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FADE IN “We’re only days away from the highly anticipated matchup between Wild and Dangerous and Martial Law for the World Tag Team Titles,” says Longdogger Pete excitedly, “and here, we have the main event, as two of the four members of that match will be squaring off today in singles competition! The Wildchild is taking on Todd Cortez’s partner, Landon Maddix!” “Landon will be motivated to get a big singles win over a quality opponent,” says the Suicide King. “He’s been on a bit of a downward spiral since losing the World Heavyweight Title to Sacred. And you know, with a big title opportunity on the horizon, Martial Law is going to want to have some kind of mental edge over the champions going into that match!” “Absolutely,” agrees Pete, “and that’s really going to put the pressure on Landon Maddix to get things going for his team right away, because if he doesn’t secure a win against Wildchild here, that’s going to put a double the pressure on Cortez to beat Johnny next week in the tag match, just to avoid a sweep!” “Well, I can’t imagine Maddix being to bothered by Wildchild,” says King. “I mean, they have somewhat similar styles, so Maddix will know what to expect. And besides, Maddix has been much more successful during his time in the SWF than Wildchild; hell, Clown-boy’s been in the fed a full year longer, and he never even held the ICTV title! Maddix has held practically every belt in the SWF, including becoming World Heavyweight Champion before his twenty-first birthday!” “Well, there are two titles that Maddix has never held,” replies LDP, “and both of them currently reside around the waist of the Wildchild: the World Cruiserweight Title, and the World Tag Team Titles! Maddix is trying to get what Wildchild has, and that puts him at a mental disadvantage!” “I wouldn’t worry about Maddix being at a mental disadvantage to Wildchild,” chortles King. “For one thing, he’s dumb as a bag of hammers, and furthermore, Maddix is excellent at playing mind games with his opponent; hell, only Toxxic is better at getting inside his opponent’s head, if you ask me!” “Be that as it may,” answers Pete, “one way or another, Maddix is going to have his hands full with the Wildchild here tonight. Let’s go down to Funyon to get the match started!” With that, the camera shifts its focus to the ring, where Funyon is standing in the center of the ring, beside referee Ronald “Red” Herrington. Upon receiving his cue, he raises his trusty microphone to his lips and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, our next contest is scheduled for one fall, with a twenty-five minute time limit!” “PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! *DUM DUM* The lights dim briefly as “Megalomaniac” by Incubus starts to play, prompting Landon Maddix to burst from behind the curtain, stopping at the top of the ramp and thrusting his hands out to his side as the lights return back to normal. Landon turns back to the curtains, waving his arm in a sweeping gesture as Megan walks out from the back to take her place beside him. Maddix takes her by the hand and shows her off to the crowd, Megan pirouetting like a ballerina, before they proceed down the ramp with Landon leading the way, jaw-jacking with fans as he does so. “Introducing first,” says Funyon, “being accompanied by the First Lady of the SWF, Megan Skye, from Huron, South Dakota, weighing two hundred twenty pounds… LANDON ‘LA CUCARACHA’ MAAAADIX!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! Landon leaps to the apron, before running across the apron and leaping up to the middle turnbuckle. Looking out at the crowd, Landon grins and holds his arms out to the sides before leaping over the top and entering the ring. He rips off his trademark “Cheat 2 Win” t-shirt and tosses it into the rabid crowd, before stepping between the ropes to enter the ring, flexing his limbs as he awaits his opponent. “Colorado is definitely Maddix Country!” shouts LDP. “Listen to the ovation for the Next Generation!” “And there’s your mental edge right there,” adds King. “We all know that Wildchild is a guy who feeds off the crowd’s energy; if they’re cheering for his opponent, that’s going to take away from his ability to get amped up!” With that, the lights dim in the Pepsi Center, and cheers can be heard for the Bahama Bomber as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play! ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA… “And his opponent,” shouts Funyon, “from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, and the NEW SWF World Cruiserweight Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild dashes down the ramp, outrunning his spotlight as he races towards the ring. He somersaults between the bottom and middle ropes and then rolls to his feet, looking across the ring at his opponent. “Wildchild and Maddix do have something of a history together,” notes Pete, as the lights come back on. “They had a tremendous battle over the Cruiserweight Title, as well as the Tag Team Titles, back when Maddix wrestled alongside Todd Royal as a member of the House of Todd.” “You forgot to mention the part about Wild and Dangerous ending Royal’s career,” snaps King. “One of the most promising rookies we’ve ever seen, and his career was cut short by those two lunatics; I understand that Maddix still carries some resentment towards Wild and Dangerous, and rightfully so!” Wildchild removes both of his title belts from his waist before surrendering them to Red Herrington, as his music fades out. Herrington hands the belts to the exiting Funyon, and motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! Wildchild and Maddix circle each other in the ring before meeting in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Maddix quickly takes advantage, going behind Wildchild to apply a waistlock, but Wildchild slips his hand between his body and Landon’s arms. He then pulls Landon’s left arm away, twisting it into an arm wringer, and then steps into Landon’s body before popping his hips as he falls towards the canvas, taking the Cockroach over with a modified hiptoss! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! Despite Colorado being “Maddix Country,” a vocal contingent of fans express their support for the Bahama Bomber, as Landon lifts his legs off the canvas and locks them around Wildchild’s head, trapping him in a headscissors. Wildchild rolls onto his shoulders to alleviate the pressure and then somersaults forward, flattening his body against Maddix as he holds the Cockroach down for a pinning combination. Herrington drops to his knees to count: ONE! … But Maddix immediately bridges his way out of the pin, holding onto Wildchild’s waist as he lifts them both off the canvas, but instead of the traditional backslide reversal… SLAM! … Maddix spins out from underneath Wildchild and dumps him to the mat like a bad habit! Before the Bahama Bomber realizes what just happened… CRACK! … Maddix drills him in the side of the head with a vicious soccer kick! Wildchild rolls to his feet furiously, eyes wide and nostrils flaring as he steels himself to get up to his neck in Landon’s ass, but Maddix defuses his attack, extending an arm, as if he wants Wildchild to shake his hand. “What the hell?” puzzles LDP. “He kicks Wildchild in the face, and now he wants the man to shake his hand?” Wildchild looks at Maddix skeptically, but his friendly nature gets the better of him, and he accepts Landon’s hand. RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Well, isn’t that just the sweetest thing?” spits King mockingly. “I can’t believe he just stopped the match for that sickening display!” Wildchild and Maddix engage in another tie-up, and Maddix backs him up against the ropes. Herrington calls for a clean break, and gets it, and Maddix claps his hands above his head, eliciting the crowd’s support as he backs away. LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! Wildchild steps back towards the center of the ring and locks up with Maddix once more, this time, with the Cockroach shifting to a side headlock. Wildchild leads him to the edge of the ring, and then uses the rope to help push Maddix off. Wildchild lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop as Maddix bounces off the ropes, but Landon flips through the body drop attempt, and lands on his feet. He briefly wipes his mouth and then looks outside the ring at Megan. She gives him a quick wink to let him know that Wildchild is looking elsewhere, and then the Cockroach suddenly springs into action, spinning towards Wildchild and leaping into the air… WHAM! … Surprising the Bahama Bomber with a standing dropkick! Wildchild rolls back to his feet, his pride a little worse for wear from being caught off-guard, and finds Landon facing him, calmly extending his arm once more. MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX! “Wait a second!” says Pete. “I’m starting to think that Landon asking for a handshake isn’t about sportsmanship at all!” “Is that so?” asks a bemused King. “That’s so,” replies LDP affirmatively. “In fact, I’m starting to think that it’s not about sportsmanship, but about gamesmanship!” “I’m with you,” adds King. “He’s not offering a handshake after hitting Wildchild to say ‘good luck,’ or ‘may the best man win.’ He’s offering that handshake as if to say, ‘Don’t take this ass-whippin’ personally!” Sure enough, as Wildchild looks into Landon’s eyes, his opponent’s true motives dawn on him. Grinning to himself as if to say, “So, dat’s how it is, eh,” Wildchild nonetheless accepts the handshake and then begins to circle the ring once more. They meet in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, only for Wildchild to grab Maddix by the head with both hands before taking him over with a snapmare… CRACK! … And planting a stiff soccer kick between Landon’s shoulder blades! Maddix rolls onto his knees, clutching his back as he glances up, only to see Wildchild standing a few feet away from him, his arm extended in pursuit of a handshake, his trademark smile plastered across his face DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “I knew it!” shouts Pete. “I was right; that handshake is all about gamesmanship! They’re each trying to one-up the other!” Maddix, realizing that he’s been found out, smiles at Wildchild as if to say, “Alright, then,” and accepts the handshake. “Well,” quips King, as the two combatants circle each other in the ring, “if it comes down to a battle of wits, you’ve definitely got to consider Maddix the favorite!” Wildchild and Landon lock hands in a Greco-Roman knuckle lock, and then begin to push against each other, each man struggling to establish control. “Interesting test of strength here,” notes Pete. “Neither of these two is known for using strength to their advantage. In fact, they may respectively be the only two men in the fed that the other can match power with!” Unaccustomed to trying to overpower someone, Wildchild uses his flexibility to kick one of his hands free from Maddix, using the other one to twist Landon into and arm wringer, before taking him over with an armdrag, and then grapevining the arm with both of his legs, as he traps Maddix in a cross-arm breaker! Herrington kneels down to ask Landon if he wants to submit, but the Cockroach wriggles his way over to the ropes, forcing Herrington to call for a break. “I have to say that there is a lot more mat wrestling going on in this match than I, and many others, expected to see. I’m sure a lot of fans were expecting a much more fast-paced match from these two!” “Well,” replies King, “this is where the mind games come in; I’m sure that both men want to transition to a style that they’re more comfortable with, but right now, their each preoccupied with trying to psyche out the other!” Landon calls for another knuckle lock, but as Wildchild steps towards him, he suddenly takes Maddix off-guard with a single-leg takedown, and then grapevines that same leg into a leglock submission, but Maddix once again quickly rolls towards the edge of the ring, and grabs the ropes to force a break. As both men get to their feet, Maddix steps towards Wildchild… SHOVE! … And plants both hands in the Bahaman’s chest, pushing him backwards! Wildchild steps in towards Maddix… SHOVE! … And returns the favor! The crowd begins to get rowdy as Maddix walks towards Wildchild, his arms raised to deliver another shove, but as Wildchild braces for the impact, Landon lowers his left arm at the last split second, holding his right one out for a handshake! RAAAAAAAAAH! Wildchild grimaces at the sight of the handshake, however, and waves him off, backing into the corner to regain his bearings. “Landon calling for another handshake,” says Pete, “and Wildchild says ‘no way!’ It looks like Landon has succeeded in getting inside Wildchild’s head!” Wildchild and Landon lock up in the center of the ring, and the Bahama Bomber shifts into a side headlock. Landon pushes him into the ropes, and braces himself as he rebounds. WHACK! The sound of Wildchild and Landon’s shoulders slamming into each other echoes throughout the Pepsi Center, but neither man moves! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! DUB-CEE! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! DUB-CEE! Throughout the cheers for Maddix, a small but vocal contingent of Wildchild fans can still be heard cheering for their favorite. “Shoulderblock, and neither man goes down,” reports LDP. “These two appear to be very evenly matched!” Wildchild and Maddix engage in yet another collar-and-elbow tie-up. Both men struggle against the other’s strength, with neither man finding purchase, until they mutually break away. Maddix offers his hand yet again, and for the second straight time, Wildchild ignores it, stepping closer to Landon until they are nose to nose! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! DUB-CEE! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “The tension between these two is unbelievable!” shouts Pete. Wildchild and Maddix continue to stare each other down, until Landon raises his right hand… SMACK! … Smacking it across Wildchild’s face! “OOOH!” shouts LDP. “What a slap!” LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO MADDIX! CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! “Maddix just slapped the taste out of his mouth,” says King gleefully. Wildchild looks towards the crowd, which is cheering for the Cockroach. Landon looks out at his fans, insufferably pleased with himself, when suddenly Wildchild’s hand comes slicing through the air… SMACK! … Slapping Maddix in the face! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “Wildchild’s more than capable of defending himself, King!” exclaims Pete. Landon draws his hand back to deliver another slap, but as he sees Wildchild flinch, he lowers his hand, extending it for a fifth handshake attempt! “Well, I think it’s safe to say who won the mind games now,” says King. “Maddix has Wildchild shook!” “I think that might be a little hyperbole, King,” replies LDP, “but Maddix definitely seems to have gotten the better of it!” Wildchild smirks at Landon, nodding in acknowledgement of the Cockroach’s mind games, before accepting the handshake. He then immediately ties Landon up and pushes him into the ropes, forcing Red Herrington to demand a break. With Wildchild distracted by the referee’s warning, Landon turns the tables on him, pushing him into the ropes, even as Herrington interjects himself between the two wrestlers. Landon backs away, apparently conceding a clean break… WHAM! … When he surprises Wildchild with a forearm to the face! “Cheap shot by Landon Maddix!” shouts Pete. “I guess now that he’s satisfied with winning the mind games, he’s decided to be more aggressive!” Maddix grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but the Bahama Bomber reverses, leaping into the air to avoid the Cockroach with a leapfrog as he bounces off the ropes, and springing back into the air as he rebounds a second time… WHAM! … Nailing Landon in the chest with a sensational backflip kick! Wildchild scrambles to his feet and races towards the edge of the ring, gaining momentum as he bounces off the ropes, and leaping into the air as the Cockroach scurries to his feet… WHAM! … Blasting Maddix over the top rope with his patented leg lariat! “What a leg lariat!” shrieks Pete. “Wildchild sent Maddix clean out of the ring! The tempo of this match has definitely picked up in the last few minutes!” Wildchild races across the ring, diving headfirst towards the edge of the ring as he bounces off the ropes. Landon, anticipating some high-risk offense from Wildchild, dives to safety, but the Human Hurricane merely plants his hands on the canvas and uses the ropes to propel his body back towards the center of the ring as he performs a handspring backflip! The Denver fans pop for Wildchild’s athleticism as Landon looks back into the ring, seeing Wildchild beckoning at him to return. Maddix crawls back into the ring, only to see the Tropical Tumbler extending HIS arm for a handshake. “How do you like that?” asks Pete. “Who’s playing mind games with whom, King?” Landon steps back onto the apron and begins to re-enter the ring, but turns around at the last second, returning to the arena floor. Wildchild looks out to the floor in distaste as Landon seats himself on the ring barricade, allowing Megan to dab his forehead with a towel. SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! Hearing Red Herrington get close to a ten-count, Maddix hops down from the barricade and walks back over to the ring, hopping onto the apron to stop the count. As soon as he returns to the ring, Wildchild exits from the other side, hopping over the top rope and landing gracefully on the floor below. The Caribbean Cruiser paces leisurely across the arena floor as Landon stand in the ring, smirking at him. “Alright,” snaps King. “All of these mind games were cool for the first five minutes or so, but now it’s starting to get tired. Cut the crap and start wrestling, already!” SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! Wildchild slides back into the ring to break the count, only to see Landon’s arm extended for a sixth time. The Bahama Bomber walks over and accepts the handshake, but as he backs away, he finds himself pulled back towards the Cockroach, who has not released his hand. “Oh my,” says LDP, “it looks like we’re about to reach the boiling point here!” Landon draws his arm back… WHAM! … And blasts Wildchild in the face with another forearm! Still holding onto Wildchild’s hand, Landon whips him towards the corner, but the Bahama Bomber reverses, sending Maddix crashing into the turnbuckles! Wildchild charges towards the corner… CRACK! … But the Cockroach stops him in his tracks with a stiff forearm! As Wildchild staggers backwards, Landon runs towards his opponent and leaps over him, grabbing him by the waist as he sails overhead, and pulling him into a sunset flip… CRACK! … But the Human Hurricane rolls through the sunset flip and drills Landon in the mouth with a hideous basement dropkick! Wildchild runs to the ropes as Maddix stumbles to his feet, leaping onto the top rope and curling into a ball as he springs back into the ring… WHAM! … Sending Landon flying backwards with his patented Pinball attack! The crowd roars as Wildchild immediately nips back up to his feet, and gives the sign for the Wild Ride! “Wild Ride!” shouts LDP. “If he hits this, it’s going to be tough luck for Landon!” Wildchild pulls Landon to his feet, and stands in front of him as he prepares to apply the Wild Ride, but Megan leaps onto the apron, screaming to get Wildchild’s attention. Wildchild walks over towards the edge of the ring and gets in Megan’s face, demanding that she return to the floor. Landon takes advantage of the distraction and runs to the ropes, building momentum as he bounces off, and charges towards Wildchild, but the Bahama Bomber sees him coming from the corner of his eye and sidesteps him, forcing the Cockroach to slam on the brakes in order to avoid running into his manager… WHAM! … And enabling Wildchild to sneak up behind him and lift him into the air, slamming him back down on the canvas with a backdrop suplex! “Whoa!” shouts Pete. “Maddix and Megan appear to have outsmarted themselves!” Wildchild exits the ring to the apron, and walks over to the corner where he climbs to the top turnbuckle. The fans cheer in anticipation of Wildchild leaping from the top rope! “Wildchild’s up top!” exclaims LDP. “There’s no telling what he has planned up there!” As he prepares himself to leap back into the ring, Wildchild finds himself distracted once more by Megan, who leaps onto the apron, begging the Caribbean Cruiser to show mercy. Wildchild barks at Megan, threatening her with harm if she doesn’t leave the apron… CHING! … And giving Maddix the opportunity to push Wildchild’s feet out from underneath him, crotching him on the top turnbuckle! “You were saying, Drain-Clogger?” King asks mockingly. Landon climbs onto the top turnbuckle, positioning himself in front of Wildchild before taking a short hop off the turnbuckle, locking his legs around the Caribbean’s neck as he arches back… WHAM! … Ripping Wildchild back into the ring with a death-defying Dragonrana! LAN-DON! LAN-DON! LAN-DON! LAN-DON! “Tremendous Hurri-Lanrana by Landon Maddix!” concedes LDP, as Landon crawls over to Wildchild and applies a cover: ONE! TWO! THR— … But Wildchild gets his shoulder up before Red Herrington’s hand can slap the canvas a third time! Maddix pulls Wildchild to his feet, stunning him with a series of forearms before dumping him out to the arena floor. He then runs to a nearby corner and leaps to the top turnbuckle, springing immediately outside the ring as Wildchild gets to his feet… SPLASH! … Crashing into the Caribbean Cruiser with a Spaceman Plancha! Maddix straddles Wildchild and punches him repeatedly as Herrington administers a count: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! “Wildchild was the first to increase the tempo of the match,” says Pete, “and appeared to be in control, but just a couple of moves later, Landon Maddix is having his way with the Cruiserweight Champion!” “Well, that’s what happens when you work a high-risk style,” replies King. “It only takes one or two moves to turn the tide in the entire match; with those ‘all-or-nothing’ moves that they use, it doesn’t have to take more than one hit or one miss to change everything!” Maddix pulls Wildchild to his feet and rolls him into the ring, before returning to the ring himself, just short of the ten-count. He scrambles to his feet and walks over to Wildchild… BAP! … But the Bahama Bomber punches him in the midsection to stop his advance! BAP! BAP! BAP! … Wildchild continues punching away at Maddix as he gets back to his feet. Landon stops his attack with a kneelift to the midsection and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into the ropes, but Wildchild ducks a clothesline attempt and explodes off the ropes as he rebounds as second time… WHAM! … Knocking the Cockroach to the mat with a flying back elbow smash! Wildchild races to the nearby corner and leaps onto the middle turnbuckle, springing back off before Landon can even react… WHAM! … And plants a flying fistdrop between his eyes! He pulls Maddix to his feet and whips him into the ropes, but the Cockroach runs behind the Bahama Bomber, wrapping his left arm underneath Wildchild’s left and snares him in a front facelock with his right hand as he floats up and over the back of the Cruiserweight Champion… WHAM! … Coming back around to drive Wildchild’s face into the canvas with a wrap-around DDT! “Nose Job!” shouts King. “I can’t believe that he pulled that one out of the mothballs!” “Well, he’s had good success with that move in the past,” replies Pete. “When you’re up against an opponent of Wildchild’s caliber, you go with whatever works!” Landon hooks the leg as Herrington kneels to count the shoulders: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! Wildchild gets the shoulder up! “Two count only!” sighs Pete. “Boy, was that close!” Landon looks outside the ring, signaling Megan, who climbs back onto the apron to get Red Herrington’s attention. As Herrington is looking towards Megan, Landon removes his headband and wraps it around Wildchild’s throat! Maddix wisely uses an arm to conceal the headband, so that when Herrington finally turns around, all he sees is what appears to be a reverse chinlock! “Take a closer look, ref!” barks LDP. “He’s choking Wildchild! That should be a disqualification!” “It’s called Cheat 2 Win, Toilet-Clogger!” replies King. “You have to be willing to pull out all the stops if you want to be successful in this business! Landon Maddix is wrestling smart, and Megan Skye is doing a tremendous job of keeping the referee preoccupied, so that her man can inflict more damage!” As Maddix continues to choke out his opponent, Wildchild begins to fight back, elbowing Landon in the midsection… Twice… Three times… Until Landon finally releases the choke! Wildchild grabs him by the wrist and whips him into the ropes, but the Cockroach reverses, sending Wildchild crashing into the turnbuckles… WHAM! … And locking both hands underneath Wildchild’s chin as he staggers backwards out of the corner, before falling towards the mat, driving the back of Wildchild’s head into the mat with the So-Dak Moment! “So-Dak Moment,” shouts Pete, as Landon moves Wildchild’s body parallel to the corner, before stepping out on the ring apron. “And it looks like it’s Landon Maddix who’s going to take to the air… and yes; he’s giving the sign for the Frog Splash!” “Well, this will be the ultimate one-upmanship if he can hit this Frog Splash,” replies King. Maddix springs from the top turnbuckle, pumping his arms and legs together as he descends to the canvas… CRASH! … But his body meets only the canvas-covered plywood, as Wildchild rolls out of the way! LET’S GO MADDIX! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! LET’S GO MADDIX! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! LET’S GO MADDIX! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! By this point in the match, Wildchild fans have become increasingly more numerous, and the chants echoing throughout the arena are nearly evenly split. “Well, you were right, King,” concedes Pete. “One big miss by Landon Maddix, and now this match is up for grabs!” Red Herrington begins a ten-count as both men remain motionless on the mat: ONE! TWO! THREE! LET’S GO MADDIX! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! LET’S GO MADDIX! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! FOUR! FIVE! LET’S GO MADDIX! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! LET’S GO MADDIX! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! At the count of eight, Maddix and Wildchild both begin to stir. They each get to their knees and begin to exchange punches. WAP! WHACK! WAP! WHACK! WAP! WHACK! They continue to trade punches as they both get back to their feet, with Wildchild getting the better of it, but the Cockroach doubles him over with a stunning knee to the midsection. He grabs him by the wrist and whips him across the ring, lowering his head to deliver a backdrop as Wildchild bounces off the ropes… WHAM! … But the Bahama Bomber leaps HIGH into the air, extending his leg over the back of Landon’s neck and driving him face-first into the canvas with his patented Caribbean Cutter! Wildchild immediately goes for the cover, and Herrington drops to his knees to deliver the count: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Kickout!” screams King. “Maddix kicked out!” Wildchild pulls Maddix to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him towards a neutral corner, slamming him into the turnbuckles. Wildchild races in after him, leaping into the air as he approaches the corner and twisting around in midair to deliver the Blue Crush, only for Maddix to dive out of the way… But the Human Hurricane lands on the middle turnbuckle to prevent himself from crashing into the turnbuckles and climbs up to the top turnbuckle, turning around to measure the Cockroach as he spins back towards the corner, and leaping gracefully back into the ring, and wrapping both hands around Landon’s waist as he descends, rolling him into a pin with a breathtaking flying sunset flip! ONE! TWO! THRE— KICKOUT! Wildchild rolls out to the apron, beating Landon back to his feet, and leaps onto the top rope, flipping forward as he springs back into the ring… WHAM! … And planting both feet into Landon’s chest with a Shooting Star Dropkick! Wildchild applies a lateral press as Herrington drops down to count: ONE! TWO! THREEE— … But Maddix barely gets the shoulder up! Wildchild pulls Landon to his feet, but the Cockroach surprises him, trapping the Caribbean’s head and arm out of nowhere, before falling back towards the canvas… WHAM! … And planting Wildchild’s face into the mat with the Complete Shot! “Complete Shot!” shrieks Pete. “That’s gonna do it!” Maddix rolls Wildchild onto his back and wearily applies a cover, as Herrington makes his count: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Two count only!” shouts LDP. “Oh my, was that close!” Maddix pulls Wildchild to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into the corner, only for Wildchild to reverse the whip, sending Maddix into the turnbuckle. Landon leaps gracefully onto the top turnbuckle as he approaches the corner, but the super-speedy Human Hurricane races in after him and kicks his legs out from underneath him with a running dropkick that crotches the top turnbuckle! Wildchild climbs up the turnbuckles behind Maddix, stopping on the second turnbuckle. Tucking his head underneath the game show host’s arm, the Human Hurricane positions his arms on either side of Landon and lifts them up, effectively interlocking them with those of the challenger. “Uh-oh,” moans LDP. “I think I’ve seen this before…” After successfully locking his arms with the Landon’s, Wildchild lowers them back towards his sides, pulling the challenger backwards, and suddenly Maddix finds himself dangling upside down off of Wildchild’s back! “Oh no!” shrieks Pete. “He can’t be going for what I think he’s going for, can he?” “He’s better not!” snaps King. “How many careers does he need to end with his recklessness?” Nineteen thousand five hundred in the Pepsi Center rise to their feet, cheering themselves hoarse as Wildchild, struggling to maintain his precarious balance, manages to raise his right leg up to the top turnbuckle, followed by his left. “Don’t do this, Wildchild,” pleads Pete. “It’s not that serious! This isn’t worth ending a man’s career!” But the Bahama Bomber, heedless of the announcer’s pleas, hops backwards off the top turnbuckle, taking the ultimate Nestea plunge back into the ring, with Landon dangling from his back! NO! Pete and King look on in stunned silence as Wildchild and Landon fall, seemingly in slow motion, towards the canvas… BANG! Wildchild leans back slightly, using his weight to push Maddix down headfirst through onto the canvas below! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Super Wild Ride!” exclaims Pete. “That’s gonna do it!” Wildchild rolls Maddix onto his back and hooks the leg as Herrington is forced to count: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play once more, as Wildchild scrambles back to his feet. Herrington holds Wildchild’s hand aloft in victory as Funyon makes the official proclamation: “Here is your winner,” booms Funyon, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “I know that there’s no love lost between Wild and Dangerous and Martial Law,” says LDP, “but Wildchild may have just gone over the line with that Super Wild Ride!” Wildchild helps Maddix to his feet and leans him up against the ropes. Megan enters the ring as Landon begins to open his eyes, fearful that Wildchild would attempt to attack her man once more, but the Bahama Bomber merely extends his arm for a handshake, a sly grin plastered on his face. DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “Well,” says Pete, “how about that? It seems that perhaps Wildchild didn’t do that out of maliciousness after all; perhaps he did it as the ultimate act of gamesmanship! Well, now that Wildchild has stricken the first blow in this battle, let’s find out whether Todd Cortez and Landon Maddix can even the score by taking out the Tag Team Champions next week! We’ll be right back, folks!” As we: FADE OUT

“Ladies and gentlemen… the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL!” Funyon’s booming announcement is suddenly replaced by Beethoven’s Ninth, drawing an instinctual negative response. Scott Pretzler is oblivious to it as he steps through the curtain. “Introducing first, from Toronto, Ontario, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… ‘THE CRITIC’ SCOTT PRRREEEETTZZLLEEEER!” BOOOOOOO! Pretzler marches straight down to the ring, ascends the steps, and stands awaiting his opponent. He clenches his fists, struggling to force his rage down below the surface and into the reserve where it will later be needed. “You can’t blame Pretzler for feeling frustrated,” observes Longdogger Pete. “Not only did he lose his precious Cruiserweight Championship, but he was also defeated and humiliated by Lil’ Buck in the Butte Death Match last week!” “That match was designed for Pretzler to lose.” Suicide King spits. “It shouldn’t count.” POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP! HERE WE ARE! BORN TO BE KINGS! WE’RE THE PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE! YEAH! “And his opponent, from Sarasota, Florida, weighing two hundred twenty-three pounds… EJIROOOOO FASAAAAAKIIIIIIII!” The machine gun pyrotechnics burst into the air as Ejiro Fasaki jogs onto the ramp in his Number 04 football jersey, drawing a somewhat mixed reaction. Some cheer… YEEEAAAHHH! …While others take part in the familiar chant, one Fasaki has grown most tired of hearing: F-U FASAKI! F-U FASAKI! On his way down to the ring, Fasaki gestures wildly to the crowd, trying to swing them audience in his favor. He leaps onto the apron and snaps off a military-style salute before jumping into the ring. He strips off his jersey and tosses it to the timekeeper. “Ejiro Fasaki,” notes Pete, “has yet to suffer defeat since making his return to the SWF.” “Then it will be all the more crushing when he does so tonight. What I don’t understand is why he’s chosen to betray his nature. He used to be such a great competitor, with such a unique approach to winning… now he’s given it up to be like everybody else. Sad.” “Nonetheless, a victory tonight would be an enormous boost for Pretzler’s career.” Pretzler checks to make sure that his knee pads are secure, and Fasaki does the same; both men then jump immediately into a collar-and-elbow tieup. *DING DING DING!* Fasaki, knowing he has a slight disadvantage in the area of strength, drops down to his hip while hooking his right arm under Pretzler’s shoulder and flips him into an armdrag. Pretzler is thrown off balance but rolls to his feet directly after landing. Ejiro moves in to attempt another one, but Pretzler fires off a low dropkick that knocks his feet out from under him. As soon as Ejiro lands, on his forearms, Pretzler darts in and clamps on a grounded front headlock. He shifts to the side and hooks his left arm around Fasaki’s inner thigh, then uses his upper to force the Florida native onto his back in a half-nelson pin. Fasaki is resistant, though, and he extends his outer leg sideways so as to create a wider base that Pretzler is unable to overturn. Always ready to adjust, Pretzler moves his left arm into the headlock, freeing his right, and spins to the opposite side of Fasaki’s downward-facing body. He hooks the extended right leg and, with the strength of his own legs for leverage, forces Ejiro onto his back and into a tight cover. ONE! TWO – No! Despite the uncompromising nature of the hold, Fasaki’s stamina is sufficient enough for him to avoid the pin. He does not escape the hold, however, and the aggressive Pretzler takes advantage of his bad shoulder by digging his own upper arm into it and again shoving him onto his back for a pin. ONE! TWO – No! Ejiro is able to get his shoulder off the mat once more, although the effort is slightly painful. “This reminds me very much of Fasaki’s encounter with Jay Hawke. Both men are so skilled on the mat and so evenly matched that every minor mistake has the potential to spell doom.” “Actual insight from Longdogger Pete? What is this world coming to?” This time, Fasaki will not allow himself to be forced onto his back. He once more extends the leg facing away from Pretzler, but this time he pulls it underneath his torso and is able to maneuver into a kneeling position. Once he has done this, he twists inward and hammers his shoulder into Pretzler’s gut. And again. On the second attempt, Pretzler’s hold on his neck loosens and he is able to turn fully inward. He shoots one foot out so he is halfway standing and wraps his arms around Pretzler’s back, then flips him over into a waterwheel takedown. He flips over and scrambles into a position perpendicular to Pretzler, hooking his own grounded half-nelson. Pretzler turns inward onto his stomach, which he finds unusually easy – until he realizes that the hold was deceptively weak. Having successfully tricked his opponent, Ejiro turns onto his side, locks Pretzler’s arm between his legs, and reveals his true intention: to trap Pretzler in the Cobra Crossface. As soon as his arm is positioned, however, Pretzler foils the segue, pushing off the mat with his free hand and somersaulting forward onto his back. His other arm is pulled out of Ejiro’s grasp by the sudden motion, and he scrambles to his feet without hesitation. “Why would Ejiro give away his strategy so early in the match?” King sputters. “Pretzler’s neck has been the subject of countless brutal attacks since his arrival here, mostly recently that Buck Wild Ride on the unprotected Butte soil.” Pete chuckles after the last phrase. “Even at this point, securing a hold like that tightly enough could mean victory for Fasaki.” King raises his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.” True, Fasaki had not been expecting the Crossface to be a possibility at this point. But Pretzler’s desperation has now given him an idea of what could be done if the move were applied successfully. He stands to face Pretzler, a stalemate now in place. PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! Choosing to interpret this as support for his own cause, Fasaki moves in with renewed spirit. Pretzler backs toward the corner in a crouching stance, and Fasaki inches forward. Pretzler stops, takes two steps to the side and two in, and extends a tentative arm outward while crouching even lower. Fasaki studies him. A test of strength – not a smart strategy for a man his size, but Pretzler’s size and conditioning seem nearly identical to his own. He lowers himself into the same stance as Pretzler and carefully reaches out with his right arm. His muscles are coiled and tense. If it’s a trap… Their right hands meet! Their left hands meet! Before Ejiro can begin to apply pressure, Pretzler takes an aggressive step forward, granting himself an advantage in reach. He plants his feet firmly and leans against Fasaki, the Asian-American throwing all of his weight into his upper body to counterbalance the force. Pretzler’s strength begins to win out, though, and Fasaki is gradually pushed over, his spine bending as he struggles to keep his back from arching beyond the point of stability. He now puts all of his leverage into his legs and feet. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. He grits his teeth. His palms are slippery. PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! Grimacing, Fasaki looks down grudgingly at his opponent’s groin area. He’s tempted. Not in a Bobby Riley way – no, it’s not sex that’s on his mind but violence. All Ejiro needs to do is put enough weight on his left leg to thrash out with his right and punt Pretzler in the Crown Jewels of Canada. The test of strength will be over. Relief. NO! That’s not the right way. Even without considering the risk of disqualification. “Come on, Scott,” King shouts. “He’s about to give!” Fighting harder than ever before, Fasaki nearly drives his boots through the canvas as he uses his legs to ground himself and provide a conduit for his power. Slowly, ever so slowly, he forces Pretzler back so both men are standing up straight. Pretzler, not willing to be overpowered, turns slightly sideways and reaches out with his left foot. In a sudden movement, he whips it back, catching Fasaki’s own foot and tripping him. Ejiro is thrown onto his back and Pretzler promptly attempts to use the hold on his hands to force him into a pin. To block it, Fasaki forms a bridge. The Critic is undaunted and pushes off into a brief handstand before bringing his knees down onto his opponent’s chest. As he lands back on his feet, Ejiro uses the lapse in pressure to rise out of the bridge and into a standing position once more. Pretzler knees him hard in the stomach and clamps on a wristlock. He circles under Ejiro’s arm to add to the tension, but Ejiro rolls onto his back, kips up, and performs a front handspring that puts lands him on a vertical base. Still connected to Pretzler at the hand, he whips his free elbow into the Canadian’s upper back before bringing him down in a Fujiwara Armbar. “Though he lacks a clear advantage in strength,” Pete observes, “Fasaki used his superior speed to get himself out of that tieup.” “And none of that would have been necessary,” King sniffs, “if he’d just kicked his opponent in the balls.” “Then you would have condemned him for using unfair tactics against your beloved Pretzler.” “But he didn’t. So what you just said means absolutely nothing.” Fasaki leans into the reverse armbar. Using his power to escape, Pretzler braces his other arm against the mat and pushes up onto his knees. Halfway out. Ejiro, though, does not relinquish the hold completely – he simply reaches over with his right arm and hammers the elbow into the back of Pretzler’s neck. Hard. Again his arm comes down, and this time Pretzler sinks down onto his chest. Ejiro releases the armbar, spins around into a front facelock, and lifts Pretzler back to his knees before dropping him in a hard DDT. Caught off guard by this tactic, Pretzler turns onto his stomach as quickly as he can while keeping a hand on his throbbing skull – but Ejiro scoots over and hooks another front facelock. CRUNCH! A second DDT connects, rapidly following the first. Pretzler’s momentum causes him to sit up; Ejiro moves in and seizes his arms, wrenching them back while jamming a knee into the top of his spinal column. Pretzler’s face contorts in pain, but only a sharp hiss manages to escape him. He tries to roll back but is blocked by Ejiro’s knee; twisting sideways, he manages to plant one foot on the mat and free himself from the full force of the surfboard. As soon as it becomes clear that the hold is weakening, Ejiro abandons it entirely and fires off a sliding dropkick to the back of Pretzler’s neck. To escape, Pretzler rolls on his side until he reaches the bottom rope… BOOOOOOO! …But Ejiro grabs hold of him and hauls him bodily into the center of the ring before he can make it outside. He stands, steadying the Revolution Zero member with his arm, then springs into the air before returning to Earth with a kneedrop directly to the face. Bringing Pretzler’s right arm in toward his chest, he clamps on a seated headscissors. He leans away from Pretzler, bending his head in a very wrong direction. Pretzler must free himself – his neck is aggravated to begin with, and every second he remains in the hold will count against him. He tries to push against Ejiro’s thigh in order to rotate his head, but his trapped right arm makes such movement impossible. Next, he attempts a bridge, but Ejiro’s hold on his head and neck is too strong and this only causes further pain. He finally strains to twist his shoulders inward toward Fasaki’s upper body, and by arching his back slightly at the same time he is able to turn his head so as to face Ejiro’s crotch. This is unsettling. He will not allow Ejiro to dominate him at his own game, however, and he eventually rotates enough so that he is able to get his left arm close enough to Ejiro’s grip to pry loose his right. He then pushes rightside-up and into a triangular position supported on all fours and his head. From here, he wedges his hands in between Ejiro’s legs and mechanically separates them. PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! ”Notice,” says King, “that they’re not chanting ‘Ejiro Rules.’” “Wouldn’t that be ‘Ejiro is Rule?’” “Stop. Just stop. What I’m trying to say is that the audience is not fully behind Fasaki in this match, at least not based on his own merits.” With the painful headscissors no longer in place, Pretzler floats across Ejiro’s stomach to apply another of his patented front headlocks, but the Rule slips out of it and climbs to his feet behind Pretzler. He chickenwings the Canadian’s arm and places him in a hammerlock, but a quick reversal soon finds he himself trapped in the same move. He tries to perform the same maneuver only for Pretzler to secure his other arm around his jaw. The Critic’s patented Crossface Chickenwing is now in place. Ejiro surges forward and attempts to gain a rope break – Pretzler, however, yanks him back so violently that he is lifted off his feet. The hold still in place, Pretzler turns it into a takedown that drops him flat on his face. He whips an elbow back in another effort to break out. Though it connects, Pretzler quickly uses his legs to grapevine Ejiro’s body and make the submission even more inescapable. BOOOOOORING! These chants fill Pretzler with confidence. Indeed, the aggression and desperation he showed earlier is beginning to fade away, his advantage in the match now cemented. Using the arm devoted to the crossface portion of the hold, he bends Ejiro’s head even further sideways, putting greater stress of his neck. Now that both men are lying on the mat, it is even more difficult for Ejiro to utilize his free right arm, which is his only chance of ending the submission hold. He tries another elbow, but it just isn’t enough. Pretzler twists his head even further. Suddenly, the Asian-American shoves off with his leg – rather than both being on their sides, Ejiro is now positioned on top of Pretzler. Not only that, but Pretzler’s shoulders are pinned to the mat beneath him! ONE! TWO! No! Realizing his situation with alarm, Pretzler quickly rights himself by rolling onto his right side. Ejiro’s previously safe arm is now pinned beneath his own body. Still not giving up, he pushes off with his right leg and once more ends up on top of his opponent. But Pretzler, no longer comfortable having him in such a position, releases the submission – Ejiro rolls over and crawls away from Pretzler as fast as he can. He starts to stand, and Pretzler comes from behind to tackle him, but he aims a horse-like kick at the Canadian’s shin. Pretzler falters and Ejiro, no longer dazed, runs off the ropes… and as he bounds back, Pretzler drops to his stomach. Ejiro leaps over him, bounces off the ropes a second time, and is caught with a driving knee to the gut. Pretzler drops him into a shoulder neckbreaker. CRUNCH! The apparent comeback is stopped dead in its tracks. As Ejiro clutches his neck, pain shooting through it, Pretzler stands up and wrenches his arm, presumably to apply a triangle choke. Ejiro turns inward and rises to his knees, then ducks under Pretzler’s and reverses what has now become a wristlock. With his opponent momentarily disabled, Fasaki swoops behind him and turns the move into a hammerlock, then returns to his front and tries to perform a hammerlock bodyslam. Before he can complete the scoop, Pretzler whips an elbow into his neck. His grip is broken, and Pretzler follows it up with another knee to the stomach. A front facelock and a leg scissors later and Ejiro is again on the mat, now imprisoned in a guillotine neck lock. Scott Pretzler nearly sighs with relief – the pace of the match is still under his control. “Ejiro Fasaki’s plan to wear out Pretzler on the mat in preparation for the Cobra Crossface does not seem to be succeeding,” says King with obvious pleasure. “I’m afraid I have to agree. He’s one of the better technical wrestlers around. Pretzler, though, is nothing short of a master, and he has the advantage of being angry and desperate to win.” With his legs, Pretzler steadies the bottom of Fasaki’s torso, while the neck lock allows him to stretch the unyielding spine. Ejiro cries out. His legs are immobile, his arms less so. Pretzler increases the pressure. BOOOOOORING! King’s words were well spoken. Ejiro had hoped to take advantage of his opponent’s wounded neck using his technique on that mat, but Pretzler has proven to be too adept for this at nearly every turn. What’s more, the Critic has been known for his unwillingness to submit to a hold. Ejiro curses. It feels as though his head is being slowly separated from his shoulders. The only possible opening seems to be through his hands; they are essentially free from the confines of the stretch. Movement is limited. Nonetheless, he is able to bring his right arm up and into the side of Pretzler’s jaw. Pretzler jolts, and the hold seems to weaken. WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! Three more times, Ejiro’s fist hits its mark. Scott Pretzler has no choice but to release him from the neck lock. As he stands, Pretzler makes a final attempt to keep him on the mat by maintaining the leg scissors. It’s next to useless, though, as Ejiro simply bends over him and begins to elbow him in the face. POW! POW! POW! The tactic is successful. Pretzler rolls over, and when he stands Ejiro comes running at him with another variation on the elbow smash. Though Pretzler throws up his forearms to block it, the impact is sufficient in sending him back several feet. He fires off his own elbow, which knocks Ejiro off balance, but Rule moves in tenaciously with a knee to the midsection and hits a snap suplex. A speedy elbow drop follows before Pretzler can regain his composure. Ejiro covers him. ONE! TWO – No! Pretzler kicks out with gusto. Ejiro stands, stomps on his chest, and picks him up. Placing him in a standing headscissors, he prevents further movement with a forearm to the back. He wraps his arms around Pretzler’s gut and tugs. Pretzler will not budge – he splays himself out so as to make it impossible for Ejiro to lift him off the ground. Ejiro pounds him again and redoubles his efforts, and as he does so he listens carefully to the crowd’s reaction. F-U FASAKI! F-U FASAKI! Ejiro’s pins his lower lip between his teeth and expels it with a gust of air as he pronounces the foulest of the four-letter words. What has he done to deserve this? These bastards… WHAM! His opponent’s momentary lapse into frustration gave Pretzler the chance he needed to perform a back body drop out of the standing headscissors. He spins around and tries once more to trap the recovering Fasaki in a triangle choke, but Ejiro twists around and tackles him by the legs before even the arm-wrench can be secured. POW! POW! POW! Pretzler’s face is bombarded with a flurry of elbow smashes. He thrashes from side to side in an effort to avoid them. Satisfied with his work, Ejiro stands and flings his arms up, hoping to draw a response from the crowd… and is rewarded with a hesitant cheer that slowly grows in volume. Yeeeeaaaahhhh! Though it’s not exactly thunderous, the sound of the audience’s support fills Ejiro with hope. He returns his attention to Pretzler… just as the crafty Canadian scissors his legs while still on the ground and leans to his side, dragging Ejiro down to the mat in a drop toehold. He sits up and grabs the ankle, making sure it is safely positioned between his legs, then moves up to Ejiro’s front and tries to apply the facelock that will complete his STF. Fasaki reacts quickly. He pushes up on his forearms with Pretzler still on his back and surges toward the ropes. Six inches away. Five. Four… Pretzler slips! Ejiro claws his way across the remaining three… and is suddenly stopped short as an infuriated Pretzler regains his grip on the ankle! BOOOOOO! Pretzler tries to drag his quarry into the center of the ring – this time, however, Ejiro turns over onto his back and kicks him in the kneecap. It’s not quite stiff enough. The next one is. “And Pretzler has no choice but to abandon the hold!” Pete gushes. “You’re acting like Ejiro just got elected Pope or something. Take your pills and calm down.” To move further out of Pretzler’s range, Ejiro executes a backward roll up to his feet. Due to the unpleasant feeling in his neck, it’s not as fast as he had hoped, and Pretzler takes two steps in his direction before performing a crisp high-angle dropkick that leaves a red boot-mark on his chest. He falls back to the corner. “Sparky can go Plugg himself,” says King. “That’s the best dropkick in the business.” “Sparky?” asks Pete quizzically. “My dog. He, um, does a really good dropkick. But not as good as Pretzler’s.” Pretzler gets to his feet just as his opponent steps out of the corner – though Ejiro intends to retaliate, a European uppercut sends him stumbling back to where he came from. Pretzler approaches the corner and gives Ejiro a hard shove. He proceeds to lacerate him with a razor-sharp backhand chop. SMACK – WOOOOOOO! SMACK – WOOOOOOO! SMACK – WHAM! Right after the third chop hits home, Rule fires back with a bone-rattling elbow to the face. He hooks the stunned Pretzler in a front facelock and propels himself into a seated position on the top rope. Pretzler struggles and is quieted by three pounding forearms to the back. Ejiro takes his left arm and holds it against his stomach. Again the crowd cheers, though not loudly and more from anticipation of Pretzler’s pain than Ejiro’s triumph. Yeeeaaaahhhh! Ejiro springs off the second rope while keeping a firm hold on Pretzler’s upper body. Spinning one-hundred-eighty degrees, he comes back down and spikes the Critic’s forehead on the mat. CRUNCH! “Single-arm Tornado DDT!” Pete bellows. “Wow, and you weren’t even using cue cards!” Pretzler slumps over and Ejiro hooks the leg. ONE! TWO! Kickout! Scott Pretzler powers out of the move with a vengeance. Ejiro rises and drops a knee into his chest, then attempts to pin him again, but Pretzler turns over and elbows him in the face. He backs up and Pretzler gets to his hands and knees. Then he kicks Pretzler in the side of his head, causing him to crumple again. He pushes him onto his back and makes… “…THE ARROGANT COVER~!” The unusual punctuation mark is visible in King’s exclamation. ONE! TWO! No! A simple kick to the head isn’t going to make that much of a difference. So Ejiro picks him up and places him in a standing headscissors again – this time, he does not hesitate before dropping back into a piledriver. Then he looks up at the ropes. Pretzler is immobilized. Lying on his face. It’s not likely that he will be able to block or avoid a Lionsault. Nonetheless, his neck is aching quite a bit and may not be wise to take such a risk. He looks down at Pretzler, though, and after three successive impact moves to the head he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Ejiro runs away from Pretzler, springs off the second rope, and turns a backflip in the air… …And comes crashing down onto the back of his prone opponent! Positioned as he was on his stomach, Pretzler was incapable of raising his knees to block the attack. Ejiro rolls off him and ends up several feet away. He hugs his neck. The torque of the rotation and the landing were more taxing than he had expected. Crawling his way across the mat, he slowly turns Pretzler over and falls atop him. ONE! TWO! NO! Pretzler kicks out right before the three, proving that consciousness has not yet left him. Ejiro collapses on the mat beside him, breathing heavily. “Impressive as Fasaki’s comeback may have been,” says King, “it has cost him.” “You’ve got to admire his dedication, though. Keeping this match off the ground is what’s allowed him to keep going.” Ready to deliver another impact move, Ejiro begins to peel himself off the mat. He sits up, kneels, stands. He reaches down and grabs Pretzler by the head, then starts to lift him up… but Pretzler is able to jam and elbow into his side. Ejiro lets out a grunt. Pretzler hooks a side headlock and tries to muscle him into an over-the-hip takedown. Ejiro also fights it, punching Pretzler in the kidney region until his grip loses its force and he lets go. He wraps his arms around the Revolution Zero member’s stomach from behind and pulls him up to his feet. Bracing his feet, he attempts to lift Pretzler into a belly-to-back suplex. He can’t quite manage the leverage, however, and Pretzler digs a hip into his stomach before finally flipping him over in a headlock takedown. With Ejiro safely on the mat, he traps his right arm between his legs and clasps both hands behind his neck, trying to lock in an inverted version of Fasaki’s Cobra Crossface. Ejiro struggles mightily and deters him with a blunt hook to the side of the head. Moving to a vertical base, the Japanese-American carries him over with an arm drag – much more strained than the one executed earlier in the match. It does its duty, however, and a running elbow smash follows it up and lands Pretzler in the corner. Ejiro moves in and begins stomping a mudhole in him with all the energy he can muster. Yeeeeaaaahhhh! Excited by the cheers, Ejiro backs up and steadies himself with the third rope, then lays in a series of kicks to the stomach. He listens more carefully than ever. Could it be? Yes, it must be. Somewhere in the arena, Ejiro hears a small yet vocal group of fans engaged in a chant. LET’S GO FASAKI! LET’S GO FASAKI! At the same time, Pretzler grips the ropes tightly to keep from crumpling beneath the blows. Ejiro backs up again and runs at him with another kick, not as hard as the ones before it, and then Pretzler realizes. He wants me to catch him. He’s trying to lure me into the Dragon Whip. When the next punt comes, Pretzler does not wait for it; instead, he explodes out of the corner with a lariat, the result of all the energy he had saved while enduring the blows. WHOOSH! Ejiro ducks as the moves sails clear over his head. Pretzler almost loses his balance, but he is able to turn around and face Ejiro, who is now standing in the corner his opponent just exited. He aims a kick at Pretzler’s gut, which Pretzler carefully catches. He hesitates for a moment before tossing the leg to the side. Capitalizing on the momentum, Ejiro pushes off the mat with his grounded leg. He is carried into the air. His body turns a full revolution as the leg tossed away by Pretzler extends. Transforming itself into a deadly weapon. The leg whips back toward Pretzler’s head. Pretzler ducks. Just as he had planned to. WHUMP! Ejiro lands on the mat. On his back. The impact he had been waiting for… never occurred. “Brilliant move by Pretzler!” King gloats. Pretzler pulls Ejiro up by his tights. He applies a rear waistlock. The shocked Ejiro seems about to be caught in a German suplex. I’m going to lose, Ejiro thinks. Unless… Fasaki’s leg curls back. Already in a straddle, Pretzler has no way of blocking the blow. DING! The Galatea Special connects. Pretzler sinks to the mat, holding his groin area and moaning. “DESPICABLE!” hollers King. Referee Herrington is aghast. “That was a low blow! That’s illegal!” “No! Look, I…” But Ejiro knows he is right. Suddenly, he is overcome with shame. “Next time that happens, you’re disqualified! Understand?” Ejiro nods. He knows the ref is being generous by not calling for the DQ right away. And the familiar chant has started up once again: F-U FASAKI! F-U FASAKI! He turns to face the kneeling Pretzler. The Dragon Whip has failed, but there’s still one more move that can finish the job. Dropping down beside his opponent, Ejiro scissors his arm and places him in the Cobra Crossface. He struggles to get the facelock on tightly enough. Normally, the hold would be lethal at this point in the match - but after the momentary distraction, his heart and body just aren’t in it quite as much as usual. It’s a small opening, but it’s the only one Pretzler needs… …To power up from the mat and muscle Ejiro into a fireman’s carry! Flipped over Pretzler’s shoulders, Rule finds himself in a seated position. Pretzler bends over, applies a rear facelock, and drags his opponent to his feet. He then lifts him into the air before bringing him hurtling down to the canvas… In the Tildebang Driver! ONE! TWO! THREE! *DING DING DING!* “Here is your winner… SCOTT PREEEETTZZLLEERR!” Pretzler’s arm is raised in victory and he rolls out of the ring. After possibly the biggest upset of his career, it seems safe to say that he has redeemed himself.

“I’m here to see Flesher.” Arch Griffon, still sweating from his earlier tag team match, stands in front of the nameless blonde secretary’s desk. Behind her is the door to Tom Flesher’s office, a necktie hung over the doorknob. “I’m sorry, Mr. Griffin,” she says, “but there’s a necktie on the doorknob.” “I can see that,” says Griffon, “but I’m here to see Flesher.” “Do you have an appointment?” Griffon hands over a small card. The secretary looks it over and murmurs, “Oh. Well, in that case…” She steps to the side, allowing the mammoth Griffon past her. Griffon opens the door, only to see… Flesher sitting behind his desk, looking up. “Mr. Griffon,” he says, “it’s a pleasure to see you here.” Arch looks around. “Aren’t you and Allison usually…?” “Don’t worry about it.” Flesher shuffles through his papers. “Do you know why I asked to see you?” “Not really, no.” “Have a seat. Let me say, first of all, that I was quite pleased with what I saw from you and Manson earlier tonight. You worked quite well as a team, and Arch, that made a good impression on me.” Griffon nods, settling into the office chair in front of Flesher’s desk. “In fact, if you two continue working that well, there may be… rewards.” Griffon nods once again. “There was, however, a loose end in the match. As you may recall, Koran mentioned a few shows ago that he was interested in seeing you at Battleground.” “Loose end?” Griffon seems taken back. “I’ve faced the man twice. As far as I’m concerned, the matter’s settled.” “Well, Haram Nazeer doesn’t think so. He was in here earlier tonight, and he informed me that Koran wants to settle the score once and for all at Battleground. He’s not going to forget this, Arch… and frankly, I don’t want it to look like my wrestlers are turning their backs on the crap he’s been pulling.” “And?” “Even if he hadn’t requested you… come on, Arch. You’re everything he hates, and everything I love. You’re a big guy, you’ve got amateur wrestling skills, and you’ve shown in the past that you can take him from pillar to post and back. I know he’s a rookie, but there’s quite a bit at stake here.” “No, Tom, there’s really not. You said it yourself. I’ve proven it in the past. He can’t beat me.” “Do you really want him to be able to call us cowards, Arch? Do you want him to say you ducked him? You and I know better, but what about the fans?” Griffon shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m still not quite sure…” “There’s a bar down the road from the arena.” Griffon suddenly looks a little more interested. “And… what did you have in mind?” “Well, since it’s going to be a Sunday night, their business isn’t going to be big… and we’re prepared to pay a substantial rental fee.” Griffon smiles. “And replace any furniture that might be damaged.” “I know where this is going.” “All I’m asking is for you to do what you’ve done one more time, and do it your way.” Griffon smiles, standing up from the chair and leaning over to shake Flesher’s hand. “Tom, that’s an offer I don’t think I can refuse.” Still seated, Flesher smirks and shakes Griffon’s hand. “Arch, consider your Barroom Brawl booked. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I have some more paperwork to go through.” Satisfied, Griffon nods and turns, walking out of the room with a pleased expression. Flesher, meanwhile, slides back a few inches in his swivel chair. From below the desk, as Griffon closes the door, Allison Onita’s head pops up. “Is he gone yet?” Flesher grins broadly as the picture fades to commercial.

The Smarks Wrestling Federation presents: Lockdown, a SWF production, returns from a commercial for Toxxic’s Bloody Mascara - “Guaranteed not to run, even with blood pouring down your face.” Ex-convict and current camera man Jimmy Phelps pans around the crowded Pepsi (Max) Center in Denver, showcasing such signs as “MANSONOSITY GOT ME PREGNANT” and “Moses Torah > Mohammed Koran” before stopping in front of the Suicide King and Longdogger Pete. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to Lockdown, live from the Pepsi (Max) Center in beautiful Denver, Colorado!” Pete shills like the face he is. “Are you kidding? The only good thing about being in Denver is leaving it once this show is over with!” King quips. “Folks, I assure you that my commentating partner’s words are not those of the Smarks Wrestling Federation’s, and have been brought on due to numerous blows to the head from Edwin MacPhisto,” Longdogger explains. “We’ve already had an impressive tag team match which saw Arch Griffon team with Manson to take on Austin Sly and Mohammed Koran, and let me tell you, the action is just going to keep building from there. We’ve got ‘the Critic’ Scott Pretzler taking on Ejiro Fasaki and for the main event, Wildchild versus Landon Maddix. But right now, we’ve got two very impressive rookies squaring off. Lil’ Buck and JJ Johnson, now!” Pete shouts. The lights begin to flash red and white as Stereomud’s “End of Everything” is cued up. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Windsor, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at two hundred, nineteen pounds, he is a member of Revolution Zero, and is the current Hardcore Gamer’s champion, JAAY JAAY JOHNSON!” Funyon roars out over the booing crowd. Sparks matching the lights spew from the floor and shower down from the ceiling, as Johnson steps out, title belt wrapped around his waist. He pauses on the stage, arms stretched out in the completely played-out crucifix pose. JJ walks down the ramp, reaches the ring steps and throws his hood back as white sparks spout from the turnbuckles. J cubed climbs into the ring and hops onto the second turnbuckle, arms out for another crucifix pose. JJ hops down, removes his robe and his title belt and stashes both underneath a corner as the Hardcore Gamer’s championship is not on the line tonight. Johnson makes his way to the far side of the ring, waiting for Lil’ Buck to arrive. “And his opponent, from Lanett, Alabama, he weighs in at two hundred, seventy pounds, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon shouts. Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck” thumps over the speakers as Buck makes his way out onto the stage, bejeweled pimp cup in hand. He slowly walks down the ramp, pausing to pop the collar of his Alex English throwback, which garners him a bit of a cheap pop from the Denver crowd. The Gangsta of Love sets his cup down on the apron, slides into the ring, and pulls off his jersey. Buck hands the cup and jersey to Funyon for safe keeping while referee Anthony Michael Hall checks both men for concealed weapons. With his search turning up nothing, Hall calls for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “And this match is underway! It should be a good contest, as JJ Johnson has a definite speed advantage, while Lil’ Buck is easily the stronger of the two,” Longdogger points out. “Yeah, but JJ Johnson is strong in his own right, while Lil’ Buck is a slug. Let me put it in layman’s terms for you, Pete, Johnson is well-rounded. He’s got a good mix of speed and strength, while Lil’ Buck has only his strength to go on. Johnson will have him on his back within five minutes, mark my words,” King states confidently. Johnson begins circling, trying to find a moment to strike, while Buck stays in the middle of the ring. Throwing caution to the wind, JJ charges in and locks up with Lil’ Buck in the traditional collar-and-elbow tie up. In a decidedly non-traditional move, Buck fires off a kick to Johnson’s knee, and no doubt if he could speak, JJ would utter a cry of pain. “Oh, come on, ref! Lil’ Buck is a damn thug, with no respect for traditional wrestling. We saw it last week on Storm against ‘the Critic’ Scott Pretzler, and we’re seeing it again here tonight!” King laments. “I don’t recall reading anything in the handbook that prohibits attacking someone while you’re in a lock up with them. In fact, I’m willing to bet that you’ve done that on many occasions,” Pete replies. Sugarhill’s Finest lets loose with another kick to the knee before pulling free of JJ’s grasp and wrapping his arms around Johnson’s waist. Buck picks Johnson off the mat, turning him upside down and placing the mute grappler on his shoulder in the process. Before Lil’ Buck can accomplish whatever he has planned, Johnson slides off and gives Buck a shove in the back, giving himself some space. Buck crouches and turns, easily ducking the non-existent roundhouse, but the knee is a different story altogether. “Nice knee to the face by JJ Johnson after he slid behind Lil’ Buck,” Longdogger comments, which isn’t surprising, as that’s his job title. “Nice? A nice knee? It was a brutal, potential face-shattering knee from JJ Johnson! I really think that referee Hall should stop the match right now. For Lil’ Buck’s safety,” Suicide King says. As the Gangsta of Love stumbles back, Johnson charges in, slaps on a front waistlock, and with a quick turn of his body, plants Buck on the mat with a belly-to-belly suplex. Johnson scoots backwards and reaches for Buck’s right leg, but gets nailed with the left to his knee. Buck pulls himself off the mat and leaps, taking triple J down with a clothesline. “Leaping clothesline from Lil’ Buck, and that might allow him to take control of this match,” Pete says. “Oh, so let’s applaud Lil’ Buck for a clothesline, but completely gloss over JJ Johnson’s suplex? Sure, let’s just pretend that it never happened, kind of like how geeks claim that there never was such a thing as Highlander II,” King says. “Well, I was going to talk about it, too,” Longdogger pleads. “Talk about what? Nothing happened!” King shouts. The Arrogant Alabaman scrambles to his feet and grabs hold of JJ’s left leg. He raises it up and kicks Johnson in the back of the knee. Buck fires off another, and a third kick to Johnson’s knee before JJ lands a kick of his own to Buck’s wrist, allowing the newest member of Revolution Zero to wriggle free. “JJ Johnson just managed to free himself, and it looks like Lil’ Buck has shown what his game plan for this match is: neutralize Johnson’s speed,” Pete notes. “That’s going to be tough. JJ Johnson is resilient, besides, Lil’ Buck isn’t exactly a technical mastermind, and it’s going to take a lot longer to pound a person’s legs to injury than to slap on a leglock that can do it in seconds,” King points out. Johnson rises to his feet and takes Lil’ Buck off his with a dropkick. JJ kips up, dashes to a corner, and hops up to the top turnbuckle. Johnson stretches out his arms in yet another crucifix pose and jumps, crashing into Sugarhill’s Finest with a headbutt. Triple J reaches over and drapes an arm across Buck’s chest. Hall tosses back an autographed headshot to a fan of Dead Zone and dives down to count the pin: ONE! TW--NO! Hall rises prematurely, indicating that JJ isn’t victorious, yet. “Johnson only got a one-count from that diving headbutt. It’s going to take a lot more to keep Lil’ Buck down. He was shot like ten times, after all,” Pete states. “Dolt. That’s his yet to be seen tag team partner Jarrod Banks,” King replies. “How do you know? You never know anything!” Pete exclaims incredulously. “Simple. I read it on the internet.” Johnson lifts Buck off the mat and shoots him into the ropes. As the Gangsta of Love rebounds, JJ darts forward, but gets caught off guard as Lil’ Buck flies towards him and wraps his arms around Johnson’s head, swings around and yanks J cubed to the mat. “Bucked Up! JJ Johnson just got Bucked Up! That came out of nowhere! Johnson needs to find a way out quickly before his air supply is cut off,” Pete says. “Air Supply? They were a pretty good group, but I don’t see what they have to do with a wrestling match. Really, Drain-Clogger, get it together,” King replies, shaking his head. Hall slides down to check on the legality of the hold and also to see if JJ Johnson will submit. The sleeper seems legit, but as JJ stops flailing to think out a plan, Hall notices that Johnson’s shoulders are flat on the mat and Buck has some semblance of a cover on him. ONE! TWO--NO! JJ shoots an arm up, just realizing what Hall is counting. The mute wrestler shifts all of his weight onto his left shoulder, then rocks it to his right, trying to roll over on to either side. Luckily for him, triple J puts too much strength into it, and rolls onto his stomach, placing Buck on his back, giving Johnson an easy escape. JJ gets to his feet and sucks wind before dropping an elbow across the Gangsta of Love’s back and applying a chinlock. “The tables have turned! Now Lil’ Buck is trapped in a submission hold of JJ Johnson’s! Let’s see how well he manages to escape, MacDougal!” King shouts gleefully. “And Lil’ Buck is in added danger, since, as you’ve pointed out numerous times in this match, JJ Johnson is a submissions expert,” Pete adds. Halls slides in close, but Buck waves him off and sets to work on trying to free himself. Sugarhill’s Finest tries to rip JJ’s hands apart, but Johnson digs a knee into Buck’s back, forcing him to focus on that. Lil’ Buck reaches behind and grabs hold of Johnson’s other leg and unsteadily gets to his feet, bent over with triple J clinging to his back. Buck straightens up while stretching out JJ’s leg, trying to bend Johnson’s knee in an odd direction. “Lil’ Buck is fighting fire with fire, so to speak. He’s got JJ Johnson in some kind of leg submission, and Johnson’s knee is being bent at a bad angle,” Longdogger points out. “Yeah, but Buck has been in that chinlock for quite a while, and I think he’ll submit first,” King adds. Buck glances to the side as best he can with Johnson’s arms wrapped around his head, and turns slightly before walking backwards. Lil’ Buck nears the corner and falls backwards, slamming the back of JJ’s neck into the top turnbuckle. Johnson quickly releases the hold, as does Buck. Sugarhill’s Finest turns and as triple J pulls himself up via the ropes, darts in, driving his elbow into JJ’s head. Johnson slumps into the corner as Lil’ Buck slams another elbow into his cranium. The Gangsta of Love adds a knee to JJ’s chest for good measure before hoisting him up and planting Johnson on the top buckle. “Lil’ Buck is going for the Dirty South Thang! If he manages to pull it off, JJ Johnson might end up on the losing end of this match!” Pete exclaims. “Not a chance! Johnson is tough, besides, I doubt that Buck will manage to hit it. C’mon JJ, fight him off!” King shouts. The Arrogant Alabaman ascends to the second buckle, but is met with a sharp headbutt from Johnson that nearly knocks him down. Buck holds on with his right hand and fires a forearm into Johnson’s jaw. JJ responds with another headbutt, and Buck dishes out an uppercut. J cubed stands up, teeters enough to excite the fans, and drives a punch down to the bridge of Lil’ Buck’s nose. Johnson throws another bomb, dazing Buck, and with Sugarhill’s Finest reeling backwards, JJ sends him off the buckles with a palm strike. Before Lil’ Buck even reaches the ground, Johnson falls off the top turnbuckle, nailing Buck with another diving headbutt. “JJ Johnson fought of Lil’ Buck! What an exchange from those two, and Johnson finished it off nicely with a diving headbutt!” Pete shouts. “I told you! I told you that Johnson would fight it off,” King says, doing all he can to restrain himself from going “Nyeah-nyea-nyeah.” Johnson stands, shakes some cobwebs out, and pulls Lil’ Buck off the mat. JJ sends Sugarhill’s Finest to the ropes and follows after him. As Buck hits the ropes and turns around, he gets blasted with a Yakuza kick from Johnson, sending the Gangsta of Love over the top rope. Luckily for him, he manages to land on the apron and pull himself up with the ropes. Unluckily for him, Johnson is standing in front of him and nails Buck with a roundhouse that knocks him off the apron and to the ground below. “Yakuza kick from JJ Johnson, but that wasn’t enough to completely take Lil’ Buck down, so Johnson fired off a roundhouse, hitting Buck in the head once again,” Longdogger states. “Absolutely beautiful! The only question is, does Johnson leave Buck out there and get a count-out victory, or exit the ring, pummel Buck for a while, then pull him back in to get the pin or a tap out?” King wonders. As Anthony Michael Hall moves over to start counting out Lil’ Buck, Johnson runs for the opposite set of ropes, bounces off and charges for the nearly vertical Buck. JJ leaps, turning in mid-air, and crashes into Buck, knocking him back down to the cold, harsh mistress that is concrete. “Somersault plancha from JJ Johnson! He was lucky to hit it, because I’ve seen countless matches end when some flippy-floppy guy took a risk and ended up landing on his head instead of playing a more conservative game,” Pete comments. “Yeah, but those guys were idiots. JJ Johnson knows what he is doing. He’s not some flippy-floppy fool like Wildchild,” King replies. Hall curses under his breath and re-starts the count: One! Johnson rolls off of Buck and gets to his knees with help from the ring steps. Two! Three! Four! Lil’ Buck sits up, but goes back down as Johnson dives towards him. Five! Six! JJ gets up and pulls Buck to his feet. Seven! Johnson slams Lil’ Buck into the ring steps and rolls into the ring. Eight! Nine! Buck drags himself into the ring, stopping the count and prompting a gasp from the crowd. “Lil’ Buck just made it! He barely beat the count, so this match continues!” Pete shouts. “Obviously. I mean, I don’t hear a bell ringing, so of course the match is still going on,” King replies. J cubed pulls Buck up and shoots him into the ropes. Buck bounces off and ends up in Johnson’s clutches. JJ falls forward, taking Buck down with a STO. As Buck’s head hits the mat, Johnson fires off an elbow, catching Sugarhill’s Finest on the side of the head. “Nice STO from JJ Johnson, and he remains in control,” Pete notes. JJ lifts Buck off the mat, attempts an Irish whip, but Lil’ Buck grabs Johnson’s arm, gets behind and grabs the other limb. Buck picks JJ up, but triple J scissors Buck’s waist and yanks both arms free. The voiceless wrestler reaches down and slips between the Arrogant Alabaman’s legs, pulling Buck down to the mat. Johnson quickly wraps his legs around Buck’s right leg and twists while Anthony Michael Hall checks to see if Lil’ Buck will submit. “Shawn capture! JJ Johnson has got Lil’ Buck trapped in a shawn capture! That will really play hell on Buck’s leg if he can’t get free,” Longdogger points out. “Of course! That’s because JJ Johnson knows what he’s doing when he applies a submission, he doesn’t just try something until he gets a result,” King says. Buck shakes his head and begins crawling towards the ropes while Johnson shifts a tiny bit, modifying the shawn capture into a heel hook. “Now JJ Johnson has got Lil’ Buck in a heel hook! Buck has to act fast otherwise he’ll end up with a broken ankle!” Pete shouts. “Once again, Johnson is a technical mastermind. He knows how to twist and crank on joints to get the maximum amount of pain,” King adds. Hall once again asks Buck if he’ll submit, but only gets a pained yell in response as Sugarhill’s Finest continues to make his way towards the ropes. Johnson tries to pull Buck back, but those extra fifty pounds really make a difference, and Lil’ Buck manages to grasp hold of the ropes, barking at Hall to enforce the rope break. “Lil’ Buck has the ropes, but JJ Johnson doesn’t want to let go of that heel hook. The referee better do something, otherwise Lil’ Buck will have a broken ankle!” Pete exclaims. “So? I thought he was a straight-up gangsta, yo! He should be able to take a snapped ankle,” King replies. Hall stands over Johnson, trying to look intimidating as possible while starting the five count. One! Two! Three! Four! Fi... Johnson, acting as if he was unaware that the count was directed towards him, lets go of Buck’s leg and rolls backwards while Sugarhill’s Finest hangs on to the middle rope for support. Lil’ Buck pulls himself upright and hobbles towards Johnson, who fires off a kick to Buck’s stomach. Buck hunches over, and JJ stalks towards him, but eats a left hand to the gut. The Gangsta of Love straightens up and bashes triple J in the head with a double axhandle. Johnson staggers back and gets hit with another axhandle. Buck boots Johnson in the stomach and slips behind JJ. The Arrogant Alabaman threads JJ’s left arm between his legs and hooks the right. Buck pulls Johnson off the mat and drops, planting the Hardcore Gamer’s champion with a piledriver. “Lil’ Buck just Pumped it Up! Nice pumphandle piledriver, and it looks like Buck has regained control of this match,” Longdogger notes. “Just temporarily, Pete, just temporarily,” Suicide King replies, not quite sure of his words. Buck pulls JJ up and whips him to the ropes. As Johnson bounces back, Buck extends his arms, hoping to tilt-a-whirl J cubed, but the mute grappler sees it coming from afar and slides underneath Buck, hooking his ankle with the crook of his elbow in the process. Buck face plants, Johnson springs to his feet, and crosses Buck’s legs over. “Frostbite! JJ Johnson is looking to end this match by locking in the Frostbite on Lil’ Buck!” Pete shouts. “Once again, Drain-Clogger, I’m right! Johnson was just toying with Lil’ Buck, and now Buck is going to pay!” King exclaims. Johnson cinches in the hold, and Buck screams in pain as Hall checks for any signs of submission. Lil’ Buck begins the long crawl towards with ropes as JJ tries to dig in to the mat any way possible. Once again, Buck’s extra weight proves to help, as Sugarhill’s Finest drags himself and Johnson towards the ropes. Inches away, Buck drops flat, sweat pouring down his face. Hall asks if Buck will submit, and gets a garbled yell as a response. Lil’ Buck stretches out a hand, and lets it fall, his fingertips almost brushing the cables. “That was a tap out! Come on, ref, Buck just tapped!” King screams. “No it wasn’t! Lil’ Buck was trying to reach the ropes, though I think a tap out might be coming soon,” Pete adds. Everyone in the Pepsi (Max) Center seems to feel the same way as Longdogger, down to the sound technician, poised to cue up Stereomud once more, but the fans aren’t so quick to resign Buck to defeat. “LET’S GO BU-UCK, LET’S GO!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO BU-UCK, LET’S GO!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO BU-UCK, LET’S GO!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Perhaps stirred by the chant, or the newest wave of pain shooting up his spinal cord, Buck raises his head and lunges forward, grabbing hold of the bottom rope. Remembering how long Johnson kept the heel hook on earlier, Hall is a bit sterner this time around, going so far as to try and pull JJ off of Lil’ Buck. “He made the ropes! Lil’ Buck got the ropes yet again, and Anthony Michael Hall is pulling JJ Johnson off of Buck,” Longdogger states. “And that’s just wrong! I never saw Hall pushing Lil’ Buck around for using closed fists,” King points out. Johnson backs away from Hall and Buck and stands as he gets an earful from the referee. Johnson waits for Lil’ Buck to pull himself off the mat before making his way towards him. JJ grabs Sugarhill’s Finest by the arm and drags him towards the center of the ring. Triple J slams an elbow into Buck’s chest, then flicks it upwards, catching the Gangsta of Love on the chin. Johnson spins around, looking for a rolling elbow to finish off the Arrogant Alabaman, but the elbow whizzes over Buck’s head. Johnson continues to spin from the momentum, and Lil’ Buck explodes up from his crouch, snaring JJ around the waist and falling backwards. “Back drop driver from Lil’ Buck! He might have just obliterated JJ Johnson with that move!” Pete roars. “Not a chance! Why, I’ve seen JJ Johnson take about ten of those in a row and pop right back up. And that’s after he’s run ten miles!” King retorts. “How the hell do you know so much about the training regimen of a wrestler who hasn’t even been around for a month? You’ve got a bit of a creepy stalker vibe going on, King. Try to tone it down a notch,” Pete replies. “I think you’re forgetting something,” King adds. “No! I won’t say it, damn it!” Pete shouts back. “You will if you want to keep your job,” King says. “Oh, fine. BACKDROPPAH~!” Pete exclaims. Lil’ Buck rises to his feet, breathing heavily, as is Johnson, whom Buck pulls off the mat. Buck sends JJ to the ropes with an Irish whip, and as he bounces back, the silent grappler stretches out an arm, looking for a clothesline. Buck seems to be expecting it, though, and Sugarhill’s Finest ducks and shoots up an arm of his own, snaring JJ’s. Buck snares Johnson’s other arm, locking him in a full nelson and lifts JJ off his feet and drops him back down. Lil’ Buck leans forward, nearly folding JJ Johnson in half. Anthony Michael Hall has to lay on his back in order to check on Johnson, though there isn’t much to check. “Champion’s Requiem! Lil’ Buck has JJ Johnson trapped in the Champion’s Requiem, and after the assault on his neck, I don’t think Johnson can last very long!” Pete shouts. “Maybe, but there’s no way to tell! Johnson’s arms are pretty much trapped, so he can’t tap out, nor can the referee raise them to check on his level of consciousness, his head is pretty immobile, so JJ can’t shake his head yes or no, and he doesn’t speak, so he can’t tell Hall that he gives up! Buck could keep that hold on all night, but Hall won’t be able to legally declare him the winner,” Suicide King points out. “How very true, though I don’t think that Lil’ Buck cares how long he has to keep Johnson in the Champion’s Requiem. Even if Johnson passes out, Buck could simply let go and pin him,” Pete adds. “New plan! JJ Johnson will only wrestle in ‘I Quit’ matches!” King says. Hall looks up to see if Buck has given himself an unfair advantage by placing his feet on the ropes, but the Gangsta of Love doesn’t want to risk being disqualified this close to victory. Hall looks back at Johnson, trying to see if JJ is giving off a signal of defeat, but triple J remains stoic. Hall tries once more to gauge JJ’s face, but once again, comes up blank. Buck, however, seems confident that Johnson has passed out and stands up, pulling JJ to his feet. Sugarhill’s Finest slowly releases Johnson’s left arm and shoots in front of J cubed, re-hooking the sinister limb. Lil’ Buck twists around, placing JJ on his back and stands up straight, letting Johnson dangle. Buck flashes a brief smile, certain that victory is imminent, and drops, driving Johnson’s head into the mat. “JJ Johnson just went on a Buck-Wild Ride! Buck has got this match in the bag!” Pete exclaims. “Damn it! Come on, JJ, get your ass up!” King pleads. Buck scoots back and hooks JJ’s leg, unnecessary though it may be, as Anthony Michael Hall slides in to count: ONE! TWO! THREE! Hall springs to his feet and shakes his hand towards Funyon, signaling for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “The winner of this match, via pinfall, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon shouts over the crowd and Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck”. “What a match! A battle, nay, a war that went back and forth, but Lil’ Buck managed to pull it off,” Pete states. “Okay, okay. Just shut up. Can we hurry up and get to Scott Pretzler tearing Ejiro Fasaki apart?” King asks hopefully. Buck retrieves his cup and jersey and takes a sip as he walks back up the ramp as Lockdown fades to a commercial for Danny Williams’ Strong Style Ribs: “I make ribs. You should eat them.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pretzler,” says the nameless blonde sitting in front of the office door marked ‘Mr. Flesher.’ “I’m afraid I can’t let you in without an appointment.” “Come on, cut the crap,” Pretzler says, obviously irritated. “I have a letter here from…” “I’m very, very sorry, Mr. Pretzler,” she says. “I can’t let you in.” Angry, Pretzler brushes past her, still holding the letter from SWF management in his hand. “Mr. Pretzler!” she shouts, but to no avail, as he shoves open the door leading to Flesher’s office. As the door swings open, Pretzler sees Allison Onita peeling her top off. “Are you sure you don’t have any fours?” she asks. “Absolutely sure.” “Listen,” says Pretzler, “I hate to interrupt the…” He raises an eyebrow. “What the hell is going on here?” Flesher grumbles, “Jesus, didn’t my secretary try to stop you? All I want to do is play some Go Fish with Allison, and…” “She’s useless, Flesher,” Pretzler says. “I know. I might as well just put a necktie on the doorknob.” “…wait.” Pretzler realizes what exactly was going on and asks, “you’re playing strip Go Fish?” “This isn’t about me,” Flesher says with a scowl, as Allison scampers to put her top back on. “What brings you by the office today? Make it quick.” “Well, I just got this letter from SWF management, and…” “Ah, you heard from Joe?” “It’s not signed,” Pretzler grouses. “I filed a petition for a Cruiserweight Championship match, and they told me I’m going to have to win a contendership.” Flesher strokes his chin thoughtfully. “I see. And when do you want your contendership match? I might be able to fit you in on the next Smarkdown.” Pretzler’s eyes narrow. “That’s just it. Damn it, Tom, I shouldn’t have to win a contendership match! I’m a former Cruiserweight Champion! I want my match on pay-per-view, and I want you to make it, right here, right now.” Flesher shakes his head. “Sorry, Scotty. No can do. I’m only booking Smarkdown, and…” “I don’t care,” says Pretzler with a scowl. “I don’t know what to tell you. I just don’t have the power to…” Flesher looks up, only to see Pretzler gone. He sighs, then looks at Allison. “Shut the door, would you? And deal the cards.”

Before SWF Lockdown back to air, a station promo airs. SWF programs are the highest rated programs on this channel, so this company has no shame in promoting terrible shows with Smarks Wrestling Federation prestige. “Ever seen Back to the Future II?” quizzes a stereotypical TV voice, too energetic for 90 percent of the population. After a half hearted chuckle, the voice continues. “Then don’t miss this upcoming fall’s new comedy called, ‘I Think He Took His Wallet’,” booms the voice. “Wesley Mann stars as a man with a simple statement that gets him into WACKY adventures!” the voice now boasts. Next, they show a snippet from the show. Wesley sits on a city, next to a big hulking man who is actually Lil’ Buck, making a crossover appearance. Mann sits with his suitcase in his lap, sitting like he is making a diamond out of a lump of coal in his ass. Buck sits next to him, sipping out of his trademark pimp cup and reading the morning paper. Suddenly, a man in a fedora and a leather jacket rushes by, running into both Mann and Lil’ Buck. After the man rushes by, Wesley slowly turns his head to Buck, drawing a nice laugh track. The look on his face makes it look like he just took a bite from a lemon. “I think he took your wallet,” says the man from Hill Valley. The crowd roars in applause. Calculated and cool, Buck folds up his newspaper and looks over to Wesley. “That mothafucka did! Didn’t he?” asks Lil’ Buck. “I think he did,” retorts Mann. Buck swiftly pulls out a gat and fires into the general direction of the man off screen. People in the train car scream in terror as the studio audience lets out a nauseating laugh. Finally, we come back to SWF Lockdown. At the announcer’s table sits the usual hosts. Pete and King sit ready to call more action, and the first match of the evening. “Welcome back to Lockdown, prisoners! Longdogger Pete and The Suicide King here to lead you through the action,” says Pete. “Indeed. In the main event tonight, we have double champion Wildchild taking on Landon Maddix,” King informs the public. “But first things first, our opening tag match,” says the Longdogger. "Denver's own Manson will be tagging with Arch Griffon to take on the team of Austin Sly and Mohammed Koran. Manson and Griffon have taken on Koran and Sly seperately, picking up wins over them both, and now we're pairing them up in a wacky tag match, because we can." The lights fade out and red strobes pulse and flash as the fans rise to their feet, the buzz in the arena reaching a fever pitch, as Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" blasts from the speakers. Moments later, Manson and Griffon emerge, accompanied by the roar of the fans and bursts of blinding white pyro on each side of the stage. “The following is a tag team match scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, at a combined weight of 537 pounds, ARCH GRIFFON AND MMMMAAAANNNNSOONNN,” booms Funyon, as the two continue down to the ring. Manson throws up the metal horns, getting another roar from the stands, before the two slide into the ring. The Raging Bull stops in the middle of the ring to chat with referee Mathew Kivell, as Griffon goes about doing some stretching exercises in the ring. “An interesting tag team match on the horizon tonight, King. Griffon versus the despised Muhammed Koran in their second bout, as well Manson performing in front of his hometown fans,” explains Pete. “However, let us also remember the way that Sly snapped on old Archibald a few weeks ago in that Pure Wrestling match, and weeks before that he took on Manson, during which he bashed Manson over the head with a steel chair. You know that Griffon and Manson have something to prove tonight,” says King. As Manson and Griffon converse in the center of the ring, the lights go dark, except for spotlights shining down onto the stage. Meanwhile, an excerpt from Rage Against The Machine's "Beautiful World" plays out. "It's a wonderful place, oh what a wonderful place..." "For you..." "... for you..." "For you... not me..." ... Boom! Pyros explode from each side of the stage, launching a mix of red and gold stars towards the ceiling and cueing a change in music as Zach de la Rocha's voice once again floods the building, this time doing a cover of "Street Fighting Man". The arena lights pulse along to the beat, but the fans filling the Pepsi Center don't seems to appreciate the obvious work that went into producing such a spectacle, instead booing the arrival of Austin Sly as he enters, followed by Mohammed Koran, and "The Prince" Haram Nazeer right behind him. With a look of disgust plastered across his face, the trench coated Sly stops at the top of the ramp, flanked by Mohammed and Nazeer. The boos continue as Sly just stares out into the mass of humanity looking all goth-like, and Koran tilts his head, hocking a wad of spit down toward the ground. The three start down the ramp, ignoring the chants and hisses of the crowd. "Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet boooooy..." "'Cause summers here and the time is right for fighting in the streeeet boooooy..." “And now introducing their opponents, weighing in at a combined weight of 483 pounds, MOHAMMED KORRRAN AND AUUUSTIN SLY!” bellows Funyon once again. Sly and Koran continue on down the ramp and soon reach ringside, Mohammed stopping to jaw with one of the fellows sitting ringside with help from Nazeer, who joins in on the antices. Muhammed stops a few times to insult fans, with help from his manager, who joins in on the antics. Meanwhile, Sly climbs the steps, but not before discarding his trench coat and meticulously placing it on the post. He climbs into the ring, never taking his eyes off his opponents, as Koran hops onto the apron, wipes his feet and joins Sly. They exchange brief pleasantries with Matthew Kivell before being checked out, and Nazeer berates him from the outside, in Arabic, of course, as Sly accuses him of racial profiling. *DINGDINGDING* “And the match is underway,” chimes Pete. The partners of both teams discuss who will start the match, before Griffon and Sly take the apron. The fans stir as their hometown hero and Koran circle the ring. After the first revolution around, they lock up, but Manson quickly breaks it off. A smile appears on Manson face as he backpedals and puts his hand behind his head. *SMACK* Manson tags in Griffon, and the crowd disapproves, wanting to see Manson compete. Nevertheless, Manson just shrugs as the massive Griffon enters the ring and a look of panic appears on Koran’s face as he begs off. “What is Manson doing?” quizzes King. “After Koran challenged a Griffon to another one on one encounter, you’d think Koran would be game. Manson has just affirmed that he is not,” says Pete. “Too much blood was shed for Koran not to flinch at least a bit,” adds in King. Quickly, Koran backpedals and tags in his partner, Austin Sly. Sly just shakes his head in disgust and slowly enters the ring. Griffon and Sly then circle around, and lock up in the middle. Slowly, Arch backs Austin into the lower left corner. Archie holds on, arching Sly backwards over the top turnbuckle. “Griffon asserting his strength at the get go, shoving Sly into the corner and having his way with him,” announces Pete. “C’mon ref, break that up,” shouts King, as Kivell quickly moves into position and makes his count. Griffon reluctantly backs off of Sly, but a clean break isn't to be had, as Sly pokes his opponent in the eyes, drawing jeers from the Denver crowd. “A very underhanded move by Sly to take over,” says Pete, as Sly is admonished by Kivell. Griffon backpedals into the middle of the ring, and Sly goes on the offensive. He gives Griffon a swift boot to the midsection, doubling him over. Austin then lifts a knee, slamming it into Griffon’s forehead. Arch slumps backwards and falls to his back, quickly jumped on by Sly. “A vicious knee lift from Sly puts Archie down, and now he goes for a quick cover,” the observant Floridian says, as Kivell slides into position to count Sly’s lateral press. ONE! TW-NO!! Griffon is able to power out easily. Sly stays on the attack and lifts Griffon back up to his feet. Still in the center of the ring, Austin grabs the larger man’s wrist and attempts to fling Griffon across the ring with an Irish whip. However, Arch uses his size advantage to reverse the whip, sending Sly across the ring toward his own team's side of the ring. Sly goes on, bounces off the ropes, and catches a quick knee to the kidneys from the apron by Manson! The Pepsi Center crowd cheers Manson, as Sly stumbles to the center of the ring. Griffon continues charging, and leaps forward, taking Sly down to the mat with a powerful flying shoulder block! “How can these fans cheer Manson after what he just did?” asks King. “Because he did it to Austin Sly, and here’s a cover from Griffon,” Pete explains, as Kivell slides into position once more and makes the count. ONE! TWO!! T-NO!!! Sly is able to kick out and Griffon lifts him back up to his feet. With Austin up, Griffon gives Sly a taste of his own medicine and gives him a boot to the stomach, and with Sly dazed, Griffon grabs him around the waist and hoists him up, flinging him over his head! The overhead belly to belly suplex hits, the air rushing out of Sly's lungs. “A tremendous suplex from Griffon has left Sly sprawled on his back,” says Pete. Griffon quickly rolls over and hooks the leg with a cover. ONE! TWO!! THR-NO!!! Griffon quickly scurries to his feet, but instead of picking up Sly, he turns and makes a quick charge at Koran on the apron, however, The Mesopotamian Madman drops to the floor before Archie can make an attack, and he and Nazeer confer. With a smirk, Griffon comes back toward Austin, ignoring the insults hurled at him by Koran and Nazeer. “And Griffon is lucky that Sly didn’t pop up and club him in the back of the head after that stunt,” King says. Griffon grasps Sly by the wrist as he comes to a stand, giving it a wrench, then walks Sly back toward Manson. He extends his hand and with a roar from the crowd, The Stampede tags in. Griffon holds onto the arm, as Manson lays into Sly with an elbow smash to the jaw. Sly drops to his knees and Manson backs up against the ropes. He raises his braced right knee and drives it into Sly's face on the rebound! Sly falls to his back tending to his jaw and Manson pounces on him for another quick cover. “Griffon and Manson very aggressive here, looking for the quick victory,” says Pete. Kivell makes the count. ONE! TWO!! TH-NO!! “What a vicious knee to the face of Sly! But he kicked out again!" exclaims Pete. Not to be deterred, Manson drags Austin back to his feet. As soon as he gets his opponent to his feet, The Stampede comes across with a powerful knife edge chop. “WHOO!” exclaims the crowd. Manson labels another on Sly’s chest, drawing the same response from the fans. Finally, Manson directs Sly towards the center of the ring. Koran jumps back up onto the apron, trying to will Austin to their corner, but the Raging Bull has other ideas and quickly whips Sly into Koran! The two knock heads, and Koran falls to the floor, as Sly just slumps against the ropes. Manson then rushes forward and extends his arm, delivering a clothesline to Austin and sending him up over the top and to the floor! The crowd joyfully pops as Nazeer rushes to Sly and Koran's aid. “And Manson dumps the team of Sly and Koran to the floor!” screams Pete. Manson goes over to his corner and quickly tags in Griffon, and the two stand together in the center of the ring, watching their opponents on the outside. Nazeer helps up Austin and Koran, as Kivell begins to count them out. Finally, the two men get to their feet, with Nazeer by their side. Manson and Griffon spring into action, as Griffon grabs Manson and whips him towards their foes. However, Manson then reverses the whip on Griffon, giving him increased momentum and as he reaches the ropes, Arch disobeys physics and leaps over the top rope. The crowd roars as he nails all three men with The Bloodlust Plancha! “Holy shit, what an athlete. Griffon just leapt over the top rope and came crashing down on all three men!” says Pete excitedly. “Ahah, but see, Koran is rising to his feet! Griffon must have merely clipped him,” says King. Holy shit is right, as Manson follows up, cleaning up after Griffon as he runs back into the right hand side ropes, springing off. Nearing the chaos on the outside, The Raging Bull leaps through the ropes and takes down Koran down with the Suicide Dive! The crowd now goes rabid as all three men lay on the outside, and the team of Arch and Manson gather themselves up and head back into the ring to soak in the cheers of the crowd. “What great teamwork by Manson and Griffon!” yells Pete once more. "Kivell has to regain control of this match!" shouts King, upset with the course of the contest thus far. "Arch and Manson can't just do that!" "Well, they just did," comments LDP, as King scowls at him. Kivell restarts the count on Austin, just as Sly, Nazeer and Koran begin stirring. On four, Austin gets up with the help of Nazeer, with Koran just a step behind, as he gets to a knee. Austin lumbers back toward the ring, with Nazeer going off on his own. Meanwhile, Koran gets to his feet and heads back to his corner, as Nazeer jumps up onto the near camera side apron. He's immediately pounced on by Manson, who knocks him off with a right hand, but on the other side of the ring, Austin slides in, followed by Koran, and the two lay Griffon out from behind! Conveniently distracted by the happenings between Manson and Nazeer, Kivell is unaware to the Koran and Sly's sneak attack, as the two begin laying in the stomps to Griffon, attempting to keep him down on the mat. "And the numbers catch up to Manson and Griffon, as Koran and Sly flatten Griffon with the help of Nazeer," says LDP. "They finally got what was coming to them after unfairly taking things to the outside," King says. "Karma is coming back around." "Yet if Koran and Sly had done so, you'd be advocating it." On the outside, Nazeer tries to get at Manson again, causing the hot tempered Raging Bull to follow him out, which in turn brings out Kivell, who gets in between the two and points Nazeer to the back, demanding he leave ringside. Nazeer protests but eventually leaves reluctantly, screaming on his way up the ramp, as Koran looks on in disbelief. Meanwhile, with Nazeer no longer a problem, Manson heads back into the ring, giving Griffon some relief as he takes Austin down with a shove and begins going to work on Koran with a mix of punches and elbow smashes to the face. A strong blow knocks Koran down and he rolls out of the ring, leaving Manson to go after Sly, but before he can get to him, Kivell re-enters the ring and drags him away toward his corner. "Well, thankfully Kivell regained control of this match, as he sends Nazeer to the back. He has no business down here if he's gonna be doing these kinds of things," LDP says, as Manson takes his place on the apron. "Please, it's not his fault Manson can't control himself," King adds. In the ring, Austin attempts to bring Griffon up to his feet, but Griffon pushes him away and lunges in to try and trap Sly in the corner, but Sly delivers a quick kick to Griffon's left knee. Sly hits him with a another kick to the knee, followed by a kick to the stomach, doubling Griffon over. Sly wraps his arms around Griffon's head, trying for a side headlock, but Griffon shoves him off toward the near camera side ropes. Austin springs off, and waiting in the center of the ring, Griffon flattens him with a big shoulderblock. Sly slowly begins to get back up to his feet, and Griffon helps him up partway through, then nails him with a knee to the stomach. Arch then grabs him by the wrist, pulling him in close and taking him down with a short arm clothesline. Griffon keeps hold of Sly, bringing the dazed Austin up to his feet, but as he pulls Sly in again, he goes low and dropkicks Griffon in the knees, taking him off his feet. "The tide of this match has changed," says LDP, "with Austin wisely going after Griffon's legs." "You wonder why they didn't do anything like that earlier," King says, as Austin grabs Griffon. Austin drags Griffon back to his corner by the leg, and Koran takes the tag. With Austin still holding onto Griffon, Koran comes in and both he and Austin tee off on the leg with multiple, repeated kicks. Sly heads out, leaving Griffon to Koran, who next hammers Griffon with forearms to the back, before giving him a slap to the head as he tries to stand back up. Suddenly Griffon reaches up and wraps a hand around Koran's throat and stands, but Koran fires off a series of rapid jabs to the face, forcing Griffon to release him. Koran then circles the momentarily dazed Griffon and takes him down with a schoolboy rollup, grabbing the tights as he does so. "ONE!" "TWO!" "He kicks out!" shouts LDP, as Koran gets back up to his feet. Koran delivers another slap to Griffon, this time to the face. He growls angrily as he stands, staring a hole into Koran and ready to tear him apart, but Koran simply rakes the eyes, and as Kivell protests, it falls on deaf ears as Koran heads down and takes Griffon to the mat with a tackle. Koran hurriedly tags out to an unexpectant Sly, bringing him back into the ring. "Koran with a slap to the face, which only manages to piss Griffon off," LDP says. "But thankfully he manages to get into Griffon's eyes and tag out to Austin," King comments. Griffon begins getting back up to his feet once more, but Sly takes him down again, with a forearm to the back of the neck. Griffon reaches out for his corner, still a good ways away, and Austin drops an elbow on the back of Griffon's neck. Sly stands and points out at the crowd, then grabs Griffon by his bad left leg and wraps wraps an arm around it, sitting down and locking in an elevated half crab! "Austin with a half crab, one very similar to Manson's Endsmouth, in fact, and you wonder if he's doing this to provoke Manson," states LDP. Indeed, the move causes Manson into heading into the ring to save Griffon, as he nails Austin with a lariat to the back of the head! Austin releases Griffon, and Manson quickly heads back to his corner, as Griffon crawls towards him. Manson reaches out for the tag, and Griffon makes one last stretch, connecting with Manson! The crowd explodes as Manson comes in and goes after Austin, but thankfully for him, he tags Koran back into the ring. Koran begs off for a moment, but Manson brings him in against his will with a hiptoss over the ropes. Koran stands back up and nails Manson with a right hand, but Manson comes back with one of his own, and the two begin exchanging punches, but Manson gains the upper hand as he forces Koran against the ropes. Manson grabs hold of Koran, sending him across the ring to the right hand side ropes, and spinning on his foot, he hits Koran with a rolling elbow! Koran goes down clutching his jaw, but in comes Sly who attacks Manson from behind, taking him down to a knee. "Manson is on fire, disposing of Austin and taking Koran down with a rolling elbow, and this match looks to have changed momentum once again!" screams LDP. "Ah, but here comes Austin again! Never count him out!" counters King. Unfortunately, though, Griffon has come to! He heads in and disposes of Austin, knocking him over the top rope and to the floor with a lariat! With Sly out of the way, Manson and Koran get to their feet, and first on the attack, Manson hits Koran with a knee to the stomach. Next turning into Koran, Manson reaches back and grabs him by the head, taking him down with the Consequences! "Manson hit the Consequences on Koran!" LDP shouts into the microphone, as Manson goes into a cover and Sly can only watch on. "ONE!" "TWOOO!" "THREEE!" *DING DING!* "Your winners," announces Funyon, "by pinfall, the team of MMMMAAAANNNSOOONNN AND ARCH GRIIIIFOOONNN!" Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" hits, to the backdrop of thousands of screaming fans, as Kivell raises the hands of Griffon and Manson. "Manson gets the win for his team in his hometown," shouts LDP, "a fitting end, as he hits the Consequences on Koran to get the three!" "Sigh… Well, it just wasn't Austin and Koran's night… I had a bad feeling going into this…" mutters King. "Well, Manson and Griffon pick up the win, and we'll be back with more Lockdown, after this!" Longdogger says, as we fade out.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF LOCKDOWN, APRIL 13th, 2005, LIVE FROM THE PEPSI CENTER IN DENVER, COLORADOOOOOOOOO! (8:00 PM EST; 5:00 PM PST. Check local listings.) *insert something funny about Colorado here* -=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT Wildchild ©© vs. Landon Maddix (Non-title) Martial Law and Wild & Dangerous are on a collision course, but standard tag team booking dictates that before the Epic Tag Match®, there must be a singles match. Johnny recently took down Maddix during the SWF Belt Tournament - let's see if Maddix can even the score. Rules: Straight-up singles match. -=-=-=- Ejiro Fasaki vs. Scott Pretzler Ever since Ejiro came back, you've wanted this match. You know you have. Even if you didn't know you knew, you knew that you now know about knowing. Or... whatever. Scott Pretzler lost the Cruiserweight Title to Wildchild, then lost the Butte Deathmatch against Lil' Buck. Needless to say, he's out for blood. Ejiro Fasaki is a recovering heel-a-holic who's scored some impressive wins since his return. A win over the former Cruiserweight Champ would look mighty fine on his already awesome resume. Who's going to win? The fans, that's who. Rules: Totally fucking awesome singles match. -=-=-=- Lil' Buck vs. JJ Johnson © (Non-title) Two earth-shattering events took place on Smarkdown: JJ Johnson joined Revolution Zero, and Lil' Buck defeated Scott Pretzler. Clearly, it is the end of times. But the SWF will survive, even through Armageddon, and we'll do it with serious fucking style - that is, with Lil' Buck squaring off against newly crowned Hardcore Champion, JJ Johnson. JJ will undoubtedly be looking to restore a little pride to his new home, but Lil' Buck now has built up a bit of momentum - will Triple J put the "straight-up gangsta" (quoted because I'm white!) in his place, or will Buck go 2-0 against Rev-Zero? Rules: Regular singles match. -=-=-=- Opening Bout - Tag Team Match Arch Griffon and Manson vs. Mohammed Koran and Austin Sly Technically, both Griffon and Manson hold recent victories of Austin Sly - the problem is, one came when Sly pasted Manson with a chair, the other when Sly snapped on the referee. One can see why these victories would be less than satisfactory. So we're giving Griffon and Manson a second crack at Mr. Sly, but we're not entirely heartless, so we've given Sly a partner: Mohammed Koran. Koran has suffered losses at the hands of his opponents, and is itching for some revenge. Rules: Standard tag match, with a twist - not using the tag ropes results in spontaneous combustion.

EARLIER TODAY… Ninety seven! Ninety eight! Ninety nine! One… KNOCK KNOCK! Before Scott Pretzler can complete his one-hundredth pushup, there comes a knock on the door of the Revolution Zero dressing room. The sudden interruption causes him to lose his concentration and fall flat on his face on the floor. Infuriated, he sits up and tosses his shirt on before allowing his visitor to enter. This better be good. He opens the door and is greeted with the sight of a pudgy, bespectacled, and innocuous middle-aged man. His resemblance to an overfed rodent is positively striking. “Mr. Pretzler?” he asks in a whine befitting of his appearance. “That’s me. But who the hell are you?” In response, the rat-man hands him a letter and promptly exits. Pretzler glances down at the envelope – no address, only the name “Scott Pretzler” typed out with care. He opens it. ”From the SWF© management…” he reads aloud. Yes. This is it. He suppresses a quiver of glee. Mere days ago, he had submitted a petition to the powers-that-be requesting a shot at Wildchild©’s Cruiserweight Championship. Now they have responded. All other thoughts immediately vanish. It’s finally time. I’m going to get my belt back. He holds the letter to his breast and smiles, then continues to read. ”Mr. Pretzler, We, the management of the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation©, have read with great care and interest you request for a match against Wildchild™ at the ‘Battleground’™ pay-per-view event on April 26, 2005. Your skills and contributions are valued deeply by this company.” Pretzler nods with satisfaction and reads on: ”However, we regret to inform you that it is not currently possible for you to take part in such a match. Before one may obtain a championship opportunity, it is our tradition for that person to be placed in a ‘Number-one contendership’ qualifying contest, in order to determine which competitor is best suited for such a match. Because you only recently were defeated by Wildchild™ in a championship match, we feel that it is in the best interests of our other cruiserweight performers if they, too, are allowed to vie for this title. This way, no one will be left out. If it is your wish, you may further petition for placement in such a ‘Number-one contendership’ qualifying contest, and we the management will consider sanctioning such a match in the coming weeks. Thank you for your interest in the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation© and its commercial partners. For great deals on SWF© merchandise including hats, tees, and inflatable pleasure dolls, check out our website at www.theswf.com or contact our associates at X-Net Wrestling©!” He lowers the letter, hands trembling with rage. He crumples it into a ball. Stomps on it. These bastards. These greedy, stupid bastards. Just who did they think they were? Since his arrival, no one had worked harder than Scott Pretzler to promote sportsmanship and honest competition. No one had brought more respect to his opponents and the titles he captured. No one cared more about the sport of wrestling. So much red tape. So much egalitarian hippy nonsense. Everyone deserves an equal opportunity. But why? They’re not as good as me! They haven’t done anything to deserve a title shot. They haven’t submitted any petitions. Why must it be this way? Why must my abilities and my ambition be suppressed because these scrubs haven’t been as successful as me? Pretzler sits down. He is fuming. Why did I come here? What did I hope to gain? Obviously, he could wield a great deal more influence from such a position. Many more people would hear him, and thus many more would be persuaded by his words. But I should have known how they would treat me. How little respect I would be given. They don’t understand what kind of talent they have on their hands – or, worse, yet, they know exactly what kind of talent they are dealing with and are afraid of what I will do to their company. They know that they will have to change to meet approval by the more educated fanbase that I will attract, and it frightens them. There’s no hope. At least, there’s nothing that can be done about it at the moment. The best Pretzler can do is go out there, have a great match with Ejiro, and try to wiggle his way into the number-one contender’s match. Or set his sights on other titles. There are other belts out there. Unless… No, no, that won’t work. It really isn’t likely to work. Really. Honestly. … … Fade out.

My match has an automatic extention till 10:30, but absolutely no later.

We actually just grabbed a noob from Xnet. Hopefully he'll enjoy his stay - it takes time to build a rep with a new group, of course.

I mostly get requests for penne rigati with vodka cream sauce, but I'm a damn good cook in general.

Sigh. You "know" (and I use the term loosely - perhaps it would be more accurate to say you "happen to have stumbled upon") just enough about law to make me be an insufferable pedant. *Ace pats Special K gently on the head You did a GOOD JOB finding an almost-apt analogy! I'm VERY PROUD of you! However, you're just barely on the other side of accurate. You see, United States law has things called "protected classes," which are a reaction to traditional types of discrimination. Discrimination against protected classes is prohibited. On the other hand, you have certain principles of commerce that apply to business owners, including the "a man's inn" extension of "a man's home is his castle." It's difficult to see how we resolve this, I know, but I'll give you a hint... the one forms an exception to the other. Thus, if you're discriminating against a protected class, contrary to a provision of United States law, you're opening yourself to civil litigation. I'll leave it as an exercise for you to figure out where in United States or Nevada law it specifies that card counters are a protected class. [Note to Vyce: I acknowledge the oversimplified nature of this post. Please don't kill me.]

Why should a private business be forced to serve anyone?

Waiting for the ridiculous part here ...

Yeah, but they didn't mean it.

VOTE, you bastards!

I fnord don't see fnord any bizarre fnord behavior. fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord fnord

Hey, nice progress! Since you graduated, do you think you're done with rugby, or are you going to hit the weights and broaden up your shoulders and stuff?

Happy Birthday to the Boston Strangler, everyone's favorite hoss! The man once no-sold a car, for god's sake!

Oh, god, the look on his face is priceless.

I find it ironic that, for once in his life, Patterson wasn't Deep Throat.

If you lack plans, post here or PM someone to ask to set up a PPV match. If you have plans, either post here or PM Mike.

Here's the important question. Who the hell mixes scotch and coke?

I only look intimidating when I'm shopping for dress shirts. By the time I ask at the third store if they have collars in 19, that vein on my forehead is bulging.

Ace Lezaire vs. Christian Blackwell. Check.