Ace309

Obligatory Penny Arcade link

Card's partial to real ale. Me, I prefer good, solid porter that you could stick a spoon into and have it stand up.

Hooligans, you ass. ::throws darts at Maddix, then gives him a Glasgow Kiss::

Hire this man.

To the casinos it is. It puts the odds in your favour, thus, it's somehow unfair. Um... there's a reason they don't offer coinflipping at 2:1. The games are selected such that the odds are in the house's favor, and the payouts tweaked so that it pays out less than it statistically "should." Casinos are a business, and I'd be very surprised if anyone walked in there without knowing that the odds are slanted significantly in the house's favor.

...! YOU HAVE A SPONSOR!

A couple years of amateur wrestling did this to me. I absentmindedly crack: - Both elbows - Both shoulders (one was dislocated several times, one just twinged a lot) - My lower back - My left wrist, which crackles because I snapped my arm - Both knees Also, my hips occasionally crack when I stand.

I also do a mean stovetop beef bourgignon. Really, any of Rachel Ray's 30-Minute Meals recipes are fair game for evenings when I need to cook something mildly impressive. My New England Boiled Dinner a la The Joy Of Cooking is great, too... just corned beef with potatoes, cabbage and baby carrots thrown in at various points.

No lawyer understands the rule against perpetuities. The rule against perpetuities is not "They're not allowed."

FYI, that was, I believe, a Smarkdown that I mislabeled a Lockdown when I posted it for review. Mea culpa.

Jesus fucking Christ! He deserves all the props he can get for that.

My understanding is that card counters generally get 'caught' as such when they're careless about varying their bids and playing in ways that are consistent with counting - there are plays that no one in their right mind would generally make, except if you're counting and the deck is in a specific composition. I don't know enough about blackjack to be any more specific. Alternatively, they get asked to leave when they've won huge sums of money, as a standard business practice.

You're also fat.

You know, I could have sworn someone posted something to this effect back on the first page. Long story short, yes. A business can throw you out more or less for whatever reason it wants to, subject to protected-class distinctions. The fact that there are costs for doing so (word-of-mouth spread of bad publicity, etc) just makes it a bad idea to.

I can't help but notice that none of you are in the midcard yet.

Pretzler was Poochie. His match, while it had some inconsistent selling, was just excellent and probably his best piece of writing-per-se yet (although I'm not sure it was his strongest effort as far as wrestling - his writing of Fasaki selling the STF, for example, left a little to be desired). The promos were super, as well. And let us not speak of the match that might have been scheduled after the Wildchild/Maddix main event. I think you'll find that every reference on the show to the main event refers to Wildchild/Maddix. You love Big Brother.

You know, I hated to mark this to lose. There were, however, a few things that took away from it. The writing seemed slightly disjointed at points, whereas Pretzler's flowed really, really well. I had a hard time with the Cobra Crossface being that central and Pretzler seeming to just shrug it off. While Pretzler's match featured inconsistent selling and somewhat weird action, I think it told much the same story about Ejiro's character development in a slightly better way. Frankly, it's a shame you two faced off.

No, no, see, I'm a straight man.

So, here to fill out the midcard, eh?

Shhh.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF SMARKDOWN, APRIL 18th, 2005, LIVE FROM THE KIVA AUDITORIUM IN ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO! (8:00 PM EST; 5:00 PM PST. Check local listings.) The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation rolls through Albuquerque on the road to Battleground 2005! It’s not often that the World Champion and Ejiro Fasaki get given the night off, but that’s what happens when the card is absolutely stacked. A few scores need to be settled before the pay-per-view, and due to the fact that Wild & Dangerous are holding a whopping three titles between them, we need to get something out of the way first. Between the epic rubber match to find out who goes on to Battleground to face Toxxic for the World Title, the World Tag Team Championship defense and more, someone’s sure to get the SMARKDOWN! Send everything, including absolute, really, we-mean-it, last-chance booking stuff for Battleground to Chuck Woolery. CO-MAIN EVENT TWO OUT OF THREE FALLS MATCH FOR THE #1 CONTENDERSHIP TO THE SWF WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins vs. “The Franchise” Mak Francis ~ What more is there to say about Mak and Spike? Spike took the contendership in a singles match, but Francis took umbrage at his use of the ropes to win, and went on to win the contendership back in a Pure Wrestling match refereed by Tom Flesher. With the series even at 1-1, these two want to settle the score in a best-of-three match. The winner goes to Battleground to challenge for the World Championship! Rules: Standard. The winner will be the wrestler who wins two out of three falls. If one wrestler wins the first two falls, the third will not be wrestled. Count-outs and disqualifications count. Word Limit: None. Send To: Ace309. Y’all owe me. CO-MAIN EVENT SWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Wild & Dangerous (Johnny Dangerous © and Wildchild ©) © vs. Martial Law (Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix and Todd Cortez) ~ Martial Law has waited patiently for its shot at Wild & Dangerous, who have … complicated matters by winning the Cruiserweight Championship and the new International Championship, respectively. While this is a pay-per-view-level match, Dangerous and Wildchild will both be defending at Battleground, and frankly, something had to give. Martial Law gets its shot on Smarkdown, giving them a chance to go into the pay-per-view with new momentum. Rules: Standard. As this is Smarkdown, use the tag ropes. Word Limit: 6000 Send To: chirs3 TAG TEAM MATCH Revolution Zero (“The Critic” Scott Pretzler and JJ Johnson) vs. Manson and Arch Griffon ~ Manson and Arch Griffon worked like a well-oiled machine on Lockdown. Flesher was so impressed that he decided to see how they’d fare against Revolution Zero’s two youngest members, both of whom appear wise beyond their years – Pretzler with a lengthy Cruiserweight Title reign, and Johnson picking up the Hardcore Title in his first few weeks. Will the precocious pugilists be able to take out Manson and Griffon, or will they fall victim to the size, strength and … hell, what more to Manson and Griffon need? Rules: Standard. Use the tag ropes, preferably not to choke someone. Word Limit: 4500 Send To: Justice MIDDLEWEIGHT GRUDGE MATCH-O-RAMA! “The Tigris Express” Muhammed Koran vs. Austin Sly ~ Sly and Koran lost a tag team match to Arch Griffon and Manson on Lockdown. No doubt, each man blames the other. Neither man asked for the match, but frankly, judging by that bulge in Sly’s forehead and his recent propensity for snapping on people, Flesher felt it would be best just to let him straight at Koran. Rules: Standard. I think Sly’s shown he can’t be trusted in a pure-wrestling setup. Word Limit: 4000 Send To: Dace59 OPENING BOUT Lord David vs. Martin “Big Country” Hunt ~ Yep. The SWF saved Martin Hunt from alcohol poisoning again, and he’s back once again to open up a card, this time against SWF rookie Lord David! Rules: Standard. Word Limit: 3000 Send To: Chuck Woolery

Maddix has already exited the ringside area, but Wildchild, with all of his belts to carry, takes a bit longer. He rolls under the bottom rope and is handed the Tag Team title by the timekeeper. He drapes it over his left shoulder. Next, he takes the Cruiserweight Championship and places it over his right. “After a match like that,” says Pete, “you earned those titles.” “Actually, he earned them when he won them,” hisses King. “But that doesn’t mean he deserves them.” The audience disagrees. They cheer madly as he begins to walk around the side of the ring and in the direction of the ramp. He smiles. Whether he wins or loses, his fans are always here to support him. He starts to ascend the ramp. “Wait a minute!” gasps Pete. “What…” Looking up at the entryway, Wildchild is oblivious to the blue-and-yellow blur that suddenly comes flying at him from the area below the walkway. WHAM! A lariat knocks him off his feet. He lands hard on the floor. “What in the name of Heaven is he doing here?!” Pete exclaims. As Wildchild attempts to scramble away from his assailant, a flurry of punches rains down on his head. “He is here,” answers King, “for revenge.” Scott Pretzler delivers a final hook to Wildchild’s jaw and crawls under the ring. Other belts. He had told himself there were other belts to go after. Of course there are other belts. Just like there are always other women. But when one is in love, those other women, beautiful though they may be, just don’t seem to matter. Their beauty seems invisible. I need the Cruiserweight Belt. No substitutes are acceptable. Pretzler emerges from beneath the ring. He is holding a ladder. OOOOOOOH! “This is sick. Sick and uncalled for.” “I like it,” King says perversely. Wildchild has managed to stand, but Pretzler corrects that by charging at him with the ladder extended outward and burying it in his gut. He sinks to ground. Groans. Pretzler stands over him, holds the ladder vertically, and pounds him again and again with its base. PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! “Pretzler already had his match. He lost! And he was denied a title shot. What does he hope to accomplish?” Pete is outraged. WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! The vengeance-seeking Canadian hauls the champion to his feet and shoves him bodily under the bottom rope. He slides the ladder into the ring after him. Kicks Wildchild in the ribs. Sets up the ladder. He climbs halfway up. Looks down at his prey. Then he pumps his fist into the air and leaps off. CRASH! A flying guillotine legdrop smashes Wildchild flat on the mat. BOOOOOOO! Slowly, Scott Pretzler stands up. He walks over to the corner, climbs to the second rope, and throws his arms into the air. Climbing down, he exits the ring… but not before spitting on the curled-up form of Wildchild. He exits to a chorus of boos and his favorite chant. PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! The show fades. === SWF Lockdown, April 13, 2005. © Superiority Complex Productions. All rights reserved. The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation: “Raising workrate by typing faster.”

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.