…Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody…Gotta look over your shoulder constantly!” The modified lyrics of “Rock Superstar” by Cypress Hill blast over the stereo system, and slowly Mak Francis makes his way out. The lights come back on and ‘The Franchise’ pauses at the mouth of the tunnel he just emerged from. He tilts his shades down, and glances first left, and then right. “I remember the days, when I was a young kid growin’ up...Lookin’ in the mirror, dreamin’ about blowin’ up!” “Introducing first, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, he weighs in at two hundred, forty pounds, ‘The Franchise’ MMAAAK FRRAANCISSS!” Funyon bellows. Small, green pyrotechnics erupt around Mak, and he simply pushes his glasses back into place before walking through the smoke down to the ring. Francis climbs the steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and salutes the crowd before entering the squared circle. ‘The Franchise’ hops up to the top turnbuckle, and raises his arms high. Mak drops back down, removes his trench coat and Oakleys, and hands them to referee Anthony Michael Hall, giving him very detailed instructions regarding their safe keeping. “This should be a good change for Lil’ Buck, as he’s been facing off against cruiserweight opponents left and right. However, this will be his second opponent hailing from Pennsylvania in as many shows,” Pete notes. “It looks like somebody got my message. It’s not fair that Buck gets to destroy cruisers all the time. Leave that to Revolution Zero,” King says. As “Rock Superstar” fades away, a new song replaces it. The thumping beats of Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck” blast over the public address system, heralding the entrance of Lil’ Buck. The Gangsta of Love makes his way out of the tunnel, drinking heartily from his pimp cup and brushing some dirt from the shoulder of his Dr. J throwback. “And his opponent, from Lanett, Alabaman, he weighs two hundred, seventy pounds, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon shouts. Buck pulls off his jersey, climbs into the ring, and hands it and his cup to Funyon. Hall checks both men over for weapons, finds nothing, and signals for the bell. DING! DING! DING! Buck stalks towards Mak, looking for a lock up, and is obliged. Lil’ Buck easily overpowers Francis and sends him to the ropes. The Arrogant Alabaman bends over, looking for a back body drop, but ‘The Franchise’ stops short and drills Buck in the back of the head with an elbow. As Buck shoots up in pain, Mak snares him and drops with a DDT. Francis keeps the front facelock cinched in, and tries to wrap his legs around Buck’s torso, but two jabs from Sugarhill’s Finest to Mak’s stomach puts a stop to that. However, Francis doesn’t seem to want to give up the chancery, but is persuaded to do so via a series of forearms to his face. “That’s good strategy from Mak Francis. He needs to keep Lil’ Buck grounded, because he’s nowhere near as fast or strong since his injury,” Pete notes. “Yes, but I think that Lil’ Buck is strong enough to be able to power out of most of Mak’s attempts to keep him on the mat,” King adds. “I’m shocked! Insightful commentary from Suicide King when nobody from Revolution Zero is involved in the match? You running a fever? Did you eat something weird down here? Was it those insanity peppers?” Longdogger asks. Francis scoots away from Buck, and gets to his feet, the Gangsta of Love up not long afterwards. Lil’ Buck heads for Mak, but ‘The Franchise’ nimbly sidesteps and takes Sugarhill’s Finest to the mat with a drop toe hold. Francis reaches out and applies a rear chinlock, while grinding his braced knee into Buck’s spine. Mak cranks back and Anthony Michael Hall asks if Buck will submit. “Mak’s got a nice chinlock going, and it should really help him out in the long run. Both the Franchise Tag and Bittersweet target the neck and head,” Pete notes. “He needs to stick with it, though. Lil’ Buck is tough and won’t go down easily,” King adds. Lil’ Buck ignores Hall and begins trying to pull Mak’s hands apart. The Arrogant Alabaman manages to get Mak’s right hand away, but Francis changes tactics and applies a side headlock. Buck slowly gets to his knees, and eventually stands, though bent over with ‘The Franchise’ not willing to give up his headlock. The Gangsta of Love wraps his arms around Francis, but before he can lift Mak off the mat, Francis kicks his legs out behind him, knocking Lil’ Buck off his feet and back down to the mat. “Mak Francis sticking with his game plan of keeping Lil’ Buck grounded and working on his neck. The fans usually don’t care for this slow-down style, but Francis simply can’t out-power Buck, and his speed advantage is minimal, if it exists at all,” Pete states. “Yeah, and I don’t think Mak is tougher than Lil’ Buck,” King adds. “I don’t know if there are many wrestlers in the SWF today who are,” Pete says. Mak shifts his weight in order to get his feet out from under the Gangsta of Love, and tightens his grip on the headlock. Hall asks Buck if he’ll submit, but is waved away, and Sugarhill’s Finest places his hands on the canvas and begins pushing himself off the mat. Buck gets to his feet, puts his hands on Mak’s face and tries to push ‘The Franchise’ away. As that isn’t quite working, Buck opts to take the more conventional route and drive elbows into Francis’s torso. Mak, in a fairly wise move, quickly releases Lil’ Buck and backs out of his range. “Francis is forced to give up the headlock, and I can’t blame him. Buck’s got some nasty strikes,” Pete says. “Indeed he does. Why, I saw him break a Predator in half with a single punch. Now, granted, that was at a wax museum, but my point remains valid,” King notes. Buck closes in and locks up once again in the traditional collar and elbow fashion. Lil’ Buck begins forcing Mak backwards, and quickly frees his left arm and slams a forearm into Francis’s ribs. Sugarhill’s Finest steps in, looking to pick ‘The Franchise’ up, but a thumb to the eye causes Buck to backpedal. Mak acts quickly, gets behind Buck, grabs hold, and pops his hips, dumping Buck on his shoulder blades. “Filthy German from Mak Francis! I know it’s early on in this match, but I wonder how much of a strain that was on ‘The Franchise’, his legs in particular,” Pete says. “If he’s zapped after one German suplex, Francis would deserve to lose,” King replies. “Well, I’m not saying he’s worn out now, as he’s had pretty much all of the offense so far in this match, and has dominated, but I think Mak would do better to just grind things out on the mat,” Longdogger points out. Mak rises to his feet and backs away from Buck, waiting for the Gangsta of Love to stand. Lil’ Buck pulls himself up, and Francis charges, leg extended. THWACK! “What a Yakuza kick from Mak Francis!” Longdogger shouts. “I’ve seen better. From a Mr. Tom Flesher in particular,” King says. “Nevertheless, it should help Mak nicely if looks to end this match with the Franchise Tag,” Pete adds. Francis stops abruptly, clutches his knee for a moment, turns around, and falls down on Buck for a pin. ONE! TW--NO! Buck kicks out, and Mak pulls him off the mat. Francis pulls back, and unleashes with a chop. WHOO! Buck takes a step backwards, but answers back with a stiff jab. The Arrogant Alabaman follows up with another jab, and nearly sends Francis to the mat with a hook. Lil’ Buck closes in, wraps Mak up, and drops ‘The Franchise’ with a belly-to-belly suplex. Buck crawls backwards, grabs Mak’s right leg, and drives his elbow into the back of his knee. Sugarhill’s Finest turns around and pulls on Francis’s leg, stretching it across his own body. Hall gets down on one knee to see if Mak will submit. “Mak’s in trouble right now. He needs to get his leg free before Buck causes severe damage,” Longdogger points out. “You are just a bottomless pit of knowledge, Pete. Knowledge that even the youngest child would know without your help,” King adds. Mak painfully sits up, reaches forward, and applies a sleeper hold. Lil’ Buck quickly lets go of Mak’s leg and begins throwing back elbows into Francis’s ribcage. ‘The Franchise’ keeps the hold locked in, though, and Buck reaches up and pulls apart Mak’s grip. Sugarhill’s Finest twists around, slams a left hand into Francis’s jaw, and covers Mak. ONE! TW--NO! “Francis kicked out, but what a punch from Lil’ Buck! If I didn’t know better, I’d say he could be a boxer,” Pete states. “Yeah, only thing is that boxers can’t drop their opponents on their heads,” King replies. Lil’ Buck gets to his feet, but Mak lunges, and pulls Buck to the mat. Francis keeps hold of Buck’s legs, and stands, avoiding blows from the Gangsta of Love. Philly’s Finest lets go of Buck’s left leg, straddles his right, and falls back, securing the figure four. Hall scrambles to Buck, asking if he’ll submit, and making sure that his shoulders aren’t touching the mat. “Buck’s trapped in that figure four leg lock! His legs have been attacked by practically every one of his opponents, and with Mak’s weight, Buck will have a tough time escaping,” Pete says. “Yeah, Mak does look a bit heftier. I think he was hittin’ the buffets a lot during his time off. However, I don’t know if it’s wise of Mak to switch to Buck’s legs. He’s been focusing on Lil’ Buck’s head, and it’ll behoove him to stick with one part of the body.” Lil’ Buck pushes himself up and starts pulling himself and Mak towards the ropes while Francis tries to drag Buck to the middle of the ring. Buck’s power wins out, and Sugarhill’s Finest grabs hold of the bottom rope while Anthony Michael Hall rounds on Mak, telling him to release Buck, and Francis reluctantly complies. “Buck managed to get to the ropes, but his legs are no doubt much worse for wear,” Pete says. “Didn’t I just tell you that you spew idiotic things that anyone could figure out for themselves?” King asks. “It wasn’t meant as a compliment.” Buck pulls himself up with the ropes, cocks his hand back, and delivers a bitch slap to Francis. Mak rubs his cheek for a moment, then steps forward, only to be driven back with a jab. Buck lands another punch, forcing ‘The Franchise’ even farther away, and allowing Lil’ Buck room to leap in the air and take Mak down to the canvas. Buck stands, grabs Mak’s left leg, and slams the sole of his Dada into the side of Mak’s braced knee. Sugarhill’s Finest lands another kick, and pulls Francis to the ropes and drapes his leg on the bottom rope. “Whatever Lil’ Buck is planning can’t be good for Mak Francis’s knee, and I bet it won’t be legal, either,” Pete says. “That sounds right up my alley!” King chuckles gleefully. Before Buck can do anything, though, Hall interjects, and begins berating the Gangsta of Love. Buck gives Anthony a slight shove, steps on to the middle rope, and drops down, sitting on Mak’s knee. Buck rocks up and down, causing ‘The Franchise’ to spasm in pain before Hall threatens him with disqualification. Buck gets off Mak’s knee, grabs his leg, and drops on top of him, not so much hooking Francis’s leg, as stretching it out in entirely the wrong direction. ONE! TWO--NO! “Buck almost got two out of that, but Mak fought through the pain and got a shoulder up. Like him or not, Lil’ Buck should be respected in the ring. He gets down to business and doesn’t worry about playing to or patronizing the fans,” Longdogger says. “And that’s why I like him. When he’s wrestling guys like Francis or Insane Luchador, that is. Not so much when it’s Scott Pretzler or JJ Johnson,” King replies. Buck pulls Mak off the mat and Irish whips him to the far ropes. Only, he doesn’t, as Mak reverses. That too, is false, as Francis drops to his knees while cradling Buck’s head. Francis pops back up, grabs Buck around the waist, lifts him up, turns around, and drops Lil’ Buck throat-first across the top rope. “That’s Franchisable! That should give Buck a headache for a while,” says Longdogger. “Yeah, I bet it will. These guys get their heads bashed in with chairs about once a week, Pete. I don’t think a jawbreaker is going to do too much compared to that.” As Buck stumbles around, sputtering, ‘The Franchise’ sneaks behind and wraps him up with a rear waistlock. Mak pops his hips once more, and sends Buck to the mat, but Francis isn’t done yet and rolls through. Mak stands and heaves again, but doesn’t end the sequence there. Francis rolls through a second time, but before he can hit a third German, Buck’s right elbow whips back, nailing Mak in the face. Lil’ Buck continues to fight Mak off with back elbows, and after his fourth blow, manages to spin out of Francis’s grasp. As he’s turning around, the Arrogant Alabaman grabs Mak’s head and twists, taking ‘The Franchise’ to the mat. “Rolling German suplexes from Mak Francis, but he only managed to hit two before Lil’ Buck escaped and landed a swinging neckbreaker,” Pete says. “Nice little sequence there, but I think those few seconds Mak had Buck in the air put a lot of strain on his legs,” King notes. Buck slowly gets to his feet, with Mak not far behind. Sugarhill’s Finest steps in and drills Mak with a hook, and quickly scoops him up. Buck starts to flip Mak around, but Francis grabs Buck’s head and leans backwards, pulling the Gangsta of Love to the canvas with a DDT. “Buck tried for Ridin’ Spinners, but Mak countered it nicely with a DDT, and it looks like he’s going to stick with targeting Buck’s head and neck,” Longdogger points out. “News flash, Pete! Both guys are targeting the head and neck!” King shouts. Mak tries to keep the front headlock on again, but finds it difficult with Lil’ Buck raining down punches, and Francis swiftly pushes him away. Mak pauses a moment on the canvas as he rubs at his knee before he stands up and delivers a back fist. ‘The Franchise’ takes hold of Buck’s arm and sends him into the ropes. Mak takes a few steps forward in anticipation, and grabs hold of Buck, looking to toss him overhead with a railgun suplex. The only problem is that Buck was planning on delivering a spear, and wrapped his arms around Mak’s torso, with an end result of Francis crashing into the mat with Buck on top of him. Sugarhill’s Finest stretches his arms, loosening Mak’s grip, and begins drilling Francis with elbows. “That certainly isn’t what Mak had in mind, but when Lil’ Buck wants to spear you, he gets his wish, unless of course you’re Arch Griffon,” Pete says, laughing to himself. “And look at those blows! I don’t think Mak’s weather man predicted a downpour of elbows today,” King adds, laughing heartily. “But could Mak Francis even have completed the railgun suplex? It looked for a moment that Mak’s leg buckled slightly, right before Lil’ Buck fell on top of him,” Pete states. Panicking, Francis’s hand darts up and gouges Buck in the eyes. Wanting to be completely free, Mak lands a punch to Buck’s throat, causing Sugarhill’s Finest to roll off of him and wheeze. Francis crawls to the ropes and pulls himself up while Buck continues to try and suck wind. Lil’ Buck gets to his feet, back turned on Francis, who rushes for the Arrogant Alabaman, and drills him with another Yakuza kick. THWACK! “What a kick! Although, Francis did attack when Buck’s back was turned, so I can’t praise him too much,” Pete says. “Oh, come on, MacDougal! These guys are trying to hurt each other! It’s not a tickling contest!” King says, briefly slipping into a harsh English accent. Mak puts the brakes on and grimaces, holding his knee before he rolls Buck over and makes a lateral press while Hall drops down to count. ONE! TWO! TH--NO! Buck gets a shoulder up just as Anthony’s hand was starting to come down. ‘The Franchise’ pulls Buck off the mat and lands a chop. WHOO! And another. WHOO! And a third. WHOO! As Mak pulls back for one more chop, though, Buck’s arms shoot out and grab hold of Francis’s hand. Buck twists the limb and goes to one knee, taking Mak down with him. ‘The Franchise’ slams face-first into Buck’s knee, and the Gangsta of Love lunges out and grabs Mak’s left leg. Lil’ Buck gets up, places a foot in the back of Mak’s knee, and falls backwards, stretching out the knee. Hall quickly checks on Francis. “Nice armbar takedown from Lil’ Buck, and he’s got what looks to be some kind of modified half crab applied to Mak Francis. It’s a good strategy, but I don’t think Buck is knowledgeable enough in submissions to do as much damage as say, JJ Johnson could,” Pete says. “That’s true, Pete, but I think with the shape Mak’s knee is in, that doesn’t really matter too much,” King adds. Mak shakes his head before Anthony can even ask him, and starts dragging himself to the ropes. ‘The Franchise’ is less than a foot away before Lil’ Buck rolls to his feet and drags Mak to the middle of the ring. Rather than reapply the submission, Buck flips Francis over and makes a cover, hooking Mak’s leg. ONE! TWO! TH--NO! “Near fall for Lil’ Buck, and he’s really going to work on Mak’s legs,” Pete states. “You know, Pete, I’m pretty sure that even Helen Keller would have been able to figure that out, despite being dead.” Buck stands up, backs away from Mak, and clasps his hands together. Francis slowly gets to his feet, and Buck charges, arms outstretched. ‘The Franchise’ ducks the double axhandle, and as Buck goes past, off balance, Mak pounces, slapping on a waistlock and heaving the Gangsta of Love up and over with a German suplex. Mak gets to his feet, waits on Buck, and boots him in the stomach the moment Sugarhill’s Finest rises. Mak Francis, wincing, steps to Buck’s side, applies another waistlock, pulls Lil’ Buck off his feet, and drops him to the mat. “Gut-wrench suplex, and might we be seeing Brotherly Love soon?” Pete wonders. “If we do, then Mak Francis might be trying to take your title of Biggest Idiot Ever. There is no way that Francis can hobble his way to the ropes, climb the top turnbuckle, and land on Lil’ Buck before Buck is on his feet.” MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! Francis, energized by the screaming crowd, seems intent on proving King wrong. He does indeed hobble towards the corner, and slowly pulls himself to the top turnbuckle. Mak raises a fist aloft momentarily before jumping off. THUD! “He missed! I called it, and damn am I good!” King exclaims. “Yes, King, you were correct. Mak took too much time climbing to the top rope, and by the time he leapt, Lil’ Buck had rolled out of the way,” Pete explains. “And if Lil’ Buck doesn’t want to be in contention for Biggest Idiot Ever, he’d better jump on this opportunity and go for either the Buck-Wild Ride, or Champion’s Requiem,” King adds. “I don’t know, King. Buck hasn’t been focusing as much attention to Mak’s neck as he has the legs. Do you think those moves are potent enough to take out Mak right now?” Longdogger asks. “Of course they are! Has Buck ever lost a match after he hit the Buck-Wild Ride? Hell, he could keep Mak in Champion’s Requiem for a few minutes to soften him up, it’s not like Francis could escape, and then go for the Buck-Wild Ride.” Buck gets to his feet while Mak rolls over and clutches his stomach. The Arrogant Alabaman stalks towards Francis and stomps on his left knee. Hall quickly steps between the two men, warning Buck about such behavior. Lil’ Buck steps away, hands held high to denote his innocence, and Anthony seems content that his message has gotten through. Buck heads back for ‘The Franchise’, and picks him up. Sugarhill’s Finest whips Francis into the ropes, and blasts him in the face with an axhandle as he limps back. Mak stumbles around, and, very unluckily, right into an elbow from Buck that lands directly in his stomach. Francis doubles over and Buck snares him in a front facelock. “Mak Francis really seems to be in trouble. He’s got to find something to buy him some time to recover,” Pete states. “Well, it looks like Mak needs a baseball bat right about now to turn the match in his favor,” King points out. Lil’ Buck tightens his grip around Mak’s neck and drives a knee into his stomach. The Gangsta of Love follows up with a forearm to Francis’s back, and yet another knee that lifts ‘The Franchise’ off his feet slightly. Buck brings another clubbing forearm into Mak’s spine, and Philly’s Finest drops to his knees from the impact. Using both hands, Lil’ Buck pulls Francis back to his feet, and steps around Mak while keeping some semblance of a front chancery applied. Sugarhill’s Finest threads Mak’s left arm between his legs, lets go of Mak’s head, and hooks his right arm. “It looks like Lil’ Buck is about to Pump it Up!” Pete shouts. “You think we’ll get sued by Lorne Michaels for that?” King wonders. “What are you talking about?” Pete asks. “You know, Hanz and Franz, the Austrian body builders,” King replies. “Oh. No, I doubt it. They said ‘pump you up’, remember?” “Ha! Now you said it, and you’re going to have to pay!” King exclaims gleefully. Buck lifts Mak off his feet, turns him around, and drops to the mat, planting ‘The Franchise’ with a piledriver. Buck stands and leans on Mak’s legs, forcing his shoulders to the mat. ONE! TWO! THREE--NO! “Francis barely kicked out after that pumphandle piledriver! I thought this match was over!” Pete yells. “It should be over,” King grumbles. Buck tries to move away, but isn’t fast enough and gets kicked in the face, giving Mak space to climb to his feet. Lil’ Buck heads for Francis and lashes out with a forearm, and eats a punch in return. Sugarhill’s Finest fires off a punch of his own, and Mak replies with a stiff chop. WHOO! “This is really a bad move by Mak Francis. He doesn’t want to go trading blows with Lil’ Buck, because he’s not going to come out on top, especially not this far into the match,” Pete says. “Yes, but there doesn’t seem to be too much else that he can do with his legs in the state they’re in,” King adds. Mak lands a jab between Buck’s eyes, and as the Arrogant Alabaman swings, Francis catches the hand. ‘The Franchise’ slips behind the Gangsta of Love, secures the half nelson, and reaches forward with his free arm. Mak locks wrists and pops his hips, sending Lil’ Buck over his head and into the mat head-first. “Million Dollar-plex from Francis! I cannot believe I just saw that! How, after all the punishment Mak Francis has taken, and not just his legs, but his entire body, could he lift Lil’ Buck, who outweighs him by a good thirty pounds, up and over for that suplex?” Pete asks, clearly astonished. “Um...fighting spirit? Second wind?” King offers, just as incredulous. “Well, whatever it was, Francis should win an award for having the most of it,” replies Longdogger. Francis simply lays on the mat for a moment, but gets to his feet before Hall can start a ten count. Mak shambles towards Lil’ Buck and rolls Sugarhill’s Finest over with a shove from his boot. Mak drops to his knees and hooks Buck’s legs, trying to roll the Gangsta of Love onto his neck while still keeping his shoulders on the mat. ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Quoth Peter Griffin: HOLY CRAP! How did Lil’ Buck manage to kick out after he landed so brutally onto his neck?” Pete wonders. “Uh, second wind? Fighting spirit?” King offers, as befuddled as before. “Well, Lil’ Buck should get an award for having a lot of it,” says Pete. “Hey, didn’t we just do this?” King asks. Francis gets to his feet, cursing Buck’s resilience and his bum knee at the same time, with the Gangsta of Love up soon after, and fires off a quick two punch combination. Buck stumbles back, dazed, and doesn’t see the boot coming that doubles him over. Mak tries to shake out the newest dose of pain coursing through his knee, latches on a front facelock and risks a quick glance to the crowd. ‘The Franchise’ tosses Buck’s right arm over his own neck, reaches down, and grabs Buck’s right leg. “It looks like Mak Francis is going for the Franchise Tag, but can his legs hold out? We saw how badly they cost him when he went for Brotherly Love,” Longdogger points out. “Well, we’re going to find out in a moment,” King replies. Drenched with sweat, Mak hauls Buck no more than a foot off the ground before the Gangsta of Love starts down back to the canvas, but Francis steels himself, and lifts Sugarhill’s Finest into the air. However, it’s difficult for legs that have been assaulted all night to support over five hundred, pounds, and Lil’ Buck heads back to the mat once more as Mak’s knees buckle like a chair with Arch Griffon resting on it. “Looks like they can’t,” King notes. Buck frees himself with a well-placed uppercut, and as Mak is bent over, checking for blood spouting from his nose and nearly in tears from the pain in his knees, Buck turns around and snares Francis’s arms. The Arrogant Alabaman twists his body, placing ‘The Franchise’ on his back, and stands up, letting Mak dangle precariously. “Scratch the Franchise Tag, it looks like Mak Francis is going on a Buck-Wild Ride!” Pete exclaims. “Yeah, I already called a no-go on the Franchise Tag, moron.” Lil’ Buck pauses for a moment, fully confident that Mak Francis can’t do a thing about his situation, and sits out, driving his head into the mat. Buck scrambles over and hooks Mak’s left leg to be a dick as Hall dives down to count. ONE! TWO! THREE! Anthony Michael Hall leaps to his feet and calls for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “The winner of this match by pinfall, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon shouts. “Knuck if You Buck” starts up again as Buck retrieves his jersey and cup, and makes his way back to the tunnel. “And Lil’ Buck has gained even more momentum with this win here tonight! It’s only a matter of time before he’s given a title shot, at least, that’s what I think!” Pete exclaims. “Are you kidding? Toxxic would wipe the floor with him in about five minutes, and that’s if Toxxic is feeling generous. However, if Buck’s partner Jarrod Banks shows up, I’m all for those two demolishing Wild and Dangerous,” King replies. Francis slowly comes to and is given his coat and shades while Smarkdown fades to a commercial for the world’s hottest show, Y2Corey, with Corey Feldman and Corey Haim.

FADE IN As we return from commercial, Scott Pretzler is walking back towards the Revolution Zero’s locker room, whistling Beethoven’s Ninth, when… “Mister Pretzler! Excuse me, Mister Pretzler!” The Critic wheels around as Ben Hardy chases after him, a camera crew lagging behind him. “Mister Pretzler,” he wheezes between breaths, “a moment of your time, please?” “Yes,” replies Pretzler. “What do you want, little man?” “I’d like to get your comments on why you interfered in the last match?” asks Hardy. “It’s very simple,” replies Pretzler. “I’m sick and tired of Wildchild running from me, and not giving me the rematch that I deserve! He can give Landon Maddix as many times as he wants, but sooner or later, he’s going to have to come see me, and that’s why I decided to remind him tonight!” “But, mister Pretzler,” asks Hardy, “Wildchild just defeated you at Battleground in the Ladder Match; how many more times does he have to face you for you to be satisfied?” “As many times as it takes!” snaps Pretzler, largely ignoring the message behind Hardy’s comments. “Until he realizes that he can’t continue to hide from me; he’s going to have to defend that belt against me, and when he does…” WHAM! Before Pretzler can continue his thoughts, Wildchild races in after him, leaping onto his back and knocking him to the ground! The Bahama Bomber straddles Pretzler and begins to hammer him with a barrage of right hands! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! “Wildchild’s had enough of Scott Pretzler!” shouts LDP. “We might need to get security down here!” As Wildchild continues to bash away at the Critic, an army of officials and security guards rush in to separate the two superstars! Half of them escort Wildchild towards the exit of Stadium, and he continues to scream obscenities at Scott Pretzler while the other half of the group leads him back to his locker room… As we: FADE OUT

FADE IN “A little less than a month ago,” says Longdogger Pete, “Wildchild and Landon Maddix met in singles competition, with Wildchild coming away with the victory. Well, tonight, Landon Maddix has another opportunity to get some payback, and perhaps even move himself into the Cruiserweight Title picture in the process!” “Well, since it’s obvious that Wildchild is ducking Scott Pretzler,” replies the Suicide King, “Maddix could very well put himself in line for a title shot with a win tonight. The big question is going to be whether Maddix is willing to do whatever it takes to pull out a victory?” “Wildchild has historically gotten the better of this matchup,” says Pete. “In fact, the World Cruiserweight Champion has never lost to Landon Maddix, be it in singles competition or in tag team action!” “Well, Martial Law is in a serious downward spiral right as of late,” says King. “They looked to be on track after Landon beat Johnny Dangerous to capture the International Title, only to lose it rather ignominiously to Jay Hawke mere days later. You know, Drain-Clogger, Martial Law initially banded together to try and combat Revolution Zero, but that never really panned out for them the way they’d hoped, as the Revolution has gotten the better of them at pretty much every turn. In fact, not only has Martial Law basically failed against the Revolution but, for the large part, they’ve had to sit in the background and watch others do what they couldn’t.” “One of those others, of course, being the Wildchild,” adds LDP. “Along with Spike Jenkins, Wild and Dangerous have largely gotten the better of Revolution Zero since their return to the SWF, while Martial Law has floundered by comparison, losing most of their high-profile matches against Toxxic and his lackeys.” “Hey!” snaps King. “Watch who you’re calling lackeys, MacDougal! Every member of Revolution Zero is a world-class athlete, and together, they form one of the most successful stables in the history of the SWF! Martial Law, on the other hand, may be the most disappointing stable since Catch-22!” “There’s no question that they could use a high-profile win in the worst way, if they want to keep from slipping outside the radar of the SWF Championship Committee,” notes Pete, “and there may not be a better opportunity to impress than against one of the top superstars in the SWF!” “Unfortunately,” replies King, “Maddix is always going to be on the Championship Committee’s radar, simply because he’s a former World Heavyweight Champion. Which is irritating, because Maddix has pretty much proved that he was a one-hit wonder!” “Well, we can argue this all night, King,” says LDP, “but the bottom line is that Landon Maddix can put himself in position to win one of the two titles that he’s never held in the SWF by beating Landon Maddix here tonight, so with that, let’s send it to Funyon, as we get right to the action!” With that, the camera shifts its focus to the ring, where Funyon raises his trusty microphone to his lips and says, “The following non-title match is scheduled for one fall, with a twenty-five minute time limit!” “PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! *DUM DUM* The lights dim briefly as “Megalomaniac” by Incubus starts to play, prompting Landon Maddix to burst from behind the curtain, stopping at the top of the ramp and thrusting his hands out to his side as the lights return back to normal. Landon turns back to the curtains, waving his arm in a sweeping gesture as Megan walks out from the back to take her place beside him. Maddix takes her by the hand and shows her off to the crowd, Megan pirouetting like a ballerina, before they proceed down the ramp with Landon leading the way, jaw-jacking with fans as he does so. “Introducing first,” says Funyon, “being accompanied by the First Lady of the SWF, Megan Skye, from Huron, South Dakota, weighing two hundred twenty pounds… LANDON ‘LA CUCARACHA’ MAAAADIX!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! Landon leaps to the apron, before running across the apron and leaping up to the middle turnbuckle. Looking out at the crowd, Landon grins and holds his arms out to the sides before leaping over the top and entering the ring. He rips off his trademark “Cheat 2 Win” t-shirt and tosses it into the rabid crowd, before stepping between the ropes to enter the ring, flexing his limbs as he awaits his opponent. “He looks pretty confident for someone who’s managed to go 0-5 for his career against the guy he’s facing tonight,” chuckles King. With that, the lights dim in the Estadio Nacional, and cheers can be heard for the Bahama Bomber as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play! ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA… “And his opponent,” shouts Funyon, “from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, and the SWF World Cruiserweight Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild steps slowly into the spotlight, holding his hand close to his heavily-taped ribs. He walks deliberately down the ramp, slapping hands with the fans as he heads towards the ring, but grimacing slightly as a few fans pull a little too enthusiastically at his hand, straining his sore ribs. “Wildchild sustained several bruised ribs over the weekend,” says Pete, “at the hands of an enraged hippopotamus. Since this is a non-title contest, he was given the opportunity to take the night off, but he insisted on coming out here, so as not to let the fans down! I tell you what, King, Wildchild may be a little worse for wear, but if Landon Maddix thinks that he’s going to be able to get the best of him with anything less than his maximum effort, he’s in for a long night!” “Well, I’ll agree with that,” concedes King. “Maddix shouldn’t settle for his normal weak offense; he should try to target the ribs as much as possible… and cheating never hurt either!” Wildchild slides underneath the bottom rope to enter the ring and hands the belt over to referee Ronald “Red” Herrington. Herrington hands the belt to Funyon as the announcer is leaving the ring, and then motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone!” shouts LDP. “We’re underway!” Wildchild and Landon meet in the center of the ring, with Maddix walking right up to Wildchild, standing nose-to-nose with him! “Whoa!” gasps Pete, as the two wrestlers begin trash-talking each other. “There’s no love lost between those two, you can bet on that!” Landon raises his hand to Wildchild’s face and pushes him backwards with a pieface! An enraged Wildchild charges towards his opponent, wrapping both arms around the Cockroach’s legs and knocking him backwards before he can react with a double-leg takedown, before straddling him and assaulting him with a battery of rapid-fire right hands! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! … Suddenly, Landon turns the tables on Wildchild, rolling him over onto his back and assuming a dominant position as he begins to hammer the Bahama Bomber with hard rights! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The two continue to jockey for position until they roll all the way to the edge of the ring, where they get tangled in the ropes! Red Herrington orders them to break and, when they continue grappling with each other, begins to deliver a five-count, until they finally untangle themselves and return to neutral positions on opposing sides of the ring! “Look at the intensity on the faces of both men!” exclaims Pete. “You’d never believe that it was a non-title match!” Wildchild and Landon charge towards each other again, this time with Maddix taking control with a kneelift into Wildchild’s injured ribs. He punches Wildchild back into a corner and then grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring. Wildchild slams back-first into the corner, but raises his right foot as Maddix charges in after him… CRACK! … Jamming his heel into the Cockroach’s nose! Wildchild lunges out of the corner as Landon staggers backwards, raising his arm to eye level as he spins around suddenly… CRACK! … And knocking Maddix to the canvas with a spinning backfist! The crowd roars their approval as Wildchild runs back to the corner, climbing to the top turnbuckle and waiting for Maddix to get to his feet before springing backwards into the ring, twisting and contorting his body as he descends towards the canvas… WHAM! … And crashing into Maddix with a corkscrew moonsault! Wildchild rolls on top of Landon and hooks the leg as Herrington drops down to his knees to count the pinfall: ONE! KICKOUT! Wildchild beats Maddix to his feet and races towards the ropes as Landon stands up, leaping off the mat and whipping his leg sharply through the air to knock Maddix back down with a tremendous leg lariat that sends him rolling underneath the bottom rope and onto the apron! “Better watch out, Landon!” shouts Pete. “Wildchild’s got you where he does his most damage right now!” Wildchild races to the corner, leaping onto the middle turnbuckle as Landon gets to his feet, and the Cockroach immediately bellies out on the apron in anticipation of the Tornado DDT, but the Human Hurricane sees the dodge at the last second, and climbs onward to the top turnbuckle, waving his hands to ignite the crowd as he waits patiently for Maddix to get back to his feet and then leaping off the turnbuckle, landing in a seated position across Landon’s shoulders and locking his legs behind Landon’s back as he swings his upper body around and arches backwards… CRASH! … Ripping Maddix off the ring apron with a swinging Dragonrana that slams Landon back-first into the ring barricade! Wildchild pulls himself to his knees, clutching his ribs as looks backwards at the motionless Landon Maddix. The Caribbean Cruiser grins through the pain flooding his chest, admiring his handiwork as the Santiago fans loudly express their appreciation: HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “What a move!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild may have exacerbated the injury to his ribs with that move, but you can bet that he hurt Landon Maddix more!” FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! “Maddix knows that Wildchild loves to hit that Tornado DDT off the apron, and thought that he had it well-scouted,” points out King, “but he failed to take Wildchild’s ability to recover in midair into account, and now he may have to figure out how to finish this match with a broken back!” TWELVE! THIRTEEN! FOURTEEN! At the count of fourteen, Wildchild crawls over to the apron and pulls himself to his feet, before walking back over towards Maddix, pulling him to his feet and leading him to the ring barricade, draping him chest-first over the top of it. “Uh-oh,” moans Pete, as Wildchild slides back into the ring to break up the referee’s count, “we’ve seen this before, King! If Maddix can’t get out of the way, his back is going to be in a world of hurt!” Wildchild scrambles to his feet and dashes across the ring, picking up momentum as he bounces off the ropes and springing into the air as he approaches the edge of the ring, leaping over the top rope and flipping forward as he hurtles towards the arena floor… SPLASH! … Crashing into Landon’s chest with a death-defying somersault senton! Wildchild rolls around the arena floor, clutching his ribs in pain as Landon leans heavily against the ring barricade, coughing up blood! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “Good God!” shouts Pete. “What tremendous offense by the World Cruiserweight Champion! Listen to the ovation by this capacity crowd!” EIGHT! NINE! TEN! “Well, it’s flashy and it worked,” concedes King, “but he’d better thank his lucky stars that this isn’t a title match, or a move like that could have very well done more harm than good! He’d better hope that he doesn’t run into any more hippopotami before his next title defense!” FIFTEEN! SIXTEEN! SEVENTEEN! At seventeen, Wildchild pulls Landon to his feet and leads him to the ring apron, rolling him underneath the bottom rope, and then returning to the apron himself to stop the referee’s count. Wildchild crawls feebly into the ring and collapses atop Maddix as Herrington counts the shoulders: ONE! TWO! BUT MADDIX KICKS OUT AT TWO! “Wildchild may have hesitated a second too long before going for the pin there,” notes LDP. “I know that he was injured himself, but Landon Maddix is a tough out for anyone, even someone with the kind of high-impact offense that Wildchild has!” “Well, I’ll give Wildchild this much credit,” concedes King, “like many of the Cruiserweights in the SWF, Wildchild is on the very low end of the power scale, but there’s probably not anyone in the business who’s better at using his own body to counteract his strength disadvantage!” “Absolutely, King!” agrees Pete. “Wildchild knows how to use his own body at a weapon, and he’s figured out that, with the proper velocity, he can hit just as hard as many of his much stronger opponents, despite being not nearly as physically strong as most of them!” The Tropical Tumbler pulls Maddix to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into the corner, but the Cockroach surprises him with a reversal, rocketing Wildchild chest-first into the buckles instead! Wildchild grabs his chest as he staggers backwards out of the corner, leaving him unable to defend himself as Maddix locks his hands underneath Wildchild’s chin and falls to the canvas… WHAM! … Driving the Bahama Bomber into the canvas with his patented So-Dak Moment! Maddix flops onto his back, breathing heavily, unable to cover his opponent! “So-Dak Moment out of nowhere!” cries Pete. “Tremendous resilience on the part of Landon Maddix!” “Maddix is a tough little bastard, I’ll give him that much,” admits King. “He’s taken a beating to start this match, and still had the presence of mind to deliver the So-Dak Moment as soon as Wildchild made a mistake. Now, will he only have enough presence of mind to pull off the upset?” Maddix pulls himself painfully to a sitting position and leans forward, trying to surprise Wildchild with a quick pin as Herrington drops down to cover: ONE! TWO! NO! “Not this time,” says Pete. “He may have waited too long to go for that pin, King; if he’d grabbed the legs out of the So-Dak, he might have got him!” Maddix falls backwards and tries to regain his breath as Wildchild rolls on to his stomach. The Bahama Bomber crawls to the edge of the ring and uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, but as he staggers towards the corner, Landon scrambles after him, leaping into the air and knocking him through the ropes and out of the ring with a running dropkick! Wildchild stumbles down to the arena floor as Landon continues to catch his breath inside the ring. “It appears that Landon has managed to take firm control of this matchup,” says LDP. Landon waits until Red Herrington walks over to the edge of the ring and begins to deliver a twenty-count to Wildchild before sneaking across the ring behind him, going to a neutral corner and unfastening the turnbuckle pad from the top turnbuckle. “And look at this!” crows King. “That’s using your head, Maddix! If he can ram Wildchild’s head into that turnbuckle, it’s going to be light’s out!” EIGHT! NINE! TEN! ELEVEN! Landon looks back across the ring, and sees Wildchild using the apron to pull himself back to his feet. Not ready for him to return to the ring, Maddix races across the ring, and diving feet-first towards the edge of the ring… WHACK! … And knocking Wildchild backwards and over the ring barricade with a baseball slide! “Obviously, Landon Maddix wants to keep Wildchild outside ring,” notes Pete. “Well, he wants to take advantage of that twenty count to get his strength back,” replies King. “He took a pretty hellacious beating earlier in the match. Plus, as long as he can continue to do damage to Wildchild’s ribs, he’s not going to be able to get the oxygen he needs!” Landon races across the ring as Wildchild struggles to his feet out in the crowd, and leaps to the top rope, springing out of the ring to crash into Wildchild with his patented Spaceman Plancha… WHACK! … But the Bahama Bomber leaps into the air as Maddix dives over the barricade and nails him in the face with a dropkick! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Tremendous counter by the Wildchild!” shouts LDP. “Maddix tried to put the finishing touches on this match, but he didn’t take Wildchild’s will to win into account!” SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! Wildchild stumbles back over to the ring barricade and falls over, back to the ringside area. He crawls over to the apron and pulls himself back to his feet… WHAM! … But Maddix leaps from the barricade and slams a double-axe handle into his back! FIFTEEEN! SIXTEEN! SEVENTEEN! Maddix rolls Wildchild back into the ring, and then returns to the apron to break up the count. He grabs onto the top rope and slings himself into the ring to deliver a senton splash! CRASH! … Only for Wildchild to move out of the way! Wildchild rolls back onto the apron and pulls himself to his feet, climbing up to the top turnbuckle as Landon stands up and leaping back into the ring to deliver a spinning heel kick! WHACK! … But the Cockroach dives out of the way, and Wildchild flies straight over him, slamming the heel of his foot into Red Herrington, and knocking him unconscious! “Oh my!” shrieks Pete. “The referee’s down!” Landon scrambles to his feet, rushing towards Wildchild as he rolls to his knees, trying to figure out what happened… CRACK! … And blasts him in the head with a Shining Wizard! “Shining Wizard!” exclaims LDP, as Landon collapses on top of Wildchild. “Wildchild’s out cold!” “But there’s no ref!” shouts King. “Lookit! Landon’s counting: One… Two… Three! But there’s no referee to make the count, MacDougal!” “What a bad break for Landon Maddix,” says Pete. “He finally has the Wildchild down for a three-count, and there’s no referee to count the three!” Landon pulls Wildchild into a seated position and scrambles to his feet, looking out into the crowd and clasping both hands together as he holds them to his face, gesturing sleep. LAND OF NOD! LAND OF NOD! LAND OF NOD! “The crowd’s calling for the Land of Nod!” shouts Pete. “If he gets this on him, Wildchild’s going to be down for the count!” Landon walks back over to Wildchild and traps him in the dreaded Dragon Clutch, locking his legs around the Cruiserweight Champion’s waist as he cinches it in! “Land of Nod!” shouts Pete. “And Wildchild is tapping furiously!” “But again,” points out King, “there’s no referee! Maddix is wasting all this energy for nothing!” “Not necessarily nothing, King,” replies Pete. “If he can hold that move on until the referee wakes up, he could very well get a submission anyway!” “If Wildchild is still conscious by then,” says King. Landon, realizing that he should have won the match by now, looks back to check on the referee, who remains unconscious. Growing impatient, Landon releases his hold on Wildchild and scrambles to his feet, walking over to the referee in an attempt to rouse him. “Landon tries to wake up the referee, but that spinning heel kick from the top rope sent Herrington into another time zone!” shouts Pete. Landon walks over to Wildchild as he rolls to his feet and slams the sole of his boot into the Bahaman’s back. Maddix pulls Wildchild to his feet and backs him into a corner. Landon looks out into the crowd before laying into Wildchild with a litany of vicious knife-edge chops! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! “Brutal chops in the corner by the Next Generation,” says Pete, as Maddix grabs Wildchild by the back of the head and leads him across the ring, pushing him face-first into the exposed turnbuckle pad! WHAM! … But the Bahama Bomber raises his foot to block the ram attempt and grabs Landon by the head, slamming him into the turnbuckle instead! “Whoa!” shouts King. “Landon had the right idea, to put Wildchild’s face into that buckle, but he got the tables turned on him!” Wildchild runs to the ropes as Landon staggers out of the corner and snares him in a side headlock as he comes flying off the ropes… WHAM! … Driving Maddix into the canvas with a bulldog! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Beautiful bulldog by the Wildchild,” says LDP, as Wildchild rolls to his feet, cycling his hands above his head as he heads towards the corner. “And it looks like he’s going for the Falling Star Bomb!” “Well, if he hits this, it’s tough luck for Maddix,” says King. Wildchild climbs to the top turnbuckle and quickly leaps off, flipping forward as he falls towards the center of the ring… WHAM! … Crashing into Landon’s chest with his patented 720º Vertical Splash! “Falling Star Bomb!” shouts LDP. “And Maddix is out cold!” “But we still have no referee!” replies King. Wildchild gets to his feet and pulls his hands to his chest, the signal for the Wild Ride. RAAAAAAAAAAH! “We could see the Wild Ride right here,” says Pete, as Wildchild pulls Landon to his feet. “If he can hit this, there won’t be any getting back up for the Next Generation!” Wildchild doubles Maddix over and locks his arms inside of Landon… WHAM! … When Scott Pretzler suddenly runs into the ring and scrambles to his feet, nailing Wildchild in the midsection with a running kneelift! “It’s Scott Pretzler!” cries Pete. “What’s he doing down here?” “Obviously, he and Wildchild still have some unfinished business!” replies King. Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a standing headscissors before wrapping his arms around Wildchild’s waist, jerking him off the canvas overhead… WHAM! … And planting him back down with a snap powerbomb! “Wildbomb on Wildchild!” exclaims Pete, as Pretzler exits the ring, snarling as he walks back up the ramp. “Wildchild’s down! Landon’s down! The referee’s down!” “Wait a minute!” shouts King, “Herrington’s starting to come to!” Red Herrington pulls himself to his knees and looks into the ring, just as Pretzler departs through the curtain. Seeing both competitors unconscious on the mat, and no apparent outside influences to have caused it, Herrington dutifully begins to deliver a ten-count: ONE! TWO! “This is terrible!” moans LDP. “What a tremendous contest between two great competitors, but because of Scott Pretzler, we could end up with… what? A no contest?” FOUR! FIVE! “Well, everybody knows that Scott Pretzler feels that he should still be the World Cruiserweight Champion,” says King. “He’s apparently decided to make himself a thorn in Wildchild’s side until he stops running from him!” SEVEN! EIGHT! “What do you mean, running from him?” asks Pete incredulously. “Wildchild’s beaten him twice in the last month; how many more times does he have to beat this guy?” NINE! TEN! DING! DING! DING! “That’s it!” shouts King. Wildchild and Landon finally begin to stir on the canvas, but it’s too late to change the outcome of the match, as Herrington crawls over to the edge of the ring, rolling outside the ring and delivering his official decision to Funyon before staggering backstage to seek medical attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “due to the fact that both men failed to get back to their feet before a ten-count, the referee has ruled this match… A DRAW!” “How do you like that,” growls Pete. “A draw! What a disappointing end to what was shaping up to be a tremendous match!” Landon looks out at Funyon with an expression of disbelief, while Wildchild stares back towards the ramp, his rage threatening to boil over… As we: FADE OUT

We cut to Longdogger Pete and The Suicide King. Pete roars into his mic, “We have an interesting bout for our opener, usually we have strict rules on Smarkdown, but this one is anything goes.” “Maybe one of them will die,” quips King. Pete stares at his broadcast partner mouth agape, “King!” The Suicide King shrugs, as if nothing were amiss, “Well, a guy can dream can’t he?” "A Country Boy Can Survive" plays by Hank Williams Jr. as Martin "Big Country" Hunt struts out to the ring proudly wearing his fraternity's Phi Kappa Phi letters, blue jeans, and boots that look fresh for kicking ass. He smirks at the crowd and mocks various fans in attendance before entering the ring. Funyon belts to the screaming crowd, “Announcing first from Boone, North Carolina, standing six feet two inches tall, and weighing in at two hundred twenty pounds... this is Martin “Big Country” Hunt!” The Chilean fans boo, and wave their signs towards the Southern Comfort toting frat boy. The Suicide King notes, “You’d think that they’d cheer a beer drinker. It’s all the rage.” “Or it was,” chimes in Longdogger. #The world is a vampire, Pockets of fans pop, having seen Bryan Rodger’s work. #Sent to drai-ai-ain A modestly built man appears at the entrance way. He pulls something out of his pocket and sticks it in his mouth. It’s a Marlboro. Another pocket produces a zippo, he lights up. #Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames #And what do I get, for my pain He takes a long drag, and starts heading towards the ring, slapping hands with the occasional fan as he saunters to the ring. He gestures to his Vote for Pedro T-shirt, and smiles a cocky smile at the camera. #Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game #Even though I know-I suppose I'll show #All my cool and cold-like old job He climbs up the ring steps, and wipes his Nazi-stompin’ combat boots off before stepping through the ropes. #Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage #Then someone will say what is lost can never be saved #Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage Funyon takes a big breath, “Coming from Richmond, Virginia standing six feet two inches tall weighing in at two hundred thrity-seven pounds.” Funyon reaches into his pocket while taking another breath, he pulls out a card, and shouts out as he reads, “El Maniaco de Richmond, La Quebra-cabeza, Bryan ‘Tengo un pene enorme, usted realmente debo verlo, él soy gigantesco’ Rodgers.” The crowd roars with laughter at both the announcement, and Funyon’s battering of their language. Bryan heads from corner to corner, smoking the rest of his cigarette, and motioning to the crowd, pulling out his infamous “Too Much Evil for One Hand” pinky to the lips taunt that went out of style four years ago. #Now I'm naked, nothing but an animal #But can you fake it, for just one more show #And what do you want, I want to change #And what have you got #When you feel the same #Even though I know-I suppose I'll show He snuffs his cig out on the ring post, and checks his wrist taping. The fists are secure. #All my cool and cold-like old job #Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage #Then someone will say what is lost can never be saved #Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage DING DING DING The two start to circle one another, and Rodgers catches the frat boy with a stiff left jab, followed with two quick right-handed body shots, another left jab, and a staggering right hook. Hunt staggers against the ropes, and wheels away, Big Country puts his hands in a “T” as if to call “time-out” and reaches over for his Southern Comfort. He takes a swig, and nods that he’s ready again. “I don’t know why Rodgers didn’t capitalize after that opening flurry of punches,” wonders Longdogger Pete aloud. “Maybe because he is stupid,” Suicide King leans towards the ring and yells, “Napoleon Dynamite sucked!” Rodgers doesn’t seem to notice King mocking his choice of ring attire, and motions for Martin Hunt “to give him his best shot” even jutting out the jaw for a solid chance. Hunt cocks back and unleashes a haymaker, which Rodgers causally sidesteps leaving Big Country horribly open to an attack, but Maniac only kicks him playfully in the BUTT staggering the North Carolinian into a neutral corner. The crowd laughs and Rodgers’ antics. Martin gets up red in the face and starts to charge Rodgers… …who has his hands in the form of a “T.” Hunt stops cold, and Rodgers heads over, and sneaks a swing of Martin’s Southern Comfort. Big Country ain’t gonna stand by and let another man swipe his hooch, and charges in with his “100 proof” kneesmash. Alcohol spews forth from the mouth of Richmond’s Finest, and the frat boy continues his blind fury assault. “Never steal another man’s hooch,” chimes the King. “Words to live by, now where is my martini?” “I wouldn’t know.” The King responds sipping on a martini. Martin Hunt pulls the staggered Bryan Rodgers up into a stalled suplex, dropping him to the mat, he drives a few quick knees to the fallen Virginian’s head, and starts to climb up top, and coming crashing down with his Donkey Punch body splash. Unfortunately, Bryan Rodgers isn’t there anymore. “Rodgers rolled out of the way of the Donkey Punch!” screams Pete. “For those of you watching at home who are not blind.” “The blind watch wrestling too. I mean they listen to the play by play.” “Which you do such a good job of.” “Thank you.” “Sarcasm is lost on idiots.” Bryan hoists Martin Hunt to his feet, and drops him with a quick Russian legsweep, he rolls through, holding onto Hunt’s shoulder, and pulls him back up to a standing base, then sweeps him face-first to the mat with a Stroke. “He calls that the Russian Deathride.” The King shakes his head, “Why not the Chilean Deathride? He seems to like cheap pops.” Rodgers follows up with a pair of flashing elbow drops, and then dumps Martin Hunt over the top rope with a released Northern lights Suplex. Big Country hits the floor on his ass due to the momentum of the suplex. “He might have a broken coccyx,” suggests Longdogger. “You can’t say that on TV can you?” The Maniac slides out after Hunt and starts to look underneath the ring for something, he sets aside a broken radio, a tool box (but only after dumping it’s contents onto the ground) and a half eaten Rueben sandwich. “I wondered where my sandwich had gotten off too,” pipes in Pete. “Didn’t you lose it in Brazil?” “Yes.” Rodgers finally smiles when he finds what he was looking for. Bono weaps at his misfortune. Maybe Martin Hunt will too. Bryan turns around showing the crowd his Death Chair. “Bryan Rodgers showing that he is going to really get this crowd going by spilling blood tonight,” rasps The Suicide King. “Folks this isn’t going to be pretty, that steel chair is wrapped in barbed wire, and has something written on it, can you make out what it says King?” “For a Good Time Call 867-5309. Ask for Jenny.” We hear beeping. “Put the phone away Pete.” Martin Hunt has gotten to his feet, climbed up on the apron and blasts the Death Chair back into Rodgers’ face with a dropkick off the apron. The crowd groans as the chair flies from Rodgers’ hands, but a strand of barbed wire is still stuck to his skull. He’s bleeding from several little holes left from the wire, but Hunt only smiles and drops a knee to the forehead of Rodgers, causing even more blood to flow. “Parents you might not want your kids watching this,” Pete admonishes. “We knew that Rodgers was a bleeder, I don’t think we thought he was like this.” “Terry Funk is smiling up in heaven at this. Wait, what am I talking about? Terry Funk is sitting right there.” The camera shows a Chilean fan sitting on the third row, his resemblance to the Middle Aged and Crazy wrestler are uncanny. Hunt cuts in front of the camera, flashing a smile back to his boys at Phi Kappa Phi, and heading towards the tool box. “See,” points out the King, “This is where younger guys are going all wrong. They go looking for weapons while the opponent is down. I’d have kept on “The Maniac” until his eyes bled, then I’d go get the weapon when he couldn’t see.” “Such a strategist.” “I know.” “Sarcasm is wasted on the stupid.” Hunt notices that Rodgers has started to get up, and pull the wire from his scalp, so he grabs the closest thing he can find… a ratchet. He gets a running start and sort of axe-handle smashes/karate chops Rodgers in the head with the ratchet. Pete groans, “Bryan’s face is a bloody mess, his blonde hair is now a solid shade of crimson.” “Hunt now blasting the ribs of Bryan Rodgers with that ratchet, he’s going to have internal hemoraging if this keeps up.” “Rodger’s is curled into a feotal position, and Hunt smiles like he is going for the kill. He grapevine’s Bryan’s legs, and looks to lock on a Ganso STF or something.” “That’s a Regal Stretch for you fans at home that aren’t puro heads.” Hunt pulls back on Rodgers’ arms and looks to lock on the crossface, but a burst of green mist shoots out, and Martin pulls back blinded. “Ronin Mist!! Ronin Mist!!” shouts Pete. Martin staggers against the ring apron trying to get the green stuff out of his eyes, and Bryan Rodgers manages to get to his feet, clutching at his ribs, grabbing a handful of hair he smashes the frat boy’s skull into the ring steps. He does it again, and then rolls his opponent into the ring. “Bryan Rodgers taking advantage after that Ronin Mist on the floor,” points out LDP. “Yeah, mist on the floor is much more damaging to the eyes than when it’s done in the ring.” Rodgers scales to the top rope and awaits his opponent to get to his feet, Hunt staggers to his feet, green mist all over his face, but he seems to have pulled it out of his eyes. He looks for Rodgers, but can’t quite find him, he stagger steps to the left, putting his ass squarely towards The Maniac on the top rope. Bryan kisses his fist and drops a fist drop right to the tailbone of Martin Hunt. “HOLY SHIT!!! HOLY SHIT!!! HOLY SHIT!!!” The crowd roars with chants, it’s amazing what English is picked up by the average Chilean. “Ass Punch from Bryan Rodgers!” Pete is beside himself at that move. “Such a deviant maneuver, this guy is a whack-job.” As Martin is grabbing at his backside, Bryan takes the opportunity to grab his wrists and force him into a pump-handle position he hoists him up, and spins out into a the Michinoku Driver II he calls the Tokyo Drifter. He cradles the leg for a cover. Wagner Gonzalez, a local ref paid to do this match slides into position. 1… 2… Big Country manages to slide his shoulder up. “…the hell?” complains Rodgers, blood still sort of dripping from his forehead, down onto his formerly white shirt, covering the red letters to where we can only read, “V or dro.” Rodgers rolls backwards, and pulls Hunt up by his hair, then spins him around and claws his face… “Brainstorm from Bryan Rodgers,” LDP informs the fans. “Now he’s running towards the ropes, he springs up hits the middle rope, changes direction springs from the top and flips back in his Bad Moon Rising,” continues The Suicide King. “He nailed it perfectly, but…” “But he had to roll off clutching at his ribs that got ratcheted earlier on in the match by Big Country,” King finishes for Pete. “You have to think that it would be over if he was able to stay down for the cover, no way that Martin Hunt kicks out of that.” Rodgers manages to slide over and drape an arm across his fallen opponent. Wagner Gonzalez with the count. 1… 2.. Martin Hunt rolls his shoulder up again, mostly out of instinct. Rodgers pounds the mat, and starts to get to his feet, pulling Hunt up by the hair. Hunt flashes out a right hand to the ribs, Rodgers stops short, Hunt launches another punch, and another, and another. Bryan Rodgers is doubled over in pain, clutching his ribs. “What is Big Country looking for here?” Pete quizzes, “he bounces off the ropes and drops a beautiful scissors kick.” “Not letting up, he pulls the slightly larger man to his feet, when he should have beat his brains into the mat. This frat boy needs to watch some of my Best of Tapes,” the King points out. Hunt whips Rodgers into a monster powerslam from a guy Hunt’s size, he holds on for the cover. 1… 2… Rodgers kicks out, but gasps at the pressure that put on his ribs. “He might want to find a better way of escaping, Hunt’s done a number on The Maniacs ribs tonight,” Pete comments. “Well, a ratchet to the kidney isn’t the most pleasant experience.” Hunt waits until Bryan is to his feet and attempts a DDT, but Rodgers counters with a released Northern Lights Suplex. “The second Northern Lights we have seen from The Maniac tonight,” says Pete. Rodgers looks for a running clothesline as Hunt uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, but Martin sees him coming and pulls the rope down and back body drops Rodgers all the way to the floor. “OH MY!!!!” gasps LDP. “HOLY SHIT!!! MERDA!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!! MERDA!!!!” the Chilean crowd bursts out in a two tongued chant because not only did Bryan Rodgers go head over heels over the top rope to the unforgiving ground below, he landed squarely on the Death Chair that had been brought into play earlier. Rodgers’ back is arched, barbs sticking to his shirt. Hunt notices this, but heads to a neutral corner and starts messing with the turnbuckle removing the pad. Wagner Gonzalez gets in his face, but Hunt protests, “Ain’t no rules!” “This can’t be good,” Pete bemoans. Rodgers manages to untangle himself from the barbed wire and has a sort of sick smile on his face, covering the pain his side is feeling. He tosses the Death Chair blindly into the ring making Wagner Gonzalez dive out of the way, and Rodgers picks up the ratchet used against him earlier and slips it into the back of his jeans. He climbs back into the ring, but Hunt is there pounding him on the back of the neck, and ribs. “He’s still mad that Rodgers swiped his Southern Comfort,” tells the King. Martin goes to whip Rodgers into that exposed turnbuckle, to further damage those ribs, but Rodgers quickly snaps on a vicious side headlock to halt his momentum, and pulls the ratchet out from the waist of his jeans. “I think Martin Hunt is going to get a receipt for earlier,” Pete says. “Ya think?” questions the King, sarcastically. Rodgers slams that ratchet into Marty Hunt’s forehead over and over, until the man from North Carolina is bleeding from a cut over the eyes. The mixture of blood and the drying mist is an eerie one. Wagner Gonzalez is trying to get Rodgers to stop, but he slips the ratchet in his waist band putting his hands up showing that he doesn’t have anything there. The crowd pops for the NES spot. “Idiots,” moans the Suicide King, “it’s no DQ.” Hunt was still on his feet from the Outlaw Choke, and latches onto Rodgers neck with the Blackout. “Hunt’s finisher!” cries LDP. “Rodgers had his back turned and now, he’s in that strict sleeper lock of Martin Hunt.” Rodgers’ eyes bulge from lack of oxygen, but he looks around, seeing that he’s facing directly at the opposite corner. He smiles slightly and does the only logical thing. He lunges with all his force backwards, driving Marty Hunt’s back into that exposed turnbuckle. He drives back again, and Marty releases the hold. “Rodgers is giving the smaller man some room,” Pete narrates, “but here he comes! VIVA LA MUTA!!” The crowd goes nuts for the cartwheel elbow hairpull bulldog combo, Martin Hunt looks like he’s on dream street. “He could have him now if he wanted him,” the King says. “Finish him, we are starting to run long.” “We are only fifteen minutes into the card.” “Yeah, so?” Rodgers pulls the nearly unconscious Martin Hunt to his feet, and looks around for his Death Chair, he sees it near a neutral corner and kicks it to the middle of the ring. He hooks the head as if for a suplex, but cradles the opposite leg, picks him up, so he’s head over heels, and turns around… ***CLANG*** “MATADOR MATADOR MATADOR MATADOR” “Martin Hunt is dead, he’s gotta be,” Pete screams out. “Die Hard Driver onto that Death Chair, Big Country’s face is covered with blood the pinfall is elementary now. 1… 2… 3!!! “Bullet with Butterfly Wings” by the Smashing Pumpkins starts up, and Rodgers rolls Hunt off his Death Chair. He holds the chair above his head, and smiles as blood drips down his face.

Seriously, what the fuck is with this trying-to-be-hardcore shit? We're a parody fed man. I give my vote to LaLa, although if we must change it I'm jumping on the Kelly Clarkson bandwagon.

So there was a Jurassic Five concert an hour away that I was going to go to, but when the Celts pushed it to game seven I pushed back my concert to watch the game with the boys. What a fucking letdown. There's one moment that stuck out as a turning point for me... it was like 43-41 early in the third, the Fleet had a "LET'S GO CEL - TICS!" chant started up, it looked like the Celts were going to get some momentum... and Pierce missed a three. Okay, nothing unusual. Celts get back on defence, crowd's chanting "DE - FENCE!"... and Jackson hits a three. That was pretty representative of the whole game, really. I'm sure these guys will improve -- Jefferson and Banks should be stars someday -- but jesus, what a mediocre effort from the veterans. Have you ever seen a vet point guard play a smaller series than Gary Payton? Christ.

Personally, I just want more Lil' Buck promos.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STORM, FRIDAY, APRIL 29TH, LIVE FROM THE DADY'O NIGHTCLUB IN CANCUN, MEXICO! (8:00 PM EST, 5:00 PM PST; check local listings) The SWF begins it's first-ever "The End of the World As We Know It" tour in the hottest spot in Mexico, Dady'O's in Cancun -- and they kick it off with the hottest show on television, SWF Storm! Things are bound to get hot and heavy, but how hot and how heavy? Only time will tell. Send all things to chirs3 (match descriptions and possibly one more match to come in the morning. if you're not booked, promo.) Opening Promo: Toxxic SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP Landon Maddix (SWF International Champion) v. Jay Hawke -> Maddix defeated Johnny Dangerous for the International Title in Johnny's first defense of the shiny new title. Hawke, meanwhile, took out Manson for the #1 contendership. As always, this is STORM! It's HARDCORE! Rules: None. Word Limit: 5500 Marker: chirs3 SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MONTEZUMA'S REVENGE MATCH Insane Luchadore (SWF Hardcore Champion) v. JJ Johnson -> Looks like someone forgot to take a tequila for every glass of water, and either IL or JJ is going to suffer in this rematch from Battleground! Rules: You know what Montezuma's Revenge is, right? Well, you should. Anyway, Montezuma's Revenge usually winds up in the toilet... AND THAT'S HOW THIS MATCH WILL WIND UP. The first person to dump their opponent's head in a toilet - and FLUSH - wins. Word Limit: 5000 Marker: Chuck Woolery

Finalist #1: "Kennedy" Finalist #2: "Ethan Andrews" Finalist #3: "Princess Natsuki" People, these are the three finalists so far in X-Nect Icon. Read the RPs. Do you really think you can't beat them? I'm encouraging everyone to at least enter, and if you do enter we'll notice and push you a little bit. If you become one of the fourteen finalists, we may even give you a cookie. Also, there's a shot at the title of your choice if you can win the whole competition. Hey, we're going to win anyway, may as well sweeten the deal, right? Knock 'em dead, kids, and if you're looking for RP help or anything, Tom and I will be glad to help, and I'm sure any of our other marvelous retirees (King, Mark, Edwin, Z, Kibs) will be glad to help as well. Knock 'em fucking dead, guys. - Mike.

I was this close to cutting it out of the show entirely, actually. I wish I could remember why I didn't. Funny story on this actually, Kris Kristofferson is filming a movie in our town right now. In fact, he held a benefit concert for a local charity the night that Battleground (in kayfabe) happened. ...actually that's the whole story.

That's just a goddamn lie.

Cucaracha = Cockroach. ... that's dumb.

What killed it for me, Johnny, was the finish. I honestly don't know what you were going for with it, but it fell totally flat for me for three reasons. 1) I straight-up don't buy a fist drop as a finish, you turning 360* or doing a flip before it regardless. A fist drop to the face might be a credible finisher -- maybe, on a good day. You're just hitting him in the chest cavity while the rest of your body weight hits the canvas, which to me isn't a reasonable finisher. 2) Forgetting the first point entirely, having the MI Slam be the move to finish Landon off was an interesting choice. The more I think about it the more I can come up with reasons to like it, but none of these reasons were present in your commentary or in your match. The match was over at that point -- it's sold that way in the commentary. But the reason that it's over is because "Johnny always wins after the MI Slam!", which doesn't sit well with me. For one thing, if the MI Slam guarantees victory you should be going for it a hell of a lot more often; it was never even teased, which seems really odd. Second, the way it was sold in the commentary was like "It's over, the MI Slam never fails!" For a match where you were trying to tie in history, the least you could have done was pointed out the irony in that. After five matches together, your basic finisher is still the move that puts him away. That's irony. 3) Even with all that, the most damaging thing is that all of your work to Landon is on his neck (reasonable), yet you win with a fallaway slam (works the ribs) and a fist drop (works the ribs). Something about the continuity in that doesn't sit well with me at all. As I mentioned in my point on the Armed and Dangerous, at the very least drop the fist into his face. Then you're getting over Dangerous' mean streak and keeping with the match's psychology. After Landon's last offensive flurry, Johnny's offence goes as follows: spear, MI Slam, Armed and Dangerous. Never once in this do you mention all the work that's been done to Landon's neck, not even a courtesy "His neck snapped back from the impact of the spear" -- just, "MI Slam, it's over! Armed and Dangerous, that cocky bastard! One-two-three." This is the biggest flaw in your match, in my opinion. It's not a problem with the way the finish was written, it's a problem with the basic psychology of the match. Landon's finish centered around him having to find a way to make Johnny tap, while avoiding the use of his injured leg, and it worked. Your finish... well, I've already explained the problem with your finish. There were other things that were minor ticks against your match. I still don't understand why Landon is "Cockroach", a few grammatical errors, little things. But up until the finish you and Landon were running dead even, and it's the finish that really hurt you. I hope you read this and take it to heart, because I really don't have it out for you, Johnny -- Landon just did what he's capable of for the first time this cycle and wrote a damn good match.

The frenzied buzz of conversation still fills the arena after the fantastic conclusion to the International Championship match, but it kicks into a higher gear as the lights dim once again. A few scattered cheers are heard; then the Smarktron flashes up an image of a handsome black man in ice-blue Oakleys, smiling smugly at the camera. Letters flash up at the bottom for the benefit of those who haven’t been paying attention for the past four months… ‘THE FRANCHISE’ MAK FRANCIS “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” After a few seconds Francis’ visage is replaced by that of a pale-skinned white youth with spiky black hair, glowering out at the crowd through thick black eyeliner. An easily recognisable title belt is slung over his right shoulder, and he pats it with black-painted nails. ‘THE STRAIGHT-EDGE SENSATION’ TOXXIC “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” An image of the belt Toxxic carries suddenly obscures both men before receding back to rest equidistant between the two. SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH “What an evening we’ve had so far, but the best could be yet to come!” Longdogger Pete shouts, voice slightly hoarse from the night’s exertions but still as eager as ever. “Tonight we see the first one-on-one clash between two icons of the SWF in 2005, the ever-present Toxxic and the highly-skilled Mak Francis, as they wrestle for the biggest prize in this bid‘ness! Make no mistake, this is going to be remembered for a long time!” “For once I agree with you, Hot-Dogger,” the laconic tones of the Suicide King cut in as the cameras switch to show the dynamic duo at their announce desk. “Toxxic is already the only world champion to retain on Pay-Per-View since Tom Flesher’s second run at the end of 2003 - now can he go one better and equal Tom by successfully defending the belt on two consecutive Pay-Per-Views? If anyone can do it, Toxxic can… but at the same time,” the Gambling Man acknowledges, “if anyone can take it from him it’s probably Mak Francis.” “Do I sense a hint of respect for the Franchise there, King?” Pete probes. Suicide King snorts airily. “Come on, he cheats but the crowd still love him. That strikes a certain chord with me.” “But-” “-don’t mention Landon Maddix,” King warns his broadcast partner. “Maddix has ruined the name of cheaters in this business. Ruined it!” Before LDP can reply to the Heartbreaker’s vehement claim the house lights shut off as the wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena. The light tones ring out across the Alamodome before a hard beat done by violins suddenly strikes up, slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm. “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “So do you wanna’ be a Franchise… And live large… A big house… five cars…” The SmarkTron flares up with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ‘The Franchise’ in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat. “The rent charge… Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody… Gotta’ look over your shoulder constantly!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” The opening lyrics from the Franchise’s customised version of Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill blare over the PA system, and the Texas crowd are going wild! A few more seconds pass as the bass thuds out across the arena, but then a trenchcoated figure makes his way through the curtain. The lights come back up and Francis comes out onto the stage, tilting his shades down on the bridge of his nose, before looking left and then right… “I remember the days, when I was a young kid growin’ up… Lookin’ in the mirror dreamin’ about blowin’ up!” *FWISH-BOOM!* *FWISH-BOOM!* *FWISH-BOOM!* *FWIIIIIIIIIISH-BOOOOOOOOOOM!* Multiple short bursts of green pyrotechnics erupt from either side of the self-proclaimed Franchise, who readjusts his shades with a smirk before slowly strolling down the entrance ramp with his trenchcoat billowing behind him. Several fans reach out to slap hands with Mak and the challenger obliges, but then catches sight of a lone ‘TOXXIC ROCKS!’ sign in the front row and proceeds to rip it from its owner’s grasp, then tear it in two as the rest of the crowd cheer. “Y’know, I don’t know whether to like that or not,” King muses as Francis jogs up the ring steps. “I mean, I agree with the sign he just tore up… but then again, he has just ruined one kid’s night. I suppose there is hope after all!” Once on the apron Mak cockily wipes his feet whilst giving a salute to the crowd, then enters through the middle ropes. He walks past referee Matthew Kivell and shrugs off his coat which he hands over the ropes to the timekeeper, then climbs to the second buckle and poses with both fists in the air as the flashbulbs go off by the hundred! “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “Just listen to the support here for Mak Francis!” Longdogger Pete exclaims. “King, can you imagine what it’ll be like if he manages to defeat Toxxic tonight? I doubt we’ll have any ears left!” “Sorry?” King asks, pulling an earplug out and wincing as the dreaded rap music reaches his eardrums. Matthew Kivell proceeds to check over the Franchise’s ring gear to make sure there are no hidden weapons and that the knee brace is securely attached… and as he does so the Smarktron abruptly whites out and the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire crashes out over the Alamodome. The Smarktron quickly fades down to black and jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The Smarktron changes to show a black-haired head that raises to stare out at the crowd with steel-grey eyes, then moves on to showing half-second clips of the Straight-Edge Sensation’s more notable matches; the infamous Glass Jawbreaker against Aecas, the All-Show Brawl with Insane Luchador and the Caffeine Bomb on Kibagami, before cutting to Toxxic taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome as four blasts of red pyro climb the entrance ramp, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BAM-BAM-BAM-bap-BOOOM!!* -final, stagewide eruption that signals the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! For a few moments all that can be seen by the crowd is the reddish-white glare of pyro afterimage, but then an easily-recognisable shape appears through the smoke left by the explosions… a shape with the SWF World Title draped over one shoulder. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Toxxic doesn’t even bother looking at the crowd that surrounds him; instead the Straight-Edge Sensation appears fully focused on Mak Francis as he stares down at the ring, then cracks his neck from side-to-side and breaks into a sprint, tearing down the entrance ramp and sliding in under the bottom rope before popping back up to his feet in front of the surprised Matty Kivell. Toxxic advances to the centre of the ring, eyes locking with Francis’, then throws his arms wide, palms flat, as the first verse comes in to send another jet of red pyro shooting skywards from each ring post! *bap-bap* *BOOOM!!* ‘I never thought this could be me I guess you never do until it’s happening to you Like all the fun turned into shame And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’ ‘Rookie’ dies away as Toxxic hands the belt over to Matthew Kivell and strips his customised England soccer shirt off before throwing it out to the front row, where two heavily-eyeliner girls fight over it whilst pretending not to. Meanwhile Funyon comes forward from the corner where he has been waiting and raises the microphone. “FUN-YON!” “FUN-YON!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” the veteran ring announcer begins, “the following contest is tonight’s main event and is scheduled for one fall for the SWF WORLD… HEAVYWEIGHT… CHAMPIONSHIP~!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Introducing first, to my left,” Funyon continues, “the challenger, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; he weighs in tonight at 240lbs, ‘The Franchise’, MAAAAAAAK… FRAAAAAAAN-CIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSS!!” “FUCK HIM UP FRAN-CIS, FUCK HIM UP!” “FUCK HIM UP FRAN-CIS, FUCK HIM UP!” Mak raises one hand in acknowledgement of his supporters, but his dark eyes never shift from Toxxic’s pale ones as Funyon clears his throat again. “And his opponent, from Nottingham, England,” Funyon booms. “He is the leader of Revolution Zero and weighs in tonight at 218lbs; he is the reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion… the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’, TOXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Kivell holds the World Title up and displays it to all four corners of the Alabamodome (if a dome has corners) before handing it over to the timekeeper and beginning to explain the rules of the match to Mak and Toxxic. Neither man seems to be paying much attention but each nods tersely as Kivell finishes, so the SWF’s head referee backs away and signals for the bell… *DING-DING-DING!* Mak slaps his arms to get the circulation flowing a little more freely, then beckons Toxxic in for a lock-up. Perhaps surprisingly the straight-edger obliges and the two men lunge into a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but almost as soon as contact is made Toxxic simply drops backwards and takes Mak over with a snap arm drag. Francis rolls through but Toxxic is quicker and jumps the Franchise while he is still on one knee, then begins hammering right hands into Mak’s temple. Francis regains a vertical base and tries to cover up but Toxxic steps up his assault by unleashing a European uppercut that staggers the Franchise back into the ropes, then grabs Mak’s arm and Irish whips Francis across the ring… but Mak reverses the momentum, and it is Toxxic who hits the far ropes! “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” The Straight-Edge Sensation rebounds and Mak drops down to the canvas, causing Toxxic to hurdle him. The Franchise then pops back up to his feet and catches the returning Brit with a hiptoss, but Toxxic flips right through the move and lands on his feet! Mak instantly lowers his shoulder and hits Toxxic with a double-leg takedown to ground him, but the World Champion reacts instinctively by turning over onto his front to avoid a pinning predicament. Francis then proceeds to ‘ride’ the straight-edger, spinning around on him before slapping him in the back of the head several times and regaining his feet, then throwing out a salute to the crowd! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “-and Mak Francis leaving Toxxic in no doubt as to who is the better mat technician!” Longdogger Pete shouts. However, Toxxic is in no mood to be mocked and he rolls over onto his back, then as Mak turns back to him he kips up explosively before leaving his feet again- *CRUNCH!* -to land a vicious enzuigiri in the back of the Franchise’s neck! Mak topples forwards and Toxxic straddles his back, but instead of a humiliating ‘ride’ the Straight-Edge Sensation opts for simply firing off a few more punches to the back of Francis’ skull! “Ha!” King laughs as Toxxic waits for Kivell’s count to reach ‘Four’ before clambering off his opponent, “that’ll teach him! I tell you Drain-Clogger, Mak needs to remember who he’s in the ring with here!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” If Mak’s memory had been playing up the chants of the crowd should jog it; however, the massed derision that is being launched in the general direction of the Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t help the Franchise locate his opponent as he pushes himself back up to his feet. In fact, it isn’t until Toxxic flashes overhead and snares Mak with a headscissors on the way past that the challenger finally works it out, and by that time it’s too late! “Toxxic’s already using his agility to his advantage,” King points out as the Brit pops back to his feet following the springboard move that he launched from the ring apron, “and if Mak is still in a mindset for the striking-based attack of Spike Jenkins he’s going to have to shift his brain up a few gears!” Francis grabs the ropes and hauls himself back up, but he still isn’t quick enough to outmanoeuvre the Straight-Edge Sensation as Toxxic takes a couple of quick steps forward before launching a dropkick that catches Mak in the chest and sends the Franchise tumbling backwards out of the ring between the top and middle ropes. Matty Kivell tries to restrain Toxxic but the World Champion shakes him off, then as Mak rises back to his feet again the Brit sprints across the ring, bounces off the ropes and returns to go sailing out to the floor with a tope con hilo that crushes the Franchise beneath him! “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “Toxxic is going for an all-out assault from the get-go here,” LDP exclaims in amazement as the World Champion staggers upright, “and Mak has yet to really get in the game! Of course, if Toxxic can gain a big enough advantage at the beginning of the match then he might be able to prevent the Franchise from ever gaining much momentum…” “Well, he has to keep the pace high,” King asserts as Toxxic grabs Mak by the head and hauls him up. “If this slows down into a tactical mat game then Mak will come out on top.” That’s the last thing on Toxxic’s mind at the moment however, as the World Champion takes a firm hold on Francis’ wrist and then hauls with all his might, Irish whipping the challenger into the handy steel guardrail! *CRASH!* Mak slumps forward clutching his back as Kivell yells at Toxxic to bring his opponent back into the ring, but the straight-edger ignores his fellow countryman and brings Mak back to his feet again, then Irish whips him into the ring steps! *SMASH!* The Franchise flips head-over-heels as he hits at thigh-height and lands hard on the blue protective padding around the ring, while Kivell despairs of reasoning with the World Champion and finally starts making his count. Toxxic looks up at him for a moment, then begins to rearrange the ring steps. Francis starts to push himself up, pain clearly showing on his face, but as he turns to draw a bead on his attacker Toxxic runs forward and up the repositioned ring steps, then vaults off the top to fly through the air and wraps his legs around Mak’s head to take him down again with a hurricanrana! “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Mak needs to get back into the ring as soon as possible,” Pete asserts in a tone of some worry. “Toxxic is a former Hardcore Champion, and well used to improvising attacks around the ring area; if Francis is going to have a chance of taking the belt, he needs to ground his opponent as soon as possible in an environment where he can actually win the title!” As Pete is talking Toxxic realises that Kivell’s count is rising and the Straight-Edge Sensation rolls back into the ring to break it. However a count-out victory is not an option as Mak is already struggling up again, so Toxxic rolls straight back out and grabs his opponent, then- *CLUNK!* -rams him headfirst into the steel ringpost! Kivell immediately begins berating the World Champion but Toxxic simply rolls Francis into the ring under the bottom rope, then looks up and spreads his hands innocently as if to say ‘look, I did what you wanted me to!’. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Kivell throws up his hands in disgust as Toxxic follows the battered Mak Francis in under the ropes, then fires a right hand into the Franchise’s face as Mak struggles up to his knees. With Mak somewhat dazed Toxxic latches onto his right arm again and applies a top wristlock, then pushes the Franchise down to the mat whilst barring the arm with his own. Kivell drops down to check, but although slightly disorientated Francis retains enough ring awareness to make sure that his shoulders do not go down. “It appears that Toxxic is satisfied with his opening assault and is now trying to weaken Mak’s right arm with a more mat-based approach,” Longdogger Pete notes as Toxxic tries to increase the pressure on the Franchise’s trapped limb. “I have to say that although Toxxic has become a much better mat wrestler of late, I can’t help thinking this is a bit foolish…” …Pete should be a fortune-teller or something, because with the cessation of blows to the head something of Mak’s awareness returns and the Franchise begins to explore ways of getting out of the hold he finds himself in. His attempts to dislodge Toxxic with his left hand don’t work, so Francis brings his legs into play instead and wraps them around Toxxic’s head. The straight-edger’s own hands instinctively go up to try and block this new attack and Mak simply pulls the Brit off him and down, trapping the champion in a headscissors. “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Francis does his best to increase the pressure on Toxxic’s head, knowing that his best chance to let the throbbing in his skull (and arm, and back) abate is to keep the Straight-Edge Sensation in one place for a while. However, Toxxic is nothing if not persistent and the Brit begins to bounce from side to side, trying to work his way out of the hold. Mak holds on, but then Toxxic performs a headstand in front of him. Francis raises his hands to block any attempt to bridge over into a pin, but instead Toxxic ‘pops’ backwards up to his feet and breaks Francis’ grip, then immediately smashes a basement dropkick into Mak’s face! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With Mak on his back again Toxxic jumps on top of the challenger, looking to apply a headlock, but before he can get it cinched in Mak grabs him around the waist and rolls sideways to bring Toxxic’s shoulders into contact with the mat! ONE! TW- -however, Toxxic pops out moments later and rises back to his feet… but not quickly enough to avoid a Mak Francis shoulder into the gut! With his opponent momentarily winded Francis rises back to a vertical base, then hammers a right hand into Toxxic’s kidney area before dropping backwards with a Russian Legsweep! “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Mak grins somewhat painfully at the crowd for a moment, but the Franchise isn’t ready to ‘go’ quite yet as he still wants a chance to recuperate. Toxxic is on the mat and Mak wants to make sure he stays there for a little while, so he pulls Toxxic’s right leg up and crosses it over the left at the knee, then traps it there with his own left leg. Meanwhile the Franchise brings his opponent up into a sitting position and applies a ¾ nelson on Toxxic’s right arm to lock in a modified abdominal stretch on the high-flying World Champion! “Mak Francis has Toxxic all tied up with nowhere to go!” Pete exclaims as Toxxic’s face twists up in pain. “Not only has he got his upper body bent like a pretzel, but he has Toxxic’s legs trapped as well!” “At the moment Mak is wrestling this match the only way he can,” King replies seriously. “If he wants to have a hope of beating Toxxic he has to keep the risks he takes to a minimum, and that means keeping Toxxic on the mat and not moving; don’t forget, Toxxic’s at his most dangerous when he can use your own momentum against you.” Matthew Kivell squats down in front of Toxxic, trying to determine whether the Straight-Edge Sensation wants to give it up. Toxxic is evidently in severe pain but still has enough energy to tell Kivell exactly where he can stick his submission; however the World Champion doesn’t seem to have any way of breaking Mak’s hold as the Franchise continues to torque the submission. Kivell asks again, Toxxic swears at him again… and suddenly Mak shifts his grip and rolls backwards, taking the startled straight-edger over into a crucifix pin! ONE! TWO!! Toxxic kicks out just as Kivell’s hand hits the mat for a second time, but Mak grabs the Brit’s head and traps his opponent in a front facelock. Toxxic tries to get out one way, then the other but Francis holds on as he makes his way up to his feet… then drops backwards, spiking the Straight-Edge Sensation with a DDT! “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “Now Mak Francis really is dictating the pace of this match,” Pete calls, “…and he’s going for the single-leg crab!” Indeed he is, as Mak neglects to follow up on his ‘stun’ move, instead returning to Toxxic’s back and ribs by hauling on the champion’s right leg and bending his body underneath him. However, Toxxic can see the ropes not that far in front of him and begins to crawl, using both black-nailed hands and his free leg to push himself along as quickly as possible. “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Mak tries to prevent his opponent’s progress but Toxxic has no intention of going into traction following the match, and after some twenty seconds of struggle the champion manages to wrap one hand around the bottom rope. Kivell calls for Francis to break the hold, which Mak does with surprising alacrity… only to turn around and grab Toxxic by the waist as the Brit is still down on the mat, then hoist him up and backwards to take the Straight-Edge Sensation over with a hard wheelbarrow suplex! *BANG!* “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “He was still in the ropes!” King shouts in outrage as Francis maintains his rear waistlock and brings Toxxic back up to his feet. “You can’t do this, Francis! Kivell, stop hi-” *BANG!* “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “German!” Pete shouts, interrupting his commentary partner. “Mak’s got two Germans off now, is he going for a third…?” …but no, as the Franchise rearranges his hands around Toxxic’s head and arms, before bridging sharply backwards and spiking the defending champion on his head with the Million-Dollar Plex! *BANG!!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The crowd rises to its feet as Mak Francis sits back up on the mat and throws them a salute, then shuffles over to where Toxxic has come to rest and hooks his opponent’s leg! ONE! TWO!! THHHHHH- -but Toxxic fires a shoulder off the mat to keep the title, at least for the time being! Mak sits back, waiting to see what his opponent does, and Toxxic rolls onto his front to prevent a second pin… but that merely allows Mak to straddle his back and apply a double chickenwing! “Bittersweet!” Pete shouts as the Alamodome suddenly seems to erupt, “Mak Francis is going for the Bittersweet, but is he too near the ropes?” Toxxic certainly hopes so as the Brit thrashes with all his might, trying not only to dislodge his unwelcome passenger but also bring his feet into contact with the ropes. Mak does his best to pin the straight-edger down but Toxxic has too much left in the tank, and his efforts finally allow him to hook the toe of one boot over the bottom rope and force Kivell to make Mak break. The Franchise is much more reluctant this time but the official insists, and when Francis seems to be going straight back to his opponent Kivell interposes himself and begins lecturing Mak on the finer points of ring etiquette, allowing Toxxic to crawl to a corner where he tries to catch his breath and stop his head from ringing. “The Franchise has Toxxic on the ropes,” Pete unintentionally puns, “but can he capitalise?” “God, I hope not…” King mutters. “But you’ve got to admit King,” Pete postulates, “that Mak Francis is doing well! Toxxic’s strategy always works around avoiding his opponent’s big moves, and Mak’s hit him with three devastating suplexes!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” The crowd are well and truly behind Mak now, and the Philadelphian brushes past Kivell to fire a stomp into Toxxic’s ribcage. The referee protests, so Francis raises his boot and scrapes it across Toxxic’s face instead! “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Matthew Kivell isn’t particularly happy with that either, so Mak apologises… then uses his metal knee brace on the Straight-Edge Sensation’s features! “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Mak grins at the crowd support, then sets off at a strut for the far ropes before rebounding at a greater speed, heading directly for Toxxic’s face with a running bootscrape… but Toxxic rolls out of the way at the last moment and takes the Franchise over with a schoolboy pin! ONE! TWO!! Mak kicks out, but before he can do much more than get to his knees Toxxic grabs him in a front facelock and spins himself sideways, nailing the challenger with a snap swinging neckbreaker! “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Mak grabs the back of his neck in pain as Toxxic tries to shake off the cobwebs, but the champion knows that he hasn’t got the luxury of time. Before Mak can regain his composure Toxxic clamps on a Tiger neck chancery, then pulls the Franchise up to his feet and twists around before sitting out in another neckbreaker that also jolts Mak’s shoulder in its socket. This time Mak is not only clutching his neck but massaging his right arm, and as Toxxic struggles to stop his head from swimming that right arm suddenly seems to grow a target symbol. If Mak can’t use the arm, he can’t throw anymore of those blasted suplexes… “That’s just an example of how quick Toxxic is, Brain-Fogger,” King claims. “One miscalculation by Francis, and he’s back on top!” “Perhaps,” Longdogger replies, “but Mak has hit Toxxic with some big bombs; can the World Champion really regain his momentum?” The Straight-Edge Sensation grabs Francis’ right arm at the wrist and hauls the Franchise up to his feet but then drops and corkscrews himself through the air, further wrenching the arm in its socket and also driving Mak’s face back into the canvas. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Toxxic is still moving a bit slower than usual thanks to the blows to the head and back, but he is able to keep his grip on Francis’ arm and this allows him to maintain some sort of control over his opponent. Mak isn’t ready to give up the match yet though and he seems to be preparing for some sort of counter, but Toxxic isn’t going to allow that and he fires off a European uppercut to the arm, causing Mak to yell out in pain! The success of this strategy encourages Toxxic to let fly with another one before the World Champion decides to take things a step further, and drags Francis towards the turnbuckles. Mak tries to resist but his arm is starting to give him some serious problems and he can’t pull it away, so Toxxic runs straight up the buckles before flying back out across the ring and crushing the limb beneath an armbreaker legdrop! *BANG!* Francis yells out in pain again as Toxxic lands (the champion wincing as the shock travels up his spine) but the Straight-Edge Sensation is determined not to let Mak back into the match and doesn’t release his grasp on the Franchise’s wrist. Gritting his teeth, Toxxic pushes himself back up to his feet (leaning on Mak’s arm to do it), then hauls Francis up after him. The Brit fires off one more European uppercut to the trapped arm, then drags Mak to the turnbuckles again. This time Toxxic takes a little more time as he walks up the buckles, the pain in Mak’s twisted limb giving him the time he needs, then takes a couple of steps along the top rope before he leaps off to land astride Francis’ shoulders and finally snaps backwards to spike Mak with a reverse hurricanrana! “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” It takes Toxxic a moment to regain his bearings, but when he does he instantly piles into a cover atop the stunned Franchise and Kivell drops to make the count… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHH- -but Mak kicks out, and the Alamodome breathes again! Toxxic just shrugs and shuffles around on the mat into a position where he can hook Mak into a reverse headlock, then starts to rise back to his feet. The Franchise isn’t providing any help and it takes Toxxic a couple of seconds to more or less deadlift Francis up before dropping to one knee and driving the other into the back of Mak’s neck. Francis spasms as his vertebrae are compressed but Toxxic isn’t finished yet as he hauls Mak back up once more, then drops backwards and drills the challenger with a reverse DDT to complete the Detoxx combo. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” The chants seem to wash over the Straight-Edge Sensation as, with his confidence rising and the aches in his head and back slowly starting to fade, he plans his next move. Mak is down in roughly the centre of the ring, and with his attempts at mat wrestling largely having failed it seems logical for Toxxic to go back to what he knows best… “The World Champion is going up top!” Longdogger Pete shouts as Toxxic approaches the turnbuckle, then casts a look back at Mak to make sure he can reach him. “Now would be a really good time to move, Mak…” …but Mak Francis’ sense of timing is not that good, as Toxxic vaults to the top rope and then springs backwards, twisting in the air to face his opponent drive a fist into his forehead upon landing! Before the ring has even stopped shaking Toxxic is back up and running to the same buckle, although this time he climbs to the top in a more normal fashion (having nearly lost his footing last time when his head swum at the last moment). The second fist drop is just as accurate as the first, but Toxxic isn’t done as he returns to the top rope one more time, takes a second to flip two fingers at the jeering crowd and then springs off into the air once more to land the third instalment of the fistdrop trio on Mak Francis! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Toxxic shakes his fist out - Mak has a hard skull, after all - but he has no intention of letting up his attack now he has the Franchise in trouble. The Straight-Edge Sensation neglects to go for the pin, instead heading to a different turnbuckle and beginning to climb before twirling his fingers over his head in the universal symbol for ‘high risk’… “Mak, you shouldn’t have been drinking all that scotch with Flesher last night,” King chuckles, “because you’re about to get a very nasty Hangover!” Sure enough, Toxxic somersaults forward off the top rope with his leg outstretched, and lands it square across the throat of Mak Francis! This time Toxxic does go for the cover, hooking Mak’s leg and stacking as much of the Franchise’s 240lbs onto his own shoulders as he can… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR- -but Mak Francis still kicks out! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Toxxic looks a little less pleased this time, unhappy with Mak’s continued resilience, but the World Champion rolls Mak over onto his front and applies a double underhook then starts to bring Francis up into a vertical head scissors. However, Mak Francis has no desire to taste a Toxxic Shock Syndrome and the challenger bunches his legs under him, then forces upwards with all his might and back bodydrops his way out of the predicament! *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Now it’s Toxxic’s turn to cry out in pain as he lands on his back, but Mak doesn’t follow up immediately; instead the challenger bends double and sucks in air, trying to clear his head from the beating it has been taking. Mak isn’t unaware though, as he is watching Toxxic from the corner of his eye and as the straight-edger begins to push himself up again Mak straightens up, massaging his right arm as he does so, then suddenly springs forward and nearly takes Toxxic’s head off with a Yakuza kick! *CRACK!* Mak falls into the pin and instinctively reaches to hook Toxxic’s leg with his right arm, but the limb gives out on him… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHH- -and Toxxic kicks out! Mak curses but grabs his opponent with his left hand and brings the Brit back up to his feet, then - after a momentary pause as he goes against his instincts - wraps his left arm across Toxxic’s chest and drops to his knees with a shoulder jawbreaker. Before Toxxic can topple backwards to the canvas Mak wraps both arms around his waist and hoists up. The lift gives him a bit more trouble that usual but his right arm holds up, and he drapes the Straight-Edge Sensation over the top rope with a hot shot to complete the That’s Franchisable combination! Toxxic staggers back and Mak reaches up with his left arm to drag the champion over with a schoolboy pin… ONE! TWO!! …and Mak grabs the waist of Toxxic’s pants! THHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR- -but Toxxic just squirms a shoulder off the canvas! The World Champion doesn’t even have time to protest to referee Matthew Kivell, as Francis immediately pokes him in the eye! “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Kivell isn’t happy about Mak’s low tactics, but although illegal they are certainly effective as any thoughts Toxxic may have had about fighting back were stopped in their tracks. Francis applies a front facelock, seemingly both to give him a chance to plan his next move and also to get Kivell off his back by using a legitimate hold… but Toxxic grabs Mak’s right arm and manages to break the Franchise’s grip, then twists out to apply another armwringer to the hurt limb! The crowd start booing as their favourite seems to be disadvantaged again, but Mak reaches out with his left hand to grab a handful of Toxxic’s spiky hair and drags him down to the mat by it! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The crowd are cheering every move Francis makes, legal or not, but Kivell is going ballistic at him. Mak shakes his arm out and tells the referee in no uncertain terms to get off his case - then drops his left knee, metal brace and all, onto Toxxic’s forehead! “This is absolutely outrageous!” Suicide King shouts. “Mak is ignoring all the rules, all the codes of sportsmanship-” “-and you’re a fine one to talk!” Pete fires back. “I think this might be a sign of frustration from Mak Francis, but he’s going to have to be careful that he doesn’t get disqualified like he did against Sacred!” Matthew Kivell is giving Mak Francis a very stern talking to, but the Franchise chooses to ignore the SWF’s head official and instead pulls Toxxic up, then slips behind his opponent and applies a double chickenwing! Some of the fans in the Alamodome start to rise to their feet, anticipating a Tiger suplex that will surely lead into the Bittersweet… but as Mak tries to lift his right arm can’t take it, and he has to abort his attempt! Toxxic isn’t going to give his opponent time for a second try, and he first stamps on Mak’s right foot- *BANG!* -then uses his left foot to kick at Mak’s weaker knee! The pain causes Francis to lessen his grip somewhat, and Toxxic manages to twist out then fires off with a RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! …the straight-edger steps back, flips the British v-sign at his opponent and whirls around for the discus clothesline… …but Mak takes him down into a Fujiwara armbar! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The din in the arena is close to deafening, but the crowd switch it up another notch as they see what Mak Francis does next; the Franchise is evidently displeased at Toxxic’s attack on his weak knee and he transitions the Fujiwara into a back-mounted double chickenwing, then bridges forward into the Bittersweet! “YOU GOTTA TAP!” “YOU GOTTA TAP!” Toxxic thrashes around wildly but Mak already has the hold applied and he can’t reach the ropes with his legs. “YOU GOTTA TAP!” “YOU GOTTA TAP!” Desperately, Toxxic starts to force his body forward and leans even more weight on his head, trying to get in a position to slip out of the bridge, but the pain seems too great and he slumps back down! “Come on, Toxxic!” King yells, half out of his seat. “Quick! Before it’s too late!” “TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!” The Straight-Edge Sensation grits his teeth and tries again, taking his own weight on the top of his head as he tries to lessen the torque of Francis’ arms. The pain is excruciating, but Mak hasn’t done quite enough damage to Toxxic’s neck to make it impossible… “TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!” …and Toxxic manages to roll through, causing Mak to collapse as his bridge disappears! The Franchise doesn’t release his grasp and tries to roll Toxxic onto his front again, but now the Brit can shuffle across the mat and wrap his legs around the bottom rope in order to gain a title-saving ropebreak! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Stay on him, Mak!” Longdogger Pete yells, “you almost had him!” “Unprofessional bias-” King begins to make an accusation. “-unprofessional bias my ass!” LDP snaps back. “You cheer for the limey in the eyeliner, I’ll cheer for the guy the fans wanna see!” One thing the fans definitely didn’t want to see was Mak Francis break his hold, but Kivell was insistent and the Franchise doesn’t want to be disqualified now. However, the moment the referee subsides Mak is back on Toxxic, grabbing the World Champion with a rear waistlock and hauling him up to his feet - not without a wince of pain as his right arm takes the strain - then hoists him up and overhead with his patented release German suplex, the ‘Filthy’ German… *whump* …but Mak’s right arm isn’t up to the task and he doesn’t get everything on it. Instead of a hurl it’s more of a gentle toss, and Toxxic flips through the move to land on his feet. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Mak turns around, shaking his arm out and hoping to see a crumpled straight-edger on the canvas, but instead he is greeted by a flying soccer tackle that crunches right into his left kneecap! The pain is instant and excruciating and Francis goes down, clutching his wounded leg while Toxxic scrambles back to his feet. The Straight-Edge Sensation can remember what paid off last time, and as Mak rolls onto his back with his leg in his hands Toxxic heads for the nearest turnbuckle and climbs as fast as he can. His neck and upper back are still burning from the Bittersweet, but his legs are good to go and Toxxic somersaults off the top rope- *THUMP!* -and lands all 218lbs of himself feet-first in Mak’s chest! The breath is blasted from the Franchise and Toxxic hops off him, then runs for the far ropes and returns at a greater velocity before somersaulting forwards again, this time landing on Francis with a running flipping senton! The momentum of the move carries Toxxic up to his feet, and he pauses for a moment to get his bearings before backflipping to hit a standing moonsault! “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Ha!” King shouts as Toxxic pushes himself back to his feet and Mak clutches his chest, “let’s see you throw some suplexes with a bad arm and bad ribs!” All that jumping and flipping seems to have taken its toll on the Straight-Edge Sensation; Toxxic is slightly wobbly as he heads for the turnbuckles once more, his head still not quite straight from the Yakuza kick and Million-Dollar Plex it suffered earlier. Regardless, Toxxic begins to climb again and as he reaches the top rope he spins his fingers again… backwards. “Uh-oh, you know what this means,” Longdogger Pete says tensely as the Alamodome begins to stand despite itself, excited at the prospect of one of the most electrifying moves in the SWF today, “it’s time for the INGLOOORRRRRIIIIIIOOOOUUUUSSSSSSS…” Toxxic takes a deep breath, bends almost double for extra momentum and then leaps forward, backflipping through the air as he goes… *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “…AND MAK MOVES!” LDP finishes in exultation as Francis rolls out of the way of the Shooting Star Legdrop at the last moment. “Toxxic took too long getting to the top, and Mak moves out of the way! That landing can’t have helped Toxxic’s spine, and he doesn’t even have the payoff of hitting Francis to compensate for it!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Sure enough, Toxxic is writing on the canvas as his back gives him messages that he really doesn’t want to be receiving. Mak Francis on the other hand is still sucking in air and trying to clear his head… …and his gaze has just latched onto the wounded World Champion. “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” The expression on Mak’s face could almost be described as a snarl. Certainly, Mrs. Francis wouldn’t like to see her baby boy now as he staggers to his feet and raises one hand in the air. “COME ON!” Mak roars, firing up the crowd but all his intent fixed on the straight-edger in front of him. When Toxxic shows no sign of obliging Mak moves in and grabs his opponent, then hauls Toxxic up to a vertical base and places him in a front facelock… then hooks the leg with his left arm… “Franchise Tag coming up!” Pete yells. “It’s all over!” …but as Mak tries to lift Toxxic up the full effect of those recent impacts become clear; whether it’s his ribs, his right arm or a combination of both, Mak can’t get his opponent all the way up. Toxxic’s feet leave the floor but they go right back down again as Mak grunts in pain, and the Straight-Edge Sensation isn’t one to give his challenger a second chance. Toxxic fires off a left hand to the ribs… then another… then another… and as Mak’s grips weakens Toxxic hooks his legs around the Franchise’s and rolls backwards into a small package! ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Toxxic looks over at Kivell disbelievingly but the referee remains adamant, and that moment of inattention costs Toxxic as Mak scrambles up to his knees and fires off a left hand that catches the champion off-guard! Francis grabs Toxxic by the hair and hauls him up, then rears back with his left hand and hits a knife-edge chop- *CRACK!* “WHOOOOOO!” -then another! *CRACK!* “WHOOOOOO!” Toxxic staggers back but the blows don’t have quite the impact they would if coming from Mak’s stronger right arm, so the Franchise changes tactics and leaps into the air to send his foot into the back of Toxxic’s skull… [i[*CRUNCH!*[/i] “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Enzuigiri!” Pete shouts over the crowd reaction as Francis lands on his front and winces in pain from the jolt to his ribs, then scrambles into the cover and hooks the far leg with his left arm… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! “NO!” Suicide King shouts as the Alamo dome erupts… and Kivell agrees with the Gambling Man, raising a damning two fingers to the distraught Mak Francis! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “THAT WAS THREE!” “THAT WAS THREE!” …but Matthew Kivell isn’t head official of the SWF for nothing, and when he raises two fingers on a count he means two fingers! Francis seems both horrified and furious, but he refrains from taking his anger out on the referee and instead turns back to the semi-conscious World Champion. This time Toxxic offers little resistance as Mak pulls him up, and this time the setup for the Franchise Tag is the other way around! Francis wraps his left arm around Toxxic’s head and uses his right to form the cradle, locking his hands to try and minimise the strain, then steels himself for severe pain in his ribs and lifts… …and Toxxic leaves the ground… …and goes vertical… …and Mak’s right arm gives out, allowing Toxxic to slip down behind the challenger moments before Francis can complete the Franchise Tag and surely put the match away! The dazed Brit nevertheless reacts on instinct and wraps both hands around Mak’s forehead from behind, looking to set up the Underkill, but Mak’s hands flash up and he grips both wrists before twisting around and crossing Toxxic’s arms over in the process! The Straight-Edge Sensation reacts immediately by kicking Mak’s left hand away, then slips behind the Franchise to apply a hammerlock to his opponent’s weakened right arm. Mak grunts in pain, but his alarm increases exponentially as Toxxic reaches forward with his left arm and applies a Dragon Sleeper, then starts trying to lock in the Repeat To Fade! “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Mak knows that he doesn’t want to risk being caught in the submission that made Danny Williams pass out, so he reacts in the best way he knows how and fires off one, two, three left hands to Toxxic’s ribs. The pain in his ribs is combining with the pain in the straight-edger’s back and his grip loosens, but to really make sure Mak reaches up and rakes his opponent’s eyes with his fingers! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic finally releases his hold and staggers back, dark tears streaming down his face as his eyes water and his eyeliner runs, and Mak Francis looks around at the crowd. “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” He’s feeling it. “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” A boot to the midsection doubles Toxxic over, not to mention adds just a little more pain to those ribs. “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” Mak leans forward and wraps both his arms around Toxxic’s waits. His right arm is killing him, but he should be able to get one more lift out of it… and one more should be all he needs. *BANG!* “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” “Gutwrench suplex!” Longdogger Pete cries as the Franchise, with a shout that is half-pain, half-exultation, dumps Toxxic over onto his back. “Do you know what this means, King?” “If I didn’t, I’m sure you’d tell me anyway,” Suicide King grumbles, but it’s reflexive; the Gambling Man seems to have given up hope on his chosen wrestler as the odds start to stack up against him. “LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!” ‘The Franchise’ Mak Francis walks - no, struts - to the turnbuckles and begins to climb. His ascent is not as fast as Toxxic’s have been, what with the lack of a right arm to pull himself up with and the ache in his ribs, but he gets there nonetheless. The top rope. “For the first time in eighteen months, Mak Francis is going to fly in the SWF!” Pete shouts. “It’s time for some BROTHERLY LOVE!!” Mak takes a deep breath - this is going to hurt, but not as much as it will hurt Toxxic - and launches himself off into space. His arms and legs pump, making the motions of the frog splash as he goes, and he descends towards victory, towards glory, towards the World Title… *CRUNCH!* …towards Toxxic’s knees. “YES!!” King roars in delight as Mak bounces off his opponent’s raised legs, desperately coughing for air and with the pain in his ribcage writ large on his face. “He took one risk too many! That’s it, it’s over!” Kivell raises his hands, ready to begin administering a double count, but Toxxic is moving. The World Champion crawls towards the wheezing Francis and grabs his legs, then locks Mak’s right boot into the crook of his left knee and traps it there with his own legs. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Mak knows what’s coming, but he simply doesn’t have enough air in his lungs to make his body move and fight Toxxic off. All he can do is weakly wave his right arm as the Straight-Edge Sensation threads his left arm underneath it and applies the ¾ nelson facelock. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “-and now the Regal Stretch,” King says in a satisfied tone of voice. “Mak Francis is tied up good; I just wonder whether he’ll have the common courtesy to tap and acknowledge the better man, or hang on to pass out in some futile gesture of defiance?” Toxxic wrenches back on his hold as Mak alternately gasps for air and groans in pain, but although Francis’ free left hand scrabbles desperately at the canvas there is no way he can get enough traction to drag 450lbs to the ropes. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” Kivell drops down in front of Mak to check on him, but the challenger shakes his head as far as he is able. Toxxic grits his teeth and pulls, determined to get the submission… “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” …and Mak Francis doesn’t give up. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” …and Mak Francis doesn’t give up. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” …and Mak Francis doesn’t give up. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” …and Mak Francis… “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” …doesn’t give up. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” “I don’t believe it!” Longdogger Pete says in amazement. “Mak Francis has been in the Regal Stretch for what, a minute now? And he’s still holding on, he’s still fighting!” “It’s pointless Mak, give it up!” King shouts. But no matter how true the Gambling Man’s words may seem to be, Mak Francis wouldn’t listen even if he could hear them. Toxxic, hauling on his facelock for all he’s worth, slowly starts to realise that something isn’t right here. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” And still, Mak Francis doesn’t give up. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” Toxxic risks breaking his concentration for a moment and looks around. They are more or less in the centre of the ring. He has a small margin for error. He needs to make Francis either submit or pass out soon, before the effort of holding this unnatural position after such a gruelling match causes him to cramp up and let go accidentally. So he takes a risk. He releases Mak’s legs. “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The crowd thinks that Mak has broken the hold himself and Francis starts scrabbling immediately, searching for the purchase that will get him to the nearest ropes and the safety that they promise, but it is false hope. Before he has managed to get two inches Toxxic has straddled his back with the ¾ nelson facelock still applied, and sat down right behind Mak’s shoulderblades. “Arrggghhh!” “Back-mounted ¾ nelson facelock?” Pete queries in horror as Toxxic leans back, using his repositioned feet to push against the canvas. “He’s not just attacking the head, neck and right arm now, Mak’s ribs must be in agony!” Kivell is still there asking the question, and now Mak knows for sure there is no escape. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” And Mak Francis… “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” …gives up. *TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!* *DING-DING-DING!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ rings out across the Alamodome, and Toxxic releases his grip and wearily rolls away as Mak folds into something roughly approaching a foetal position, clutching his ribs with his one good arm. Matthew Kivell reaches down and raises Toxxic’s right hand in victory as the straight-edger uses his left to wipe away the remnants of his eyeliner. “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner and STILL~ SWF WORLD… HEAVYWEIGHT… CHAMPION…” Funyon booms over the crowd noise, “the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” Toxxic grabs the title belt that is returned to him by Kivell and staggers up to his feet, clutching at the ropes for support. His gaze rests for a moment on Mak Francis, still down in the middle of the ring, but the straight-edger’s face remains impassive, if exhausted. Then he slumps down to the canvas - not without another wince - and rolls under the ropes. “What a match,” Pete says simply as Kivell checks on Mak Francis and the Franchise assures him that he’s OK. “Both men gave it their all, but Toxxic came out on top. Did those few shows off since his defence against Todd Cortez mean he was better rested? Was Mak Francis still in the mindset of facing Spike Jenkins after their three recent matches? We may never know, but I remain sure that on another day the Franchise could have taken this!” “Oh, he could have done,” Suicide King agrees with his commentary partner, “but not today. You see Pete, Toxxic might not be the best mat wrestler or the best brawler, or even the most spectacular high-flyer… but he is the best competitor in the SWF today at taking advantage of any mistakes his opponent makes, and that is why he’s World Champion. The other thing was that Mak was looking to set up Toxxic for his big moves, but he never once tried to go to the legs and neutralise Toxxic’s own offence. Toxxic went for Mak’s arm and ribs, and was working an offence and a defence!” “And…?” Pete asks in a tone that implies he knows what’s coming next. “…and Toxxic’s just better,” King finishes with a smug grin. Meanwhile, the World Champion in question has reached the top of the entrance ramp and pauses to catch his breath, then looks back out at the Alamodome. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” There’s really only one answer to that. Slowly, the Straight-Edge Sensation raises the World Title high in the air again. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Mak Francis is standing in the ring now, although he’s still clearly in some pain. Toxxic’s eyes fix on his opponent, and it for this reason that he doesn’t see the black-clad shape approach him from behind. “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “That’s- what’s Johnny Dangerous doing here?” Pete gasps, but the Secret Agent wastes no time in making his intentions clear as he ducks his head under Toxxic’s arm, takes a good grip with both hands and lifts… *BANG!!* “MI SLAM ON THE STEEL RAMP!” Pete yells at the top of his lungs as the Alamo dome explodes into a frenzy! “But why!? Why is Johnny here!?” “I don’t care, but get him out of here!” King bellows in response. Johnny Dangerous reaches down and plucks the SWF World Title from Toxxic’s limp grasp, then straightens up and holds it high. The Barracuda looks down towards the ring… and there, leaning on the ropes, is an exhausted Mak Francis. And the look in the eyes of the Franchise is not a pleasant one. “I don’t think Mak Francis is pleased at Johnny making free with the belt that he’s just fought so hard for!” Pete speculates as the two wrestlers lock eyes. “It’s one thing to wrestle your heart out for it and fail, and quite another to assault the champion from behind after an exhausting match!” Johnny smiles down at Mak Francis, then ostentatiously dusts the belt off and replaces it over Toxxic’s chest. The crowd noise is mixed - quite a lot of Texans are cheering for the Barracuda, but there are scattered pockets who don’t like seeing a champion, even one as despised as Toxxic, get jumped from behind after putting on a great show. “Fans, we’re out of time,” Longdogger Pete shouts over the din, “but you can bet that this controversy will continue! Join us on Friday for STOOOORRRRRMMMMMMM!” The last image the camera shows is Johnny Dangerous standing over the fallen figure of Toxxic at the top of the ramp while Mak Francis can only look on from the ring. FADE OUT

The annual Battleground Pay Per View continues on. Foot mounted cameras bring SWF fans their next match of the evening. The Brawling Titty is the site of this image. It’s a nicely furnished bar, offering many things for many different types of people. The majority of the establishment is made up by the large bar, surrounded by stools. Behind the bar is an abundance of bottles, filled with vodka, whiskey, and rum, brandy, and beer taps. The illusion of there being many more bottles is given by the mirror behind them. “The Brawling Titty” also features simple four seated tables, a row of booths, a dart board, a spacious fireplace with a mantle designed after The Alamo. A billiards table with a Shiner Bock light hanging above it, a life size cardboard cutout of Tim Duncan, and many other points of interest fill out the bar. Also, several Texas flag designs are seen throughout, as Texan’s love their state. Finally, the camera sweeps back around and runs smack dab into Ben Hardy’s face. Standing next to Hardy is dark match referee Glenne Kwagmeier. “Reporting from The Brawling Titty, I am Ben Hardy! We are just moments away from the bar room brawl between Arch Griffon and Muhammed Koran,” Hardy introduces. “Thank you, Ben. I have to say, I’m glad King and I am not there right now,” Pete chuckles. “Yes. Make sure to put in a raincoat you shmuck,” says the evil King. “Haha, no I haven’t purchased a coat for this event,” the now emotionally scarred reporter says. “We wait now on Muhammed Koran, as Griffon has already taken a seat at the bar,” says Hardy. Off in the distance sits the hulking form of Arch Griffon, cigarette in his right hand, a drink in his left. His sneaker covered foot twitches with anxiety on the floor. He is also dressed in a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans, which are held up by a simple leather belt. He finishes his cigarette, and snuffs it out in a nearby ashtray. He then goes about downing the last gulps of drink, and slams it on the table. He then rises, pays and tips the bartender, and walks over to the booths on the other side of the establishment. He calmly sits in a booth next to the windows. Indian music suddenly starts to blare throughout The Brawling Titty. In walk Muhammed Koran and his manager “The Prince” Haram Nazeer. The music comes from a boom-box held over Nazeer’s shoulder. He bobs to the drum beats. The pair is dressed in matching black track suits. “And here is Muhammed Koran. He requested this match, and dog gone it, he had gotten it,” says Pete. “I love their tracksuits! Especially how they have “The Tigris Express” emblazoned on the back. They should win on fashion alone,” says King, obviously taking the side of the duo. “Too bad this match is about who can inflict more damage, King,” corrects Pete. Not unexpectedly, the men inside the bar are hostile towards Koran. He just looks on defiantly. One big man comes up to him. All that needs to be said is that he wears a “Dale Jr. #8” cap. He comes up to Koran and Nazeer, and starts to mouth off to the two men. Koran, feeling cornered by the crowd of angry rednecks, quickly kicks this man in the stomach, doubling him over. Koran quickly leaps into the air, grabs the man, and falls to the seat of his pants. The man’s head pounds into the hard wood flooring, as Koran has hit the Arabian Pride! “Now that was uncalled for, Koran! You could have broken his neck!” screams Pete. “He was just setting an example for the rest of the gentleman in that establishment! Look at their reactions! They’re scattering!” King says, a master of the human mind and group dynamics. The patrons of the establishment scatter. The bartenders join the exodus. Friends of the fallen redneck pull him out of the bar as well. Ben Hardy leaves as well, but the referee sticks around. Koran and Nazeer now stand alone in the bar, their position blocking their view of Griffon, who still sits in a booth behind the wall. Nazeer turns off the stereo and places it down on the ground. “Is anyone here man enough to play for blood?” Koran says unexpectedly. “I’m your huckleberry.” Koran and Nazeer track the noise down to its origin, but can’t see a soul. Finally, Koran notices smoke billowing away from the obstructed booth. Koran wheels around and sees Griffon sitting on the edge of the booth, enjoying a cigarette. “I swear, if Griffon doesn’t stop smoking, he’s going to get emphysema before he has a shot at the SWF Title!” King says, obviously affected by the anti-smoking ads on television. “Are you just going to sit there, Archie? Or, are you going to fight me and Nazeer?!” asks Muhammed, pumped up. Griffon chuckles, even though the rage building up inside of him is quite visible. “I’m a sharpshooter with this thing,” says Griffon, out of the blue. “What?!” quizzes Koran. Griffon then takes his cigarettes and flicks it Koran. The cherry nails Koran right between the eyes! Arch quickly rises to his feet, and due to Koran’s confused state, is able to pick him up off his feet, and drive him into a near by wall! “That was such is ridiculous move for Griffon to take there!” screams King. “He did that right to his face, and after all, this is a ‘brawl’,” answers Pete. Griffon grabs a hold of Koran, and starts to pummel him with knees to the ribs, taking the wind out of Koran, and making him slump to the floor. Nazeer, in a panic, rushes over to Arch, and punches him in the back of his head. Griffon stops attacking Koran. “Well, since this a bar room brawl, I guess that Nazeer can be an active participant then!” says King, coming back at Pete. Griffon slowly turns around, and locks his sights on Nazeer. A look of panic stretches across the much smaller man’s face. He attempts to run away, but Griffon grabs him by the neck of his tracksuit. Griffon pulls Nazeer towards himself, and then throws a forearm to the back of Nazeer’s head, stunning him. Griffon then turns Nazeer around, and puts him in a standing headscissors. Griffon is able to pick up the small man with ease, and puts Nazeer’s legs over his shoulders. Arch points himself towards the windows next to the front door. “Yes, Nazeer was part of this match, King,” jokes Pete. “Where is your heart, Pete?” asks King. Koran finally recovers Griffon, and climbs to his feet. At the same time, Griffon charges forward and flings Nazeer through the window! *SMASH* “Bloodlust Powerbomb from Griffon!” yells Pete. “Well, down goes Nazeer,” comments King. The crowd outside scatters again as they see the young man fly through the window and to the sidewalk. Back inside, Griffon watches the rest of the window fall to the ground. Muhammed Koran gets back to his feet now, and walks towards Archie. As he approaches his foe from behind, he drops down to his knees, and swings up a fist! Griffon goes down hard after the low blow, clutching his lower abdomen. “The shot to the nuts took Griffon down rather quickly!” says King. Muhammed stomps away at the fallen Griffon, snarling with each blow. Slowly, Griffon starts to rise to his feet. Koran meets Griffon as he rises, and spins around behind Arch and puts on a reverse face lock. Muhammed then falls to the floor, spiking Griffon with a Falling Reverse DDT! Arch immediately grasps the back of head in pain. “Koran just planted Griffon with that DDT. Here’s the cover! Muhammed may pick up in upset in a hurry!” screams Pete. Referee Kwagmeier quickly slides into position after Koran puts on a horizontal press. ONE! TWO!! TH-NO!!! “And Archie gets the shoulder up to stave of defeat!” says Pete. “That low blow has really changed the complexion of this match,” adds King. Muhammed drags Griffon back to his feet and puts him in a standing head scissors. Koran takes a moment to cough up some spit and let loose on the floor, showing disrespect to Griffon. The few seconds of nothing is enough for Arch, as he able to power out of the standing head scissors and backdrop Koran on to, and off of a nearby table! “And Griffon protects himself from further punishment,” says Pete. Back in The Brawling Titty, Griffon pulls up a chair to take a seat in and gather his bearings. Meanwhile, Koran slowly rises to his feet, favoring his back. Griffon rises out of his chair, and approaches Koran. Griffon lets go with a big right hand, which snaps Koran’s head back. Muhammed shrugs it off and comes with a right of his own. Archie absorbs the blow and comes back at The Tigris Express with another right hand. Koran backpedals down the store a little bit, and winds up near the Alamo fireplace. Arch is quick to follow, however. Griffon lands another right hand to Koran’s noggin. Muhammed stumbles once more, and Archie pounces with another right hand. “These punches from Archie are sending Koran into a whole different world1” states Pete. Griffon then goes low, and picks Koran off of the ground. Archie retreats towards the fireplace and lets Koran go. Muhammed collides into the fireplace, his head bouncing off of the bricks. Koran then falls back into the room, and to the floor. Something falls to the floor in front of Archie. It’s a coonskin cap. Of course, Griffon puts on the cap. “I’m Davy Crockett! Bring me the head of Santa Anna!” screams Archie the history buff. “For those not familiar with Davy Crockett, he was a former United States Senator, a frontier pioneer, and of course, on of the heroes from The Alamo’s stand against the Mexicans.” Pete informs the general public. “Oh just shut up, Pete. You and your...” King pauses, “ability to read and learn!” Back in The Brawling Titty, Griffon, still wearing his new found hat, drags Koran back to his feet. Upon getting him up to his feet, Griffon balls up a fist and drives it into Koran’s face! The tail on Griffon’s hat flails magnificently. Griffon throws another punch, which lands flush on The Tigris Express’ face. Koran, woozy, can’t defend himself as Griffon Irish whips him into the fire place. Koran smashes his face into the brick once more. Muhammed falls to the floor, and something else falls from the mantle. It’s a large hunting knife! Griffon notices this falling to the floor, and picks it up. “It’s Sam Bowie’s legendary knife! Bowie was an interesting fella. He was involved in,” Pete is interrupted. “Oh just shut up and talk about the match!” King stabs at Pete. Back in the bar, Griffon take a good look at the knife, gets an idea of what he can do with, but then quickly shrugs off the idea and throws the knife into a nearby rubbish bin. “It’s a good thing that Arch Crockett through away that knife. We spend way too much money on legal manners, anyhow,” says Pete. “I wish that Koran would tear that hat off of Griffon’s head.” says King. As Arch turns back towards Koran, Muhammed reaches up and rakes Griffon across the eyes. Griffon retreats, and his hat falls off as the eye rake jarred it lose. “Yaha!” exclaims King. Koran stalks after Arch, but it met with a knee to the stomach. Griffon then takes control of him, and drags him over to the bar. After an Irish whip into the bar, Griffon snarls and picks up a bar stool. Archie slams the barstool into Koran’s back, making The Tigris Express slump over the bar. Griffon then hoists Koran up on the bar, gets a good grip of his tracksuit, and proceeds to race him down the bar. Koran knocks over a bowl of nuts, a couple of ashtrays, and empty glasses as he skids across the bar! Finally, Koran falls off the edge and lands on the floor hard. Arch goes for the cover. ONE! TWO!! THR-NO!!! “Koran is just able to kick out after the barslide of doom!” says Pete. “I believe everyone, at some point in time, has wanted to slide someone down a bar,” say Riley, wholeheartedly. Griffon takes a moment to regain his composure, and heads back towards the prone body of Koran. Muhammed, in an act of desperation, grabs Griffon and falls backwards, driving Arch into the bottles and mirror behind the bar! Griffon’s head goes into the mirror, cracking it slightly, while his arms get cut up slightly from all of the broken glass! Arch howls in pain and falls to the floor. “There’s blood and glass everywhere, King,” says Pete. “A very good move by Koran to stay alive,” says King. Finally, Koran gets back to his feet. He quickly drags Griffon back to his feet, and puts him on top of the bar, lacerations causing the nice finish on the bar to become stained. Muhammed climbs on top of the bar, and drags Arch to his feet with a front facelock. Koran then spins around and puts Griffon in position for the Arabian Pride. He just stands there for a moment, and stretches out his back. “With Griffon bleeding and dazed, it looks like Koran may finish this right here!” yells Pete. Before Koran can pull off the move, Griffon pushes him off. Muhammed can’t stop Arch, as the big man quickly locks on his version of The Full Nelson, called The Gridlock! Koran flips out and swings his arms, trying to fight out of it. “Griffon may get Koran to tap! He defeated Koran with the hold once before!” yells Pete. “This isn’t the same Griffon who destroyed Koran a month ago; this is a bloody and tired man. He can’t keep this on for too long,” says Riley. Streaks of blood that run down Griffon’s arms stain Koran’s neck and tracksuit. Muhammed keeps thrashing around, and Griffon’s energy starts to fade. Griffon awkwardly throws Koran away. The smaller man goes crashing to the floor, and Griffon slowly follows him. “Griffon knows he is running out of time. He is just about to pass out.” comments King. Griffon now hovers over the mutually hurting Koran. Griffon drags him to his feet, grabs Koran’s left arm, and comes forward with a short armed clothesline. Muhammed goes down but is brought back up Griffon, who again hits him with clothesline. Having locked in the Griffon’s Grasp, Arch pulls him again, but this time tucks Koran under his waist in a standing head scissors. “Here we go. After getting Koran dazed with Griffon’s Grasp, Arch looks to put him away for good!” screams Pete. “Curtains,” adds King. Arch picks up Koran and holds him perpendicular to the ground. Archie reaches around and hooks a leg, giving himself more leverage. Arch then drives him into the hard wood floor with a Cradle Piledriver! Muhammed flops on the floor for a moment, his body in shock. The bloody Griffon quickly lies on top for a cover! Glenne Kwagmeier makes the count. “He calls that the Arch Nemesis! And it is devastating!” bellows Pete. ONE! TWO!! THREEEEEE!!! “And Griffon has defeated Koran once and for all!” reports Pete. “Short and sweet, just the way I like my brawls,” adds in King. After Kwag’s hand slaps the wood for a third time, Griffon climbs back to his feet. The referee is hesitant in raising Arch’s arm, but does it anyway. Griffon looks down at the fallen Koran, and then stumbles over to his cigarettes and lighter. Arch then walks out the front door of the establishment, his sneakers crunching over the broken glass from before. After he gets outside he lights a cigarette. The camera continues to follow him outside. Arch looks to his right after taking in a deep breath of the south Texas air. He sees Nazeer recovering from his nasty spill. Nazeer can be seen rubbing the back of his head. The Prince sees Griffon, yells, and immediately charges. With some energy still left in the tank, Griffon drops down and lunges forward with his right foot. He strikes Nazeer in the jaw with a Superkick. Nazeer goes down like a hooker in an empty movie theater. After taking a puff of his bloody cigarette, Griffon takes a long walk back to the arena, where bandages await. We then fade it into a video package featuring the anticipated Hardcore Championship rematch between Insane Luchador and JJ Johnson.

Throughout the Alamodome, the crowd are on their feet already anticipating this next match eagerly. As the match screen appears on the SmarkTron, a cheer goes up through the arena for the two fan favourites, set to do battle. As the cheers die down, the camera pans around the Alamodome and the unwashed masses of San Antonio, Texas. The fans rise to their feet, hoping to get their faces and their signs...such as "LANDON MADDIX = HB(2)K(5)", "I LOVE SPOKE JUNKINS" and "LIL' BUCK SHOT MY MOM"...on screen, before the camera swoops down to Longdogger Pete and The Suicide King at ringside. "Coming up next folks, it's your...semi main event." greets Pete with a smile. "With the International Championship on the line for the first time since it's creation, it's Dangerous-Maddix V!! And with four matches down, the score stands at two matches a-piece. Tonight...we see the rubber match, live on Pay Per View." "Whoopee!" groans King. "It was just under a year ago that we were in this very same position, at Ground Zero." begins Pete. "Just a few miles away in Dallas, it was Landon Maddix challenging Johnny Dangerous for the ICTV Championship. On that night at Ground Zero, in what proved to be one of the most underrated matches of the year, Landon Maddix regained the ICTV Title in an EPIC encounter! Will history repeat itself here tonight?" "I doubt it. If you look at Ground Zero compared to tonight, you'll notice some crucial differences. Most noteably...Chris Card isn't in Maddix's corner. Natasha isn't in his corner. Johnny Dangerous has more of an edge than he did last year, Maddix doesn't..." "Well, that may be true. But Landon Maddix has been more successful since getting rid of that slimeball Card than he ever was when he was around." "That's only because I told Card to keep this idiot away from the World Title." Pete pauses, unsure whever King has just proven his point right or not. King looks at the Longdogger curiously, while he gives up trying to make sense of his partner and simply sighs deeply...as we then swoop up to Funyon, standing centre ring with a smile on his face and microphone in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen." Funyon begins. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall...and it is for... THE SMARTMARK WRESTLING FEDERATION... INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!" "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" With his piece said, Funyon backs away to have a chat with assigned referee Nick Soapdish... "PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!" ...WAAAAAHHHHH... *DUM DUM* "YYYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" As suddenly, "Megalomaniac" by Incubus pierces the crowd's growing silence and brings the Texan natives to their feet! Wasting little time, the challenger bursts through the curtains and fires up the crowd, as Megan follows out behind him. Maddix turns to her and the two exchange a confident high-five, before Maddix bounds down the ramp tagging hands. "Introducing first, the challenger. Accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye! From Huron, South Dakota...weighing in at two hundred, twenty pounds. He represents Martial Law...the former three-time SWF ICTV Champion... LAAAAAAAANNDDOOOOOONN!... "LA CUCARACHA!"... MAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXX!!!!!!" Reaching the ring, Landon leaps to the apron, before running across the apron and leaping up to the middle turnbuckle. Looking out at the crowd, Landon grins and holds his arms out to the sides and soaks up the adulation of the San Antonio faithful, before leaping over the top and entering the ring. Maddix then holds open the ropes for Megan, before jogging over to his corner. "It was Johnny Dangerous who stopped this man's record breaking ICTV Title at 138 days." reminds Pete. "But tonight, the tables may turn, as it's Maddix the challenger, Dangerous the champion." "Well, Maddix and Dangerous exchanged the ICTV Title three times, so you wouldn't bet against this version of the belt changing tonight." Maddix begins some last minute preperations in the ring... “JOHNNY DANGEROUS!” ...as suddenly, the lights dim, and a sultry female voice breathes the name of the SWF’s resident secret agent. “After The Flesh” by My Life With The Thrill Kill Cult begins to thump through the crowd as smoke fills the stage, strobes go crazy...and Johnny Dangerous emerges through the smoke. Leaving his Tag Title belt around his waist, Johnny removes his International Title belt from over his shoulder and raises it in the air, to cheers from the crowd and a piercing glare from Maddix. Smiling from ear to ear, Dangerous walks down the aisle and tries to win back some fans by tagging hands, just as Maddix did earlier. "And his opponent...from Las Vegas, Nevada! Weighing in at two hundred and seventeen pounds. He is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions... and the reigning and defending SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION... "THE BARRACUDA"... JJOOOOOOHHHHHHNNYYYYYY! DDAAAAAAAAANNGGEEEEEEERRRRRROOOOOUUUUSSSSSSSSS!!!!!" "Johnny Dangerous has been under the microscope in recent weeks, for his recent...behaviour, conduct...his recent mindset in the ring. But tonight, he seems to be getting a good reaction here in San Antonio regardless." "Oh yeah, these sheep'll love Dangerous right up until the moment he finally ditches them." "King!" "Well, it's true." Dangerous climbs to the apron and enters the ring nervously, keeping one eye on the less than trustworthy opposition he has. But Maddix keeps his distance. Removing his two titles, Dangerous passes them both to referee Soapdish, Maddix eyeing both belts up with a look of green, green jealousy from across the ring. Dangerous spots it and smirks over at Maddix, while Soapdish removes the belts... *DING DING DING!* ...and calls for the bell. Both Maddix and Dangerous remain in their corners and exchange heated glances, as Soapdish motions for them to kick things off. Instead of starting the match off though, Johnny turns out to the crowd and climbs to the middle rope to pose for the fans. "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" Johnny leaps down and smirks over at Maddix...who smirks back, before testing his own crowd support. "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!" With mocking applause, Dangerous sneers at his opponent...before again, posing for his fans. "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" "This isn't a beauty pageant, but it looks like one at the moment." "Beauty? I sure hope your wife isn't watching." As Dangerous smiles at getting the better of the crowd support, Maddix turns to the outside and motions for Megan to come and help him. Hopping to the apron, one smile from Megan... "YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...gives Maddix the victory. "CHEAP HEAT!" cries King. Much happier now, Maddix pats Megan on the back as she goes back to the outside, before turning to Dangerous and encouraging him to bring it on. "Back in my day, we didn't need blonde bimbos to get heat." growls Pete. "These kids today disgust me." "Thank you, Muzz." "Guh?" "Maybe now we'll get this match started, properly." Advancing out of the corner, Johnny calls in Maddix and finally, the two men lock up in the centre of the ring. After a little jostling and a little jinking, the champion begins to get traction and pushes Maddix back towards the turnbuckles. Maddix digs his feet defiantly, but Dangerous uses his strength to keep forcing the challenger backwards until he's pressed against the corner. Referee Soapdish instantly calls for a clean break, which Dangerous cautiously gives...but Maddix instantly snatches him back into another collar and elbow. Caught by surprise, Johnny ends up being pushed back to the centre of the ring, before gaining his bearings and pushing back. Heading back for the same corner, Maddix twists the lock-up to the right and backs Dangerous against the ropes, only for The Barracuda to twist Maddix in response. Johnny forces Maddix up against the ropes, as Soapdish again calls for a clean break. Again, Johnny is cautious to give it...but this time, Dangerous swings out while breaking... ...but Maddix just weaves underneath a roundhouse kick attempt, scrambling to the safety of the centre of the ring. "Wow, Maddix dodged a bullet there." gasps King. "If Dangerous connected there, this match would be over already. As Maddix cracks his neck to the side, Johnny informs him how close he came to knockout city. Shaking it off, Maddix circles the ring, meeting Dangerous in the centre and locking up again. Johnny slides behind into a waistlock, lifting Maddix off his feet and spinning him facefirst to the canvas. Not wanting to get caught on the mat, Landon slides off his front and to his ass before pushing up back onto his feet, waistlock still applied. Reaching behind, Maddix finds no escape. He finds no escape reaching up and over either. And before he can think of another route, Maddix is again taken to the mat with the waistlock. Dangerous slides over top this time, latching on a front facelock. Maddix spins out of it though, leaping to his feet as Dangerous does the same, and we are at a stalemate! "YEEEEEAAAAAA..." *SMACK!* Until Dangerous palmstrikes his opponent to the canvas that is! Quickly, the champ drops down into a cover... ONE! Maddix kicks out, but Johnny grabs him into a side headlock straight away. Dictating the early pace, Dangerous hangs onto the side headlock and tries to keep Maddix down. The challenger fights to his knees before Dangerous cranks up on the hold again. Maddix gets to one knee, as Dangerous turns his back to referee Soapdish, sneakily popping Maddix with a right hand before Soapdish can get around to spot it. "And there again, the...'questionable' tactics from Johnny Dangerous." points out Pete. "Hey, it's smart wrestling Pete." King counters. "Whever you think it's questionable or not doesn't make the slightest difference." As Soapdish sees Maddix clutching his temple, the look of innocence from Dangerous is enough for him to not bother with any questions. Instead, he backs away, as Dangerous spins to the side with a side headlock takedown, leaning his weight onto Maddix... ONE! Only a one count, but Dangerous is still in pole position. "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EE!" The crowd are split down the middle seemingly, as Maddix turns Dangerous onto his shoulders...for little more than a second, before Dangerous kicks back into the headlock. However, Maddix reaches a foot back to cause a break...a break which Dangerous gives, only to pull Maddix up by the hair and re-apply the headlock. "A simple headlock utilised by Johnny here, which may not seem like a very effective move nowadays. But Johnny is wasting no motion here." calls Pete. "He's not just throwing on a headlock for the sake of throwing on a headlock like some kids do nowadays. He's wearing Maddix down, keeping him at arm's length, preventing him from picking up any momentum or speed." "And you know as well as I do King, this is a sure fire way to get a cauliflower ear or two." "For sure." Clinging onto the headlock, Johnny turns away from Soapdish and hits another disguised right hand. Maddix drops to one knee from the shot, but soon fights back up and pushes Johnny into the ropes. Back shoots the International Champion, barging through Landon with a big shoulder block. Up staggers Maddix, into another side headlock... ...but Maddix blocks the takedown by clinging onto Johnny's standing leg, taking him off his feet. In a tangle on the mat, Dangerous and Maddix end up locked together, forcing Soapdish to step in and prise the two apart. An action neither Dangerous or Maddix want, losing their cools and swinging wildly on the canvas as Soapdish pulls Maddix off of the grounded champion. Maddix is held back by Soapdish as Dangerous charges in, but Soapdish stands between the two men and prevents the match from spiralling out of control. "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EE!" As both men retreat a little, Soapdish finally lets them go again. Both seem to have calmed down now as instead of going hell for leather, they again lock up...and again, Dangerous goes back to the trusty side headlock. Maddix quickly pushes him off into the ropes and waits for Johnny to charge back, dropping down at the last second. Johnny vaults over, landing behind Maddix and waiting for him to get back up... ...but Maddix ducks a backfist... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOOO!" ...and lights up Johnny with a chop! *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOOO!" ...and a second. Dangerous's top doesn't do him any favours, what with it being so tight, the chops leaving him open for an irish whip...no, reversed by Dangerous. Scooping under Maddix, Johnny lifts. Landon floats over behind Johnny and quickly applies a waistlock, only for Johnny to reach back and re-apply the headlock YET again. This time though, Maddix is expecting the hold and reacts quickly in dropping Johnny back with a back suplex! "He had him scouted that time!" cries Pete, as Maddix makes a quick pin... ONE! But Johnny makes with the quick kickout. "Certainly, Johnny has a gameplan to wear down Maddix and keep him controlled with the headlock." Pete notes. "But if you go to the well too often, eventually, you'll run out of water...metaphorically." As Johnny climbs to his feet, Maddix quickly hits the ropes, charging at Johnny with reckless abandon. Swinging wildly, Dangerous hits nothing but thin air as Maddix ducks under a clothesline attempt, waiting for Johnny to turn...before LAMPING him with a forearm strike! Johnny reels away from the force, clutching his jaw as Maddix hits a second, third and then fourth forearm. Dazed, Johnny flails at Maddix with a palmstrike attempt. However, Maddix ducks again, catching Johnny turning and spiking him with a Hurri-Lanrana! "And there's why Johnny didn't want Maddix to use his speed!" Skidding out of the ring, Johnny looks a little dis-orientated as he climbs from the ringside mats and clumbsily falls into the apron. As he does, Maddix charges with a baseball slide that sends Johnny stumbling back away from the ring. Johnny turns around slowly, as Maddix clutches onto the top rope and slingshots out towards Dangerous with a traditional plancha... ...WITH AN UN-TRADITIONAL LANDING ON THE ARENA FLOOR!!!! "OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Johnny moved!" Pete gasps, as Maddix rolls on the floor in agony, his right leg having folded underneath his body on landing. "And that could turn the tide of this match." "It sure could, because Maddix may have hurt his knee badly." Johnny rolls back into the ring and leans into the corner to catch his breath again, as meanwhile, Soapdish peers over the ropes. Megan is around to check on her man's condition, as Soapdish is encouraged to start his count by the International Champion. "ONE!" "TWO!" "Johnny would be more than happy to take a countout victory here." "THREE!" "FOUR!" Megan pleads with Soapdish to stop his count, but Maddix is trying to pull himself up behind her. A grimace of sheer pain fills Maddix's face as he pushes onto his good left leg, before discovering he can't put any weight on the right and collapsing again. "FIVE!" Megan's pleas fall on deaf ears meanwhile. "SIX!" "SEVEN!" Pushing onto his left leg again, Maddix leans into the apron to hold himself up...and a little helping push from Megan gets Maddix back in the ring before Soapdish can reach eight. "How's that for questionable tactics?" King asks Pete slyly. "Well, nobody ever accused Megan and Maddix of being all sugar and spice." Quick as a flash, Dangerous is over to the injured opponent, dragging him away from the ropes and lining up the leg for a hard stomp. Maddix wails in agony, trying to drag himself away as Johnny stomps down on the knee again...again...and again, causing Maddix some extreme discomfort. Reaching down, Johnny grabs the leg with a wry smile, punting the inside of the knee. Johnny then wraps his legs around Maddix's with a twist, dropping to his knees and WRENCHING Maddix's knee into a very awkward angle. "Johnny, with no second thoughts on what to do here." King points out. "One thing about him, he's focused." Johnny stays on his knees, twisting up further on Maddix's knee, which is enough for Soapdish to drop down and check for a submission. Shouts of 'NO' can be heard from Maddix in between his crying out in pain. So Johnny tightens the hold a little more. "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EE!" Again, the start of support for the challenger fires the champion's fans into life, as Dangerous gives another twist. The agonised challenger slumps backwards, teeth gritted in pain... ONE! TW... ...remembering where he is, Maddix shoots a shoulder up. As he does, Johnny reaches and grabs Maddix's left leg, easing up on his hold and turning Maddix onto his front. The Barracuda turns with him, locking Maddix's right leg under his left knee and locking that back into a modified figure four leglock of sorts. Coming to his feet, Dangerous re-adjusts his opponent's legs again and pulls up, heaving Maddix's body up into a Texas Cloverleaf! "An appropriate move, here in San Antonio!" cheers Pete, to groans from his broadcast colleauge. Stepping back to fold up Maddix some more, Dangerous lifts the legs again, elevating Maddix into a more painful position. Megan is over into Maddix's eyeline to encourage her man on, but her encouragement does little to ease his pain. Still, the challenger refuses to quit though. So Dangerous tries to speed the process up by standing on Maddix's head, a tactic Soapdish likes so little that he begins a 5 count on Dangerous, getting to four before Johnny angrily breaks the hold to berate the official. "Now, what was that for?" "You can't stand on your opponent's head, King." "Why the hell not? When the hell did that stupid rule start getting enforced?" "I don't know...maybe we can chalk it up to referee's discretion." As Dangerous ends his arguement with the referee, he grabs Maddix by the hair and hauls him to his feet. Still unable to put any pressure on his right leg, Maddix limps towards the centre of the ring where Dangerous drags him, getting scooped and slammed. Johnny then reaches down, locking up the legs for another Cloverleaf. Megan encourages her man to fight the hold, which is exactly what he does, grabbing Johnny by the shirt and pounding him with right hands. Eventually, Johnny stumbles backwards, allowing Maddix to limp gingerly to his feet... ...but Johnny nails a dropkick, pin-point to the knee. Maddix is sent soaring off his feet as Dangerous remains seated, smiling wryly at his opponent's discomfort. Meanwhile, Landon rolls around in agony beside him, Soapdish checking on his condition. Getting to his feet, Dangerous pushes away Soapdish and starts to stomp away ruthlessly on the right knee again. Crawling away, Maddix seeks the safety of the ropes...and then, when Dangerous continues his attack in the ropes, Maddix slides to the outside. But still, Johnny doesn't let up, following out to the floor. Landon continues to scurry as best possible away from the International champion, but Johnny is hot on his heels. Pulling Maddix up, Johnny turns his opponent towards the steel barricade and SLAMS his head into the steel! "Dangerous, looking ruthless on the attack here." admires King. A pained expression forms on Landon's face as he slumps into the barricade. Johnny pulls him off though, getting into a brief arguement with one staunch Maddix fan wielding a "JOHNNY MILD" sign, before irish whipping Maddix... ...NO, reversed... *CRAAAAAASSHH!!* ...AND DANGEROUS DISLODGES THE STEEL STEPS HIP-FIRST!! "What a crucial counter that may have been!" gasps Pete. "Dangerous had things going his way, but a last gasp, desperate reversal has turned the tide." "It has, but what exactly can Maddix do with only one good leg?" King questions back. Stumbling away and now limping a little himself, Dangerous rolls back into the ring. Now on the up, Maddix follows after Johnny quickly, pulling himself up on the ropes and grabbing the champion. An irish whip sends Johnny into the ropes and back, into a BAAAAACK~! body drop from Maddix!! Johnny gets to his feet quickly, but Maddix meets him with a back elbow. Down goes the champ, but again he pops back up, this time coming with a clothesline...but Landon ducks under, cradling Johnny into a schoolboy... ONE! TWO! Kickout. Kicking out, Dangerous rolls to his feet and goes for the knee again, picking the leg and leaving Maddix standing on just his left. Maddix hops for a second or two before firing off an enziguri. Having it scouted, Johnny ducks...but Landon lands safely on his hands and foot, arching back his standing leg. Johnny flicks it away though, before applying an anklelock on the right leg!! "Caught him!" "Johnny, applying an anklelock submission here." shouts Pete. "But Maddix rolls through!!" As Landon rolls through, The Operative rolls through in his own right, to his feet. Maddix is slow to his feet obviously, which gives Dangerous time to measure the knee and kick it from under the challenger! Howling again as he crumples to the canvas, Maddix is in clear pain again. Dangerous doesn't let up however, dragging Maddix right back up and snaps him over with a quick suplex. Floating over, Dangerous then goes back to the knee, placing a knee onto Landon's, one leg under the foot...and dropping, bending up the knee violently. Maddix is left to curse away by Dangerous, strolling across the ring to fire up the crowd. "YEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Dangerous' fans cheer wildly, while Maddix's hurl some abuse the International Champion's way. Soaking up the positives rather than the negatives, Johnny turns back to Maddix, who is again using the ropes to pull himself up. Johnny strolls over, kicking Landon in the back of the knee. The challenger wobbles but stays up, despite a second kick to the knee. Johnny scowls at the persistance of his opponent, turning him around and irish whipping Maddix...but the challenger gets little more than a few feet before his right leg gives out on him and he collapses. "Man, Maddix can't put any weight on that knee at the moment." groans Pete, sounding worried. "He may have done some serious damage to that knee. You see it in football, where seemingly innocuous falls can tear ligaments...and Maddix's fall certainly wasn't innocuous." With a sigh, Dangerous pulls up Maddix from the mat again and pushes him back into the corner. Maddix is wide open for Dangerous, who hits a quick flurry of jabs that daze Landon, leaving him unable to defend himself against Johnny grabbing his knee. Lacing the leg over the middle rope, Johnny backs up...and kicks the knee with authority! And again! A third time! A fourth! Soapdish finally has to intervene and push Johnny back. As he does so meanwhile, Megan has seen enough and hops to the apron, handing Maddix something sneakily before walking across the apron. "What the hell is she doing?" growls King. "Desperate times call for desperate measures it seems." Megan catches both Johnny and Soapdish's attentions, both going over to argue with her. Soapdish tries to get Megan down from the apron as Johnny gets into a slanging match with the Martial Law valet, heated words being exchanged...before Johnny flips Megan off!! "WOOOOAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" Some of the crowd seem very surprised by Johnny's actions, as he turns back to Maddix and measures another kick to the propped knee of the challenger... *pphff* "YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...AND GETS A FACEFUL OF MYSTERIOUS WHITE POWDER~! "THE IMMORTAL WHITE POWDER!!" Dangerous wheels away clawing at his eyes, as Maddix eases his leg off of the ropes and pushes up to the middle rope for the Crash Landon...but he can't support his weight properly and eases back down, cursing to himself. Maddix limps away towards Dangerous instead, sweeping away some airborne powder before grabbing Johnny under the arm and sweeping him to the mat with an STO! The back of Johnny's head bounces off the mat, as Maddix limps up and eyes up the turnbuckles. Again he thinks better of it though, trying to shake off the pain in his knee and then trying to walk it off a little. "This is ridiculous, Pete." groans King. "Again...AGAIN...Maddix has to cheat to get himself out of a corner, instead of fighting like a man!" Up gets Dangerous, possibly with a little double vision (or lack of vision) as he staggers off to Maddix's left. Megan is back at ringside by now, the powder having cleared enough for referee Soapdish not to be suspcious. As Johnny blindly fumbles around for his opponent, Maddix can measure him and connect with a big forearm! Maddix follows with a second...and a third. "These forearms, not hurting Maddix's knee at all." Pete points out. "Maddix is going to have to pick and choose with his offense, because one mistake could let the champion right back in." Maddix nails a couple more forearms, before whipping Dangerous into the corner. Thinking about charging in after the champion, the leg of the challenger sways his opinion to caution and he instead limps in with a clubbing clothesline. Still Johnny's vision is suspect as he wildly swings and misses Maddix while staggering out of the corner, allowing Maddix to hook on an inverted front facelock, whipping around and driving Johnny down with the Landon Eye!! The crowd pop, as Maddix eases on top of Johnny for the cover... ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! "Johnny Dangerous' head, bouncing off the mat for the second time in the last minute or so...but he's still okay to kick out there." "Well, Johnny hasn't taken a lot of real punishment so far." Maddix limps up and tries out the middle rope again, easing onto a seated position on the top turnbuckle before trying to stand up. A shooting pain fires up his leg again though, causing him to grimace...and lose his concentration long enough for Johnny to smash his skull with a palmstrike!! Maddix wobbles backwards but avoids falling to the floor. Meanwhile, Johnny rubs the back of his head briefly, before climbing to the middle rope. "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EE!" The champion and challenger are both perched precariously now, Johnny firing in right hands to Maddix. But his sore eyes cause him to stop and tend to them, allowing Maddix to hit a quick forearm. Johnny hooks the top rope to avoid falling to the mat. A second forearm catches him by surprise though, causing Johnny to take a hard fall to the mat!! "Oh...his head bounced off the mat like a rubber ball again!" cries Pete. This time, the International Champion looks seriously dis-orientated as he climbs to his feet and walks slowly over... *SLAP!* ...into a stinging open-hander from Maddix. The shot stops Dangerous right in his tracks, allowing Maddix to lock on a front facelock and ease up onto his good left leg. A little wobble worries Megan, but Maddix gains his balance and springs off the good leg... ...and NAILS a Tornado DDT!! "And again, Dangerous, head-first!" The champ is left staring vacantly up at the lights as Maddix crawls over, dropping on top for the cover... ONE! TWO! SHOULDER UP!! "OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!" Megan clutches her hands to her head despairingly, clearly believing her man had the International Championship in the bag. 'Her man' doesn't dwell on the dissappointment though, climbing to his feet and backing into the corner... *STOMP!* "Wait a minute...he's tuning up the band here." says the confused Pete in a...confused voice. *STOMP!* "This may not be too clever of an idea." *STOMP!* "What do you expect from this kid, physcology?" sneers King. Slowly Johnny reaches his feet, using the ropes to assist him. *STOMP!* His eyes still sting like crazy and judging from the glazed over look in his eyes, his equilibrium is knocked off centre. *STOMP!* But he's up... *STOMP!* *STOMP!* Finally Maddix limps out of the corner... ...Johnny ducks... ...but Maddix doesn't shoot out the leg, instead spiking Johnny on his head with a DDT!! "Sweet Cuca...DDT!?!" "He faked Dangerous out!" cries King. "He didn't even attempt the Superkick, because he knew he'd end up hurting himself, so he instead hits a DDT. And I must say, I'm shocked that he was smart enough to do it!" As Johnny slumps onto his back, the challenger slumps on top and hooks a leg as best possible in his awkward position, Soapdish diving over... ONE! TWO! SHOULDER UP AGAIN!! A mixed reaction goes up as this time, it's Maddix who throws his hands skywards in despair. "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EE!" The fans are still split down the middle, as Landon drags Johnny to his feet, hitting a forearm. And a second. Despite being dis-orientated, Johnny shrugs the strikes off though, sweeping a swift kick across the back of Landon's knee, which buckles underneath the challenger and causes him to fall into more agony. "There's the advantage of working a bodypart though, Pete. If you work the bodypart, if you get in trouble you leave yourself an escape route." "And Johnny just escaped there, because he was on the backfoot from Maddix then." Johnny takes the opportunity to shake some cobwebs before turning to the outside and sneering down at Megan Skye, who cusses back at the International Champion. Johnny shrugs it off, going back after Landon, wrapping around his leg and looking for a figure four leglock. But Landon plants his left foot into Johnny's ass, pushing him off and causing him to land throat-first across the middle rope!! "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHH..." The crowd begin to cheer, anticipating a 605. But Maddix has other ideas as he scrambles back up, pulling Johnny off of the ropes and hitting as much of a back suplex as his right knee will allow. "NOW...I'M GOIN' UP!" yells Landon, pointing to the corner as the Maddix fans cheer their man on. "This kid needs to learn some self control." King sighs. "He's going to cost himself the match and the title here if he's not careful." Regardless, Maddix climbs to the apron and begins to scale the turnbuckles. Clearly his knee is prohibiting his climb, but Maddix grits his teeth through the pain and perserveres on up the buckles and towards the top rope. Reaching the top, Landon looks down at the still stationary Barracuda and afford himself time to get set on the top...before eeeasing himself slowly to a standing position on the top rope. Pain is still etched on Maddix's face, but he fights through it and begins to fall from the top... ...BUT MISSES A SWANDIVE HEADBUTT!! "The risk didn't pay off!!" groans Pete. Hitting hard chest and face first, Maddix also jolts his knee on landing and is in a bad way. Johnny is back up quickly and grabs Maddix off of the canvas, picking him up to his feet and latching on a front facelock. Over goes the arm, as Dangerous arches back...and nails a vertical suplex! But Johnny doesn't stop there, rolling through and pulling up Maddix again. "ONE!" "And now, Johnny's looking for those triple verticals here!" The challenger is limp as Johnny hauls him up, having to hold him on his one leg to prevent him falling back to the canvas...before snapping off a second suplex! "TWO!" Rolling through again, Johnny picks Maddix from the mat for a third and lifts him over... ...but Maddix floats over, landing on Johnny's back and applying the Land Of No... NO, Dangerous pushes Maddix off. The challenger lands on his feet but jolts the knee slightly, cussing as he holds his knee. Meanwhile, Dangerous hops forward a couple of inches, before somersaulting backwards... *SMACK!* ...and catches La Cucaracha upside the head with a Backflip kick!! "Fantastic athleticism from The Barracuda!" cries Pete. "Maddix may have been KOed there." "At the very least, he's been knocked for a loop, which'll buy Johnny some time." Indeed, Maddix is knocked loopy, facedown on the mat and looking out of his head. Dangerous is up meanwhile, running a thumb slowly across his throat symbolically before hauling Maddix off of the canvas and stepping behind... ...twisting him around... "MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII SLLLAAAAAAAAMMM!!" *WHAM!* ...CONNECTS!! "YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" "The MI Slam...that has GOT to be it here!!" Maddix lands folded on his head and neck, Johnny thinking momentarily about going back to the knee before deciding the MI Slam itself will be enough and making the cover... ONE! TWO! THREEEEE!! "YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" "HE GOT HI..." "NO, NO...FOOT ON THE ROPES!!" King is eagle-eyed, more eagle-eyed than most of the fans apparantly, as he spots Maddix's foot draped over the bottom rope. The fans and Johnny Dangerous himself are already celebrating, but Soapdish has spotted the foot and does his best to attone for his error, calling off the fall frantically. "Nicky Soapdish is saying no here, King." "Of COURSE he is Drain-Clogger. There's a foot on the ropes. It's just a shame he didn't spot it before getting everyone's hopes up!" Soapdish stops Johnny's celebrations in midflow now, telling him what happened. Dangerous doesn't look best pleased, to say the least, and starts to verbally cut Soapdish apart while gesticulating furiously. As he does meanwhile, Megan is screaming at Landon to get back up. "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EE!" "We've got controversy here. There was a three count, but Soapdish has called it off..." Dangerous tries his best to argue his point, but Soapdish isn't budging. Still, Johnny continues to press his case though, turning his attention away from Landon Maddix, who is wearily sliding up behind Johnny and pulling him down into a schoolboy roll-up... ONE! TWO! KICKOUT AGAIN BY JOHNNY!! "OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!" Shocked, Johnny rolls back to his feet and catches Landon with a quick kick to the head. And a second...third...fourth, fifth, sixth...Johnny is going crazy now, stomping down on Maddix repeatedly with his fuse completely burnt out!! Soapdish rushes over and pulls Johnny off of the helpless challenger, but The Barracuda pushes the referee away and pulls Maddix to his feet like a sack of potatoes...with no care at all. "Dangerous has lost it here...and he's calling for the end again." Hooking Maddix from the side again, the International Champion yells something inaudible out to the crowd before lifting and spinning...but Maddix rotates off of Johnny's back, sliding behind... "AARRGH!" ...but he lands awkwardly on his knee again!! Maddix yells out in pain as Johnny quickly whips around, taking the chance to boot Maddix in the gut before turning back to back...and locking his arms under La Cucaracha's. "Uh-oh..." "Johnny Dangerous is setting up...for his tag team partner's finisher, The Wild Ride!!" "And this finished off Maddix a couple of weeks ago. Will it have the same success for Johnny!?!" Johnny smiles as he turns underneath Maddix and lifts up, hovering Maddix over the canvas. But Landon tilts his weight a little...and tilts it a little more...before tipping up and over Johnny, pulling him back by a waistlock and into a roll-up... ONE! "HE CAUGHT HIM BY SURPRISE!!" TWO! THR... NO, ONLY TWO!! "Man, that was close!" "Bah, you're not going to win a major match with a roll-up nowadays." As Johnny pushes Maddix off, the challenger is sent collapsing into the ring ropes. Untangling himself, Maddix shakes off some pain in his knee, while Johnny charges him, missing Maddix...and clotheslining himself across the top rope!! The ropes spring him back and Johnny staggers around, arms flailing, one of which Maddix ducks under before snatching Johnny's head and falling back with the Complete Shot!! "YYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" Johnny's head bounces off the mat again, bringing some confidence into Megan's expression. But rather than go for the pin, Maddix rolls over onto Johnny and reaches up for the head, hooking an arm under the champion's jaw and pulling back...INTO THE LAND OF NOD!! "YYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" "LAND OF NOD!!" cries Pete, right on cue. "This has finished off some of the best...but will it finish off Johnny!?!" The crowd are on their feet as Maddix sits back with the hold, ignoring the shooting pains that sweep up and down his leg, instead concentrating on the International Title which is now within his metaphorical grip! Johnny meanwhile flails frantically, trying to tell Soapdish he doesn't want to quit, despite the fact that probably, he really would. "TAP!" "DON'T! TAP!" "TAP!" ""DON'T! TAP!" "TAP!" ""DON'T! TAP!" Johnny is hanging on for now, balling up one of his hands into a fist and cramming it into his mouth to take the mind off of the pain in his neck. The crowd are still split down the middle meanwhile, some encouraging Johnny to hang on, some pleading for him to give it up. Whever Johnny can focus on the crowd with the pain swirling through his head is doubtful though. "This move has won Maddix the World Championship! It won him the 2005 Clusterfuck! And now, it looks like it may win him the SWF International Championship!" yells Pete, trying to make himself heard over the San Antonio faithful. "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" "MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EEE!" MAD - DIX!" "JOHN - EE!" Now, Johnny is fighting the hold, pushing up onto his hands and knees. Due to the pain in his right leg, Maddix is unable to apply the hold one hundred percent as he would like without popping anything essential out of place. Which is allowing Johnny to try and turn into the inverted front facelock, looking for an escape. Maddix is hanging on though, shaking his head defiantly... ...as Johnny's hand hovers above the canvas... "TAP!" "DON'T! TAP!" "TAP!" ""DON'T! TAP!" ...BUT HE DOESN'T TAP... ...and tries to turn into Maddix's body again. Maddix seems to lack the power to keep Dangerous grounded as The Barracuda is now on one knee, leverage now on his side more. "Johnny is not giving up! He's fighting to the very last, in the hope of retaining his International Title belt..." Megan keeps the encouragement for Landon going, despite the face Dangerous is now almost face to face with Landon. Shock is evident on the challenger's part as he tries to twist Johnny back but can't seem to do so, the pain in his leg still too much... ...AS JOHNNY TURNS IN... "YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH..." ...but as the inverted front facelock is broken, Maddix snatches on a regular front facelock. Johnny stops for a moment and tries to plan out his next move, but in that time, Landon is able to force Johnny onto his ass before sitting in, locking on a bodyscissors and popping the crowd like cherry bombs~! "What the..." "That's...that's the Wet Cement! Tom Flesher's old move, the Wet Cement!" "...WHAT THE HELL!?! WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING!?!" wails King. The crowd are going wild, as Maddix sits back and starts to rock slowly, forward and back, as if inching a cork out of a champagne bottle. "And THIS is a move that Maddix can use, without worrying about his leg!" notices Pete. "This is SACRILIDGE!" "Calm down King..." "Calm down!?! CALM DOWN!?! THIS IS HORRIBLE!! SOMEBODY MAKE HIM BREAK THE DAMN HOLD!!!" Soapdish (somehow) doesn't hear King wild ravings and is right in with Johnny, checking if he wants to give up, the champion's head bent into an agonising position with no escape in sight. "TAP!" "DON'T! TAP!" "TAP!" ""DON'T! TAP!" Johnny hangs on though, even though the hold is becoming more and more effective with every passing second. "TAP!" "DON'T! TAP!" "TAP!" ""DON'T! TAP!" His head now confidently nodding to the positive, Maddix has a beaming smile on his face as he falls back once more, an agonised howl eminating from where Johnny's head now lies. "How much more can Johnny Dangerous take? His neck has to be on breaking point here..." "...it can't end like this. Please, it can't end like this!" Johnny arms are flailing again, the pain getting to him as he tries for some sort of escape... ...but can't find one... *SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP!* "YYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" ...AND TAPS OUT ON THE SIDE OF MADDIX'S BODY!!! *DING DING DING!* "HE GAVE IT UP!" cries Pete. "Johnny could hang on no longer, and we have a NEW International Champion!" "This is horrible." Maddix releases the hold as soon as the bell sounds, clutching his hands to his face in delight as Megan scrambles into the ring behind him and jumps on top with a congratulatory hug. Most of the crowd are now cheering, the split between them forgotten now the match is over, instead showing their appreciation. "Your winner of this match...and NEEEEEEWWW... S W F INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIIIIIOOOOONN... LANDON! LA CUCARACHA! MMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIIXXXXXXXXX!!!!!" "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Another resounding cheer goes up as referee Soapdish retrieves the International Title belt, dropping it into the waiting arms of La Cucaracha. Maddix clutches it to his chest as he sits up, Megan helping him limp to his feet and supporting his weight while he raises the belt to the skies. Smiles all round fill Martial law faces, as down the aisle jogs Todd Cortez to join the celebration. A congratulatory embrace from Todd to Maddix is applauded by Megan, before Todd raises Landon arm in the air. Meanwhile, Dangerous is up on his knees, watching this from a few feet away. "Landon Maddix...your new International Champion, and it was courtesy of the move used by the man he retired, Tom Flesher." "Which disgusts me." spits King. "I'd rather he hit him with a tyre iron than sully the name of a great man like Tom Flesher in the way he did. Tom has to be spitting feathers right now! If he bothered to watch this match at all." "You're so bitter, you could pass for a lemon right now, King." "Ooh, very good. Shut the hell up." The smiling Maddix limps over to the camera and gives a resounding "Thanks Tom!" before turning back around, shrugging at Johnny's dissappointed face and dangling Johnny's former gold in his face. Maddix quickly turns away then, to celebrate with Megan...as meanwhile, Cortez sees the look on Johnny's face and seems to soften a little. "JOHN - EEE!" "JOHN - EEE!" "JOHN - EEE!" "JOHN - EEE!" As the crowd chant the valiant loser's name, Cortez walks over to Johnny...extending a hand and helping him to his feet. Applause goes up for the gentlemanly act, as Cortez makes sure Johnny is okay... *SMACK!* ...BEFORE JOHNNY KOs HIM WITH A JOHNNY KICK!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Ha ha! That's what being a nice-guy gets ya, Todd!" crows King. "What the hell was that!?!" Wheeling around, Maddix limps after Johnny, but the former champion is already scrambling from the ring and walking up the ramp with a wry smirk masking his dissappointment. Megan is quickly over to check on Todd, while Maddix turns to Johnny in the rampway and points a finger towards him. "What unsporting conduct by Johnny Dangerous! I, quite frankly, would expect better from him!" "Well, I don't know about that, but one thing is for sure Pete. This issue between Wild and Dangerous and Martial Law is FAR from over." Maddix raises his newly one belt in the air towards Johnny, who growls back as he retreats, as we.. --FADE OUT--