PROMO: That's a damn promise.

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

“OW! OWWWW!”

 

“I got it! Edwin! I got it! I got it! Come look, come look, come look!”

 

In a flash of astonished eagerness, World Champion Edwin MacPhisto throws down his latte and dashes across the rudimentary training mats he’s set up, over the snoozing body of El Luchadore Magnifico, past the flexibility journals, past the 9-inch TV/VCR next to the stack of Flair/Steamboat tapes…and to the grotesquely twisted sight before him.

 

“Look, Edwin!” shouts Z. “I’ve got it! This is an STF, right? Right?”

 

“It’s not a…mrggleglumphOWWW…not an…MRGGLEGLUMPHOWWW!”

 

Edwin sighs. “Z…an STF is a step-over toehold facelock. You apply a toehold, step over your opponent, and cinch a facelock. What you have there…is…well…more of a step-over…a step-over…actually, it’s sort of a Boston cra—okay, Z, look. You’re sitting on Raynor’s back and elbowing him in the face.”

 

“That’s not a submission?”

 

“No, it’s not a…MRGGLEGLUMPHOWWWWWWW!”

 

“No, Z, my boy, I’m sorry—it’s not really much of a submission. It’s more of…uh…I suppose you could call it a ‘hopeless pummel’.”

 

“Edwin, then can you tell him to….mrggleGLUMPHOWWW…get off of me?” Looking up from the mass of neophyte Carnie above him, Raynor’s eyes are full of hope and desperation, like that of a child longing for his mother to finally break and just give him the bowl of ice cream before dinner, god dammit. Edwin meets his eyes, then looks back to Z with a grin.

 

“Keep trying, Z! Practice makes perfect!”

 

“Right-o, fearless leader!”

 

“Uggggh…this su—MRGGLEGLUMPOWWW!”

 

Whistling a happy tune, Edwin turns away from the eager Z and the less-than-eager Raynor, pacing over and giving the prone Magnifico a nudge in the ribs. One droopy lucha libre eyelid unpeels. “Si, capitan?”

 

Edwin drops to one knee to address the somewhat snoozy luchadore. “You think you’ve got it Mag? We all need to be in top form for Wargames.”

 

With a burst of energy, Magnifico sits up. “No problemo, senor. Not only have I thoroughly given myself the schooling of Ricky Flair and Ric Steamboat many times over, I have spent all week practicing proper moves that will send not only the not-as-Magnifico-as-I Siete to their tap-out fates, but also that bottle-smashing cabron Tom Flesher! Carne muerte, todos!”

 

“…once again Mag, I have no idea what you were saying at the end there, but I’m just going to assume it translates to ‘I am now the master of the bow-and-arrow lock, the sharpshooter, the Mexican Surfboard stretch, the figure-four, the Nagata Lock, the dragon sleeper, the camel clutch and a host of other reputable grapples, submissions, and blackout-inducing holds.’ Is that, erm, somewhat accurate?”

 

“…meh. More or less.” With a light thunk, Magnifico falls back to the mat, and in approximately six seconds he is once again snoring lightly. Edwin stands up and glances across the room, where Z has transitioned from the Back-Mounted Bludgeon Clutch to the ever-popular Drag Raynor Around By His Head And Say “Give up, Please?” Lock. With a bit of a sigh, Edwin turns towards the door…and his sigh turns to one of relief.

 

“Someone said I might be able to help out. Any truth to that rumor?” Clad in a Seattle Mariners jersey and a pair of workout pants, the imposing profile of “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens steps into the training room!

 

“Mark! You made it!” Edwin dashes over to the door and gives his old friend a quick hug and high-five.

 

“Well,” says the Heavy Hitter, surveying the room and squinting at the blurred figures of Z and Raynor in the distance, “you said you might need help. Who am I to let down friends when they need a hand, especially when they need a hand against punks like Chris Wilson?”

 

“MRGGLEGLUMPHOWWW! OW! OW!”

 

“Uh…Edwin? What was that?”

 

“That, Mark…was Raynor.”

 

“Wow.” Mark grins. “You guys really do need my help…”

 

----------------------

 

“And that,” booms Mark Stevens, rising up off the prone form of Chris Raynor, “is how you reverse the Finishing Touches into a wicked Boston crab!” A light smattering of applause comes from Edwin, Z, and Magnifico, all seated in folding chairs, and from the small crowd of Seattle indie workers gathered around, a handful of rising stars lucky enough to be in the Key Arena today.

 

“Oof…Mark, can I get up now? And go curl up somewhere and die?”

 

“Sure, Chris, go right ahead!” Raynor peels himself off the mat and crawls his way into a fetal ball next to the folding chairs, and Stevens dusts himself off. “You see, everything Chris Wilson does in that cage is going to be a setup for the Finishing Touches. He’ll piledriver you, he’ll choke you out, he’ll slam your neck into the cage—what ever he needs to get that double STF cinched in! You could say the same thing for Outcast, or Tyler, or Prophet, or Skinny Bitch, whatever he’s calling himself these days.” Mark’s last comment draws quite a few grins and chuckles from the crowd, but he keeps talking. “Outcast is a suicidal little bugger, and he’ll put his body on the line if it’ll mean damaging a body part. He’ll go from topes to toeholds in an instant, and you have GOT to be on your feet if you’re going to stay out of his grasp. As for the others on the team…Frost is a giant. Like any big man, he’s not going to make you submit with a hold—he’s going to smash your head in. TNT and Deathwish—the Short Fuse camel clutch and the Deathlock both target your upper back, head, and neck. What’s the lesson we can learn from this?”

 

Z eagerly raises his hand. “Pick me, pick me!”

 

Mark just laughs. “Yes, Z?”

 

“Ahem…protect your neck! How’s that?”

 

“Not bad, not bad—but I’ll add something to that,” says the Heavy Hitter. “Protect your neck—and counter. If you can block the Finishing Touches, turn right back around and lock it on Chris Wilson. In any sort of cage, men turn to monsters—in a closed environment like this, you have to use everything you can to your advantage. Don’t just block a hold—reverse it! Stop moves before they start, and get in with your own!”

 

“Or,” pipes in a voice from the back of the crowd, “you can just, you know, flip the fuck out and spike their heads into the mat till the whole team’s knocked, kinda like Edwin did on Smarkdown. Right?”

 

The room turns silent. Edwin lowers his head and sinks into his chair a bit. The rest of the Carnival turns around and the crowd parts.

 

Mark Stevens fumes.

 

At the back of the crowd is a modestly built white guy, young, clean-cut, maybe 21, 22. Stevens looks at Edwin, and then stares a burning hole into the unknown’s eyes. “What’s your name, boy?”

 

“My name, SIR,” he says, with utter disrespect, “is Mikey Jones. The Sensation of Seattle.”

 

“And what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

“I’m just pointing out your friend’s mildly psychotic tendencies, that’s all. I mean, I know it’s noble and all, and in good fun to try to break your opponent’s necks, but I just thought I’d share a little bit of the public perception--”

 

“Mikey, get your ass up here.”

 

Meeting with a few pats on the back from his friends, a few stares from others in the room, the ‘Sensation of Seattle’ makes his way up to Stevens. “Whatcha gonna do, Stevens? Hit me with the Walk-Off?”

 

“No.”

 

In approximately 3 seconds, Mark Stevens has Mikey Jones locked in a standing Octopus stretch.

 

“Ah, Jesus! Let go! Let--” And Mark tightens the hold around Mikey’s neck, cutting off his air supply!

 

“You SEE,” says Mark, gritting his teeth, “this is the perfect example. You have to catch your opponent’s off-guard. You have to take every chance you get, and you have to take it aggressively!” Mark torques at Mikey’s neck a little more, and the crowd alternately whispers and grins. “You grab them, and you put in the Seventh-Inning Stretch if they hit you, if they trash-talk you…or if they disrespect one of your friends.” Stevens finally lets off the tight hold, and Mikey falls away.

 

“You big washed-up--”

 

“Say whatever the hell you want about me, Mikey. But don’t talk shit about the guys who still go out there and bust their asses day in and day out for your entertainment, like Edwin. He’s a hero.”

 

“Excuse me. I just remembered something.” The crowd murmurs a bit as Edwin rises from his chair and gives Mark a nod. He then walks through the crowd, to the door, and disappears from sight. Stevens wears a confused expression on his face…but soon recovers. Z, Raynor, and Magnifico look up to him, as if staring up at a father, wondering, simply, dad? What’s wrong with Eddie? Stevens meets their gazes, and then looks back to the crowd.

 

“All right…now, I’m going to teach you just how to apply the Seventh Inning Stretch. Mikey, if you’ll stand up…”

 

-----

 

Half an hour passes, and Mark Stevens has finished his clinic. It’s nice to have a chance to teach a little, he thinks. Maybe I could make this a full-time thing.

 

Then he remembers Edwin.

 

The rest of the Carnies are chatting it up with the indie workers, but Stevens makes for the door. He steps through, looking to see where Edwin might have gone…and he finds him sitting in the hall, right next to the doorframe.

 

“You all right, Edwin?”

 

“More or less.”

 

Stevens sits down. “Don’t let what that kid said get to you. We all know you’ve been having some tough times--”

 

“Do you, Mark? Do I? I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am losing it. Maybe I shouldn’t have done what I did on Smarkdown…”

 

“You were backed into a corner. You did what you had to do…though I will say I’ve got no idea where you pulled that one move out of.” Edwin gives a light snort, and Stevens continues. “You’re not losing it, Edwin. Just make it till Wargames. After that…everything will be all right.”

 

Edwin looks up, a hint of a grin on his face. “You think so?”

 

“That’s promise, Edwin. That’s a damn promise.”

 

Stevens stands, and gives his hand to Edwin, helping him back up. The two men shakes hands, and then head back into the workout room.

 

Edwin follows behind Mark, and wonders if he’s right.

[Guest Insanityman]

That's a damn good promo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I coudn't think of anything esle witty. But encore Edwin, that was some nice stuff there.

[Guest Beingz0wningj00]

Yah... who gave Stevens that kneebrace he carries around to this day!!?

 

*points to self*

 

 

The REAL master of submission... and YOUR ass is next, Edwin. After you are hurt and weakened in the cage of course.

[Guest Tyler McClelland]

I think it would have been funnier of Stevens would have paused the scene, stepped out, then launched a 25 line out of character shot at me.

 

But still Great job, Edwin.

[Guest Rabbi_wilson13]

Pffft....what are you taking advice for from Stevens on how to get out of the Finishing Touches? Last time he was in it, I do believe, he was submitting so I got his chaaaaampionship. Muhahahahaha! I rule!

 

Loverly promo, especially the beginning with Z and the deadly "laying on top with an elbow in Raynor's face". That's some old school Carnie, mixed with some Edwin pycho character progression, all mixed up into just a nice little diddy. Possibly I'll respond with some sort of Mag 7 rallying cry, that or I'll just go right a spot where JD does a run in and gets tossed off the cage through 10 flaming tables to the cement.

 

Either or. Writing WarGames rules!

[Guest Longdogger_Pete]

BONG!

 

Uh, yeah. Promo ruled. As always, great Carnie interaction, and the Mark Stevens appearance made it that much sweeter. Woo!

[Guest chirs3]

Edwin stands up and glances across the room, where Z has transitioned from the Back-Mounted Bludgeon Clutch to the ever-popular Drag Raynor Around By His Head And Say “Give up, Please?” Lock.

 

Edwin, I think you just wrote the ending to our Wargames match.

 

"Give up Wilson! Please? Pretty please? Come on, I'm askin' nice!"

 

"Get your elbow out of my face, Z."

 

Another piece o' gold from the Crown Prince.

[Guest Kibagami]

::adds The Drag Raynor Around By His Head And Say “Give up, Please?” Lock to his stats::

 

Fantastic promofication. (Y) @ appearances by retirees and (Y)(Y) @ continuing character development.

 

Oh, and WARGAMES IS COMING! RAYNOR SMASH AND Z SMASH WILL SMASH WARGAMES, SMASH!

 

Thank you.

 

S.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Nice work, man. I can just picture Z desperately trying to put ANY submission on. Hell, even I can do submissions. What a loser!

 

But Edwin, that's pretty sweet. I like how Edwin's completely screwed up right now. Wargames should be a nice indicator of what's gonna happen.

[Guest Grand Slam]

Great promo Edwin. Wonderful stuff and a great build to the PPV.

 

Hey 'Cast, we've already managed to get one thread deleted, let's not start this again.

 

Wilson, your revisionist history shocks me! Last time I remember being in the Finishing Touches, I did not submit. You wrote me as passing out from the pain and then promptly started the tournament so I wouldn't get my one-on-one rematch.

 

I love where all of this is going and I am looking forward to reading the PPV.

[Guest Rabbi_wilson13]

Stevens, its not my fault you choked in the tourney against King, or you woulda had your rematach =P Not like you woulda beat me anyway, and I believe you passed out because I wrote it that way and my match won. BUUUUUUURN!

[Guest kelloggs]

Z + submission = comedy

 

Great stuff from Eddie Mac as he's going back to his carnie roots towards the end of the PromoWars

[Guest Beingz0wningj00]

I can make Wilson tap like a skinny school bitch with one leg.