Toxxic

I don't suppose anyone has got a list of what characteristics are needed for each gimmick, have they? only I'm sick of giving heel Rob Van Dam the Whole Dam Show gimmick, only for it to be 'not really working' when he is the embodiment of it, and so on... Also, since I'm running an all-female fed at the moment, it's really useful to know beforehand what gimmicks the game just won't allow a female wrestler to have.

I know very little about American TV, but would Spike want Raw back after they dicked around with 'USA' so much on the last Spike episode? And has Raw been getting good enough ratings that it's worth fighting for?

OK, next question. My Saturday night graveyard show is being creamed in the ratings by TNA's new saturday night graveyard show (I'm Cult, they're Global). My network can't get ratings as high as theirs, but I've gone from getting 0.71 (which is as high as I can) to 0.23. If I overload that small show with stars and big matches to get the highest rating possible will I at least be able to get my own viewers back, or will the fact that they can get higher ratings than me in the same slot mean that I'm screwed whatever I do?

That's the only reason that can explain it. Carlito is a jabroni, another WWE reject that no organisation would sign, or only out of pity. But because Vince doesn't have a clue about the wrestling business anymore, since TNA is taking the real talent out of the WWE and turning them into superstars, he might fear that TNA puts it's hands on Carlito and uses his hidden potential. I don't think Carlito has any potential whatsoever, but i've been surprised before. Either he fears TNA or he thinks it has some use for him with latin americans. Christian I will give you, but I don't think TNA really turned him into a superstar - they just pushed him as a face initially when the WWE wouldn't. Angle came over on the same level as he was in WWE, tried to become Austin, failed miserably and then returned to being Kurt Angle again. Booker is still Booker, just not King anymore. Tomko has had a chance to show his deadpan acting skills and I maintain that they CAN do a Batista-ish push with him once he comes out of people's shadows, but they haven't done it yet. Rhino? No. Raven? Again, had a real chance with him but he got Jarretted. The NAO justifiably have been cast adrift. In fact, you look at the TNA roster and tell me one superstar that they've created. Just one. They could have done it with AJ, but dropped him back down to being comedy goof heel (he does it very well, but he's not a superstar). Joe had masses of momentum, but they killed him off too in favour of Angle. Harris was starting to get over, they turn him into a whiny heel. Robert Roode can't get out of the midcard if his life depended on it. Killings was massive for a while, but he got turned into another bit-part player.

That'll be it. I realised too late that my advertising is too low this month, but didn't put the two occurrences together. At least i know I can fix this next month. Cheers.

EWR - I'm a Cult fed with three TV shows. My popularity raises after each show... and then every monday I lose a couple of % popularity. Why? I'm not big enough to be at war with anyone. There's a matter of days between my shows so it's not because I've gone too long without putting any shows on. I've never before encountered my popularity dropping like that, but I also have done many games with promotions starting out at the lower end of Cult before, normally starting at National and working up. And it's not happening after a specific show either - my popularity goes up after EACH show (Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday) and then sometime between Sunday night and monday morning something gets knocked off for no apparent reason...

Exactly. If I create a wrestler, I want him to be good. Or I at least want something where I achieve something and from there can make as many CAWs as I want as good as I want. I also want more fucking attention paid to tag teams. I want tag team Finisher moves that actually keep someone DOWN, and you have to build a meter up to somehow. Maybe tagging in and out or something, or it gets built up as both of your guys do damage, or even gets built up by doing other, lesser double-teams. It makes jack-all sense to be able to do the 3D right at the outset, or whatever.

New word limits put on the Kibagami/Flesher and WC/Spike matches. Also, a match added for Muzz (enhancement I'm afraid, since I haven't had anyone else saying they want a match)

Or he could just break his leg. Never rule that out as a possibility.

So mote it be.

Well, I recommend sorting it out with Tom then. Whatever you two agree is fine by me.

You guys want more words, you have them. I didn't want to overload you with a big limit on the pre-Christmas show. Work out what you want, we can do it. Also, people might be interested to note that a new match has been added to the card.

Basically, you know Janus used to have Ebony come out and destroy double no-shows? Well, I'm not a furry, and I find President Ramu to be representative of all that is right about comedy wrestling. Therefore, people who are part of a double no-show on my watch (and don't have a reasonable excuse) will find their character destroyed by a 12 year-old Japanese girl with facepaint.

Why do players (I'm going to use soccer here, since it's the only sport I really know) choose to go and play in the first team of a smaller club than sit on the bench and get paid more at a bigger club? Because they want to play. I imagine Carlito's the same. His dad is a wrestling legend in Puerto Rico, if you had that sort of reputation to live up to would you rather run into doorways, take one move a week and get jobbed out in the biggest company in North America, or go and actually wrestle and (potentially) put on good matches (this is subjective, but at least potentially) that could make people watch and go "hey, he's pretty good, you can tell he's Carlos Colon's boy" or whatever, even if that was in a smaller company? Big fish, small pond etc, but basically he probably wants to wrestle. Now, if he can get away with wrestling lazily and not doing much and still get paid and booked and pushed, he might well take it. But I suspect he'd rather work hard than not work at all.

Bugger. I put the card up just before I read this. Sorry Muzz, was working on the basis that you weren't available. I'll see if anyone shows up / drops out over the next day or so, if nothing happens we'll run with an enhancement if that's OK.

(send all marked matches, promos etc to King Cucaracha) The Homecoming Tour is coming to a close - we’re not at Chicago yet (that’s the location for the Clusterfuck), but Iowa welcomes the SWF for its Winter Extravaganza! Ashes 2 Ashes proved that returning momentum isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be, as Christian Blackwell and Nathaniel Kibagami both lost, while Scott Pretzler failed to make it to the Dakota Dome at all! Meanwhile Toxxic shows that he’s still got what it takes as he retained the World Title against Tom Flesher… but for how long? And will Michael Alexander’s defence of the New Blood Title and resulting title shot change the set-up at the top of the card? However, more pressing matters concern the World Champion because the Violence Distribution Network defeated Austin Sly and The Fabulous Jakey in explosive form, meaning they get a Tag Title shot tonight! However, there is one other Championship Match taking place… SWF CRUISERWEIGHT TITLE Wildchild© vs. ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins It’s been a long time since the Cruiserweight Title topped the card - the last time was when Wildchild and Scott Pretzler went toe-to-toe for the belt back in 2005 - but that’s too long ago and hey, Wildchild’s always tried to push the division so here’s an early Christmas present for him. The Bahaman Bomber only managed a time-limit draw against overseas sensation Dance Dance Dragon, but pulled off a victory against the significantly larger Christian Blackwell at Ashes 2 Ashes. It’s back to the Cruiserweight Division now for Dub-Cee, against… …Spike? Yes indeed, Spike Jenkins took out four other cruiserweights at Class Is In Session, then stepped up a weight category to dispatch Nathaniel Kibagami with the Endwell at Ashes 2 Ashes. Jenkins is 2-0 in this latest SWF run; can he keep his momentum going and wrest the Cruiserweight Title from the man who’s held the title more times than any other, or will Wildchild retain the belt that has become synonymous with his name? Word Limit: 7000 Rules: Cruiserweight - 20 count on the outside, no throwing an opponent over the top rope Send To: King Cucaracha Tom Flesher vs. Nathaniel Kibagami My mouth is watering. Momentum is a fickle thing. Tom took a loss in a tag match, then beat Johnny Dangerous to get a crack at the World Title, then failed in that World Title shot. The Superior One is doubtless nursing a bruised ego, not to mention a sore head, but can he suck it up (and there’s quite a lot of ‘it’, these days) to get back into winning ways or has Flesher’s tenure at the top of the card finally drawn to a close? Opposite him is the unpredictable, unreliable and downright unsafe River Dragon, who returned in startling form to KO Christian Fury only to be beaten by Spike Jenkins last month. On any given night you might get a washed-up drunken addict or a deadly martial artist with a mean streak and the hardest kicks in the business. Tom Flesher’s likely to run into one of the two, but which? And will it matter either way? It’s amateur wrestling skills combined with some nasty headdrops and a bit of a paunch against Muay Thai and some even nastier headdrops… but a notably weak neck. Which of these slightly flawed warriors will triumph? Word Limit: 6000 Rules: Standard Singles Send To: Toxxic SWF TAG TEAM TITLES Revolution Zero© (Austin Sly & Toxxic) vs. VDN (Va’aiga & Dace Night) It was four years ago, but Dace Night and Va’aiga were Tag Champions, and damn good ones. Now back together and their legendary falling-out behind them, they’ve headed after the straps again. Those straps are currently being held by Austin Sly, whom was one-half of the team beaten by the Violence Distribution Network at Ashes 2 Ashes, and Toxxic… who just happens to be someone against whom Dace Night has never managed a victory in any form of competition, whether singles, tag or six-man tag. Will it be 2004 all over again and Dace’s team will fall short, or has the relentless schedule of title matches taken its toll on Toxxic? With Austin Sly doubtless out for revenge and Va’aiga always ready to throw a lariat or three, this should get interesting. Word Limit: 5000 Rules: Tag. Use the tag ropes. Send To: King Cucaracha MANSON vs. Johnny Dangerous MANSON is rolling on towards MANSONMAS (get your cards in the mail now!) with some serious momentum under his belt. This has not gone unnoticed by Landon Maddix, who despite his previous differences with the Savage Messiah respects in-ring ability when he sees it. MANSON has a chance to add a big name to his tally list here tonight by taking out Johnny Dangerous, a man who has seen his form slump somewhat since losing the World Title at Genesis. A win over MANSON could get him back into the right frame of mind… a win for MANSON will result in favourable treatment down the line when title challengers are being considered… Word Limit: 4500 Rules: Standard Singles Send To: Toxxic IN THE HOUSE OF MARVELLOUS Michael Alexander takes to the stage to let the world know which champion(s) he’s going after with his New Blood title shot, and why! CRUISERWEIGHT RULES Dance Dance Dragon vs. The Fabulous Jakey Triple D *pose, spit water* has yet to lose a match in the SWF. The mysterious masked man must surely think that there’s still a Cruiserweight Title shot lurking around for him somewhere after Wildchild couldn’t beat him within the allotted timeframe for the match. However, tonight he faces two-time former Cruiserweight Champion The Fabulous Jakey. Will Dragon dance on to victory, or will Jakey have the last laugh? Only time will tell. Word Limit: 4500 Rules: Cruiserweight - 20 count on the outside, no throwing your opponent over the top rope Send To: Ace309 Christian Blackwell vs 'The Paladin' Chance Silver The big Australian suffered a defeat at the hands of Wildchild last show, but given the talent of the Bahaman Bomber that's nothing to be ashamed about. Blackwell gets a chance to work out a few cobwebs this month and prove that his win at Class Is In Session wasn't a fluke by taking on Chance Silver. Word Limit: 4500 Rules: Standard Singles Send To: King Cucaracha Taiga Star vs Olaf Andersen NEWBIE AHOY! Aaron Starr turned out to be about as impressive as Ultimo Phantasmo (remember him?), but maybe he'll be back with a little more effort at some point... meanwhile we have another Star (one 'r'), this one being Taiga! The first female competitor the federation has had in a couple of years, will she enjoy the success of Annie Onita or just turn out to be another Candice Okimurra (I hope not, for her sake - Tom's active again, after all). Opposing her is the youngest and most athletic of the Four Norsemen, so let Big Battel commence! Word Limit: 4000 Rules: Standard Singles Send To: King Cucaracha JJ Johnson vs. Craig McLennan JJ Johnson is, shall we say, a little unreliable. He was booked into a ladder match against Luke-O and never showed up, despite the $10,000 on offer. Then he was put in a Submissions Match against Scott Pretzler, for which neither of them turned up. Tonight JJ has another try, this time against Craig McLennan. McLennan got that notable win against Chris Fury a couple of shows ago, but fared badly against Spike Jenkins in the Cruiserweight Multi-Man Match. Can JJ take him down? Word Limit: 4000 Rules: Standard Singles Send To: King Cucaracha *BE WARNED - PRESIDENT RAMU IS ON DUTY TO DESTROY ALL NO-SHOWERS* NON-RELIGION-SPECIFIC FESTIVE BONUS MATCH ALL-SHOW BRAWL II Insane Luchador vs. Christian Fury Hoo, boy. See, way waaaaaaaaaaay back in 2004 Insane Luchador had a few matches against Toxxic, one of which was the notorious All-Show Brawl that took place in Philly. It ended up with IL missing a moonsault from the top of the Smarktron - well, he hit the table he was aiming for, but Toxxic was no longer on it - and Toxxic got the pin. So, for a laugh, Landon dragged this stip out to give it a second airing. Insane Luchador seems tailor-made for this match, if he brings his working boots. Fury? Well, here’s hoping he might at least get some pinfalls in this match, even if not the winning one… Word Limit: 6000 Send To: Toxxic Rules: The match starts at the start of the show in the parking lot. It is a No-DQ, Falls Count Anywhere match that will progress until one competitor has scored ten (10) pinfalls over the over, or until the end of the show (at which point the competitor in the lead will have won) Writing Notes: You have your own referee (feel free to assign someone, not one of the regular SWF refs though as they may be used elsewhere. I used the Memphis Eel), and your own cameraman (Boz). The word limit should be split into several segments - one at the start of the show and then others to be placed between other matches as you see fit until you wish to end it. You MAY ask for your match to make a brief appearance on other people’s matches (a quick brawl in one door, through the ringside area and then back out another, for example), but they need to agree it, and obviously if you wish a fall to take place in that time then you’ll need to agree with your opponent what the score should be at that time. Good luck, and may the Force be with you.

Thank you, Manson. I think my favourite is where she breaks up the submission while still playing on her Gameboy.

Clearly, none of you read the 'match' between Dace Night and the Insane Luchador at All Hallows. Or read the 'new sheriff in town' promo. Or have seen any 666.

An hour after Ashes 2 Ashes “Damn weather!” Johnny Dangerous spits, slamming the door of his car as he approaches the Dakota Dome. “I can’t believe how long it took me in traffic… the roads were a nightmare…” “You can stop complaining,” Scott Pretzler says, appearing from out of the shadows, “no-one’s listening.” “Well, you seem to be listening,” Johnny points out. “No-one who cares,” Pretzler corrects him. “However, I was late as well… although not at late as you,” he adds with a disparaging glance. “Landon’s gonna throw a fit,” Johnny grumbles, reflecting (not for the first time) how irritating it is to have Landon as a boss. “Still,” he adds hopefully, “there’s only room in his head for so many things at once, maybe he was staring at Megan’s cleavage or something and he forgot I was booked…” Scott Pretzler starts to say something, then stops. From the shadows of the building a small figure has emerged and makes its way towards them. It’s not until the parking lot lights fall upon the white-painted face of President Ramu that the pair realise just how much trouble they’re in. “Urrk!” is Scott Pretzler’s only comment as Ramu grabs him around the throat, then hoists him up and down with a chokeslam! *THUD!* “Damn, that hurts on tarmac,” Johnny notes, but before the Barracuda can turn his attention to defending himself Ramu is on him! *CHING!* Johnny’s eyes cross as the President astutely kicks him in the groin, then backs off a step before charging forwards again- *CRACK!* -and nailing a Shining Wizard! Johnny slumps backwards, pretty much unconscious. President Ramu stands up, dusts her hands off, and walks away.

I want to see Kibagami promoing about Greek paradoxes. That would make my week.

OK, not quite as good a turnout this time as last time, we had two DNS (Hawke had personal reasons, JJ's flight was delayed, I have no info on why either Pretzler or Johnny didn't get anything in) and as for the rest of it... well, I'm not sure if we actually had a competitive match. On the other hand there were some good reasons for those as well (illness, last-minute work surges), I stress the word some good reasons. Anyway, I still find it promising that we can set up a card with 9 matches on without using any enhancement talent whatsoever, even if some people didn't show. I'm just trying to straighten a couple of things out and we should have the card up by tomorrow night, which will still give people a couple of weeks to write. Cheers everyone.

TOM FLESHER vs TOXXIC “Folks, it’s time for our main event,” Mak Francis announces, “and it’s got to be recognised as one of the biggest matches of the year, on paper at least.” “Paper?” King splutters, “what are you talking about Francis? You’ve got Toxxic, the longest-reigning, most-prolific, most-everything World Champion of all time, and Tom Flesher, a Hall of Famer who carries instant credibility and is probably the most gifted performed to ever step into an SWF ring, not to mention a two-time World Champion himself. And they’re going head-to-head for the World freakin’ Title!” “Yes they are,” The Franchise agrees, “but I think we should be honest about a couple of things here King. Tom Flesher is fat.” “What!?” “He’s fat,” Francis emphasises, “he’s out of shape and he’s lazy. He beat Johnny Dangerous, yes, but he sneaked by him, and I mean barely. Flesher is running on shortcuts, and on the day his reputation and his shortcuts don’t save him he’s going to take an embarrassing loss.” “So you think Toxxic’s going to win?” King asks. “I mean, I wouldn’t rule it out… but this is Flesher.” “Toxxic’s arrogant, and to be honest King I think he’s getting lazy as well,” Mak Francis counters. “We all saw how he viewed the other competitors in the World Title picture earlier this year-” “Yeah, and he beat them,” King reminds his commentary partner. “Yes, but Toxxic always used to be so fired up for competition, he had a burning desire to prove people wrong and prove himself to be the best,” Francis states, “it made for some interminable interviews but some damn impressive in-ring performances, but now… King, I feel Toxxic has lost his drive. He’s cruising, he doesn’t feel he has anything left to prove, and someday soon I think someone is going to shock him. It might not be Tom Flesher tonight, but it will happen.” “Way to talk up the struggling company, genius,” King mutters, “can we send it to Funyon yet?” The tuxedo’d ring announcer nods acknowledgement as production signal him through the earpiece, then raises his microphone solemnly. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a one hour time limit and is for the SWF World Heavyweight Title!” he booms. “Introducing first-” “Introducing first!” the voice of Allison Onita interrupts him, “is the star of the SWF, the man who single-handedly saved us from ruin in 2003, the man who took the Cruiserweight Title and demonstrated its true worth to the world in 2004 and 2006, he has championships galore, an encyclopaedic repertoire of holds and knows more moves in the bedroom than the rest of the roster does in the ring; hailing from Buffalo, New York and weighing in tonight at a lean, mean 231lbs he is your Next World Champion, ‘The Superior One’, TOM FLESHER!” …and with that the opening drums of ‘When The Levee Breaks’ by Led Zeppelin start up, followed a few moments later by the sinister guitar and menacing harmonica, and the- *BOOOM!* -explosion of blue pyro along the front of the soundstage! Tom Flesher struts through, surveys the crowd with a smug confidence and then starts to stride to the ring with Allison bringing up the rear and having words with anyone daring to talk smack to her man. “Flesher is still in great shape, I don’t care what you say,” King snorts, “he might have added a bit of muscle-” “It’s fat King, and I can’t believe Landon’s letting him get away with announcing himself at 231lbs,” Francis grumbles. “He’s not even competing in the Cruiserweight Division anymore, why does he have to pretend?” “He might not be Commissioner anymore but Tom Flesher does what Tom Flesher wants to do,” King reminds The Franchise, “and even Landon’s smart enough to know that he needs Tom Flesher in the main event more than he needs a completely accurate weigh-in.” Flesher mounts the ring steps, enters the ring without fanfare and then strips off his warm-up suit before Allison moulds herself to his body for the inevitable photo opportunity as the assembled fans take their chance to get a picture of one of the SWF’s true legends (before they put their cameras away and start booing him). Funyon looks on in slight disdain at the woman who keeps stealing his thunder. However, there is someone in attendance who wishes to ensure that Tom Flesher does not do what Tom Flesher wants to do… …and as every light in the arena hits full and the Smarktron whites out, it’s pretty clear who that man is. “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The rolling bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn starts to ooze out of the speakers and the Smarktron starts to darken swiftly to black; as it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan, one word at a time: “PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…” Three chords ring out; the Smarktron shows Toxxic being knocked off the top rope to the arena floor by a Nathaniel Kibagami springboard enzuigiri; taken from the top rope to the mat with a Super Mark of the Beast by Gabriel Drake; chokeslammed out of the Clusterfuck by Janus. Then the shot changes to one of Toxxic taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the shot starting to strobe and intercut with Toxxic’s smiling face, the devastating impact timed to coincide with the moment the song kicks in and the- *BOOOM!* -explosion of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …wearing a T-shirt bearing the face of former England national soccer team manager Steve McLaren with a strikethrough circle over it… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …Tag Title in his right hand, Stables Title in his left and World Title strapped around his waist… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …comes the man Tom Flesher has come to South Dakota to beat. “And his opponent,” Funyon booms, “accompanied to the ring by his sister Amy; from Nottingham, England, he weighs in tonight at 218lbs; he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions, the leader of SWF Stable Champions Revolution Zero and is the reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion… this is ‘The Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “Oh crap, I forgot we get the drunk,” King mutters as Amy Stephens hoves into view behind her brother, swigging (as ever) from a can of Stella Artois and wearing an appropriately illustrated T-shirt bearing the words ‘I’m The Skeleton In Your Boyfriend’s Closet’. “King, I wouldn’t trust Allison Onita to stay out of a match of this magnitude, and it looks like Toxxic feels the same way,” Mak Francis notes. “Amy laid out James Matheson when these two met for the World and Cruiserweight Titles at Genesis VII and stopped him from poking his nose in, and if she does the same tonight it’ll at least ensure the match is decided on the actions of the two competitors rather than their companions.” Toxxic reaches the bottom of the entrance ramp and rolls into the ring where he pops to his feet and regards Allison Onita from out of dark-rimmed eyes. Onita sniffs contemptuously, but turns and exits the ring (perhaps remembering that Toxxic isn’t above headbutting women if they interfere in his business). Tom Flesher just regards his opponent steadily, eyes flickering between him and the belt around his waist. Meanwhile Amy takes a seat on the outside, sets down her can and pulls out a Nintendo DS. “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “ALL-I-SON SWALL-OWS!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “ALL-I-SON SWALL-OWS!” Tom looks around with a faint grin on his face and nods slightly, in agreement with at least the second half of the chant. Toxxic rolls his eyes and strips off his trenchcoat, shirt and World Title, then hands his belts to referee Matthew Kivell and throws the coat and shirt over the ropes at Amy (prompting a vaguely audible off-camera expletive from his sister). Kivell hands the titles out through the ropes, then checks that both men are ready… and calls for the bell. *DING-DING-DING!* “It’s Toxxic vs. Flesher, one-on-one for the World Title!” Mak Francis reiterates as they start to circle. “Tom holds a pinfall victory over Toxxic but only in tag competition; Toxxic has defeated Flesher in their two meetings in singles matches, the most recent of which occurred over a year ago at Genesis VII.” “As ever with these two it’s going to be a fascinating clash of styles,” the Suicide King remarks, “Flesher is supremely skilled on the mat but tends to favour the big suplexes, headdrops and nasty submissions to get the match won; Toxxic is more well-rounded these days than he used to be, but I still struggle to remember another World Champion with such an emphasis on high-flying and high-risk aerial manoeuvres.” “I think one of the keys to Toxxic’s success is his high success rate at those aerial moves,” Francis puts in, “when you’re hitting them nine times out of ten, it’s not so high-risk anymore. I mentioned at Genesis how I view Toxxic to be the best proponent of a counter-punching wrestling style, of waiting for the opponent to try and beat him and then capitalising on mistakes; well, tonight I think he’s going up against the best practitioner of the other style, playing to your strengths and making the opponent wrestle the match the way you want it wrestled. Whatever I think of Tom’s current fitness level, if he can keep this match on the mat he’s got it in the bag.” “Conversely, if Toxxic can keep it moving I don’t see Flesher being able to keep up for that long,” King agrees, “the question is, will he get that kind of space?” Tom Flesher hopes not, and the Superior One starts to close the gap between himself and the grinning Englishman in front of him. Toxxic’s eyes narrow slightly, gauging distances as Flesher closes… and then Tom lunges with a blast double-leg takedown! …or at least, it’d be a takedown if Toxxic was still where he was meant to be. However the Straight-Edge Sensation dodged sideways at the last moment and is now bouncing on the balls of his feet a couple of metres away, flexing his fingers. Flesher lifts himself up off the one knee he landed on and reorientes himself on his opponent. “The first sign that Tom might have lost a step,” Mak notes, “I remember last year he caught Toxxic like that a couple of-” Flesher has just tried it again as Mak was in mid-sentence, but this time Toxxic not only sidesteps his opponent but swings a black-nailed hand around to deliver a slap to the back of Flesher’s head on the way past! “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Tell me he did not just do that!” Suicide King exclaims in shock. “Your eyes did not deceive you King,” Mak fires back, sounding barely able to believe his own, “if Tom has anything like his old ability still with him I think Toxxic just signed his own death warrant.” But the Englishman isn’t done. Not content with making it blatantly obvious just how much slower Flesher is than him, Toxxic suddenly launches into a forward roll, comes up to his feet, falls backwards onto his shoulders and then kips up explosively before beckoning Flesher in with an insulting flick of his fingers! Tom Flesher apparently sees red and in a rare loss of control he charges at his infuriating opponent- *BANG!* -to get taken down with a drop toehold! “I’m stunned,” Mak says, “we’ve just seen Toxxic out-cocky Tom Flesher. I didn’t even think that was possible.” Toxxic still has control of his opponent’s legs in the aftermath of the move and starts trying to lock them together in a likely setup for the Regal Stretch; Tom Flesher has had enough of being outmanoeuvred by his opponent and twists around onto his back before kicking out with his feet to send the Englishman staggering backwards. Flesher comes back up to his feet but he is again fractionally too slow, as Toxxic has had time to set himself and comes running back to launch himself into the air with a spinning heel kick that catches Flesher in the jaw and sends him tumbling back to the mat! Flesher is back up again straight away, only for Toxxic to once more beat him to the punch (and to a vertical base) and leap up into the air, snare Flesher’s head with his legs and snap backwards to take the Superior One over with a hurricanrana that sees Tom finish up rolling underneath the ropes and out to the floor of the Dakota Dome! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The crowd appear to be pulling for whomever can impress them most, and at the moment Toxxic is that man with his blatant disrespect of someone they love to hate as well as his high speed offence. However, as the World Champion starts to bounce up and down in preparation for his notorious somersault senton to the floor Tom Flesher gets back up to his feet and, rather than staying where he is to get crushed by a ballistic straight-edger, instantly moves to the corner of the ring where he regains his breath behind the ring post. “Now that is smart,” the Gambling Man notes as the crowd noise reflects their disappointment, “you can go over the ropes, you can go through the ropes, but I’ve yet to see anyone in the SWF go over the ring post in a clean dive, and they certainly can’t go through it!” “I wouldn’t put an over-the-ring-post dive beyond Wildchild,” Mak Francis states, “but I’ll agree with you, Tom knows what he’s about. Toxxic caught him off-guard in that opening exchange and now he’s recovering his breath and preparing for a different approach.” Matthew Kivell has started counting; Tom Flesher signals that the SWF’s senior official should make Toxxic move back, then slides in under the bottom rope without taking his eyes off his opponent. When he’s satisfied Toxxic won’t barge past the referee (and therefore necessitate sliding back out to the floor so as not to get caught in a compromised position) Flesher takes his time in standing up, then casually rolls his shoulders and neck. “See? He just hadn’t stretched out,” King says. Mak’s response is largely inaudible due to a sudden and temporary microphone fault, and probably all the better for that. Tom Flesher walks slowly towards Toxxic, who keeps a careful eye on the distance between them and circles so as to avoid being backed into a corner. The Straight-Edger is considerably lighter on his feet than his non-cruiserweight opponent so Toxxic doesn’t seem to have many concerns about being at least technically on the back foot, and he is able to dodge to one side when Flesher goes for his double-leg again… …but this time the move was a feint, and Tom follows Toxxic’s movement quickly enough to close with the Englishman, take him onto his shoulders and drop him to the mat with a Fireman’s carry! Tom gets back to his feet, smirks and drops an elbow… …and Toxxic rolls away, leaving the challenger to drive his own arm into the mat. “Close, but no cigar,” Mak comments, “Tom really can’t afford to showboat!” Flesher pushes himself back to his feet, clearly in a furious temper now, but he simply eats a dropkick from Toxxic that puts him right back down! Once more he gets back to his feet and once more he finds the World Champion there before him; Toxxic grabs Flesher’s wrist and Irish whips the challenger towards the ropes, but Tom puts his new bulk to good use on this occasion and reverses the momentum to send Toxxic in instead, then readies a Shotei. Unfortunately for Tom Toxxic ducks it and heads on to rebound off the far ropes, which he accelerates off to leap into the air and latch his legs around Flesher’s head, then sends the challenger rolling out to the floor again with a satellite headscissors! “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” Tom Flesher takes a couple of seconds to get back to his feet, but when he does the Superior One is so frustrated that he slams his hands onto the apron in anger. However, he then looks up to see Toxxic running towards him across the ring and high-tails it towards the ring post again! Toxxic leaps upwards, but instead of hurtling over the top rope into empty space he lands on it, balances for a split second and then backflips into the ring, landing on one knee and inspecting an imaginary watch… then pointing into the distance with a furrowed brow while stroking his chin… then rising to his feet, putting his hands on his hips and giving the crowd his best cheesy grin! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “…and Toxxic breaks out the Catalogue Poses,” Mak grunts. The crowd might get a kick out of the opponent-baiting nostalgia trip, but Tom Flesher is clearly less than impressed. From his position of safety behind the ringpost he again demands that Matthew Kivell make Toxxic back up, which he does. Flesher doesn’t re-enter immediately however, pausing for a moment as he receives a relaxing shoulder massage from Allison Onita. However, Kivell starts to count and the Superior One clearly decides that the time has come for action, so he slides in under the bottom rope and gets back to his feet. Once more the two competitors circle and jockey for position, and this time when Tom Flesher goes for a double-leg takedown Toxxic drops and snares him in a front facelock. “Tom’s been really predictable,” Francis sighs, “and lazy.” “Oh, you think?” King snickers. “Watch.” Toxxic certainly has hold of his opponent, but Flesher reaches up and manages to disengage Toxxic’s arm from around his neck, then twists out to the side and forces his way up into an armwringer that brings the lighter man under his control. “He suckered him in!” Mak says, catching on. “He can’t straight-up catch Toxxic, so he allowed himself to be caught in a position he knew he could gain the advantage from…” Tom takes a moment to exchange pleasantries with Matthew Kivell, then pulls Toxxic in towards him and jabs his thumb into the Englishman’s eye. “Oh, come on!” Mak protests as some of the crowd boo and some cheer Tom’s action, and Kivell goes berserk, “was there any need for that?” “Need? No,” King admits, “but like I said, Tom Flesher does what Tom Flesher wants to do.” What Tom Flesher wants to do right now is latch his arms around the waist of the blinded Toxxic and heave him overhead- *BANG!* -with a Railgun suplex. Having done that, the Superior One brushes some imaginary dust from his shoulder, then walks over and leans down a little way to have a conversation with his winded opponent. ‘ONE!’ It’s a small detail… ‘TWO!’ …and easily overlooked… ‘THREE!’ …but Tom’s foot just happens to be resting… ‘FOUR!’ …on Toxxic throat. ‘FI-’ Tom ‘realises’ just at the last moment and steps back as Matthew Kivell continues to go off on one at him, but the Superior One is unrepentant and leans down to bring Toxxic up (by the hair, just for good measure). There is nothing reprehensible about the suplex setup that Flesher makes, but instead of bringing his opponent up and over he hoists Toxxic vertical, then takes a couple of steps forward and brings him down gut-first over the top rope. Matthew Kivell seems to think that Flesher should leave his opponent alone since he’s in (well, on) the ropes, but that is not to be as Tom steps forward to apply a Doc Marten upside Toxxic’s head as the Englishman hangs in his precarious and painful balance, not only causing pain with the kick but also sending Toxxic toppling down to the mat. Flesher ignores the referee’s protests and starts to bring Stephens up, then grabs him in a gutwrench and hoists him up onto his shoulder. “Derailleur coming up?” Mak Francis queries, but it turns out not to be as Toxxic kicks his legs and manages to slip out of the Canadian Backbreaker Rack before Flesher can drop to his knees and complete the move. The World Champion lands on his feet behind his opponent and sets off for the ropes at a run, but even as he does so Allison Onita hops up on the apron and starts hollering at Kivell that Toxxic raked the eyes to get out of the move. The SWF’s senior official turns around and orders her to get down… *CHING!* …and as his attention wavers Tom Flesher takes advantage of this fact to dropkick the rebounding Toxxic in the crotch. “Oh, come on!” Mak Francis yells as some fans cheer and some unreservedly boo, “Tom, at least pretend to wrestle this match!” “He is pretending!” King laughs, “he’s fooling Kivell!” But for how long? Matthew Kivell may have been distracted but he’s no fool, and in a second he’s going to turn around and see Toxxic writhing on the mat and holding his crotch. Tom Flesher decides that the time has come to take affirmative action… so he walks over to Toxxic and stands on his throat to give the ref something else to concentrate on. Sure enough, as Kivell turns around Toxxic’s hands fly to his throat and Matty starts his count… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ Tom stands back and spreads his arms innocently, but Kivell gets in his face and tells him he damn well knows Tom did that deliberately. Flesher starts to argue, thinks better of it, admits his guilt… and then goes back to do it again. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-GODDAMIT!’ Tom grins at Kivell, bends down and pulls the wheezing Toxxic off the mat, slips behind him and hoists him up and over for a belly-to-back suplex that dumps the straight-edger back down on the mat, then hooks the leg for a cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out well before three. Tom shrugs, brings the Englishman up to a vertical base again and then locks in an abdominal stretch which he cranks back on as Kivell, relieved that Flesher is using an actual, legitimate wrestling hold, checks Toxxic to see if he wants to give up. The World Champion shakes his head but he’s clearly not comfortable, which suits Tom Flesher fine. “A simple hold, but perfectly applied,” the Suicide King notes with approval. “Yes, but look at Tom,” Mak Francis points out, “he’s already breathing a bit heavily. He might be able to take punishment, but Flesher’s cardio has taken a severe beating since he was last competing regularly. Tom is renowned for his second wind, but all the same…” The abdominal stretch is all well and good, but it lacks a little ‘bite’. Tom Flesher seems to think that the perfect way to add something to it is to cautiously, and with one eye on Matthew Kivell, reach an arm out behind him. Allison Onita hops up onto the apron ready to grip her man’s wrist and add a bit of torque- *THUNK!* -and hurriedly gets back down again as Amy Stephens appears at the corner of the ring and swings her chair into the post, then points menacingly at Onita! Allison raises her hands in a conciliatory fashion and backs off, leaving Tom Flesher looking around to see what the problem is. Amy catches his eye and then flicks him a v-sign along with an anatomically improbable sexual suggestion, so Flesher suddenly relaxes his hold, swings around in front of his opponent and refastens his left arm under Toxxic’s right before heaving the Englishman over in a head-and-arm suplex! *BANG!* Flesher sits up and folds his arms, glaring at Amy with a ‘so there’ expression; the Punk-Rock Princess shrugs and heads back to her corner, not that bothered about what happens to her brother if there’s no way of getting involved in a fight herself. Flesher snorts, then heads over to make a cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out again. Flesher pulls him up and Irish whips the World Champion into the corner, then follows him in at high speed and delivers a brutal Yakuza Kick that sends Toxxic slumping down into a seated position! “I think they felt that back in Nottingham!” Francis exclaims as Flesher retracts his leg, listens to Kivell telling him to leave Toxxic alone until he leaves the corner, nods, and then places his boot over his opponent’s throat to start choking him again. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ Flesher backs off as Kivell interposes himself, but continues to argue with the referee, presumably on the basis that he’s Tom Freakin’ Flesher. Finally he pushes past the protesting official and pulls Toxxic up to his feet, then performs another Irish whip towards the far corner and starts to follow the Englishman in. However, the brief break afforded by Tom’s argument with Kivell seems to have allowed Toxxic’s braincells to start firing again and the World Champion manages to vault to the top rope, then come flying back with the Role Reversal clothesline… …Flesher sees it coming and hits the deck… …but instead of crashing and burning Toxxic manages to turn his dive into a forward roll, comes back up to his feet and runs on for the turnbuckles his journey started at and leaps to the top rope again! Tom gets back to his feet and looks around for his opponent- *SMACK!* -and gets taken down with the Corkscrew Dropkick! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” That particular piece of acrobatics seems to have got the crowd behind the Straight-Edge Sensation but Toxxic is far more concerned with his opponent that the opinions of the fans, and as he gets back to his feet with a wince he cautiously starts to stalk the Superior One. Flesher begins to rise, winded but not seriously hurt… and as he turns around Toxxic leaps up, latches his legs around Flesher’s head once more and then rolls backwards with a hurricanrana; however, instead of sending Flesher tumbling across the ring Toxxic has managed to put a real ‘snap’ on this one, and the crown of his opponent’s head gets driven straight into the mat! *BANG!* Toxxic reaches back as the move is completed and hooks one of his opponent’s legs for the pin… ONE! TWO!! …but Flesher kicks out! “I know Tom has an eighteen-inch neck, but that still had to hurt!” Mak exclaims as Toxxic falls forward when the pin is broken. “Yeah, but it’s going to take more than that to put Tom away,” King says. That’s fine by Toxxic; the straight-edger comes up into a crouch, steel-grey eyes fixed on his opponent and all traces of the earlier mockery gone, deadly serious now. Tom Flesher starts to rise, but before he can fully get to his feet Toxxic darts in and brings him up, turns him around and locks his arms around his opponent’s upper chest before hoisting Tom off his feet and then kicking his legs out to bring Flesher down with a Sambo Slam that sends the challenger back-first into the mat. With Tom down Toxxic then gets back to his feet and heads for the turnbuckles, where he jumps to the second… …to the top rope… …and moonsaults back off! *WHAM!* “Raford Calling!” Mak shouts as the move hits home and Matthew Kivell dives to make a count… ONE! TWO!! …but Flesher kicks out again! Toxxic doesn’t waste any time in complaining to Matthew Kivell, instead dragging Tom up to his feet again, then Irish whipping him towards the ropes. However Tom manages to reverse the move and sends Toxxic into the cables instead before ducking his head ready to take the Englishman up and over with a back bodydrop. Bad move. *CRUNCH-WHAM!* “And that’s a Sobering Thought!” King shouts as Toxxic’s patented facebuster/DDT combo finds its mark. Tom rolls onto his back, eyes slightly glazed, and Toxxic gets back up to head to the turnbuckles once more. He vaults lightly to the top rope facing out at the crowd, kisses his fist, then leaps backwards and twists in midair to come down with a fistdrop right between his opponent’s eyes! “Toxxic’s got the match back under his control,” Mak Francis comments, “as soon as Tom gave him the space to move he was able to pick up the pace and dictate events.” Toxxic doesn’t seem to think that one fistdrop is enough, so he heads back to the top rope and comes off with another that finds its mark with pinpoint accuracy again. The crowd gives this a largely positive reaction, so on the basis that he might as well play to them while he gets the chance Toxxic raises his hands above his head and twirls his index fingers around each other. “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The Straight-Edger doesn’t seem to feel up to vaulting to the top rope yet again so he steps through the ropes to the apron and starts climbing; once at the top buckle he stands up straight, raises his arms above his head in preparation for a little ‘whip’ on the move, then somersaults off down towards Tom Flesher… *BANG!* …but the extra time has allowed Flesher to recover enough to roll aside, and the Hangover misses! Both men instinctively roll further away from each other to give themselves time to recover, but it’s Flesher who gets back to his feet first and, shaking his head to clear it, heads back towards his prone opponent. Unfortunately for Tom Toxxic sees him coming with enough time to kip up to his feet, seize the surprised Buffalo native by the arm and then armdrag him over! Tom manages to more or less roll with the move and grabs the ropes to haul him back to his feet, only to be clotheslined over them by a World Champion desperate to retain the momentum! However Flesher is stubborn and refuses to go to the floor, hanging onto the ropes and remaining on the apron. The Superior One starts to pull himself back to his feet, but Toxxic charges at him again, leaps into the air and springboards off the second rope on the other side of the ring corner to leap over the top rope and snare Tom with a hurricanrana that takes the two of them to the floor of the Dakota Dome! “HO-LY SHIT!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “HO-LY SHIT!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “OK, that was impressive,” the Gambling Man admits. “Probably stupid, but impressive.” “It’s a case of playing the odds,” Mak Francis replies, “if that move helps Toxxic win the match and retain the title, it’ll be worth it!” Some people are actually starting to actively cheer for the Straight-Edge Sensation now, and that information filters into the Englishman’s brain to prompt a familiar lopsided grin. Toxxic rolls back into the ring (not without a wince) as Matthew Kivell lean over the top rope to start the outside count. Tom Flesher, back hurting and lacking breath, struggles to orientate himself and get back to his feet… …and this time as he staggers upright, he’s not behind the ringpost. “INCOMING!” Mak yells as Toxxic explodes off the far ropes, sprints across the ring and takes to the air once more to land clean on top of Tom Flesher with his running somersault senton! “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” Matty Kivell places his head in his hands and wonders privately what the hell he has to do to keep order in these matches, but Toxxic doesn’t seem too interested in prolonging his time on the outside. He gets back to his feet and stands on an empty chair, one foot on the guardrail, and sweeps his arms out wide, palms flat, to invite the cheers of the crowd… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …then drops back down, drags Tom Flesher up off the floor and rolls the Superior One back into the ring. The straight-edger follows him a moment later, rolls him once more to get him away from the ropes, then hooks the leg and makes the cover. ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Tom kicks out! Toxxic takes a moment to cast a glance at Matthew Kivell, but instead of castigating the referee he takes hold of Tom and pulls the heavier man back up to his feet before placing him into a standing headscissors. He then underhooks the right arm… underhooks the left arm… and then (not without some effort), hoists his opponent UP… …AROUND… …AND… …DOWN! *BANG!* “Stephens Shock Syndrome!” Mak shouts, “that could be it!” Toxxic rolls Tom over onto his back and makes the cover… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but perhaps that slight delay gave Flesher enough time to recover, or maybe he’s just too tough to be put that that easily; regardless the challenger kicks out, and the match is still in progress! Toxxic seems rather less than pleased with the development and draws a black-nailed thumb ostentatiously across his throat, then pulls the wobbly Flesher back up towards his feet. The World Champion grabs a ¾ facelock, points at the nearest set of turnbuckles and sets off at a run with a view to delivering the Sunny In England, but Flesher shoves him in the back to break his grip, then as Toxxic turns around Tom thumbs him in the eye again! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The cheers come first, but the boos linger longer; Tom shrugs, and delivers a Shotei that nearly disconnects Toxxic’s jaw before doubling his opponent over with a kick and grabbing a double underhook of his own which he uses to bring Toxxic up and over; not just that, but Flesher floats over into a pin to make it a Britishplex! ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out! “I think that may have been a subtle insult from Tom,” Francis notes. “That’s talent,” King replies, “it’s not everyone who has the presence of mind to slip an insult in as they regain momentum in the match after taking a pasting.” Tom looks up at Matthew Kivell and starts to argue about the count; it therefore takes Kivell a moment to realise that Flesher’s forearm is purely coincidentally places across his opponent’s throat… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ Flesher removes his arm with bad grace, then pulls Toxxic up into a sitting position and sits behind him to apply a bodyscissors before leaning back and squeezing. “So King,” The Franchise asks as Kivell asks Toxxic whether he wants to give it up, “some people might interpret this as a simple weardown from Tom, but the way he’s breathing tells me a different story.” “So maybe Tom is a bit out of shape by his own very high standards,” King shrugs, “if the man knows his limits and can adapt to them rather than trying and failing to wrestle how he used to, why should we criticize him?” “Because he mainly adapts by cheating like a goddamn bastard,” Francis grumbles. Tom Flesher has a firm hold on his opponent’s solar plexus, and on the grounds that it can’t really hurt (him, at any rate) he starts to twist his legs and brings Toxxic over so that his shoulders are in contact with the mat… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic fires a shoulder away from the canvas in time! The Englishman tries to push himself back into a more upright position, but Flesher is having none of it and sends him down again… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out again! Tom allows the Englishman to come back up into a sitting position, then leans forwards and grabs a rear waistlock as he disengages his legs. From there he comes up to a vertical base, bringing Toxxic with him and then suddenly arching backwards to haul the World Champion over with a German suplex! *BANG!* Flesher doesn’t bridge into the pin, however he does roll on top of Toxxic afterwards and hook the leg as Kivell dives to count… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Toxxic kicks out! Tom Flesher is distinctly displeased by this verdict, and starts to let Matthew Kivell know this in no uncertain terms. The cockney referee mouths off back at Flesher, tapping the badge on his chest to remind him who’s in charge here, but Tom slaps his palms together to indicate that he is certain Kivell’s hand should have come down for the third time, then jabs his finger into Kivell’s chest to emphasise his point. “Tom needs to be careful here,” Mak says, “he’s been pushing his luck with Kivell in this match and he doesn’t want to give the referee cause to disqualify him.” However, Matty Kivell isn’t going to throw a World Title match out on these grounds; he simply waves a finger in Tom’s face to warn him, then steps aside and invites Flesher to return to the match. Toxxic has started to get up to his feet but Tom has no intention of allowing the straight-edger to continue moving under his own steam, so he takes hold of Toxxic’s arm and brings the World Champion over his shoulder and into a seated position on the mat in front of him with a judo throw. “I think Tom’s going for the King Cobra!” Mak shouts as the crowd noise suddenly rises and Flesher leans down… but Toxxic jerks backwards and brings his foot up, kicking Tom square on the top of the head! Flesher staggers back, but not for long; within a couple of seconds the Superior One is heading back towards his opponent, only for Toxxic to kip up and leap into the air, swinging his leg around at blistering speed with the kip-up enzuigiri… that Flesher ducks! “OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic manages to land on his feet, but facing away from Flesher; Tom grabs a rear waistlock and heaves, sending Toxxic flying with a release German suplex… *whump* …but Toxxic flips through and lands on his feet! “OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Tom gets back up, turns around to see what devastation his throw has caused, and finds himself kicked in the stomach and then taken down with the Unfinished Business! *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic rolls Tom over and hooks the leg, prompting Kivell to dive down… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Flesher kicks out! “I honestly thought he had him there,” Mak admits. The crowd seems to think the same, judging by the reactions ringing around the Dakota Dome. Even Toxxic seems to think that should have been it, but the Englishman doesn’t want to give Tom the same chance to recover that he took advantage of himself while Flesher was jawing with Kivell, so he brings Tom back up to a vertical base and hooks him up for a suplex… then reaches down to try and hook Flesher’s left leg. “He’s going for the Caffeine Bomb!” Mak shouts. However, Tom Flesher has other ideas and starts firing Shoteis into Toxxic’s ribs. The Englishman is winded and withdraws, but Tom follows up and reaches over his crouching opponent to grab a gutwrench, then starts to lift… “Ego Buster!” King shouts. But no, Toxxic has wrapped arms and legs around Flesher’s legs and is desperately sandbagging. Tom heaves with all his might but can’t hoist Toxxic up when the straight-edger is clinging on to Tom’s own base, so he pauses for a moment. In that moment Toxxic twists and manages to overbalance Flesher, bringing the Superior One down onto his front and with his legs under Toxxic’s control! The straight-edger tries once more to hook Flesher into the Regal Stretch, but Tom simply pulls himself to the ropes and forces the World Champion to break the hold. Toxxic draws back in disappointment but perhaps doesn’t give his opponent quite the break he should by pushing back past Matthew Kivell in an attempt to get back on Flesher and keep the momentum on his side. Unfortunately for the World Champion this means his body is shielding Flesher from Kivell’s view… *CHING!* …and although Kivell may have suspicions about where that headbutt landed, he can’t prove it! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Toxxic staggers away in his own private world of pain while Flesher defends his actions vigorously to Kivell and slaps his belly to show where he believes the blow landed. Then he waves the referee out of the way, lines up on Toxxic… …starts to run… …and pastes the World Champion in the head with a Yakuza Kick! *CRACK!* Toxxic hits the mat like someone who’s been shot; Flesher pulls up, turns and dives on top of his opponent, hooking the leg for the pin… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “HE KICKED OUT!” Mak yells, “I thought Toxxic was done for, I thought we had a new World Champion!” Flesher slams his hand into the mat in frustration but doesn’t waste time querying the count; instead he pulls the World Champion upright, threads Toxxic’s arm through his legs and clamps onto it with his left hand, then thread his other arm across his opponent’s chest… “Logical Disconnect!” King calls… but Toxxic has one last gasp left in him, and he starts desperately firing elbows into the side of Flesher’s head! The blows snap Tom’s head sideways and in conjunction with the damage already done, cause him to slightly loosen his grip… …enough for Toxxic to wriggle free, turn around and grab a ¾ facelock, then run up and push back off the ropes that are just within reach. *BANG!* “SUNNY IN ENGLAND!” Mak and King yell at the same time, as Toxxic desperately hooks the leg and rolls into the cover. Kivell dives to count once more… ONE! TWO!! THREE!! …and once more is all that’s needed. *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms, “and STILL~ SWF World Heavyweight Champion; the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “He’s done it!” Mak shouts, “it took pretty much all he had, but Toxxic has retained the World Title against Tom Flesher! Folks, that’s all we’ve got time for but join us for the SWF Winter Funtime Show on the 19th December!” The last shot of the SWF presents Ashes 2 Ashes is of Toxxic sitting up wearily, retaking possession of the title belts handed to him by Matthew Kivell… and grinning. Bring ‘em on. ©2007 British Mafia Productions for the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation ‘Raising Workrate By Typing Faster’

AARON STARR vs MICHAEL ALEXANDER The cameras pan back to the ring, coming into focus on a shiny belt hanging fifteen feet above the ring. Mak Francis and the Suicide King are at the announce table, both looking up at the title belt suspended above. “Well, King,” Mak opens. “It looks like we’re ready for our next match, yet another New Blood Title Defense for Michael Alexander, this time against a debuting Aaron Starr! Right here at the Dakota Dome in Vermillion, South Dakota!” Mak shamelessly employs an utterly futile cheap pop, as most in attendance can’t hear him. King snarls vituperatively. “And in a ladder match! This is conspiracy! First, giving someone a title shot in THEIR DEBUT MATCH?! Second, in the same match that cheated Michael Alexander out of this title the first time he competed for it?! I don’t suppose I should expect anything better from our ‘commissioner.’ He’s probably still mad that Alexander pinned him in that triple threat match a few months ago, and he’s abusing his power to try and put Alexander behind the eight ball.” “That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it, King? Sure, I doubt Landon harbors any friendly feelings towards Michael Alexander, but you’re pushing things a bit far…” King eyes Mak suspiciously. “Sure, Francis, we hand debuting wrestlers title shots all the time. Absolutely nothing unusual about that, eh? Are you a part of this Maddix conspiracy?” “Oh, come on,” Mak begins. “Of course, you would deny it, wouldn’t you?” King cuts in smugly. “I’m not getting into this paranoid delusion of yours, King.” Referee Sexton Hardcastle leans against the ropes as Funyon clambers into the ring with his microphone to play up his one big on-camera role once more. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match is a LADDER MATCH for the SWF New Blood Title! First, the challenger…in his SWF debut…weighing in at 200 pounds…AAAAAAAAAAAARON STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARR!” “White Lightning” by RZA pours from the speakers as a young man steps out on stage in full length white tights, studded with red-outlined white stars, and white boots with white-outlined red kick pads. A red and white striped hoodie covers his upper body and head. He stands a stage for a few moments before beginning his descent to the ring. As he does so, the speakers kick in with “Euphoria” by the Spiritual Beggars. He hops up onto the apron, keeping his hood up and pointing to the audience before flipping back his hood to reveal close-cropped black hair and a surprisingly youthful appearance. Given his basic boy-next-door appearance, and the indisputable fact that he is going up against Michael Alexander, the crowd’s reaction is relatively predictable. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “It seems that the folks here in South Dakota have chosen their favorite in this one, King.” “No surprise there…no one in South Dakota can appreciate an artist like Michael Alexander. Most of them probably couldn’t spell their own names, Francis.” “Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold begins to play, and the a video montage of Alexander’s previous in-ring exploits interspersed with Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” highlighting the areas that the various moves depicted injure on his opponents. The lights in the arena flicker in time with the Smarktron. “And the SWF New Blood Champion…from Greenville, South Carolina…weighing in at 221 pounds…the Mad Scientist of the Mat…MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!” Alexander steps out onto the stage, and the flicker lighting stops dead. He gazes out over the crowd, smirks, and makes his way to the ring, trash-talking to the crowd. The crowd returns the favor, as usual. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Michael rolls into the ring, taking up a position in his corner and stretching, adjusting his boots, apparently disinterested in his opponent or the crowd, while smirking to himself. “Michael Alexander gets his normal reception,” Mak chuckles. “These people are Philistines, I tell you! Cheering some schmuck over a consummate professional wrestler like Michael Alexander is all the proof you need,” King sneers. Funyon bails out of the ring with unusual swiftness as Sexton Hardcastle calls for the bell. DING! DING! Starr and Alexander circle each other to start off. Michael shoots in for a quick single leg pickup, grabbing Starr’s right ankle. Starr goes for a quick enzuigiri to counter, whipping his left foot up and across…but the Evil Genius anticipated such a move, and ducks deftly. Starr is a little taken aback by his miss, landing awkwardly, but maintains his balance through sheer agility, teetering on his one foot, his back to his opponent. “Michael Alexander starts off in classic form, with that nice single leg,” Mak observes. “Starr’s attempt at that enzuigiri was a little predictable, but he managed to catch himself.” “The kid’s got good balance,” King admits grudgingly. “But so does every other cruiserweight in this organization. Not impressed. And this is sure as hell not someone I’d toss into a title match in his debut.” Unfortunately for Aaron, his opponent is not someone to turn your back on. Michael Alexander smiles wickedly as he steps forward to cradle Starr’s right leg with his own right arm, then drops and turns whipping Aaron to the mat with an inverted dragon screw! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Alexander with the inverted dragon screw!” Mak exclaims. “You had to know that was coming, Francis,” King sniggers. “The kid set HIMSELF up for Alexander perfectly.” The Mad Scientist rolls back up to his feet, quickly folding his stunned opponent’s legs around his own, clipping Starr’s right foot behind his calf, and dropping backwards, and the Gordian Knot is tied! Starr howls in pain as his right knee is bent at a tortuous angle. Alexander’s face is twisted in a cruel rictus as he wrenches on the hold. “The Gordian Knot!” King howls triumphantly. “He’s locked it on…! Only a few minutes into the match! This is definitely sending a message about the level of competition here, Francis!” Mak sighs. “However, just like in his last ladder match, this hold can’t win the match for him. Sure, it can hurt Starr, but Alexander can’t win with it.” “He knows that and we know that, Francis. Michael Alexander is doing this to send a message to Aaron Starr and our ‘management.’” “But wasting time with things like this cost him the match last time,” Mak points out. “Not this time,” King assures Mak. “He’s got things well in hand.” Starr scrambles quickly, trying to flail toward the ropes. The young cruiserweight manages to snag the bottom rope in the midst of his flailing. However, to Starr’s chagrin, he is informed that there will be no break, as this is a ladder match. Michael Alexander happily continues to wrench the hold viciously, to a round of pained snarls from Starr and a round of jeers from the crowd. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Finally, beaten down to sheer desperation, Starr gives in to the pain and taps. TAP! TAP! TAP! He is once again informed that even this cannot force a break in the hold. However, in a surprising show of something that could be mercy, but is most likely just a need to inflict more varied punishment, Michael Alexander breaks the hold. Aaron Starr slumps against the mat, his legs still contorted in the position of the hold. The Mad Scientist gets back to his feet, smiling and flourishing to the crowd. In proper Pavlovian fashion, they respond. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “How nice of Alexander to finally break that hold,” Mak snipes. “It was nice, Francis…a hell of a lot nicer than he needed to be. He could have kept on that hold until Starr’s knee popped, and ended his SWF career before it started. Then Michael Alexander could easily have sauntered up the ladder as this kid was carted off for surgery and rehab for the next year.” Alexander laughs gustily. He walks over to the ropes and rolls to the outside, going for the nearest of the ladders. The Evil Genius hoists the ladder over his head and slides it into the ring between the second and top ropes. Aaron Starr has grabbed the bottom rope in an attempt to pull himself up to a sitting position. Leaving the ladder lying between the second and top ropes, Michael Alexander proceeds over to his injured opponent. “Alexander going for the ladder,” Mak says. “It seems that he thinks the damage has been done.” “Well, it certainly looks that way, Francis. Starr did just tap, you know.” Alexander watches calmly as Starr pulls himself up into a sitting position, leaning on the bottom rope for support. A terrible smile spreads across the Mad Scientist’s face as he charges at Starr, extending his right foot into a vicious running facewash, following the move through by sliding between the bottom and second ropes himself, landing on the outside laughing at the horrified audience. Starr grunts at the impact and his head rolls limply back to the mat with a thump. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “A brutal running facewash! He nearly took Starr’s head off with that, King!” “He’ll do better next time, Francis. Seriously, though, that was perfect. Michael Alexander has nothing if not style.” The Mad Scientist basks in the howls of the crowd for few moments. Aaron Starr crawls to the corner, pushing himself back up to his knees and eventually to his feet. Alexander notices this, shaking his head in mock sadness. He rolls back into the ring, smiling cruelly as he makes his way over to Starr’s corner. The young cruiserweight has managed to recover somewhat, however, and fires a quick right hand into Alexander’s jaw. The Evil Genius staggers for a moment, and Starr follows up with a roaring elbow out of the corner, knocking Alexander off his feet. Unfortunately, Starr hasn’t recovered as much as he would like, and he slumps against the ropes. “Aaron Starr mounts a comeback, but will it be enough, King?” “Of course it won’t, Francis. This kid’s showing some guts, and that’s something you need to bring to the show. It’s desperation for him, and everyone knows it.” Michael scrambles back up to his feet, furious at his slip. Starr is ready this time, and goes for a kick to the gut. Alexander catches it, grinning. The grin is short-lived, however, as Starr brings his other foot into crisp contact with Michael’s skull with an enzuigiri! Alexander’s legs buckle and he slumps to the mat stunned. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “That enzuigiri certainly connected!” Mak yells. “You were saying, King?” “Oh, come on,” King snorts, but concern shows in his voice. “He’s hit with a kick to the head. Big deal. Alexander’s come back from much worse.” Aaron Starr gets back to his feet, only nursing his right leg a little. He grabs the ladder that Alexander left lying between the ropes and tries to set it up underneath the belt. Starr notices that Alexander is getting back to his feet, and decides that he needs work on his opponent a bit more before trying for the belt. He quickly hits a nasty dropkick to Alexander’s knee, dropping the Mad Scientist. Starr smiles at the payback as he then rebounds off the ropes to deliver a brutal dropkick to the back of Alexander’s head as the Evil Genius struggles to get back to his feet. Michael crumples back to the mat, lying on his back with a glazed look. “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “Aaron Starr calls that combination the Starr Scream, and it is apparently damnably effective. Alexander is flat on his back, and the ladder is set up…!” Mak shouts. “Michael’s not out yet!” King gasps hoarsely. “Come on, Michael! This can’t happen!” Aaron gets back to his feet, looking pleased with himself. He checks the ladder’s position underneath the belt and starts to ascend. His right leg still gives him trouble though, so he is not as quick as he should be. “Starr’s still slowed down by that time he spent in the Gordian Knot,” Mak remarks. “And you were insinuating that the Gordian Knot wouldn’t win him this match,” King sneers. “It looks like it’s allowing Michael to recover and catch up to this punk!” Michael Alexander has indeed recovered sufficiently to go after Starr, ascending the opposite side of the ladder. Alexander’s legs haven’t suffered quite as much damage as Starr’s, and thus the two men reach the top at about the same time. Starr fires a vicious right hand into Michael’s jaw, and Alexander responds in kind. Being the more specialized striker, Aaron manages to get the upper hand, with Alexander slumping slightly on the ladder. With lightning quickness, Starr snags Alexander in a front chancery. Before he can do anything else, Alexander fires a stiff right hand into Starr’s gut. Another one breaks the chancery, and the followup elbow shot stuns Starr for a moment. “It looked for a moment like Starr was going for the Starr Struck, but Alexander put the brakes on that,” Mak says. “That was never going to happen,” King avers. “The kid was just getting a bit overconfident.” Snarling, Michael Alexander grabs his stunned opponent in a front facelock, draping Starr’s left arm over his head, and hoists him up into a vertical suplex off the ladder. Not to be taken so easily, Starr uses his superb balance to shift his weight, and instead of being suplexed, he manages to fall directly onto Alexander during the fall in a lateral press! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “HOLY SHIT!” “HOLY SHIT!” Both men hit the mat with a brutal impact, Starr bouncing off Alexander from the sheer force. “That was incredible, King! Starr reversed that suplex in mid-move, and used Alexander’s body to break his fall!” King’s lips move silently, horror stealing his voice. Aaron and Michael both lie on mat for long moments, and the crowd picks up a chant… “LET’S GO, STARR, LET’S GO!” The youngster slaps the mat in time with the chant. He claws his way back towards the ladder, pain etched across his face along with dogged determination. His hand clasps the first rung… “LET’S GO, STARR, LET’S GO!” Aaron pulls himself up the ladder, rung by rung. He feels the rush of the crowd’s adoration. This is what he came to the SWF for. His first match, his first title shot, and it will be his first victory… “LET’S GO, STARR, LET’S GO!” He crests the ladder, raising his head. The SWF New Blood Belt dangles just a few feet above him. Aaron raises his hands toward it. He knows this is it, his time... “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “HA!” King crows. “I knew it!” “Alexander managed to get up just time to stop Starr from getting that belt! This looks bad for Aaron!” Mak says, chagrined. Aaron suddenly feels the ladder shift as his fingers dance across the belt, failing to find purchase. He looks down, and sees Michael Alexander pushing the ladder over, and he screams in frustration as the ladder topples and he plummets to the floor as the ladder thumps against the top rope. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Starr doesn’t land as awkwardly as he could have, given the height, but the impact is still horrific. Aaron flops against the guardrail, lying limply on the outside. Alexander looks over the top rope at his handiwork, a vicious smile spreading across his face like a lazy forest fire. He grimaces slightly as he lifts the ladder back into position underneath the suspended title belt. “Now Alexander is going for it! And that little punk is where he belongs, slumped on the floor!” King chirps happily. “YOU SUCK!” Michael Alexander steps onto the ladder. The crowd’s jeers and howls roil around him. He would laugh if his ribs didn’t ache after that suplex reversal a few minutes ago. “YOU SUCK!” Michael reaches the peak of the ladder, and takes a moment to gaze down at the slowly recovering Aaron Starr. His devilish grin returns, because he knows that Starr is out. “YOU SUCK!” The crowd knows it too. Alexander’s hands grip the title belt, and he unfastens it and holds it over his head. He has his belt back once again. Michael drapes the belt over his shoulder and climbs down the ladder. Referee Sexton Hardcastle calls for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “YES! YES! YES!” King cries orgasmically. “Alexander is still the champion! Landon Maddix’s schemes failed again! All is right with the world!” “Alexander came out on top, but it could very easily have gone the other way there, King. Starr was close.” “Starr was never that close. Alexander had this match thoroughly in hand from the beginning, Francis.” Funyon drawls out the redundant announcement. “Your winner…and STILL SWF NEW BLOOD CHAMPION…MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “That’s three successful title defenses for Michael Alexander, Francis. You know what that means.” “Yes, King, I do. But I don’t have to like it.” Michael Alexander casually stolls out of the ring, slowly making his way up the ramp. He turns back to the ring, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. Michael taps the belt on his shoulder, and raises his hand, extending three fingers. He smiles a smile that is usually only seen in a shark tank as we… FADE OUT.

Violence Distribution Network vs Revolution Zero BOOM! EXPLOSION! Everyone dies except Dace Night and Va'aiga.

CHRISTIAN BLACKWELL vs WILDCHILD FADE IN “At our last show, we were surprised by the announcement of the return of Christian Blackwell, older brother of SWF Hall-of-Famer SACRED,” says Mak Francis. “Christian had a brief run in the fed a few years back, he’s a former European Champion, but didn’t have near the success of his younger brother. We’re still not sure why he’s come back, but we’re going to find out real quick whether or not he still has it, as he gets ready to face the Wildchild!” “We haven’t seen Wildchild step up to take on a heavyweight in a while,” says the Suicide King, “but there was a while there where he was a veritable giant killer.” “It should be a great match,” says Mak. “So let’s send it up to Funyon in the ring!” DING! DING! DING! “The following contest is scheduled for one fall!” booms Funyon. The lights dim before Hellacopters “By the Grace of God” begins to play, and as it does, Strobe lights flash in time with the opening keyboard strikes, until the drums and guitar kick in on the first thunderous beat, when there's an almighty flash and the lights return to normal from their dimmed state. As each drum and guitar beat play, vision of Blackwell slamming some poor soul appears on the SmarkTron. “Introducing first,” continues Funyon, as Blackwell steps from behind the curtain, “from Rosslare, Ireland, and weighing in at two hundred seventy-two pounds… here is Christian… BLACKWELL!” Blackwell heads down the aisle, acknowledging the fans but declining to get too close to them; he steps into the ring and salutes the crowd as his music fades out. ATTENTION! RAAAAAAAAAAH! 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 MOTHERFUCKAAAAA… The crowd becomes frantic as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play; a single spotlight pulses at the entranceway as Wildchild steps out from behind the curtain! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “His opponent,” booms Funyon, “hails from the Bahamas, and weighs two hundred fourteen pounds! He is the SWF World Cruiserweight Champion: the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild slaps hands with the fans at ringside as he makes his way down the aisle as well. “Wildchild is on a little bit of a winless streak,” says Mak, as WC somersaults between the ropes to enter the ring, “following a loss at All Hallows, and a draw at our last event, Class in Session. He’s going to be highly motivated to try and get a win tonight!” WC hands the Cruiserweight Championship belt to referee Ronald “Red” Herrington, who delivers it to a departing Funyon, as Wildchild’s music fades out. Herrington then motions for the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! Wildchild and Christian meet in the center of the ring for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and Blackwell immediately takes advantage with a kneelift into the midsection! He grabs WC by the back of the head and quickly leads him over to the corner, where he smashes him face-first into the top turnbuckle! Blackwell runs to the ropes as Wildchild staggers out of the corner… WHAM! … And levels him with a running elbow that sends WC tumbling out of the ring and down to the floor! Blackwell gives the fans a pose that elicits a few cheers, as Wildchild rolls around on the arena floor. “Wow!” exclaims Mak. “What an explosive start by Christian Blackwell! He didn’t waste any time, did he, King?” “Definitely not!” concurs King, as Herrington begins to deliver a ten-count. “He didn’t wait for Wildchild to get into any kind of rhythm; he set the tone right away, and that’s the smart thing to do against an opponent with Wildchild’s speed!” WC slowly picks himself up off the arena floor and climbs back up to the apron, but Blackwell runs over to the edge of the ring and knocks him off the apron with a running shoulderblock that sends Wildchild flying back into the ring barricade! “Christian Blackwell knocked Wildchild out onto the concrete,” reports Mak, “and he just did it again! He knocked Wildchild back out to the floor with a shoulderblock!” Wildchild gets back to his feet with help from the barricade, and stumbles back over to the ring. “Well, Christian has a good an inside source as you can have in this business, a brother who’s a former World Heavyweight Champion, and who has beaten Wildchild before,” remarks King. “It’s got to be a tremendous luxury to be able to call your brother for advice on how to beat your opponents!” Wildchild climbs back onto the apron, but Blackwell grabs him by the head with both hands and delivers a devastating headbutt! He then spins WC around on the apron and delivers a ferocious forearm smash that sends him back out to the floor! Blackwell grins like the cat that ate the canary, but Red Herrington begins admonishing him as he pushes Christian back away from the ropes. “Look at this!” says King indignantly. “Why is Herrington getting on Blackwell’s case?” “Because he won’t let the guy get back in the ring!” replies Mak. “So what?” asks King. “It’s his prerogative!” “King, you’re supposed to go to a neutral corner!” scolds Francis. “And if the guy gets counted out, he gets counted out; if he can get back in, he gets back in!” Finally, Wildchild is able to slither his way back into the ring. He gets to his feet, and he meets Blackwell once again in a tie-up. Blackwell easily muscles Wildchild back against the ropes, forcing Herrington to call for a break. Blackwell takes a step backwards before belting WC in the face with a stiff right cross! Wildchild retaliates with two quick right jabs, before Christian cuts him off with an eye rake and retakes control with a side headlock. Wildchild pushes him across the ring, but Blackwell bursts off the ropes and knocks him to the canvas with a running shoulderblock! “Well, so far, Christian Blackwell has dominated this match with power moves,” observes King. “If he can keep this up, Wildchild’s got no chance!” Blackwell runs back to the ropes, but the Bahama Bomber surprises him as he rebounds with a drop toehold. WC gets up quickly and grabs Christian by the back of the head before he begins to bash Blackwell’s face repeatedly into the canvas! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The Human Hurricane scrambles to his feet as Blackwell rolls over onto this back and runs towards the edge of the ring, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes and crashing into Blackwell’s chest with a somersault senton splash! WC quickly rolls to his feet and flips backwards to crash back into Blackwell with a standing moonsault splash! He applies a lateral press as Herrington dives into position: ONE! TWO! Blackwell kicks out with authority! He returns to a sitting position, but WC runs up behind him and traps him in an armbar! “Cover by the Wildchild only gets two!” reports Mak. “But give credit to the Wildchild for surviving that initial onslaught by Christian Blackwell; he’s even managed to take control of the pace of this match!” Blackwell negotiates his way back to his feet, only for WC to step into his body, twisting his hips as he falls to the canvas and taking Blackwell over with an armdrag! Wildchild plants a knee into the side of Christian’s neck as he re-asserts the armbar. “Wildchild goes back to the armbar,” notes Mak. “And look at the way he applies pressure to the neck with the knee!” “Well, you usually trick me into saying one nice thing about Wildchild every week,” says King, “but I’ll say this in his favor: he may not be the best defensive wrestler, but he don’t wrestle backwards!” “Absolutely not!” agrees Mak. “This kid is all offense, the whole way, and he doesn’t back down, even from the largest competitor!” Blackwell gets back to his feet, but WC maintains control of the armbar. Christian pushes him back against the ropes and punches him a couple of times in the belly to get him to relax his grip. He then grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring. Wildchild picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes and charges into Blackwell at full speed with a running shoulderblock… but can’t even budge the big man! Wildchild runs back to the ropes and dives towards the canvas as he rebounds, somersaulting underneath Blackwell and just narrowly missing the big man as he takes to the air with a largely unsuccessful leapfrog. WC deftly rolls back to his feet and continues on to the opposite set of ropes. He picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes and suddenly has to duck, barely missing a fierce back elbow smash from Blackwell. Christian lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop as Wildchild rebounds from the ropes a fourth time, but the Tropical Tumbler leaps over him, grabbing him by the waist as he sails past to pull him backwards into a Sunset Flip… “Can he get the momentum to take him over?” ponders Mak, as Blackwell fights to maintain his vertical base. Able to successfully stop himself from going over, Christian decides to go on the offensive, measuring WC for a fierce right punch! WHAM! Wildchild slides out of the way at the last split second! Blackwell roars in pain as his hand slams into the canvas, and WC scrambles back to his feet, catching Christian off-guard and taking him back over with another armdrag before re-establishing the armbar! “Well, after a great start to this match, Christian Blackwell has fallen victim to Wildchild’s speed,” says Mak. “He’s going to have to go back to the drawing board if he wants to regain control of this match!” “He needs to go back to that aggressive smash mouth style that gave him success,” adds King. “You know, I blame Herrington for all this; when he forced Blackwell to allow Wildchild to come back into the ring, that took a lot of his momentum away... It’s biased officiating, if you ask me!” Christian gets back to his feet and rakes WC’s eyes to break the hold. He then nails him with consecutive headbutts, before scooping him up into his arms. The irritable Irishman charges towards the corner, slamming Wildchild’s back against the top turnbuckle before tossing WC onto his shoulder and turning back towards the center of the ring as he plants WC into the canvas with his patented running powerslam! He holds Wildchild down for a pin attempt: ONE! TWO! TH— Wildchild kicks out at two! Blackwell beats him to his feet and backs into the corner, measuring his opponent as he strides back into the ring and leaps into the air to deliver a jumping elbow smash… WHAM! … But the Caribbean Cruiser rolls out of the way! Blackwell clutches his right elbow in pain as Wildchild gets back to his feet. The Bahama Bomber grabs Christian’s left leg and motions for the figure-four, but Blackwell quickly pulls himself towards the edge of the ring and grabs onto the bottom rope before he can get the move applied! “Whoa!” exclaims Mak, as Red Herrington orders a clean break. “Christian Blackwell very nearly made a very costly mistake when he went for broke on that elbow! Wildchild was going for that figure-four, but give credit to Blackwell: he still had the presence of mind to get to the ropes!” Wildchild steps back and waits for Blackwell to extricate himself from the ropes before attempting to put the pressure back on, but Christian surprises him with a European Uppercut out of nowhere, that knocks him flat on his BUTT! Blackwell gets back to his feet as WC lies back, clutching his jaw; he pulls Wildchild’s legs apart before stepping through to stomp WC in the midsection! “What a dramatic turn of events!” shouts Mak, as Blackwell traps WC in a front facelock. “With just a couple of moves, Christian Blackwell has regained control of this match!” Blackwell lifts WC into the air and falls back into a vertical suplex, only to roll over while maintaining the facelock, and lift Wildchild up again. “Smart decision by Blackwell to go back to the power moves,” says King, as Blackwell falls back for the second suplex, “and with his power, these triple suplexes will definitely take the wind out of Wildchild’s sails!” Sensing Wildchild starting to try and wriggle free, Christian falls backwards, driving WC into the canvas forcefully with the third suplex! Christian floats over into a pinning combination… ONE! TWO! … But only gets two! Blackwell pulls WC to his feet and traps him in a go-behind waistlock; Christian wraps pops his hips and lifts the Bahaman off the canvas, tossing him through the air and slamming him back down with a German suplex! Blackwell crawls atop his opponent and applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Blackwell pulls Wildchild back to his feet and then hoists him into a stalling vertical suplex, before dropping him forward into a devastating sitout powerbomb! “Orange Crush!” shouts King, as Blackwell holds his opponent down for the ping. “That’s going to do it!” ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Two count only!” shouts Mak, as Christian looks at the referee in disdain. “Wildchild barely got the shoulder up… Boy was that close!” “That was close,” agrees King, as Blackwell continues to lobby for a three-count. “There appeared to be some hesitation on the part of referee Red Herrington, I think!” Frustrated, Blackwell begins to punish WC with a series of kicks! “At this rate,” says Mak, “Christian Blackwell is about two or three moves away from ending this match!” “He’s wrestled a smart match, for the most part, aside from that brief moment that Wildchild had control,” notes King. “He’s done a good job of forcing Wildchild to try and wrestle defensively and, even after five years, that remains the one glaring weakness in his game plan.” Blackwell pulls WC to his feet and forces him roughly into a corner, where he begins assaulting the Caribbean Cruiser with a battery of European Uppercuts! He then pulls WC out of the corner and scoops him up into a slam, driving him powerfully back down to the canvas! “The match is all Christian Blackwell at this point,” says Mak, as Blackwell eases on up to the middle turnbuckle. “It looks like Christian Blackwell is about to go for that patented second-rope kneedrop!” Christian steadies himself on the middle ropes… OOF! … But Wildchild suddenly surges to his feet and dives into the corner, leaping off the canvas and crashing into Blackwell with a flying headbutt to the lower extremities! As Christian doubles over in pain, WC gathers himself in the corner before suddenly leaping back off the canvas, whipping his leg sharply overhead… CRACK! … And blasting Blackwell on the top of the head with a bicycle kick! “My goodness!” shrieks Mak. “That was an unbelievable Pelé-like kick from the Wildchild!” “With that damned shin guard!” grumbles King. “They made a huge mistake in allowing him to wrestle with those on!” Wildchild drops to a knee as he gets his wind back. Suddenly he snaps up right, his eyes burning with intensity as he stares at Blackwell, who is still dazed on the middle ropes. With a snarl, WC runs over and leaps nimbly up to the top turnbuckle. “I don’t know what Wildchild has planned here,” says Mak, “but it can’t be good!” The Human Hurricane snares Christian in a front-facelock as he falls back into the ring … BANG! … And spikes Blackwell’s face into the canvas with a second rope DDT! Blackwell instinctively rolls out to the floor to protect himself from a pinfall! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Good god!” screams Mak. “That was a most vicious DDT! And Blackwell had no leverage to protect himself at all on that!” “Absolutely!” affirms King, as WC rolls out to the floor after his opponent. “Great presence of mind to roll out of the ring, but he took the full force of that DDT; like I said before, Wildchild doesn’t go backwards!” Wildchild strains to pull Blackwell to his feet and then leads him by the back of the head towards the edge of the ring, slamming him face-first into the ringpost! He leans Christian against the post and then backs across the arena floor before he takes off running, leaping into the air as he approaches the corner and crushing Blackwell’s face against the post with his patented Blue Crush splash! “My god, King,” shouts Mak, “I’m mean, we’ve seen Wildchild be aggressive before, but I can’t remember the last time he was quite like this!” WC pulls Blackwell away from the ringpost and lets him fall backwards to the arena floor before he rolls back into the ring to break up the count. “Well, he probably realizes that he’s going to have to pull out all the stops to beat a man as big as Christian Blackwell,” notes King. “He probably realizes that his normal offense isn’t likely to slow this guy down, and he’s going to have to go deep into his bag of tricks to keep Blackwell down for a three count!” WC rolls to his feet inside the ring and walks over to the corner; he climbs onto the top turnbuckle before leaping fearlessly to the arena floor… CRACK! … Smashing into Blackwell’s face with a suicide headbutt! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “What a tremendous move by the Wildchild!” exclaims Mak. He went all out on that suicide headbutt!” “This kid is crazy!” exclaims King. “He’s going to cripple himself one of these days, mark my words!” WC rolls into the ring briefly in order to break up the count, and then returns to the arena floor; he strains to pull Blackwell off the floor and rolls him underneath the bottom rope. He then climbs up onto the ring apron and grabs onto the top rope, propelling himself into the ring, where he crashes into Christian’s face with a slingshot somersault legdrop! He hooks the leg as he applies a cover: ONE! TWO! THREENO! Blackwell just gets the shoulder up! WC beats Blackwell to his feet and runs to the corner, leaping nimbly to the top turnbuckle and leaping back into the ring to slam his fist into Christian’s face, courtesy of a flying fistdrop! “Boy, Wildchild’s really going to work on the head of Christian Blackwell,” notes Mak. Wildchild applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! THR— KICKOUT! WC pulls Blackwell to his feet and backs him into a neutral corner, where he begins hammering him with hard right jabs. He grabs Blackwell by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but Blackwell has the presence of mind to reverse, sending WC crashing into the turnbuckles instead! Christian charges into the corner after him, seeking to crush him against the turnbuckles with a running shoulderblock, but the Bahama Bomber dives out of the corner as Blackwell crashes chest-first into the turnbuckles! WC runs to the edge of the ring as Blackwell staggers out of the corner and leaps into the air as he bounces off the ropes, whipping his leg sharply through the air and flattening Blackwell with a leg lariat! The crowd begins cheering as WC pops to his feet and motions for the Wild-Driver! “Wildchild is feeling it!” shouts Mak. “And there’s the sign for the Wild-Driver; if he hits this, it’s all over!” WC pulls Blackwell to his feet and doubles him over at the waist; the Bahama Bomber stands in front of him and reaches back to grab his opponent’s arms, but Christian begins to fight back, pushing Wildchild into the ropes. Christian rises quickly to his feet to catch Wildchild coming off the ropes with a running elbow smash, but the Human Hurricane easily ducks out of the way as he continues on to the opposite set of ropes. WC picks up speed as he rebounds a second time… BANG! … And runs top-speed into a Standing Sidekick! Blackwell falls wearily to his knees, trying to catch his breath as WC rolls around on the canvas. “Standing Sidekick!” crows King. “That’ll take the wind out of his sails!” “Yes,” agrees Mak, “but does he have anything left to try and put this match away?” Blackwell crawls over to the edge of the ring and uses the ropes to begin pulling himself up. Wildchild recovers enough to scramble to his feet and attempt to intercept his opponent, but Blackwell blasts him with a right cross that knocks him backwards! “Wildchild is trying to keep Blackwell down,” reports Francis, “but look at him fire back!” WC keeps trying to get Blackwell back under control, but Christian keeps knocking him back with heavy forearm swats. Finally, Wildchild makes the mistake of getting close enough for Christian to get a good grip on him, and Blackwell grabs him and heaves him at the edge of the ring, holding WC against the ropes with one hand as he pummels him with the other! The Fighting Irishman draws back and smashes WC in the top of the head with a ferocious overhand right that makes Wildchild feel like his head has been split open! “Blackwell’s a house of fire!” exclaims Mak. The fans start to rally behind Christian as he grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but the Bahama Bomber still has the presence of mind to reverse it; he’s not nearly strong enough to force Blackwell across the ring, so instead he hops quickly off the canvas and nails Blackwell with a dropkick to the knee! As Christian falls to his knees, WC continues to press his attack with kicks to the midsection and punches to the face. Wildchild motions for a Shining Wizard and races across the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes, but Blackwell suddenly rises from the canvas and snatches WC up in a military press! He carries Wildchild over to the edge of the ring… CHING! … And crotches him on the top rope! “Hah!” snorts King. “How about that; some payback from that earlier move!” Blackwell traps Wildchild in a bearhug and snatches him roughly from the top rope, tossing him overhead and driving him into the canvas with a tremendous overhead belly-to-belly suplex! He moves over to apply a lateral press: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Wow!” shouts Mak. “That belly-to-belly nearly did it; Wildchild just barely got out of that!” Blackwell pulls WC to his feet and traps him in a waistlock; he pops his hips as he heaves Wildchild overhead, planting him into the canvas with a devastating high-angle Backdrop suplex! Christian bridges to hold Wildchild in place as Herrington makes the count: ONE! TWO! THREENO! WC just gets the left shoulder up! Blackwell gets to his feet and looks out into the crowd as he pumps his arms up and down, pantomiming the Psycho Driver. “Here it comes!” exclaims King. “The Psycho Driver; we’ve got a big upset in the making!” Blackwell pulls Wildchild to his feet and backs him against the ropes; he grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring, hoisting WC onto his shoulders as he rebounds, into a torture rack position! Blackwell tries to secure his grip on the torture rack in order to follow it into the Psycho Driver, but Wildchild fights for all he’s worth; the Human Hurricane squirms and struggles atop Blackwell’s shoulders, simultaneously elbowing and kneeing the bigger man in the side of the head until he relaxes his grip, and then slipping down his back, hooking Christian under the arm as he falls to the canvas to take him off his feet with a reverse armdrag! Blackwell gets back to his feet and charges Wildchild, who ducks a rushing clothesline… CRACK! … And then blasts Blackwell in the face as he spins around with a Gamengiri! Christian staggers back woozily but remains on his feet. “Big time counter by Wildchild!” cheers Mak. WC grabs Blackwell by the back of the head and leads him over to the edge of the ring; he leaps over the top rope and drives Christian’s neck into it as he falls to the arena floor with a Savage Neck Snap! He scrambles back onto the ring apron as Blackwell falls backwards, and briefly raises his arms overhead, cuffing his wrists together, before he brings his hands back down to grasp the top rope as he waits nervously for Blackwell to get back to his feet. “Wildchild just gave the sign for Presumed Guilty!” shouts Mak. “This could do it!” Wildchild leaps onto the top rope the instant that Blackwell starts to stand up and then leaps into the ring, snaring Christian in a headlock as he flies past and swinging his body around as he falls back down… BANG! … DRIVING BLACKWELL’S FACE INTO THE CANVAS WITH A JUMP-SWINGING DDT! “Presumed Guilty!” shrieks Francis, as WC grapevines Blackwell’s legs to pull him into a cover. “Goodnight, Christian Blackwell!” ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to pump through the speakers as Wildchild flops over onto his back, panting like a dog as Red Herrington raises his hand in victory. Funyon rises from his seat at ringside as he lifts the microphone to his lips. “Here is your winner,” he bellows, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” WC crawls over to the edge of the ring and pulls himself up to his feet. He looks out into the crowd with a sense of satisfaction over his victory. “What a great match!” shouts Mak, as Herrington raises WC’s arm in victory. “Christian Blackwell gave Wildchild all he could handle but, in the end, the Bahama Bomber was able to pull out the victory!” “Well, Blackwell proved to everybody that he can press anybody to the limit,” says Mak, “but a savvy move by the veteran Wildchild was able to dig out the victory; Blackwell made a critical mistake by telegraphing the Psycho Driver, and Wildchild had enough time to counter it!” “Blackwell underestimated Wildchild’s resilience,” says King. “He didn’t have him compromised enough to go for the Psycho Driver, and it cost him!” “And on that note,” says Mak, “we need to send it backstage while we rotate the ring crew, but we’ll be right back with more action!” Wildchild faces the crowd in the center of the ring, and salutes them with a deep bow. He executes a right face turn and bows in the direction as well… As we: FADE OUT