Lockdown Losing Matches for Feb. 18th, 2003

[Guest Ash Ketchum]

I know Frost had some interest in seeing this match after reading the show comments, so here it is.

 

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...

 

 

“BOOM!!!”

 

The speakers on every TV in America watching this show nearly blow out as the “SWF Lockdown” Theme blasts a bit too loud over the airwaves as well as inside The Pyramid, located in Heelsville, USA... Memphis, Tennessee!

 

Stevens: Welcome back to SWF Lockdown from Memphis!!! The Pyramid is rockin’ in anticipation for this next match!

 

Riley: Which is a threeway elimination match for the SWF US Title!

 

Stevens: I’m hyped for thius, Bobby! Care to elaborate on the combatants in this match tonight?

 

Riley: OK, first you got Mak Francis, who’s kind of like a black Tom Flesher. Mak managed to end the insane US Title reign of Danny Williams, but abandoned his partner and cost CIA and himself the Tag Titles. Like they we’re gonna win anyways...

 

Stevens: And the other two men?

 

Riley: Fugue got his ass whipped by Magnifico, plus he’s crazy as fuck. And Craven... well... he’s changed. And gotten a bit bigger.

 

Stevens: That’s it? That’s all you have to say?

 

Riley: Ummm... I love Brad Pitt movies.

 

Riley grins happily at his comment.

 

Stevens: *sigh* Forget it... let's go to Funyon.

 

The lights go out completely, and Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D minor" starts up. After the first few measures (when it gets to the faster part), lots of white lights and strobes flash as Fugue appears and slinks down the ramp, smiling at the crowd.

 

Funyon: The following contest is a Threeway Elimination Match for the SWF US Championship!!! Introducing first, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 181 pounds, he is a member of The Magnificent Seven... FUGUE!!!

 

Stevens: Fugue enters this match coming off an exciting engagement with our World Champion, El Luchador Magnifico! He’s been turning people into believers left and right!!!

 

Riley: Believers of what? The First Church of Suicide King? Which, by the way, is a nice little congregation...

 

Fugue slides into the ring, looking up before he goes to the various sides to look at the crowd, not raising his arms or anything of the like. He’s focused. Crazy as fuck... but focused.

 

Stevens: Fugue had better be ready for this match! It is quite possibly his biggest challenge in the SWF to date!!!

 

The lights cut out, the crowd begins to boo a little.

 

“BOOM-BOOM BOOM... BOOM...”

 

Strobe lights pulse to the beat as Audioslave’s “Cochise” kicks in, smoke spewing from vents in front of the entrance as the drums cue in 24 seconds into the song. This is when the pyro similar to Christian’s entrance begins flowing from the top of the SmarkTron and the crowd really begins to raise their boos louder.

 

Riley: Now this is interesting...

 

A huge pyro blast kicks up from the front of the stage at the guitar drop, about 50 seconds into the song. Flames simultaneously shoot high up into the air on the edges of the stage not touching the ramp, Booker T-style, in beat with the song following the initial blast, as a red tint covers the stage. Suddenly, as Chris Cornell begins to sing, a spotlight shines down on Mike Craven as he bursts through the smoke cloud in a half-sprint, looking just a tad bit on the intense side. He stops turning to look at the fans, and then...

 

Stevens: MY GOD!!!!

 

He flips them off briefly because of their booing towards him, laughing hysterically. The crowd starts up an “EDWIN KNOCKOFF!!!” chant as he turns around, points at the ring as he hops in place like Brock Lesnar’s Happy Dance, and sprints down to the ring like the Ultimate Warrior, ignoring the chanting fans as he can as Funyon looks down at a little card.

 

Funyon: And his opponents: First, from Tampa, Florida, weighing in at 265 pounds, he is The Nightmare, The Chimera, The Greatest SWF Hardcore Champion of All Time... ladies and gentlemen... MICHAEL CRAVEN!!!

 

Stevens: I bet Craven made Funyon do that.

 

Riley: What’s the shame in that? He’s using his resources!!!

 

Still in full stride, he slides under the bottom rope. Mike then hops up to his feet, snapping the ropes back like Brock usually does before he mounts a near-by turnbuckle and lifts both arms into the air a la Stone Cold Steve Austin. As he hops down, he looks at Fugue. Actually, he looks down, as Craven towers a full seven inches over the M7 member, and some brief, inaudible conversation takes place.

 

Stevens: What are those two men discussing, Bobby?

 

Riley: I don’t know. Fugue’s as crazy as fuck!

 

Stevens: Don’t you have anything contstructive to say?!?!

 

Riley: Ummmm... did I mention Fugue is as crazy as fuck?

 

Suddenly, the house lights shut off as the wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena. You can feel the pulsation of the light dings, as a hard beat done by violins, suddenly strikes up slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm.

 

“So do you wanna’ be a Franchise… And live large… A big house… five cars…”

 

The SmarkTron flares up with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ‘The Franchise’ in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat.

 

“The rent charge… Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody… Gotta’ look over your shoulder constantly!”

 

As the opening lyrics from Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill, slightly altered of course, blare over the PA system, it takes a little while but eventually the self proclaimed franchise makes his way through the curtain. The lights come back up and Francis comes out onto the stage, tilting his shades down on the bridge of his nose, before looking left and then right…

 

“I remember the days, when I was a young kid grownin’ up… Lookin’ in the mirror dreamin’ about blowin’ up!”

 

That cues multiple short bursts of green pyrotechnics erupting from either side of him. He readjusts his shades with a smirk, before slowly strolling down to ringside...

 

Funyon: And from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 225 pounds, he is the SWF US Champion... “THE FRANCHISE” MAK FRANCIS!!!

 

After walking up the ring steps, he cockily wipes his feet on the apron, giving a mock salute to the crowd, before entering through the middle ropes. Francis climbs the nearest turnbuckle and poses with both fists raised in the air, the crowd popping like mad for the US Champion! Mak hops down, unlatches his belt, and hands it over to referee Timmy Thompson, who holds it up as Craven backs off into his own corner. Finally, with all three men in the ring and ready to go, Thompson calls for the bell.

 

“DING DING DING!!”

 

The crowd is about ready to blow the roof off the building as Fugue steps forward to tangle with Francis, but it is all a clever distraction, allowing Craven to sneak in from the sides and catch Francis with a jumping knee blow to the head! Down goes Mak to the mat, and back up he comes, staggering backwards into the ropes as Fugue and Craven close in on him and begin to open up with a few rapid jabs and body blows to tenderize the US Champ. Mak takes the pain, not having much of a choice at this point, and the loosely-bound team of Fugue and Craven take advantage. Each man grabs a wrist and whips Mak across the ring, Francis hitting the ropes and flying back at Craven and Fugue. The two men both leap into the air, thrusting their legs out as the catch The Franchise in the chin with a double team dropkick!

 

Stevens: Excellent double team work from the odd-team of Fugue and Michael Craven!

 

Francis grabs his jaw as he gets to his feet, moving it back and forth to make sure it’s not popped out of joint. As he does that, though, Craven takes full advantage, grabbing Mak from behind the head, and dropping to a sitting position, drives Mak’s jaw onto his head with a sitdown jawbreaker! Mak springs backwards as Craven releases him, Francis bouncing into the open arms of Fugue. Fugue wraps his arms from behind Mak in a waistlock, the Magnificent Seven member lifting Mak off the mat as he drops back and releases Francis, Mak fliying through the air thanks to a release german suplex!!!

 

Riley: Whoa!!! Awesome suplex from Fugue! Flesher has taught him well!!

 

“THUD!!!” The crowd gasps in shock as Mak lands on his neck and the back of his head! Fugue gets to his feet, going about his business of grabbing Mak and laying a punch of two into his face, but as he pulls Mak to his feet, Craven shoves Fugue out of his way, sending Fugue flying across the ring as Craven waistlocks Mak, lifting him up into the air before relasing him in mid-air, Mak flipping over and slammign onto his back via a overhead release belly-to-belly suplex! Mak hits the mat hard on his back and shoulderblades, clutching his spine while Fugue tries to figure out what just happened.

 

Fugue: What was that for-

 

BOOM! Hard right into Fugue’s face! Fugue staggers back, grabbing his jaw as Craven takes time out of his day to give Fugue a little lecture to the bumpee.

 

Craven: Shut up, you crazy-ass little fuckwad! This is my match-

 

BOOM! Hard right from Fugue into Craven’s face! Craven fades back grabbing his jaw as the crowd pops for the insane Philly native, who ushers for Craven to bring it!

 

Stevens: Fugue is trying to pick a fight with Craven!!! However, Craven’s a full seven inches and almost 80 pounds bigger than Fugue!

 

Riley: Yeah, because he’s crazy as fuck!

 

Stevens: We get the point, Bobby.

 

Craven lunges forward at Fugue...

 

 

But stops, knowing this is what the crowd wants to see happen. Instead, he shakes his head no, a smile spread across his face as the crowd breaks out into a chorus of boos. Fugue screams at Craven to come get him, but Craven refuses to, all the meanwhile, Mak Francis begins to get to his feet. The nutso Fugue, who doesn’t really have good judgement, decides that if Craven won’t go to him, he’ll go to Craven, and he takes off, headed towards Mike at full speed, arm extended for a clothesline! Craven though, chuckles at the cute sight of Fugue attempting to even attack him, and drawing his arm back, lunges it forward, clasping it around Fugue’s throat while he is in mid-stride. Craven then lifts Fugue off his feet, holding him in the air for a second before he slams him to the mat with a ring-shaking chokeslam... ALL WITH ONLY ONE ARM!

 

Riley: One arm chokeslam on the wimpy JLer Fugue!!!

 

Stevens: If that’s not proof enough that Craven’s bigger, stronger, and tougher... I wouldn’t want to see the proof!!!

 

Riley: Damn, I’d like to see how strong that monster of a man is...

 

Stevens: Bobby, he’s not into the kind of things you like. His idea of a good night isn’t hanging out at the Blue Oyster with his BUTT-buddies...

 

Riley: Mark, that is the sickest, gayest thing you’ve ever said. Just by thinking of something like that, you’re under homo-suspicion, you queer.

 

Stevens: And you’re not denying the fact you agree with the statement?

 

Riley: If it’s not true, then why should I bother denying it?

 

Fugue lies on the mat, clutching his back in pain while Craven stands over Fugue, slapping him in the side of the face and laughing...

 

 

Until Mak Francis catches Craven in the side of the head with a forearm smash! Craven hits the mat hard shoulder-first, popping back up onto his feet, but as he does, Mak Francis leaps into the air, flipping as he catches Craven in the chin with a flipping dropkick to a pop from the crowd! Craven flies back hitting the ropes and bouncing forward off them as Mak begins to get to his feet. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he awaits Craven’s return, and upon it, drops to the mat, grabbing Craven around the ankles with his own ankles as the crowd pops for a Mak Francis drop toe hold!!! The electrified crowd throws their support behind Francis as Craven trips up and goes face first into the mat, Francis sliding onto his knees. With Craven on his stomach, Mak releases the ankle and grabs one of Craven's legs, pulling backwards and applying pressure to Craven's back with a single leg crab!!!!

 

Stevens: SINGLE LEG CRAB!!! Craven’s clawing for the ropes, but he’s too far away!!!

 

Riley: And as long as he keeps that hold locked in, our Neilsen rating is dropping... dropping... dropping...

 

Craven cries out in pain as the hold continues to remain locked in. Craven’s hands claw into the mat, grasping for any available space as he attempts to break free. His movements only hinder any attempt to break free, the ref dropping to ask Craven is he wants to give up while Mak continues to lock the leg hold in:

 

Ref: Do you submit?

 

Craven: HELL NO, YOU ASSHOLE!!! AAAAAAGGGHHH!!! I AIN’T GIVIN’ UP EVER!!!

 

Stevens: Craven refuses to give in to Mak Francis!!! He’s sure got a lot of balls, as the crowd is clearly behind “The Franchise”!

 

Riley: No he doesn’t! He’s just as fuckin’ crazy as Fugue!!!

 

Stevens: What’s your beef with Fugue?

 

Riley: He’s fuckin’ crazy. He’s more loony than a Two Dollar Canadian Coin!

 

As Craven laments, though, Fugue comes to his aid, rushing in and delivering a swift dropkick to the back of Mak’s head! The hold is broken as Mak stumbles forward and lands on his chest, Craven slowly trying to push himself to his feet. Fugue has something in store for him, though, and as Craven gets to his feet, Fugue locks his arms around the waist of Craven, stickign his head under Craven’s arm, and lifts him straight up. Fugue falls back and drops Craven on his back, holding him there for a bridging northern lights suplex as the ref drops to make the count!

 

 

One!!!

 

 

Two!!!

 

 

Kickout by Craven, followed immediately with a double falling elbow drop to the chests of both men by Mak Francis, which gets a pop from the crowd to boot!

 

Stevens: Craven kicks out of the northern lights suplex, but Francis gets ‘em both with a quick elbow drop, and it looks like he’s added in a few quick stomps as well, but it can’t keep either of these men down very long!

 

Riley: No shit. It’s gonna take a big, sudden power move in order for someone to catch one of these guys off guard!

 

As Fugue slowly rises to his feet, he meets Mak Francis with a few quick forearms, hoping to buy some time. The blows stop Mak long enough for Fugue to get to his feet, sliding the toe of his boot behind Mak’s ankle while he kicks him, tripping Mak up with a sweeping leg kick! Mak drops and hits the mat hard on his back, and instantaneously, Fugue turns around and flips back into a standing moonsault! Francis rolls out of the way, unfortunately, causing Fugue to eat a mouthful of canvas as his face and chest slam into the mat! The crowd pops as Fugue rolls onto his back, clutching his chest as he cries in pain, but as he does so, Craven, from what would be considered “off-screen” to the viewers at home and the other side of the ring to everyone else, comes flying off the ropes, diving forward. Landing in a somersault, he rolls onto his feet and bounds into the air, arms briefly contracting, then extending before the impending chest-to-chest collision with Fugue...

 

“THUD!”

 

... Beautifully executing his trademark rolling five-star frog splash while the crowd boos for Craven’s cheap tactics!

 

Stevens: ROLLING FIVE-STAR FROG SPLASH!!!

 

Riley: Now that’s how you work a match like this: Let a guy do all the dirty work for you, then go in for the kill when he’s wasted!

 

Craven remains on top of Fugue for the pin while the M7 member tries to fidget his way out!

 

 

ONE!!!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

 

The count is cut off by Mak Francis when he waistlocks Craven and pulls him off of the downed Fugue, hiosting him into the air before releasing him in mid-air. Craven flies through the air, dropping down... down... down...

 

 

“THUD!” Right onto his neck with a release “Death German Suplex”! Craven collapses to the mat and just lies there, the crowd cheering for Mak while neglecting Craven.

 

Stevens: MY GOD!!! RELEASE DEATH GERMAN SUPLEX ON CRAVEN!!!

 

Riley: Well, not really, Mark. Craven’s not dead. Paralyzed? Maybe. But dead? Nooo. He’s probably not even hurt.

 

The Franchise gets to his feet, grabbing Fugue and beginning to pull him up. Fugue, though, quickly counters the movement, tripping Mak up and causing Mak to fall forward onto his shoulders. Fugue slides him onto his shoulders as he gets to his feet, stabilizes himself, takes two steps forward, and then quickly flips forward, both men landing together on their backs with what could be best described as a reverse Samoan drop! Mak cries in pain, but Fugue does not stop there. He picks Francis back up, quickly Irish whips him to the ropes, then runs to the opposite ropes.

 

Stevens: How do you he’s not hurt?

 

Riley: Because I just do. That’s why.

 

Stevens: ...You didn’t happen to eat any paint chips as a kid, did you?

 

Riley: ...I...ummm, I...well...I...JESUS MARK!!! I THOUGHT THEY WERE DORITOS!!! I WAS ONLY FIVE!!! HOW CAN A FIVE YEAR-OLD KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN PAINT AND DORITOS?!?!?! HOW CAN THEY?!?!

 

Both men come flying on the ropes, headed for a head-on collision. Fugue ha shis arm extended for a clothesline, but only milliseconds befre impact, Mak throws his arm up, hoping to hit something. The two men hit arm-to-chin, vioently throwing each other down with a double clothesline! Their bodies slam hard into the mat, which shakes like the ground under Anna Nicole Smith’s feet. The crowd lets out a gasp of shock in return, but they quickly regain their composure and start to chant:

 

Crowd: LET’S GO, FRANCHISE!!! “clap-clap-clapclapclap”

 

Stevens: Both men down, but the crowd is cheering for Mak Francis!

 

Riley: At least they’re not cheering for Mr. Fuckin’ Crazy.

 

Stevens: OK, stop that, Bobby. We get the point.

 

The crowd continues to chant for Mak as both men lie on the mat, but suddenly, Mak’s eyes open up, and he rolls onto his back, thrusting his legs up and out like The Rock usually does with his little kip up, Francis landing on his feet, feeling the energy of the crowd cheering for him. The crowd pops loudly, Fugue struggling to get up onto his feet as Mak signals for something...

 

Stevens: MAK FRANCIS IS BACK ON HIS FEET!!!

 

Riley: Oh joy. Why don’t we just stop the world and celebrate the fact that Mak is OK?

 

As Fugue gets to his feet, Mak catches him in the chest with a hard right boot, then applies a front face lock on Fugue, throwing his near arm across his shoulders. Mak then grabs Fugue's near leg and hooks it. He lifts Fugue so he’s upside down, and backing up a step, leaps into the air, dropping Fugue straight down so he lands on his head!

 

Stevens: FRANCHISE TAG!!!

 

The crowd goes nuts as Francis lets Fugue fall back, pinning him to the mat while Craven gets to his feet... and sits back to watch Timmy Thompson make the count...

 

ONE!!!

 

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

 

Stevens: There goes Fugue!!!

 

Riley: And there goes all the fuckin’ crazy!!!

 

Stevens: Say what?

 

Riley: Well, Fugue is fuckin’ crazy, and because he’s gone-

 

Stevens: You have some deep issues, Bobby... some deep issues...

 

As Francis releases the leg and climbs to his feet, he looks up, noticing Craven standing on his feet, clutching his neck in a bit of pain. Craven looks up, and the two men’s eyes make contact with each other. They just stand there, staring for seconds on end, the crowd’s cheers growing quieter with each passing moment. They seem to be thinking the same thing. A quick nod, and Craven shakes his arms, legs, and neck, to get them loose before both men duck down a little and get into position, almost as if they were planning to

 

Stevens: These two men were at one time one of the top collegiate wrestlers in the United States, and from the looks of it, we might be getitng a small taste of some amateur wrestling!!!

 

Riley: It’s like Kurt Angle vs Kurt Angle’s clone!!!

 

The two men begin to circle each other slowly, making false lunges to throw the other off, looking for a possible weakness initially. When they can’t seem to find an open one, they throw their arms together, locking themselves in a wrist and collar tie-up. Craven powers out Francis, bringing his arm around Mak’s head, both hands above the elbow before he steps through and knocks Mak down with a headlock takedown! Craven drops on top of Frnacis to pin him to the mat. The ref drops to count, but it proves futile as Francis rolls out of the pin before he can even get off a count of one. Francis shifts it over, pinning Craven to the mat...

 

One-

 

But before a count of one, Craven breaks loose, both men flying up onto their feet. Craven goes low for a leg takedown, but Francis ducks and grabs Craven’s arm, locking it in a hammerlock before he puts his forearm undr Craven’s elbow and pushes forward, taking Craven down with an amateur-style armbar takedown, the crowd popping as the ref drops for a count, but Craven rolls out of it, and as he gets to his feet, he drops to one knee and rams his shoulder into Mak’s leg below his knee, sending Mak down with a low single leg takedown! Mak lands on his back, but rolls onto his chest to prevent from being pinned. Craven, though, grabs a forearm from behind with both hands, pulling it towards his stomach tightly, and rolls over, rolling him into a gutwrench breakdown for a pin!

 

One-

 

Francis bridges, though, and Craven doesn’t even get a full count of one. Mike tries to force Mak down, but Francis instead gets free, both men rising to their feet, the crowd in awe of the match going on in the ring right now. As Craven gets to his feet, Francis catches him across his shoulders and flips him across them into a fireman’s carry takedown! Craven’s back hits the mat as Mak floats over, pinning Michael to the mat!

 

One-

 

Craven lifts the shoulder up, determined not to be beaten by Francis. Both men get to their feet, but Craven hooks on of Francis’ legs, taking him down and rolling him onto his shoulders for the pin!

 

 

One-

 

Francis rolls over onto his side and reverses the pin!

 

One-

 

Kick backwards into the chest by Craven, breaking the pin and allowing Craven to get to his feet quicky as the crowd cheers, wanting to see some more of this action!

 

Stevens: Blindingly fast wrestling from Craven and Francis! Wouldn’t you say so, Bobby?

 

Riley is dozing off on the announcer’s table, a small puddle of drool as he talks in his sleep.

 

Riley(subconsciously): Yes, Jimmy Bob... you silly redneck, you... nah, I like it more like that...

 

“SLAP!” Stevens slaps Bobby across the face, but this time, it’s not for a rude comment, but to wake the other half of the announce team up.

 

Riley: ...Huh? What? Is the match still going on?

 

Stevens: You were having another gay dream.

 

Riley: No, I was dreaming about hot dogs.

 

Stevens: And Jimmy Bob is who?

 

Riley: He’s my cousin from Macon, Georgia!!! He works for Oscar-Meyer!!! He hooks me up with free weiners!!!

 

Stevens: I’m not going to ask, Bobby... I’m not going to ask...

 

As Francis pops back onto his feet, Craven is already there, and quickly, he draws his arm back like a shortstop scopping up a grounder and throwing it to first, before he draws his hand close to his head and drives his forearm into the head of Mak Francis with amazing force! Francis is slammed hard down onto the mat, grabbing his head as Craven stands tall, the crowd booing him profusely.

 

Stevens: WHAT A FOREARM SMASH!!!

 

Riley: I think the “Amateur Wrestling Happy Fun-Time Hour” just ended...

 

Craven bends down, grabbing hold of Francis and pulling him to his feet. He smiles like the cock-ass he’s become as of late, promptly kicking Mak in the gut and hooks his arms as he bends over. Quickly, he lifts Mak up off his feet and falls back, executing a inverted double arm DDT!!!

 

Stevens: Aftershock from Michael Craven! Big move for The Nightmare!

 

Craven rolls Francis onto his back and covers him...

 

One!!

 

 

 

 

Two!!

 

 

 

TH-

 

 

Kickout by Francis! Craven immediately gets to his feet, screaming at the ref that he had Mak for three. Francis is dragged up by Craven, who grabs him by the back of the head before he drops to his knees, Mak’s chin bouncing off Michael’s skull as Craven nails a jawbreaker! As a result of the move’s recoil on its victim, Mak flies back into the air, hitting the ropes with his back as Craven gets off his knees, taunting Francis to get up and take it like a man.

 

Stevens: The crowd is not at all happy with Craven’s attitude towards Mak Francis tonight...

 

Riley: I am. He’s treating him like he should: a little piece of crap!

 

Mak staggers forward off the ropes, Craven ducking behind him and hooking his arms. He lifts Mak into the air for a full nelson front slam, but Francis frees an arm in mid-air and grabs Craven around the head as he drops to the mat, countering into a bulldog!! Craven hits the mat face first and bounces over onto his back as Mak hops up, crowd hyped as Mak struts around Craven, throwing in a pelvic thrust or two before he drops his fist into Craven’s chest!

 

Stevens: THAT’S MAK’S “THE TRUTH HURTS” COMBO!!! AND HERE’S A COVER!

 

One!!!

 

 

Two!!!

 

 

THREE-

 

 

KICKOUT BY CRAVEN AT THE LAST SECOND!!! The crowd can’t believe it; neither can Mak Francis, who gets up slowly onto his feet, nearly falling over before stabilizing himself and motioning for Craven to get up!

 

Stevens: Francis almost had him!!! But it looks like he’s got something planned!

 

As Craven gets to his feet, albeit dazed, he is sharply kicked in the gut by Mak. Doubling over with a grunt, Mak applies a front face lock on Mike and drops back, executing a spiffy little DDT that rattles the ringposts! Francis, though, does not get up following the move, instead lying on the mat, breathing heavily in exhaustion. The crowd, though, begins once more to chant:

 

Crowd: LET’S GO, FRANCHISE!!! “clap-clap-clapclapclap”

 

Stevens: Both men down, but the crowd is cheering for Mak Francis yet again! They’re certainly hoping he retains tonight, but things continue to go in Craven’s favor as of late, so there’s no telling of what is gonna happen next!

 

Slowly, Michael Craven sits up, hearing the crowd’s chants of encouragement towards Francis, who stirs, slowly moving around. Craven takes note of the chants, stopping in the middle to correct the crowd...

 

Craven: Let’s go Craven! “clap-clap-clapclapclap”

 

The crowd boos, and their chant quickly changes it’s message to:

 

Crowd: CRAVEN SUCKS!! CRAVEN SUCKS!!!

 

Craven: SHUT UP, YOU ASSHOLES!!!

 

But as he goes back to trying to get to his feet, Craven feels two arms envelop him from behind, holding him firmly in place. He leaves his feet and flies into the air courtesy of Mak Francis, who drops back into a gut wrench suplex! The back of Michael’s neck spikes the mat and he flops to his face!

 

Stevens: Gutwrench suplex!!! You know what time it is, Bobby?

 

Riley: Time for this shitty match to get over so I can go home?

 

Stevens: It’s time for the Brotherly Love!!!

 

Riley: Yeah... if Mak gets up!!!

 

The crowd is on their feet, cheering as Francis sits up from the gutwrench suplex, pushing himself up onto his feet. Once he gets there, he makes his way to the corner and jumps to the top, turning to face Craven...

 

Stevens: Here it comes!!! HERE IT COMES!!!

 

...And he leaps from the top rope, flying out into a frog splash...

 

Riley: Here comes the pain!!!

 

 

...

 

 

...Except Craven rolls out of the way!!!!

 

Stevens: OH NO!!! LOOK OUT!!!

 

“THUD!” The crowd gasps as Mak Francis hits the mat on his face and chest, bouncing forward onto his back from momentum. Both men lie down on the mat as the crowd boos loudly at Michael Craven, who is slowly sitting up. His palms press against the mat as he tries to stand up, slipping once or twice before he finally gets there. Not yet recovered, he staggers into a corner and rests there as Mak Francis slowly begins to churn, trying to get up himself. And now, Craven has hold of the top rope and is pulling himself slowly up to the top, crowd booing at him.

 

Stevens: Craven rolled out of the way of the Brotherly Love, and now he’s going top rope!!!

 

Mak Francis staggers upwards onto his feet after his brush with agonizing pain, grabbing hold of his head as Craven crouches on the top rope, the crowd massively booing Craven, but also trying to cheer Mak on.

 

Riley: Looks like Craven’s pulling something out of his bag of tricks to end this thing!

 

Stevens: Oh, really?

 

Riley: Guaranteed!

 

At that point, Craven leaps from the top rope. His body rotates majestically over on the moonsault, flying towards the now standing Francis, making contact...

 

 

Except Mak wraps his arms around Craven’s body, and as Craven attempts to knock Mak down, The Franchise stands firm, summoning up the last of his strength and energy to remian upright, holding Craven upside down, head pointing towards the mat! Craven’s feet dangle in terror, trying to weasel his way out of Mak’s arms, his head wedged between Mak’s legs.

 

Stevens: You wanna retract that last statement?

 

Riley: What do you mean?

 

Stevens: “Looks like Craven’s pulling something out of his bag of tricks to end this thing!”

 

Riley: ... I never said anything like that!

 

The crowd calls out to Mak with their cheers, full expecting a piledriver to Craven’s cranium and a one-two-three count to end this...

 

 

...But as Francis clutches Craven, The Nightmare pulls a trick out his sleeve. Using the laws of physics to his advantage, he shifts the center of gravity of the two men by leaning backwards, thus forcing Francis to fall forward. Craven is thrown onto his back, but momentum throws him back up into the air, causing Michael to land on his feet. Craven suddenly hooks Francis’ leg, cradling him before he drops to the mat and finishes the sequence off with a cradle piledriver!!!

 

Stevens: OH MY GOD!!! WHAT A COUNTER!!! CRADLE PILEDRIVER FROM CRAVEN!!!

 

Riley: Didn’t I tell you Craven was going to pull something big out of his bag of tricks?!?!

 

The crowd lets out a tremendous gasp of shock as Craven holds onto the leg, allowing Mak to slide down onto his shoulders while the crowd recovers from the sudden shock of the counter and Timmy Thompson counts...

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

 

DING DING DING!!!! The crowd bursts into boos as Thompson springs to his feet, claling for the bell... and the belt.

 

Funyon: The winner of this contest by pinfall, AND YOUR NEW SWF US CHAMPION... MICHAEL CRAVEN!!!

 

Stevens: God dammit!!! Craven’s US Champion!!! Mak should have won this, but he got screwed!!

 

Riley: Get the hell over it. The better man won!

 

“Cochise” kicks up in the background as Craven gets to his feet, ripping the title from Thompson’s hands and holding it close to his chest like a mother with her newborn baby, staring at it with that evil grin on his face. The crowd boos as he hoists the title up into the air, pointing to it as the crowd’s reaction nearly drowns out The Nightmare’s words:

 

Craven: It’s mine!!! It’s mine, HA-HA-HA!! IT’S ALL MINE, BITCHES!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

 

Stevens: We’ll have to see where this leads, but you can bet that Mak Francis will be wanting revenge!

 

Riley: However, it’s time for a commercial break to interrupt Mark’s bitching, so stay tuned next for some good ol’ Carnie destruction when Frost lays down the law and the ICTV title against CIA! It’s the match you’ve waited for... next!!!

 

The crowd begins to throw garbage into the ring, Craven now flexing his muscles, title over his shoulder as we fade to commercial...

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

A few criticisms, cause I'd rather do this than read She Stoops To Conquer:

 

-It makes zero sense for Mak to break up Craven's pin attempt on Fugue when Mak himself ends up eliminating Fugue just a few minutes later. The characters act inconsistently.

 

-It's really weird to read your entrance and have, within 200 words, the names of 5 or 6 WWE guys rattled off. Seems weird. I also don't understand why Craven would still be getting the "Edwin Knock-off" chant, because he's turned much more heel and less fun-loving, and the chant wasn't ever big enough to last beyond its life, like the whole Austin "What" thing.

 

-Felt like way too much profanity and insanity throughout. Moderation is key.

 

-I also dislike the "Francis kips up" thing. It makes Mak look cool, but makes Fugue look like a real little bitch, as if all the damage he did to him doesn't mean jack. Mak didn't even seem tired afterwards.

 

-A nicely executed little mat sequence after Fugue's elimination, but it felt out of place considering the wicked brawl that's been going on. If Craven's been out because Mak dropped him on his head with that murder German, I don't think his first instinct--especially considering how brutal and profane he's been previous--is gonna be to show him up with a facelock.

 

I did like the finisher reversal into the cradle piledriver, though I'd think you'd want to use one of your relatively new finishers to help get it over. You seem to have Craven's personality down as a kind of generic bad-ass heel who takes a few shortcuts, and you can work with that, but you need to work it more seamlessly into the actual match. You have a more serious character now, but your commentary is still off-the-wall wacky; I feel like you need to reign in the total picture, not just the heel/face attitude. Just think about stuff logically; don't put a mat sequence in just because a mat sequence would be cool if Craven should really be biting someone's head clean off. Work on transitions; the spotty nature of your matches has always been a sore spot, and I think you might be helped to look over your moveset a bit and strip it down. Try 10 signatures, 10 common moves, 3 rares, and your finishers, and make some of them more important. You throw out rolling frogsplashes and inverted double-arm DDTs like nothing, but few fundamentals and even less intermediate moves make it a hard read. It kinda feels like a Hurricane match--lots of "cool" moves, but nothing connecting them or the plan of attack except that they're "cool." There's no real focused attack, even in the sense of "I'm gonna beat the hell out of you." If you want to play up the cockiness in using carefully thought out fancy moves, then do that--don't just throw them out there.

 

"Inverted Cradle Samoan Driver"? "Reverse Sky-Hi Powerbomb"? "Inverted Double-Arm DDT"? "Frontflip enzuigiri"? Either explain why Craven uses this sort of convoluted, contrived madness, or scrap them. They sound a bazillion times harder to execute, can't possibly do much more damage, and are just...weird...considering their normal variants are killalicious in and of themself. They fit with experimental crowd-pleasing nutball Ash. They don't with "fuck y'all" Craven.

 

Pick a plan of attack and go for it. Start a match by asking how each guy's gonna approach it, and write that way. If you just take things a little more naturally--or naturally within the context of what you actually want to achieve with your character--your innovations will be an asset rather than a liability.

[Guest WrestlingDeacon]

what he said.

[Guest Mr. Slim Citrus]

I would like to see our losing match; I don't even know how it ended.

[Guest kelloggs]

Uh... I was actually going to comment on your match man, but I'll just go with Frost. Scroll up and paste what he said here.

 

Hey lurker, since you don't have to write your epic masterpieces anymore I'd give my left testicle for you to comment on the shows like you did in the summer if you can spare the time. This just reminded me of the detailed diatribes the WFers got to see a lot of...

 

 

Well okay maybe not my left testicle...

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

I'll hijack the right, biznatch.

 

I'd like to do that, actually. Not sure if I'll get it done for Lockdown, but if I'm gonna be lazy, I may as well do it constructively.