SWF Storm!! 2-23-2003

[Guest Grand Slam]

The opening montage fades into the SWF logo... then fades away...

 

Grand Slam appears, dressed in his best suit, sitting on a stool in front of some sort of draped grey fabric. The SWF logo is being projected onto the fabric from offstage.

 

The Heavy Hitter looks at the camera, all humor and standard pre-show shilling gone from his face. He starts to speak, stops, then starts again. "I promise I won't take much time for this. But we here at the SWF, from the cameramen and tech guys all the way up to the boys in the back and us in the office, want to wish Perfect Bo a speedy recovery from his heart attack and the subsequent operation. We wish he and his family nothing but the best."

 

"Whenever I mentioned to anyone in the back that Lynn or Chris was sick, Bo was one of the first guys to let me know they were in his prayers. He was always a family guy, first and foremost. So now I want him to know that my prayers, and the prayers of my family both at home and in the SWF are with him and his. Get well Bo."

 

"And thank you..."

 

The screen fades to a picture of Bo holding his kid backstage, with quite a few of the boys gathered around. It holds there for a long second, then fades to black.

 

The Storm theme music kicks up and the opening video package blasts across the airwaves.

[Guest Grand Slam]

PWI-SHOW! PWI-SHOW! PWI-SHOW! PWI-SHOW! FWEEEEEBOOM!

 

The camera zooms around the Cow Palace, taking in legions of rabidly cheering SWF fans. It finally comes to rest on the (in)famous SWF announcers, sitting as usual at ringside.

 

"Hello once again, fans!" says 'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens. "Welcome to SWF STORM coming to you from San Francisco, California!"

 

"And we're ready to see some hot, sweaty men rolling around on the mat with each other!" says Riley, grinning like the proverbial cat which ate the equally proverbial canary.

 

"Right you are, Riley!" says Stevens. "Though I'm not sure anyone enjoys it quite as much as YOU, but hey, we're not judgemental!"

 

"No, he has the night off!"

 

Mark Stevens' groans of disgust at the pun are cut off by the arena being plunged into darkness. The eerie strains of Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D minor" pierce the air, prompting boos from the crowd. Suddenly white strobes illuminate the darkness as Fugue appears at the top of the ramp, slinking down to the ring.

 

Funyon clears his throat. "The following contest is scheduled for ONE fall!" he booms. "Introducing first! Weighing in at 181 pounds, from Philadelphia, PENNsylvaniaaa... representing the Magnificent Sevennnn... FUUUUGUE!" Fugue discards his coat and hat, sliding into the ring and leering at the crowd over the ropes.

 

"Fugue's had a pretty disappointing run here in the SWF, since coming up from the SJL," Stevens notes. "But he's STILL smiling!"

 

"He's just the kind of guy that enjoys life!" Riley proclaims.

 

Once again a sudden darkness blankets the arena, as "Trust" by Megadeth starts to play. The drum beat gets louder every second. Red and white strobe lights dazzle the crowd. About 30 seconds of drums the guitars come in, as fire emerges from the stage, heralding the appearance of Xero! Xero flexes his muscles with the fire still blazing high.

 

"AND HIS OPPONENT!" continues Funyon. "Weighing in at 210 pounds, from Port COLborne... Ontario, Canadaaa! XEROOOO!" Xero stalks down to the ring, followed by boos and a few muted cheers from the audience.

 

"Speaking of which," Stevens says in a low voice, "I'm sure some of you fans have heard rumors of Xero having... personal problems."

 

"Unfortunately, Xero's career in the SWF seems to be in doubt," adds Riley, also subdued. "He looks great out here tonight..." Riley pauses to wipe the drool from his chin. "But who can say, really?"

 

"Only Xero himself," Stevens says. "But whatever happens, he looks ready to tear Fugue apart!"

 

"This'll be great!" says Riley cheerfully.

 

Xero he makes his way in the ring, focused on his opponent. He slides in the ring, and goes to the turnbuckles raising both his arms up in the air. The crowd responds with a respectable pop. Xero climbs down and turns to face the grinning Fugue, scowling. The inimitable Eddy Long waves for the bell.

 

DINGINGING!

 

The two men circle each other for a moment. And then... Fugue extends his hand. Xero stares at it in surprise, then scowls and slaps it away. "OOOH!" exclaims the crowd. As Fugue shakes out his hand, Xero suddenly pounces forward and grabs him in a headlock! Kneeing the surprised musician in the gut, Xero pulls Fugue up and drives him downward, headfirst into the mat!

 

"And Xero takes control with a quick DDT!" Stevens narrates. "He didn't seem too appreciative of Fugue's attempt at sportsmanship!"

 

"You know, I think Xero may be as mean as Fugue is!" Riley snickers.

 

Fugue tries to scramble away, but Xero catches one of his arms. Quickly seating himself on Fugue's back, Xero yanks the arm upward, keeping the elbow joint locked.

 

"Whoa!" says Stevens. "Xero gets Fugue in a classic Fujiwara armbar--a move Fugue has used on many opponents himself!"

 

Squirming underneath Xero, Fugue pushes upward with his free arm, then suddenly slips his body upward and topples Xero from his seat. Xero falls backward and hits the mat, but pulls a shoulder up before Eddy Long can even get into position to count. The relentless Fugue has now caught HIS arm, though, lacing his legs around it and pulling hard!

 

"But Fugue reverses to a crucifix armbar!" Riley says. "I told you, it's not a good idea to try and make Fugue submit!"

 

"But he HAS submitted in the past..."

 

"Well, he... oh, just watch the match!"

 

Xero grimaces, trying to fight out of the hold. His shoulders fall back against the mat again--

 

ONE!

 

TW--Xero shoots his shoulder up and manages to slip his arm out of the hold, grabbing Fugue's legs and pushing him down to the mat!

 

ONE!

 

TWO--Now FUGUE kicks out, scrambling away from his opponent. He gets to his feet... a LARGE grin visible on his face.

 

"Xero countered Fugue's armbar, and Fugue is STILL smiling!" Stevens says, a slight hint of amazement in his voice.

 

"Well, he appreciates good opponents!" Riley chuckles.

 

Measuring up his opponent, Xero suddenly lunges forward with a high kick to Fugue's jaw! Fugue is caught by surprise and staggers from the blow, turning around to hang on the ropes. Xero turns to grab him from behind, locking his arms around the musician's. Fugue struggles and tries to pull down in a backslide, but Xero pulls Fugue up onto his shoulder, then throws him forward and down to land heavily on his back! He grabs Fugue's legs--

 

ONE!

 

TWO--Fugue kicks out, and manages a short kick to Xero's face to give himself time to escape!

 

"Crucifix powerbomb!" yells Stevens. "Fugue looks to be in a bad way now!"

 

"Aw, he just takes a while to get started," Riley says, though his voice is uncertain.

 

Now Xero cracks a smile of his own as he stalks after his opponent. Fugue stumbles over to the turnbuckle, pulling himself up to his feet. Xero takes a moment to set himself, then runs forward in a charge--but Fugue catches Xero's legs with his own, tripping him with a toe-hold and sending him face-first into the ring post! Capitalizing on his opportunity, Fugue hoists the dazed Xero onto the turnbuckle. He then grabs him around the waist, and hoists him upward and back to crash onto his back in the middle of the ring! Fugue bridges his body into a pin--

 

ONE!

 

TW--Xero kicks out, collapsing Fugue's hold!

 

"A NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPERPLEX!" yells Stevens. "But Xero won't stay down!"

 

"Yeah, both these men stay up for a long time! They have lots of staying power!" leers Riley. "They're really hard..."

 

"... to put down for the count," finishes Stevens.

 

"Uh, right. If you want."

 

Fugue grimly pushes himself up from the mat, and suddenly slips around to Xero's back. He now has his opponent's right arm in a hammerlock. Xero suddenly flips over and reverses the hold, however, pulling the musician down to the mat in an armbar takedown. Fugue lands on his back with Xero on top of him, driving the air out of his lungs. Xero, and Eddy Long quickly realizes he should count--

 

ONE!

 

TW--Fugue kicks out again, then flips Xero over onto his stomach, keeping his arm trapped! The musician reaches with his legs for Xero's other arm, but Xero pulls at the mat, dragging himself over to the ropes. Fugue sits on Xero's back, pulling his opponent's right arm upward and back as Eddy Long yells at him.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOU--Fugue releases the hold and pushes himself up to his feet. He goes for Xero's arm again as his opponent pulls himself up the ropes. Xero struggles, then dives for the mat, dragging Fugue down with him! The musician stumbles to his but Xero stays after him, grabbing his head and leaping into a neckbreaker, both warriors tumbling to the mat. Xero pulls himself up and looks at Fugue, lying dazed on the mat. His eyes narrow and he looks toward the turnbuckle.

 

"Uhoh!" says Stevens. "Xero might be looking for a frog splash--or his Xero Gravity finisher! Things look bad for Fugue!"

 

"Whatever happens, we've already seen some great wrestling!" Riley salivates.

 

Stevens looks askance at his partner. "Aren't you supposed to be biased?"

 

"Hey, I like both these guys!" Riley avers.

 

Xero quickly scales the turnbuckle, the crowd coming to life again--but behind him, Fugue SITS UP! Xero turns on the post to look back at his opponent, staring in surprise as Fugue rushes toward the ring ropes and bounces off them, suddenly throwing Xero from his perch to land, shall we say, gingerly on the turnbuckle!

 

"OOOOH!" winces the male half of the crowd.

 

Ignoring Eddy Long's yelling, Fugue turns to face the center of the ring and reaches up to grab Xero's arms--and HAULS him over in a complete flip, Xero hitting the canvas hard on his back! Fugue, in a sitting position, pushes Xero's legs upward, and Eddy Long slides in to count--

 

ONE!

 

TW--Xero kicks out again, and kicks Fugue in the head as well!

 

"Fugue gets the Iconoclasm!" says Stevens. "And Xero is STILL fighting!"

 

Xero pushes himself up and slips around behind Fugue--hooking one of Fugue's arms, and pulling the other across his face!

 

"Crossface Chickenwing!" yells Stevens over the roar of the crowd. "Could we see Fugue submit here?"

 

Fugue flails with his free arm, managing to grab Xero's head--then he leaps upward and sits down, Xero's jaw bouncing against his shoulder!

 

"ST--uh, STINGER!" yells Stevens as the crowd roars. "Fugue counters the crossface chickenwing!"

 

"And not with a move trademarked by any other wrestler, no siree!" says Riley quickly.

 

Breathing heavily, Fugue quickly manages to slip behind his opponent. Catching Xero's arms and pulling them behind his back, the musician hauls Xero up off his feet--sending him slamming down onto his shoulders and neck! But Fugue isn't done, as he rolls over and pulls Xero back to his feet! Xero staggers but can't break the hold before Fugue leaps backward, sending Xero crashing down to the mat!

 

"The Tiger suplex and Coda!" cries Stevens.

 

"And we know what THAT means!" yells Riley.

 

Fugue indeed flips forward over his opponent, yanking his arms out to the side! Xero struggles underneath the musician, but is unable to find any purchase! Eddy Long kneels down to talk to Xero, the crowd cheering and clapping to encourage him...

 

...and Eddy Long WAVES FOR THE BELL!

 

DINGINGING!

 

"Your WINNER," booms Funyon. "By submission...FUUUUGUE!"

 

Fugue immediately collapses, releasing the hold and rolling away. The crowd boos weakly as Eddy Long raises Fugue's hand in victory. Then Xero gets to his feet, unable to raise his head. A wave of applause starts as the fans salute the battered Xero, Fugue looking on with a smile.

 

"What a great match!" Stevens says. "But these fans here are showing their respect for Xero, knowing it may be the last they see of him!"

 

"This is a special match," Riley nods. "I think everyone here appreciates Xero, crazy bastard though he may be!"

 

After some hesitation, Fugue once again approaches Xero and offers his hand. Xero looks at it, then at the crowds on each side of the ring. Finally Xero reaches out...and takes the hand, shaking it slowly. Cheers rise from the crowd.

 

"A beautiful show of sportsmanship by these competitors!" says Stevens.

 

"Awwww," deadpans Riley.

 

And suddenly Xero YANKS on Fugue's hand, landing a HARD clothesline! The tight grip keeps the musician from falling away, however, and Xero pulls Fugue's head between his legs. As the crowd cheers, Xero hooks both of Fugue's arms, then pulls him up and SLAMS him down in a devestating powerbomb!

 

"OUCH!" says Stevens, as Riley breaks into helpless laughter.

 

Raising his hand to the fans, Xero leaves the recumbent Fugue and slips out of the ring, moving slowly up the ramp to the back.

 

"A great sendoff for Xero!" giggles Riley.

 

"And don't go away, fans!" says Stevens. "We've got lots more SWF action coming up NEXT!"

[Guest Grand Slam]

FADE IN

 

“Our next match will pit Johnny Dangerous and Wildchild, two rookies who have been teaming together, against each other,” says Mark Stevens. “Both of these two rookies are in need of a big win in singles competition to help them get their foot in the door. Bobby, I really like this kid Wildchild; he’s fast, he’s agile, he’s got a very exciting style, and I think we could see him pull off something spectacular here tonight. What are your thoughts?”

 

“Well, as much as it pains me to say it,” replies Bobby Riley, “I’m going to agree with you, but for different reasons. To be honest, Wildchild hasn’t impressed me much at all since he’s been here. He comes across to me as an incomplete wrestler; I mean, I know that he got his start training under Malenko in Tampa, but you can really tell that he didn’t complete that training. There are too many holes in his technique.”

 

Riley continues, “on the other hand, Johnny Dangerous hasn’t really looked like focused on wrestling lately. For whatever reason, his mind doesn’t appear to be on the business, and despite what I may feel personally about Wildchild, he’s not a guy you can just go in there and beat without some kind of plan of attack. I’ll say this much for the kid: he might be a little one-dimensional, but he’s pretty good at what he does. If you go into a match against Wildchild, and you don’t have a plan to keep him grounded on the mat, you’re going to have to put in overtime to pull out a win.”

 

The house lights dim as a females voice says “Johnny Dangerous!” The young ladies in the audience squeal with delight as Limp Bizkit’s “Mission Impossible” begins blasting through the speakers and a spotlight centers itself on the stage beneath the SmarkTron, where Johnny Dangerous appears from behind the curtain. “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a fifteen minute time limit. Making his way to the ring at this time, from Las Vegas, Nevada, weighing in at two hundred ten pounds, the Barracuda, Jooooohny Daaaaangerous!” Johnny approaches the ringside area as the lights come back on, and removes the rose from his boutonniere, handing it to a female fan at ringside, before stepping into the ring. He walks over to the corner and steps onto the second turnbuckle, posing for the crowd as they applaud. Stepping down from the turnbuckle, he hands his jacket to the ring attendant as his music fades out.

 

The speakers suddenly start pumping again, this time with the sounds of “The Everlasting Gaze” by Smashing Pumpkins. The crowd begins cheering anew as Wildchild bounces onto the stage area, banging his head in time with his music. “And his opponent, from the Bahamas, weighing in at two hundred seventeen pounds, the Wiiiiildchiiiiild!” Wildchild runs down the ramp, slapping hands with the fans as he approaches the ring, and dives between the bottom and middle ropes, somersaulting to his feet in the center of the ring.

 

“These two young men have quickly developed a following here in the SWF,” says Stevens, “but as a tag team. It’s somewhat ironic that the first singles match either one of them will have here will be against each other.” The referee orders the timekeeper to ring the bell to signify the start of the match. Wildchild and Johnny briefly approach each other in the center of the ring to shake hands, and then begin circling the ring, each trying to decide upon a point of attack. They settle on a collar-and-elbow tie-up, which results in Wildchild taking an early advantage with a side headlock. Johnny backs him up against the ropes and then pushes off, launching him towards the opposite side of the ring. Johnny drops to the mat, allowing Wildchild to pass over him as he rebounds off the ropes, and quickly gets to his feet, leapfrogging him as he makes a second pass. He drops to his back after Wildchild runs underneath him, looking to surprise his opponent with a monkey flip, but the tropical tumbler jumps over the top of the Barracuda, rolling to his feet on the other side. Wildchild springs into the air looking for a dropkick, but Johnny sidesteps him, and he falls helplessly to the mat.

 

Johnny pulls Wildchild to his feet and lifts him onto his shoulders, but before he can build up momentum for his Rolling Fireman’s Carry, Wildchild wriggles off his shoulders and lands on his feet behind him, securing a waistlock and taking him over backwards with a rollup…

 

 

 

ONE!

 

Johnny kicks out easily at one, and both men scramble to their feet. Wildchild lunges at Johnny, swinging heavily and perhaps looking for a quick knockout with a right hook, but Johnny ducks underneath and grabs him from behind. He lifts Wildchild in the air for a belly-to-back suplex, but the Bahama Bomber twists his body overhead and comes down on Johnny with a cross-body press instead!

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Johnny kicks out at two this time. “This is what I was talking about,” says Riley, as both men get to their feet. “A move like that shouldn’t have put Johnny down for two this early in the match; it’s almost like he’s barely paying attention to what he’s doing in there!” Johnny approaches Wildchild and walks into a hiptoss; as he scrambles to his feet, Wildchild leaps into the air and sends him back down to the mat with a dropkick. Once again Johnny rises up and charges his partner, this time to be taken down with an armdrag. Wildchild lays his body out against the mat as he wrenches Johnny’s arm with an arm wringer.

 

“Now that’s pretty solid wrestling by Wildchild,” notes Stevens. “Nice application of the arm wringer, flowing right into the armbar, and followed by Wildchild spreading his body out on the mat, distributing his weight evenly on the canvas, and making it that much harder for Johnny to get out of it. Not something you expect to see from him.”

 

“Agreed,” says Riley, as Johnny rolls onto his knees and begins to stand up, “I’ll admit, every now and then, you’ll see Malenko’s influence on him, though not quite enough for my personal tastes. That’s why this kid bothers me so much, Stevens: he may be the best natural athlete in the SWF; if he would only commit himself towards becoming a better WRESTLER, there’s no telling how far he could go in this business! But, instead of doing that, he’d much rather fly around the ring doing a bunch of crazy stunts. I hate to see talent wasted like that!”

 

Johnny backs Wildchild against the ropes and whips him to the opposite end, breaking free of the hold. Wildchild ducks a lariat attempt as he rebounds, and leaps onto the ropes behind Johnny, curling into a ball and springing off, knocking the Barracuda to the mat with his patented Pinball attack!

 

“Wildchild displaying the acrobatics with his Pinball attack,” remarks Stevens. “And, incredibly, he goes back to the armbar!”

 

“Wildchild’s doing a good job so far of mixing up mat wrestling with his aerial attack,” adds Riley. “If he learns to do that on a more consistent basis, he could go very far in this business.” Johnny stands up and again backs Wildchild up against the ropes, this time delivering a vicious chop to the chest that echoes throughout the Cow Palace. The crowd responds to the chop with a loud WHOO, proving that San Francisco, among the many other things it is reputed for, is also Flair Country. Johnny whips Wildchild towards the far ropes, but the Bahama Bomber hangs on the Johnny’s arm and spins around, leaping into the air as he pulls the Barracuda towards him, and taking him off his feet with a breathtaking hurricanrana! Wildchild charges Johnny as he rolls onto his feet, leaping into the air and knocking the Barracuda onto the ring apron with a leg lariat.

 

THUD!

 

Wildchild waits for Johnny to stand up on the apron and runs to the corner, leaping onto the second turnbuckle and springing out of the ring looking for a Tornado DDT, but Johnny drops back down to the apron and Wildchild passes over him, crashing down on the padded arena floor! “Wildchild looked like he was going for his Tornado DDT,” says Stevens, “but nobody home! Johnny still with enough presence of mind to see that move coming, and get out of the way!”

 

 

“And that right there is what’s going to keep Wildchild from ever being a success in this business,” growls Riley. “He doesn’t know when to quit; he NEVER knows when to quit! He had Johnny Dangerous at a disadvantage; there was NO need for him to try something that risky! He should have kept mixing it up, and gone back to the wrestling… But that’s the problem with this kid: whenever he hits a high-risk move, he wants to his another one. And another one. And eventually he’s going to miss one, like he just did, and now he’s the one at a disadvantage.” Johnny picks Wildchild up off the arena floor and rolls him into the ring, sliding into the ring behind him. Upon getting to his feet, Johnny runs to the far ropes and jumps high into the air as he rebounds, extending his leg as he falls and crushing Wildchild with a devastating Atomic Legdrop! Johnny rolls over for a cover as the referee counts the pinfall…

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEE— NO! “Wildchild gets the shoulder up,” shouts Stevens. “Johnny tried to put the match away with a big legdrop, but he couldn’t get the job done!”

 

“Yeah, who does he think he is,” chimes Riley, “Hulk Hogan? Nobody wins with a legdrop!” Johnny lifts Wildchild to his feet and kicks him in the midsection. He then runs to the ropes and grabs Wildchild’s head as he rebounds, dropping him back to the mat with a swinging neckbreaker. He rolls atop his opponent for a pinfall and the referee dives to the mat in order to count the shoulders.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREEEEEE— Foot on the rope!

 

“Wildchild got his foot on the bottom rope,” notes Stevens. “Nice ring awareness by the rookie. And Bobby, even at a disadvantage, he continues to show us things in this match that he hasn’t before.”

 

“Don’t make more out of it than it actually is,” responds Riley, as Johnny pulls Wildchild to his feet. “That was pure instinct. I’m done giving this kid credit until he can prove to me that he has enough sense not to throw his career away on needless high-risk moves.” Johnny whips Wildchild to the far ropes and bounces off the near ropes to gain momentum, leaping into the air and nailing Wildchild with a flying lariat. He then gets up and walks over to Wildchild’s lower half, grabbing his leg underneath the knee and lifting it to chest height, then stepping forward until Wildchild’s body weight is bearing down on his neck, and then turning his own body around, draping Wildchild’s leg over his shoulder.

 

“The Barracuda,” remarks Stevens. “Johnny Dangerous has the Barracuda locked in on the Wildchild! Bobby, it’s pretty clear that Johnny’s looking to do damage to Wildchild’s neck, most likely to soften him up for the Cover Up!”

 

“It’s a sound strategy,” agrees Riley. “The only thing that surprises me somewhat is to see Johnny’s willingness to do so much damage to his own partner.” The referee asks Wildchild if he wants to give up, to which the Caribbean Cruiserweight vigorously shakes his head no. “Well, I’m sure Johnny wouldn’t mind having some success in tag team competition,” says Stevens, “but the SWF World Title is the ultimate goal of every wrestler in this business, and sometimes to get yourself in contention for that, you have to go through a partner.”

 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” adds Riley, as Wildchild pulls his hands underneath him. “I completely condone Johnny being aggressive and looking out for himself in this match. Hell, if nothing else, maybe it’ll teach Wildchild to look before he leaps.” Riley chuckles at his own joke. “I’m all in favor of Johnny putting a hurtin’ on Wildchild; I’m just a little surprised to see him focused long enough to concentrate an attack.”

 

Wildchild props his hands underneath him and pushes against the mat, taking pressure off his neck. He then lunges desperately towards the ropes, and just manages to grab onto the bottom rope, forcing the referee to order Johnny to relinquish the hold. Johnny lets go, but then immediately grabs Wildchild, who is still clinging to the bottom rope, by his feet, and jerks him abruptly off the ropes, dropping him against the mat. The Barracuda runs to the far ropes to build up steam and bounces off, charging towards the prone Wildchild and nailing a running elbow drop. The referee drops to the mat in anticipation of a pinfall, but Johnny pulls himself to his feet instead, pointing towards the corner.

 

“Johnny just passed up an opportunity to get the win,” says Stevens, “and instead he’s going to the top!”

 

“This is going to turn out to be a mistake,” snaps Riley, as Johnny ascends to the top turnbuckle, posing briefly for the fans before he leaps off the turnbuckle and drives his elbow directly into the heart…

 

 

… Of the canvas!

 

 

“He missed,” shouts Stevens. “Johnny Dangerous went for a flying elbow, and came up short!”

 

“Serves him right,” growls Riley as both men lay on the mat, trying to recover. “Didn’t he learn anything from watching his partner crash and burn earlier in the match? When you have the chance to put your opponent away, dammit, you put him away! Don’t bother with all the high-risk; keep it simple!” Johnny just barely beats Wildchild to his feet, and backs him against the ropes, laying into his chest with a series of stiff chops.

 

 

SMACK! WHOOO!

 

SMACK! WHOOO!

 

SMACK! WHOOO!

 

Johnny whips Wildchild to the far ropes, and lashes his foot out towards him as he rebounds, looking to score a Johnny Kick, but the Bahama Bomber ducks the foot and bounces off the ropes behind the Barracuda, leaping into the air as he rebounds and drilling Johnny in the face with a flying forearm! Johnny falls to the mat and Wildchild crawls on top of him to make a cover…

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE— NO! Johnny just barely gets the shoulder up! Both men slowly make their way to their knees, and begin exchanging blows as they stand up. As they get to their feet, Johnny swings on Wildchild with a right hand, but the Bahama Bomber blocks it and nails him with a right of his own, followed by another. He gets one more right hand in before Johnny disrupts his momentum by driving a knee into his midsection. Johnny whips Wildchild towards the corner but he reverses, sending the Barracuda crashing into the turnbuckle instead.

 

CRASH!

 

Wildchild lets loose with a howl and charges towards the corner, leaping into the air to deliver a flying splash, but only finds turnbuckle as Johnny pulls himself out of the way at the last second. Johnny turns Wildchild around so that his back is facing the corner, and steps outside to the ring apron, where he snares Wildchild in an inverted front facelock as he tenuously climbs the turnbuckles.

 

“He’s going for the Cover Up,” cries Stevens. “If he hits this, it’s all over!” Johnny gets to the top turnbuckle, but Wildchild reaches up with his outside arm, smacking the Barracuda in the face until he can feel him relent his grip, and then yanks him overhead off the top turnbuckle into the center of the ring. Johnny rolls to his feet and starts to backpedal towards the far corner as Wildchild rushes towards him. The Bahama Bomber leaps into the air, looking perhaps for a hurricanrana, but Johnny swings both his arms up and uses Wildchild’s momentum against him pushing him overhead so that he flies past Johnny and lands behind him on the top turnbuckle.

 

“Johnny with a nice counter to the rana attempt by Wildchild,” remarks Stevens, “but Wildchild, with that balance, lands on the turnbuckles behind him!” Wildchild prepares to launch himself off the top turnbuckle with a spectacular attack, but Johnny quickly spins around and shoves his feet off the turnbuckle, so that he crotches himself.

 

Johnny grabs Wildchild by his braids and pulls him backwards off the turnbuckle, walking underneath him as he does so, so that the Bahama Bomber is hanging upside down off his back. “How’s this for poetic justice,” says Riley. “Johnny Dangerous is about to beat his tag team partner with his own move!”

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

Johnny backs out of the corner to give himself some more room but, in doing so, he inadvertently allows Wildchild to build up enough momentum to swing his legs forward and reverse the maneuver, quickly dropping his weight before the Barracuda has the chance to recover, and driving his head into the canvas!

 

 

“Wild Ride,” cries Stevens. “He just countered Johnny Dangerous into the Wild Ride!” Wildchild rolls on top of his partner and makes the cover as the referee counts the pinfall…

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

 

The referee motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell as the speakers start to pump “The Everlasting Gaze.” Wildchild rolls onto his knees and places his hands on his hips, breathing heavily as the referee walks over to him to raise his hand in victory. “Here is your winner,” says Funyon, “the Wiiiiildchiiiiild!”

 

“What an exciting matchup by our two rookies,” says Stevens. “Time will tell whether or not they can put this match behind them and continue to compete together for tag team gold. Well folks, coming up next is the US Title match; Danny Williams challenging Mak Francis! Don’t you dare miss it!”

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[Guest Grand Slam]

Stevens: Welcome back to SWF Strom! We are coming to you live from the Cow Palace in beautiful San Francisco, California! Coming up right now, we’ve got Danny Williams taking on Mak Francis for the United States Championship!

 

The Cow Palace’s capacity crowd turns hostile as the familiar melodies of the Jester Race rumbles out of the arena’s state of the art loud speakers. Pushing his way through the heavy curtains draping over the locker room entrance, a very focused Danny Williams marches out on to the platform. The fans greet Williams with lowered thumbs and boos, but he doesn’t really give a shit.

 

Funyon: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the United States Championship! Introducing first, the challenger, weighing in at 238 pounds, hailing from Louisville, Kentucky.........DANNY WILLIAMSssssssssssssssss!

 

With his head tilted down, his eyes focused straight ahead, Williams slowly makes his way down the aisle like a nocturnal predator on the hunt. Climbing into the ring with a sense of purpose, Williams begins warming up, patiently awaiting the arrival of the U.S. Champion.

 

Stevens: I think it’s safe to say that this Danny Williams’ last chance to defend his position in the company. For over 50 days Danny Williams fended off all invaders, but one man managed to break through his defenses, and capture the United States Title. And that man is the Franchise, Mak Francis.

 

Riley: I wouldn’t go so far as to stay that this Danny’s last chance, but he’s defiantly losing ground to Francis. However, a win tonight just might be enough to hold off the barbarian horde for a few more weeks.

 

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 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....

 

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: Making his way down the aisle, weighing in at 225 pounds, hailing from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.......YOUR UNITED STATES CHAMPION, MAK FRANCISsssssssssssssss!

 

Stevens: There he is the United States Champion, The Franchise!

 

Riley: Mak feels he deserves to be living the high life, he fells that he deserves Williams spot in the company, but can he prove it?

 

Stevens: Make no mistake, Francis may have the title, but he is one who is on the offense and it’s Williams who has his back against the wall. Plain and simple, Williams cannot afford another loss!

 

Mak unwraps the sough after title from his waist, and hands it off to Nick Soapdish. Soapdish raises the title in the air, drawing a big pop from the crowd. With both men in their corners and Funyon safe on the outside, Soapdish calls for the bell!

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

With the U.S. title match officially underway, the fans joyously applaud. Starting off cautious, Williams and Francis shyly inch their way out of their corners. The two grapplers turn circles a few times, and than lunge at each other with out stretched arms, colliding together in a collar and elbow tie up! From the grapple, Mak slips behind Williams, grabbing a rear waistlock. Knowing full and well that Mak intends on taking him to the mat, Williams wisely laces his leg around the Franchise’s, preventing the amateur takedown.

 

Stevens: Williams, avoiding the mat like the plague. Not a bad idea, considering Mak’s impressive background in the amateur ranks.

 

Riley: I hope your not implying that Williams can’t hold his own with Francis in terms of technical skill.

 

Stevens: While Williams does have an impressive amateur background, there’s no doubt in my mind that Francis is the better mat wrestler of the two. So it would be to Williams’ advantage, to keep this battle a vertical one.

 

No longer in danger of being taken to the mat, Williams begins the difficult task of prying Mak’s fingers apart. Perspiring like someone who’s just ran a marathon, a grunting Williams successfully powers out of the waistlock, twisting Mak’s left arm into a wristlock. With a surprising display of quickness, Williams transitions the wristlock into an armbar takedown, trapping Mak in a painful Fujiwara Armbar! Francis cries out in agony as Williams attempts to hyper extend his elbow.

 

Riley: Well Mr. Smarty Pance, it doesn’t look like Williams is having to much trouble on the mat right now.

 

Despite being in unbearable pain, Mak keeps his cool and plots an escape. The excited fans jump out of their seats as Mak somehow hooks an arm between Williams’ legs, and rolls the challenger up in a amateur cradle!

 

Stevens: THAT’S HOW HE BEAT WILLIAMS, LAST TIME!

 

Soapdish hits the deck, while Mak’s fans count along.

 

“ONE!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THRE-Ohhhhhhhhhh” sighs the fans, as Williams rolls out of the cradle, returning to a vertical base. Not wanting to be caught on his back, Mac scrambles to his feet, coming face to face with the challenger. Instead of attacking, Williams simply waves a taunting finger in the Franchise’s face. Sporting an unimpressed grin, Francis sarcastically claps.

 

Riley: Ha! Your not gonna fool Williams with the same trick twice.

 

Stevens: Indeed. Williams is so focused , so prepared, I doubt a simple roll up or cradle will be enough to beat him. Make no mistake, Francis is in for a real fight tonight.

 

The crowd cools down as the rivals resume their circling, eyeing each other up very carefully. Without much hesitation, they lock up yet again in a grapple. With relative ease, Francis emerges as the victor with a swift Side Headlock. In a flash, Williams escapes the Headlock, bending Francis’ arm into a painful Hammerlock. Sporting a huge grin, Francis effortlessly slips out of Williams’ grasp, sending him to the mat with a slick Drop Toe Hold! Francis quickly ties Williams’ legs up as casually as one would tie a shoe lace, and than brings his hands around Williams’ face for the STF! Thinking fast, Williams frantically covers his face up with his forearms, blocking the facelock!

 

Riley: Nice defensive wrestling for a guy who supposedly can’t hold his own with the Franchise.

 

Stevens: Williams may have stopped the STF, but he’s still in a very vulnerable position.

 

Francis tries in vain to pry Williams’ arms apart, but finds the task to be impossible. Frustrated by Williams’ human turtle defense, Francis starts laying some mean spirited smacks into the sides of Williams’ head. The crowd chuckles as Williams pitifully covers his head up like a kindergartner during a tornado drill, doing his best to shield himself from a rainstorm of bitch slaps!

 

Stevens: Francis is just humiliating the challenger on the mat, now do you see what I mean, Riley?

 

Riley: Ok, Ok, so Francis is the better mat wrestler. He just better pray that he can keep Williams grounded, or there’s going to be hell to pay.

 

Stevens: That’s exactly what I’ve been saying the whole time!

 

Riley: Oh will you grow up, “I said it first, I said it first”, how childish can you get?

 

After bitch slapping Williams until his is cheeks are chapped, Francis tries once again to pull his arms apart, this time he’s successful! Now that Williams’ face is exposed, Francis eagerly applies the facelock, finally completing the STF! The crowd gives a rousing round of applause, making Williams’ muffles screams almost impossible to hear.

 

Stevens: FINALLY, FRANCIS HAS THE STF LOCKED IN!

 

His face turning purple, Williams violently claws at the mat, trying desperately to reach the sanctuary of the ropes! Wearing an almost monstrous scowl, a growling Mak applies maximum pressure, squeezing Williams’ head until it shakes like it’s gonna pop. Losing consciousness and fast, Williams gives up on his quest for the ropes. In an act of desperation, Williams reaches back behind his head, and rakes his hands across the Franchise’s eyes! Francis rolls off Williams, screaming and grabbing at his eyes like somebody just took a torch to them. Williams remains face down on the mat, sore and worn out from the brutal submission hold.

 

“Boooooooooooooooooooooo!” cries the outraged fans.

 

Stevens: Uh oh, it looks Danny Williams may have fouled the Franchise!

 

Riley: I don’t know about that Stevens.

 

Stevens: What? You saw it as clear as day, Williams racked his damn eyes!

 

Riley: Well, of course he did. But it may have been unintentional, we don’t know anything for sure yet, Stevens.

 

After some careful consideration, Soapdish rules, “Accidental!” to an expected negative reaction. Upon hearing the call, a red eyed Francis sits up, and shouts,”Bullshit!”

 

Riley: I hate to say it, but I told you so, I told you so, I told you so!

 

Stevens: Doesn’t sound like you hate to say it.

 

Riley: I told you so!

 

Squinting out of watering eyes, a snarling Franchise marches over to wear Williams is laying, and forces him to his feet. Suddenly, Williams swats Francis’ arms off, and rakes his eyes again! His eyes feeling like they’ve been set a blaze, Francis drops Williams and blindly staggers away. Upon hitting the mat, Williams immediately rolls out of the ring, and flops on the arena floor. “Booooooooooooooooooooo!” protests the thousands in attendance.

 

Stevens: Now that wasn’t accidental! Williams without question is purposely raking Mak’s eyes so he can buy himself some to recover from the STF!

 

Riley: Nothing wrong with that, you call it illegal, I call it brilliant.

 

Soapdish tries to inspect Mak’s eyes for injury, but gets a hard shove for his trouble. Spotting Williams pulling himself up with the guardrail on the outside, The Franchise storms out of the ring with a vengeance! Francis channels his rage into stiff closed fist chops, stunning Williams!

 

Smack! Smack! Smack!

 

Mak grabs hold of Williams’ wrist, and sends him flying into the guardrail with an Irishwhip!

 

CLANK!

 

Williams crashes back first into the cold steel, knocking the guardrail back a good foot or two! But Williams shockingly sling shots back at Francis, as if the guardrail was ring ropes, catching Francis off guard with a brain scrambling Running Elbow!

 

CRACK!

 

Francis hits the floor so hard that he folds over on his stomach, drawing an “oh” from the repulsed fans!

 

Stevens: OH MY, he just turned the Franchise inside out!

 

Riley: You have got to admire the determination of Danny Williams, to take a shot like that into the guardrail, and come right back! It doesn’t matter how much punishment he has to absorb, he wants control of the match back, and he will not be denied!

 

Walking gingerly while clutching his sore back, Williams slides into the ring, prompting Soapdish to start the count. Dripping sweat, Williams waits on one knee, closely watching the apron for the first signs of the Champion. He doesn’t have to wait long, woozy and weak legged, Francis slowly climbs up on to the ring apron....

 

CRACK!

 

Williams sends Francis back to the floor with another skull shattering Running Elbow! Ignoring Soapdish’s warnings, Williams steps out on to the apron, and hops down to the floor. Instead of attacking the prone champion, Williams ducks down beneath the ring, producing a folded up steel chair. With no hesitation what so ever, Williams raises the chair over his head, and slams it across Francis’ back!

 

SMACK!

 

The Franchise’s head shoots up, his face wrinkled with pain. The front rolls fans bombard Williams with profanity laced taunts while hurling anything that isn’t nailed down at him. Unfazed by the heated crowd, Williams lifts the chair for another strike.

 

Riley: Haha, this is great!

 

Stevens: What the hell is Danny thinking, this isn’t a Hardcore match!

 

Riley: I tell what he’s thinking, some young punk is threatening to steal his hared earned spot in the company, and he’s gonna do whatever he can get away with to make sure that he doesn’t lose it!

 

Before Williams can bring the chair down a second time, Soapdish screams down at him,“Put it down Danny, or I’ll stop the match!”

 

Not putting down the chair, Williams screams back,”I’m out here, god dammit!”

 

Losing his patience, Soapdish threatens the challenger again,”I said put it down, or I’ll D.Q. your ass!”

 

Mumbling curses to himself, Williams throws down the chair, and spits a honker on the floor to show his disgust with the rules. Since the corrupt official won’t let him use a chair on the outside, Williams goes to plan B. Williams drags the bruised Champion to his feet, and applies a front facelock. The crowd gasps as Williams kicks his legs out and falls back, spiking the top of Francis’ head into the hard arena floor!

 

Thump!

 

Stevens: DDT ON THE FLOOR!

 

Riley: Francis’ mat skills aren’t doing him any good now, are they Stevens?

 

Not wanting to get counted out, Williams rolls back into the ring, leaving Francis lifelessly laying face down on the floor. To a loud chorus of “boos”, Williams jumps up on the second turnbuckle and raises his fists in the air mocking the Franchise’s signature taunt. Once again Soapdish is left with no option but to start counting out the champ, while Williams anxiously paces around like a caged animal. Worried that Francis may not be able to continue, the fans encourage him with a loud “FRAN-CHISE! FRAN-CHISE! FRAN-CHISE!” chant. Francis starts to stir as the chant picks up momentum, gaining speed and intensity with each passing second. Mak pushes his way up to his hands and knees, finding his reflection staring back at him from a crimson pool. Francis curiously brings his hand to his forehead, finding a large gash near his hair line from which blood is pouring out like a busted water pipe.

 

Stevens: It looks like that DDT has lacerated the Franchise, what a bad break for the champion.

 

Riley: Yeah, he’s busted open real good. Now this is what I call a championship match!

 

Realizing that Francis isn’t going to make the count, Williams impatiently exits the ring, grabs Francis by the tights, and rolls him back in. Blinded by his own blood, Francis attempts to climb up to one knee, but Williams is already on top of him. Showing no compassion, Williams grabs Francis by his hair, and proceeds to slam sharp knees into forehead! As each knee connects, Williams’ knee pad becomes redder and redder with Francis’ blood.

 

Stevens: As expected, that lesion on the Franchises’ forehead has become a huge bulls eye for Danny Williams.

 

Having painted the ring in Francis’ blood, Williams ceases the knee strikes, takes a few steps back, draws back his leg, and....

 

SMACK!

 

The disgusted fans crowd cry out in horror as Williams slams a mega stiff Roundhouse Kick into Francis’ forehead!

 

Pop!

 

Mak slumps back to the mat to the murmurs of the shocked crowd. Continuing the assault, Williams runs into the ropes, and viciously drops a knee across Mak’s bloody forehead! The pain sends Francis into convulsions, causing blood droplets to splatter across the ring. Doing his best to ignore the pain, Francis struggles to push his way up to avoid taking more knees. Not giving him a chance, Williams further outrages the fans by tauntingly flicking his boot in Francis’ face, making his journey to a vertical base that much harder.

 

Riley: Now that Williams is in his element, it’s his turn to humiliate Francis.

 

Stevens: While that may seem fun and all to Williams, I think he should be more worried about putting pinning the champion’s shoulders to the mat.

 

Riley: Williams has been waiting weeks for this moment, finally he has chance to get some payback for the humiliating loses he’s had to endure at the hands of the Franchise. A pin fall will come in time, but right now he just wants to make Francis suffer.

 

Francis finally gives up, dropping his head, and covering up to avoid Williams’ boot. Williams shoots a grin at the crowd as he reaches down, and grabs Francis by his leg. Williams tucks his boot under his arm pit, and pulls Francis’ leg into a Half Crab! Francis cries out in misery as Williams pulls back on his leg until he is almost completely vertical, Williams than puts the cherry on top by standing on the back of Francis’ skull! The silent crowd comes back to life with an eruption of “boos” as Williams flips them off with his free hand, a “FRAN-CHISE!” chant starts up soon afterwards.

 

Riley: That doesn’t look to comfortable.

 

Stevens: Make no mistake fans, Williams isn’t looking for a submission, he’s only looking to further humiliate and torture the United States Champion.

 

His tendons and back being stretched to the limits while his face continues to leak precious blood, Mak frantically tries to do a push up to relieve the pressure, but despite giving it his all, he is far too weak. The chant picks up an intensity, as the crowd does everything in their power to get Francis through this hellish experience. Left with on other option, Mak desperately begins kicking his free leg to where he guesses Williams’ head is...

 

Crack!

 

Francis manages to land a kick, that hits Williams right in the kisser! Williams releases Francis, to cover his busted mouth, checking to make sure all his teeth are still in. Now free, Francis starts crawling towards the ropes on his forearms, but Williams grabs one of his boots, holding him in place! Francis rolls over on his back, and....

 

Crack!

 

kicks Williams right in the mouth again! Once again, Williams releases Francis, and staggers away with his hands over his mouth. Still to sore to get up on his own, Mak continues to crawl to the ropes, this time reaching them. Using the ropes like crutches, Mak is able to return to his feet for the first time in a while, but Williams is on him in a flash!

 

Smack!

 

Williams unsettles the fans by delivering an insanely stiff knife edge chop to Francis’ forehead! A blood cloud sprays into the air, grossing out the nearby front roll fans.

 

Smack! Smack!

 

Williams lays to more nasty chops into Mak’s forehead, splattering hemoglobin everywhere! Williams grabs hold of Francis’ arm, whips him off the ropes, and bounces off them himself! Francis sling shots off the ropes, rocketing right back at a charging Danny Williams! Once in range, Williams fires his trademark Hooking Lariat...

 

which is ducked! Realizing his mistake, Williams puts the breaks on, however Francis keeps on trucking! Williams twists around to catch Mak on the rebound, but he’s too late!

 

CRACK!

 

Francis obliterates Williams with a stiff High Kick to the face! Williams’ head violently snaps back like he took a shotgun blast at close range, his legs go out from underneath him, and he falls flat on his back!

 

Stevens: YAKUUUUUUUUUUUUUUZA KICK!

 

Francis also goes down, dropping to one knee as if he’s praying for the strength to continue the match. The crowd gives a standing ovation, sensing that the tide of the match may have turned.

 

 

After taking a quick breather, Francis forces himself to stand up. As the crowd chants “Let’s Go Franchise! Let’s Go!”, Francis marches over to Williams, and pulls him up by his tights. Keeping his grip on Williams’ tights, Mac grabs the back of his neck, runs him to the edge of the ring, and tosses him through the ropes! The Franchise follows Williams out, but rather than staying on him, rips up a section of the protective padding while the crowd roars. Fired up, Mac violently drags Williams over to the concrete with a front facelock. The Franchise falls back, dragging Williams down to his knees, gruesomely driving the top of his head into the unforgiving concrete!

 

Thump!

 

The crowd goes absolutely nuts, some chanting Mak’s nick name, others are just screaming their heads off!

 

Stevens: The Franchise, extracting some revenge from Williams, for the earlier DDT!

 

Riley: Yeah, but this one is on the concrete! Francis has actually managed to top Williams in the brutality department.

 

Basking in the riotous cheers of the crowd, Francis rolls back into the ring, leaving Williams laying face down on the concrete. Soapdish starts counting Williams out, while Francis rests on his back for a few moments. It isn’t until Soapdish reaches “Seven!” that Williams drunkenly finds his way to a vertical base. Once Williams stands up, a thick stream of dark blood runs down his face, than another, and another, and another, until he is wearing the crimson mask. Francis wipes some blood out of his eyes, and rises to attention as Williams approaches the ring in a zombie like trance. At “Nine!”, Williams flops on to the apron, and weakly rolls inside. To the roars of the crowd, Francis forces Williams up with a front facelock, and applies a gut wrench. “GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” grunts Francis as he lifts Williams upside down, and falls straight back!

 

BOOM!

 

Stevens: GUT WRENCH SUPLEX! You know what that means?

 

Riley: Oh no!

 

Stevens: IT’S TIME FOR SOME BROTHERLY LOVE!

 

Slow to get up, Francis lies on his back with his stomach rising up and down at an alarming rate. Not wanting to start a ten count, Soapdish slaps his hands in front of Francis’ face a few times to wake him up and remind him he’s in a match. Francis responds by sluggishly standing up, and climbing out on to the apron. Francis wipes some more sweat and blood out of his eyes, and begins a weary climb to the top rope. The fans goes bat shit as Francis slowly but surely reaches his destination.

 

Stevens: FROG SPLASH COMING UP!

 

Riley: There’s no way he can hit it, he’s taking too much time! Stupid, stupid, move by the champion!

 

Stevens: He is taking one hell of a risk, but I don’t think he has much of a choice. Mak is losing blood at a dangerous rate, he needs to put Williams away while he has the chance, because he may not have the strength to do it later.

 

Francis looks down at his target with uncertainty, he says a quick prayer to himself, takes several deep breaths, and takes the plunge! Camera flashes illuminate the arena as Mak gracefully turns direction in mid air, and squashes Williams with a crushing lateral press!

 

Stevens: HE HIT IT! HE HIT IT!

 

Riley: I DON’T BELIEVE IT!

 

To excited to stand, the fans jump out of their seats, and scream along with Soapdish’s count at the top of their lungs!

 

“ONE!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THREE!”

 

 

 

 

 

NO! Soapdish waves off the count, citing that Williams has a boot across the bottom rope! Francis quickly grabs the leg in question, and hooks it for another pin attempt!

 

“ONE!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THRE-OHHHH!” moans the crowd as Williams shoots a shoulder up, bring the count to a halt!

 

Riley: COUNT OF TWO, ONLY!

 

Stevens: I THOUGHT FOR SURE HE HAD HIM!

 

Francis sits up on his knees, with a look of utter disbelief etched on his face. Taking advantage of Francis’ carelessness, Williams desperately rolls out of the ring, lifelessly flopping on the arena floor. Williams shells up in the fetal position, coughing and gagging like he’s going to puke.

 

Stevens: His early advantage now gone, Williams is falling back on the only thing he has left, his resilience!

 

Riley: It’s not resilience, it’s hatred! Williams hates everything that Francis represents, and it’s that hate that is keeping him alive and going. He is simply refusing to give Francis the win!

 

Francis lets out a disappointed sigh, pounds a fist into the mat, and goes after Williams. Francis retrieves the half dead challenger, rolling him back into the ring, before entering himself. Looking to dish out some more punishment, Francis helps Williams up to his feet.

 

Crack!

 

Once Francis gets Williams upright, he gets rewarded with a desperation Elbow Smash! The unexpected stiff strike buckles the Franchise’s knees, but he regains his composure, and fires back with a snapping right cross!

 

Crack!

 

Williams’ arms fall lifelessly to his sides, and he hits the mat like a sack of bricks! Mak shakes off the effects of the elbow, and contemplates the matter in which he’s going to put Williams away. Thinking back to their first match, Francis gets an idea. Needing to get Williams on his feet first, Francis stands over him, leans down, and starts smacking his face to revive him. “Get up! Get up!” commands the Champion. Williams starts to show some faint signs of life, gradually making an effort to get back on his feet. Growing impatient, the Franchise squats down on the mat, and slaps a front facelock on the drowsy challenger. Having draped Williams inside arm over his shoulder, Francis pulls Williams up to his feet, and screams, “ Now we go to school!” at the top of his lungs. The hot crowd gives the biggest pop of the night!

 

Stevens: THE PITTSBURGH PLUNGE! Williams has tasted defeat at the hands of this move, before!

 

Francis reaches down to hook Williams leg, only to find that it’s grapevined around his knee.

 

Riley: NO! Williams has got it blocked!

 

Francis lets out a frustrated growl, and starts slamming knees into Williams’ stomach, driving him back into the nearest corner. Francis releases Williams from the Suplex set up, stuffs too jabs in his face, ending the combo with a big right hand!

 

Crack!

 

With Williams disorientated, Francis jogs to the cross corner, while the pumped crowd hops out of their chairs with anticipation. Picking up a full head of steam, Francis flies out of the corner like a bat out of hell! Once in range, Francis extends his leg for the running High Kick....

 

Stevens: YAKUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUZA KICK!

 

but Williams catches Maks’ boot just inches before it would liquefy his face! Williams shoves the off balance champion to the mat, knocking the wind out of him! To groggy to capitalize, Williams remains propped up in the corner, dripping blood off his chin. Mak back rolls to his feet, and starts laying some stiff closed fist chops into Williams’ exposed chest!

 

Smack! Smack! Smack!

 

Out of nowhere, Williams fights back with a hard Elbow Smash!

 

Crack!

 

Wearing a blank expression on his face, the Franchise freezes in place as if he forgot what he was doing. After shaking his head a few times, Mak returns to his senses, going back to work on Williams with his patent closed fist chops!

 

Smack! Smack!

 

Mak fires a third chop, but Williams gets an arm up, letting it smack against his meaty forearm! Before Francis can hits arm back, Williams counters with a stiff Elbow Smash that leaves him reeling!

 

Crack!

 

Riley: THE CHAMP’S HURT!

 

Stevens: Those elbows are starting add up!

 

With a ferocious battle cry, the challenger lunges out of the corner, rotates his body into a counter clock wise spin, and drops Francis with a surprise Rolling Elbow!

 

CRACK!

 

The Franchise sinks to the mat like a deflating balloon, while Williams drops to his knees from exhaustion. The crowd grows silent at this turn of events.

 

Stevens: Both men are down! It’s anybody’s match now!

 

Riley: Through sheer force of willpower, Danny was able to come back, and even this thing up. I got a good feeling about this one, Stevens. I think Williams is actually going to pull it off!

 

Glassy eyed and bleeding like a stuffed pig, Williams rolls to the ropes, and uses them to pull himself up. Meanwhile, the crowd starts to heat up again as Francis also stumbles to his feet. Leaning deep into the ropes, Williams springs at Francis, with his arm drawn back for the Running Elbow!

 

............

 

Francis desperately fires a high kick, catching Williams under the chin! Williams stops dead in his tracks, spins around, ROLLING ELBOW!

 

CRACK!

 

Francis hits the mat so hard, his legs fold over his head.

 

Stevens: THE CHAMPION IS DOWN!

 

Riley: Williams walked right through a Yakuza Kick to deliver that Rolling Elbow! It takes a lot of balls to take a punch in order to land a punch.

 

Stevens: Indeed, Williams is just overwhelming the champion!

 

Williams flops down on top of Francis’ thighs, holding him in place for the pin. The once noisy arena turns as quiet as church as Soapdish hits the deck and makes the count!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO1/2....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO3/4....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO! Francis wiggles a shoulder up to the dismay of Williams! Still having hope, the crowd gives a huge pop. Soaking wet with sweat and blood, Williams pulls the punch drunk Franchise up, trapping him in a stand head scissors! Williams takes a few quick breaths and lifts....

 

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” groans a trembling Williams as he rips Francis off the mat! Williams lifts Francis high over his shoulders, and slams him to the mat with ring shattering force!

 

KA-BOOM!

 

Stevens: DEATHBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMB!

 

Riley: NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION!

 

Williams folds Francis in half, and slides down his thighs for the pin!

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO1/2...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO3/4....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO! Francis rolls out from underneath Williams before Soapdish can bring his hand down a third and decisive time! The arena becomes filled with the deafening cheers of the fans, and the rumbling of foot stomps.

 

Riley: NO WAY!

 

Stevens: Unprecedented fighting spirit from the Champion! Not since Renegade has anyone kicked out of the Deathbomb!

 

Riley: But does have enough in the tank to mount a comeback?

 

Stevens: I think the real question is does Williams have enough in the tank to finish him?

 

Francis spasms on the mat while crying out in a anguish! Growling like a wild beast, Williams snatches Francis up, and starts ruthlessly clobbering him with stiff elbow after elbow!

 

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

 

Having knocked Francis silly, Williams turns him around, and sets him up for a Belly to Back Suplex! Williams lifts Francis up, and brings him down right on his skull with neck snapping force!

 

Stevens: DANGEROUS BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKDROP!!!!!

 

Thump!

 

The fans are left in a state of shock after witnessing the grisly bump. Williams rolls over on top of Francis, and holds him down with a Greco Roman Knuckle Lock!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO1/2....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO3/4....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Williams rolls off Francis, and Soapdish lifts his arm to make the victory official.

 

Riley: IT’S OVER! NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION!

 

Funyon: The winner of the match at 16 minutes and 4 seconds.......YOUR NEW UNITED STATES CHAMPION.....DANNY WILLIAMSssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” howls the fans as Soapdish lays the belt on top of Williams. Medics have already entered the ring, examining both men.

 

Stevens: In one of the most fearless and brave performances I’ve ever witnessed, Danny Williams has defeated the Francis to stubbornly hang on to his spot in the company. What I don’t understand is why Williams has yet to make an attempt to work over Francis’ arm.

 

Riley: Yeah sure, that strategy did wonders for Williams last time. Or better yet, just ask Fugue how targeting the arm was able to help him pull off the upset on Lockdown. Or maybe Williams decided to quit acting like a pussy, stop worrying about Francis’ offense, and started playing to win instead of playing not to lose!

 

Stevens: Wow, that’s one hell of an analysis Riley. Right now fans we have to taka quick commercial break, but stay tuned because the Escape From Alcatraz Match is coming up next!

[Guest Grand Slam]

Back in the Cow Palace, in Oakland California, SWF Storm continues onward! The fans are cheering for their favorite wrestlers, to each their own, and that’s fine with me... except for that group of Bobby Riley fans. Through the sea of signs the camera travels to the announcer’s table, where Bobby Riley and “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens sit, waiting for the next match to start.

 

Stevens: Welcome back to SWF Storm from Oakland!!! The Cow Palace is rockin’ in anticipation for this next match!

 

Riley: Which is an “Escape From Alka-Seltzer” Match!!

 

Stevens: It’s “Escape From Alcatraz”, Bobby. You know, the prison?

 

Riley: ...Ooooooh... you mean the one on the island no one’s ever escaped from?

 

Stevens: The one and only!

 

Riley: Cool... but if no one’s ever escaped... how are Michael Craven, Ejiro Fasaki, or that loser CIA gonna do it?

 

Stevens: Don’t ask me.

 

Riley: Ummmm.... OK...

 

Stevens: And now, out to Alcatraz Island for the start to this unique match!

 

Starwipe out to Alcatraz Island, a quick aerial picture of the island.

 

Stevens (voice-over): From the mid 1930's until the mid 1960's, Alcatraz was America's premier maximum-security prison, the final stop for the nation's most incorrigible inmates. Today, Alcatraz is a place of contradictions, with a grim past and an enduring future as one of San Francisco's most prominent landmarks and tourist attractions. But tonight, “The Rock” is host to a first... the “Escape From Alcatraz” match! Let’s send it to Funyon for more on this unique match!

 

Wipe from the aerial shot to an interior shot of one of the cell blocks, where Funyon stands, mic in hand. The other three men do not seem visible at this point, as the camera is on Funyon close-up. He clears his throat and speaks:

 

Funyon: The following is an “Escape From Alcatraz” Match!!! The winner is the wrestler who makes it down to the shore, where a small motorboat adorned with the SWF logo sits. To win, he must start the boat, pull away from shore, and go to a small raft 25 yards offshore, where the referee stands. When the referee raises someone's hand, the match is over.

 

Camera pan to one cell, where that masked man of mystery, that crazy CIA, stands, warming up, waiting for the cell door to be opened. He nods to the camera as Funyon makes the announcement:

 

Funyon: In the cell to my right, from Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 237 pounds, he is a member of the Midnight Carnival... C-I-AAAAAAAA!!!

 

Camera pan to another cell, where the re-born Michael Craven stands, also warming up, waiting for the cell door to be opened. He scowls the camera as Funyon pulls a card from his pocket and makes the announcement:

 

Funyon(reading off the card): In the cell to my left, from Tampa, Florida, weighing in at 265 pounds, he is the greatest, the biggest name in pro wrestling, and is a damn cool guy... *sigh*, ladies and gentlemen, the one, the only... MICHAEL CRAVEN!!!!!

 

Camera pan to one last cell, where Ejiro Fasaki is, standing there, admiring the surroundings. The camera picks up the fact that he looks disturbed by his surroundings as a rat scuttles behind him, Funyon making the announcement:

 

Funyon: And in the cell next to that one, from Sarasota, Florida, weighing in at 188 pounds, he is a member of the Magnificent Seven... EJIROOOOO FASAKIIII!!!

 

The crowd of course, is both cheering and popping, but no one on the island can hear them, so in reality, it doesn’t really matter. Funyon makes his way over to a wall, and the camera switches to follow.

 

Stevens: This sure is... interesting...

 

Riley: ...Can they keep them locked up like that?

 

After a few seconds and some readjustment he shot now shows Funyon standing next to a bell commonly used as an alarm for prison breaks, which is next to a panel of metal switches. For those of you that didn’t happen to see “The Rock” with Nicholas Cage and Sean Connery, the switches are what are used to open and close the cell locks on Alcatraz. He reaches up under the bell, fiddling with something, until we get a...

 

“Ddddddddddddddddiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiingggggggggggg!!!”

 

Funyon immediately throws the switches, opening all of the cells as he shuts the alarm off.

 

Funyon: Good, now let’s get out of this hellhole.

 

Stevens: And it looks like we’re underway-

 

As the men charge from their cells, CIA looks up, getting an eyeful of Craven’s forearm just before it slams into his face, clotheslining CIA to the ground! Craven runs through the blow, slowing after he makes contact, but Ejiro jumps onto his back from behind, grabbing him around the neck, trying to drag him down to the cold cement floor, but Craven grabs him around the head, and dropping to a knee, throws him over his shoulder. The countering snapmare plants Ejiro on his back and he cries in pain, clutching the back as he slowly gets onto his feet. Craven waits for Ejiro to get up, but before he can, a mostly-recovered CIA throws a knee into Craven’s back. Michael throws his head back, crying in pain as CIA wraps his good arm around Craven’s neck and drops back, dropping Mike onto the ground with a reverse DDT!

 

Stevens: Painful reverse DDT from CIA!!! Craven’s gotta have had the wind knocked out of him by that!!!

 

CIA gets up from the DDT, getting to his feet just as Ejiro Fasaki brings his leg up, directly kicking CIA’s bad arm. The Canuck cries in pain, clutching it as he turns the arm away from Ejiro, trying to shield it, but sadly, it does no use as Ejiro follows. Another kick, and CIA drops to his knees, trying depserately to keep his arm from becoming a weakness. Ejiro grabs hold of CIA, pulling him up onto his feet before kicking him in the gut. CIA doubles over momentarily, just enough time for Ejiro to grasp CIA in a front headlock. He stomps the mat before he pulls CIA backwards sharply, lifting him up and back with a Chris Benoit-like snap suplex!! A small thud is made as CIA hits the ground on his back, but both he and Fasaki are quick to get back to their feet.

 

Riley: I really don’t get the point of this match: how is this supposed to be of any use to anyone in the world?

 

Stevens: It’s supposed to be a fun and exciting match, Bobby.

 

Riley: Bah! Fun and excitement is watching people bleed and break bones, not this crap!

 

As they get up, CIA’s chest is impacted with the right palm of one Ejiro Fasaki, and as CIA stands there with a stunned look on his face, Ejiro hooks the bad arm of CIA and falls to the ground. CIA lets a cry of shock out as he is pulled down with a quick arm drag, and upon hitting the ground, Ejiro gets onto one knee, still grabbing that one arm of CIA. He wraps his arms around CIA's bad arm, locking the elbow straight out while applying pressure and a hold in the form of a basic armbar!

 

Riley: And he slaps on an armbar. Who does he think he is, Danny Williams?

 

CIA’s eyelids shut, his teeth clenching as he tries to fight through the hold. With his free arm, he plants it on the ground and pushes upwards, forcing himself up against Ejiro’s wishes. Ejiro attempts to send him back down with a twist of the locked arm, and though CIA drops to a knee for a sec, it is not enough to keep him down. As soon as he gets to his feet, CIA looks down, and jumping into the air, thrusts his legs out, nailing Ejiro on top of the knee with a crude dropkick! Ejiro releases the arm, falling onto back as he loses his balance, but he and CIA abroptly get up, face-to-face. As they do, though, CIA grabs through Ejiro's legs and picks him up before he slams him down on his back!

 

Stevens: Bodyslam from CIA!!!

 

Riley: I’m gonna go talk to these Riley fans behind me. Let me know when something actually worth watching happens.

 

Stevens: Riley fans?

 

Cut back to the arena for a second, where several obviously gay dudes stand, wearing tight “We Love Bobby Riley” T-shirts and tight leather pants. Now that’s just not right to wear in public.

 

The T-shirts, I mean.

 

Riley Fan #1(with lisp): We, like, soooo totally love Bobby!!!

 

Riley Fan #2(also with lisp): Yeah! We came to hear his redecorating tips!

 

Stevens: Bobby... your fans are gay.

 

Riley: Please, enough with the childish insults. You should know better than to call someone’s fans gay because you are jealous of the fact they actually have fans and you don’t... right?

 

Stevens: No, I mean it. They’re actually gay.

 

Riley: Now, Mark, can we grow up and stop with the name calling game, thank you?

 

As CIA’s shadow casts itself over Ejiro’s body, a second shadow casts itself over Ejiro’s body and CIA, a much bigger shadow. It’s quite obvious who it is, and as CIA is grabbed and spun around, then waistlocked, Michael Craven’s angry face is finally seen. Craven lifts CIA straight up, then falls back and releases the lock, throwing CIA into the air before he drops on his back! A loud “Thud!” echoes through the abandoned prison cell block as CIA’s body slaps against the cold, hard ground, clutching his back as Craven sits up, clutching the back of his head, which is still throbbing in pain from that earlier reverse DDT. Determined to destroy the Carnie first, then destroy Ejiro for fun, Craven gets to his feet, looking over at the wobbly CIA. The super-secret Canadian spy gets to his feet staggering backwards at first. As he turns around to face Craven, though, the Nightmare fires off a quick jab, then another, then another into CIA’s face, stopping the Carnie dead in his tracks. Craven then swings again, connecting with a fist to CIA’s jaw. CIA, however, retaliates with a right hand of his own. They start to exchange blows, answering each right hook with a right hook of their own. The two are neck and neck, neither man able to really gain an advantage at this point.

 

Stevens: CIA and Craven exchanging blows after a hellacious belly-to-belly from Craven! Neither man is giving up their ground here!!!

 

In the midst of this, however, the sly, sneaky Ejiro Fasaki crawls away from the men, slithering across the ground like a snake as he sneaks off to figure a way out of this place.

 

Riley: So, where are my loyal fans converging after the show?

 

Riley Fan #1: Oh, we’re just going to a club called “The Rainbow” downtown. It’s super!!!

 

Riley: Hmmmm... sounds fun.

 

Craven, though, suddenly takes a smarter strategy, realizing CIA will never stop hitting him as long as he takes it and keeps dishing it out. He ducks his next swing, and grabbing him around the waist, lifts him into the air, beginning to crush CIA with a huge bearhug! He clamps down on CIA’s ribs, attempting to force all the air out while breaking every bone and tearing every muscle in CIA’s rib cage.

 

Stevens: BEARHUG FROM CRAVEN!!!

 

As Craven continues to hold CIA in the air, the Canuck, screaming in pain, he brings his arms up over his head. He then brings them out to his side and swings inward, clapping both sides of Craven’s head with a huge bell clap!

 

Riley: Come on, that’s illegal!

 

Stevens: Bobby, how can you say that? It’s perfectly legal!

 

Riley Fan #2: The Wise One speaks great words, Marky Mark.

 

Riley Fan #1: That is sooo illegal. The masked guy should be disqualified!

 

Stevens: Great... now I’ve got Bobby Riley and his two BUTT buddies...

 

Craven drops CIA, grabbing his head, which now hurts a lot more, at least for now. Noting that Craven is, at least for now, stunned, C.I.A. stops clutching his ribs for a second, and after he recovers, does a bit of silly dancing, pulling out such classics as “The Lawnmower” and “The Running Man”, before he tips his arm and head back, as if guzzling an imaginary bottle of beer. Finally, as Craven staggers forward, CIA swings his elbow down on the forehead of Craven with a bionic elbow! Craven drops to the ground clutching his head, and CIA figures now would be a good time to just get the hell out of there before Craven has a chance to retaliate.

 

Riley: Coward!!! Come back and fight like the pathetic weakling you are!

 

Craven growls with anger as he sits, up, head whipping from side to side, looking for CIA. When he can’t find him, he gets to his feet, very much aggrivated, and checking the points of exit, runs down one of the corridors, letting out a cry of anger.

 

Stevens: Michael Craven VERY unhappy he let CIA get away! I wouldn’t want to be a certain Carnie and run into Craven right now!!!

 

Riley: Who’s that? “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens?

 

Riley Fan #1: Good one, sir-

 

Stevens: Shut up!

 

Another camera catches a hallway, very much unlit and run-down. The paint is peeling off the walls, the windows broken and shattered, pipes dripping water... it looks like a run-down inner city apartment building.

 

Riley: Hmmmm... this place needs some window treatments, and a fresh coat of pink paint-

 

Stevens: Bobby, it’s Alcatraz. It’s not supposed to look foofy!

 

Riley: Well, if they expect company, the least they could do is clean up!! It’s only polite, you know.

 

Cameraman: There!

 

The camera pans over to the sounds of shifting feet, and from that direction comes Ejiro Fasaki, who triumphantly lifts his fists into the air, but as he makes his way into the room, has one thing to say:

 

Ejiro: ...Where am I?

 

Ejiro looks around in confusion, noticing a door marked “EXIT”. Ejiro beams happily, and going to grab the door handle, turns it...

 

 

 

But it doesn’t move. He turns it again, but nothing happens. This time, he jiggles it, but still, nothing happens for him. His jiggles and movements become more violent as he growls in anger.

 

Stevens: Ejiro having a small problem with an exit door-

 

Ejiro: Stupid... door... why... won’t... you... OPEN!!!

 

Ejiro plants a kick in the door, but it doens’t budge. Another, then another, then another kick, but no luck. He backs up, then charges forward, throwing his shoulder into the door with a violent “THUD!”, collapsing back onto the ground and waiting for a reaction...

 

 

...

 

 

“Click!”

 

Ejiro: Aha!

 

Fasaki gets up off the ground, brushing himself off as he grins happily. He grabs hold of the door handle, and turning it, throws the door open.

 

Ejiro: And now, to victory-y-y-y-y-YAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

 

Ejiro looks down and realizes...

 

 

There’s nothing behind the door but a sheer 30 foot drop off a cliff!!! The staircase has collapsed to the ground and is no longer accessible. Ejiro immediately turns around, slamming the door shut behind him, breathing heavily, his eyes showing pure terror.

 

Stevens: OH MY GOD!!! Ejiro nearly plunged to his death!!!

 

Riley: Now why couldn’t that be CIA?

 

Speaking of CIA, he has wandered off, walking the long, haunting corridors of Alcatraz. Each sound causes him to jerk his head in the direction of it’s source, fearful it might be someone trying to jump him. His head suddenly picks up the sound of a door slamming, and a large cry of anger, not too far away. Figuring this is a very angry Craven, CIA looks around and ducks into the first door he can find, shutting it behind him. Observing his surroundings, he notes he is in the Alcatraz library, probably because of the large number of old, dusty bookshelves in the room. And then...

 

 

Footsteps. CIA hears footsteps coming down the hall. Hr looks around: no... no, that won’t do... aha! He spots a fire extinguisher on the wall, and running over to it, pulls it off the wall, clutching with both hands as he slides back to the door, his back firmly prsssed against the wall, eyes watching the door. And then, the door flies open, the angered Craven rushing into the room as if he werre the Nemesis from Resident Evil III. Craven steps into the room, allowing CIA to sneak up behind Craven as he lifts the extinguisher over his head, and...

 

 

“BONK!” Slams it into the back of Craven’s head! The Nightmare falls to the ground, grabbing his head in pain as CIA drops the now-dented fire extinguisher and grabs Craven, pulling him to his feet.

 

Stevens: CIA using the environment to his advantage early on in this match-what are you doing???

 

Riley: My fans have joined me at ringside to call the match! There’s no rule against that!

 

Riley Fan #1: Oh my God!!! I’m sitting next to Bobby!!! I think I might cream myself in joy!!!

 

Riley: Ummm... ewwww... that’s not something one guy should say to another.

 

Stevens: Agreed...

 

As CIA pulls Craven to his feet, he grabs his arm, and with a quick tug, whips Craven out of the room. Craven flies across the room, slamming into the metal bars of a cell door! “THUNK!” Craven hits them hard and cries out in pain, slowly sliding down the door as CIA runs for it! As CIA runs down one of the long corridors, he makes a right...

 

 

A right that sends him smack dab into Ejiro! Thw two men collapse to the ground, but as they get up, words are exchanged, and then, Ejiro lands a punch into CIA’s face! CIA retaliates with a punch using his good arm, and before long, the two men are brawling, fighting through a large door and into an expansive hall with chairs and tables. The tables look old and weak while some of the chairs can barely stand on all four legs.

 

Riley: Where are they now?

 

Stevens: Looks like some sort of dining hall!!!

 

Riley Fan #1: Such tacky dining ware...

 

As the two fight in the dining hall, Craven staggers through the door and joins them, charging at the two men. He leaps into the air when he gets close enough, thrusting his legs out as he dropkicks both Ejiro and CIA with a missile dropkick! All three men go down to the ground, Ejiro being the first to get to his feet. Craven follows up as Ejiro tries to knock Craven down with kicks to the head, but Craven powers through it, delivering three rapid punches into Ejiro’s gut, then an uppercut that knocks Ejiro back onto a table!

 

Stevens: Craven’s determined to win this match!

 

Ejiro gets to his feet, fumbling and nearly falling over after the punches. Craven though, chuckles at the cute sight of Ejiro attempting to get up, and drawing his arm back, lunges it forward, clasping it around Ejiro’s throat while he is in mid-stride. Craven then lifts Ejiro off his feet, holding him in the air for a second before he slams him into a table with a powerful chokeslam... ALL WITH ONLY ONE ARM!

 

“CRUNCH!” The table breaks in two as Ejiro is slammed through it!

 

Riley: Woo-hoo!!! Hardcore violence!

 

Done toying with Ejiro, and with a new plan in mind, Craven grasbs Ejiro, pulling him up by one arm, and with a tug as he gets to his feet, whips him into a door. The door flies open and Ejiro staggers out into where ever it leads, collapsing to the ground as he does. Craven smirks, the crowd in the arena booing, but as Craven turns to leave...

 

 

“CRACK!” A wooden chair splinters across Craven’s back! Michael drops to his knees, cluthcing his back, tears swelling in his eyes from the pain as he cries out while CIA drops the remnants of the wooden chair and decides now is the time to leave, the Canuck on the run again as Craven remains on his knes, still in shock from the blow.

 

Stevens: What a blow from CIA!!! Craven’s gonna feel that one in the morning!!!

 

Riley: This match sure has turned into a clutserfuck of it’s own.

 

Riley Fan #1: Did you see that guy’s hair style? Positively revolting!

 

Riley Fan #2: And just look at that mask!!! The maple leaf print!!! How disgusting!!!

 

Riley: This isn’t “Comment On CIA’s Style” time!! You guys are supposed to be commentating on the match, not the clothes! What are you... gay fashion freaks?

 

Riley Fan #1: Well, we have been called that name in the past...

 

Stevens: Bobby, they have to go.

 

Riley: NO! You can’t send my fans away!!! They’re mine!!! Mine, I tell you! Mine!!!

 

The camera follows CIA as he runs down the stairs, into the basement, brrathing heavily. Stopping for no one, he runs down the hall, opening the first door he sees. Stepping into the room, he sees a ladder leading down a shaft to somewhere below. A sign is placed above the ladder, reading “POWERHOUSE MAINTENANCE TUNNEL ACCESS” with an arrow pointing down below. CIA looks up, reads the sign, and nods slowly moving over to the ladder and climbing down it, rung by rung, until he disappears from view.

 

Stevens: And there goes CIA down the ladder!

 

Riley: Thank you for that, Captain Obvious. Like we couldn’t see that ourselves...

 

Back to the halls of Alcatraz. Michael Craven is walking down one hall, towards the front entrance. He doesn’t care about CIA anymore, just winning. His pace is quite fast, and as he passes through door after door, he slams them behind him, forcing the camera man following him to re-open them himself and catch up to Craven.

 

Riley: You know, Mark, you should take time out of your day to spend with your fans, like I do.

 

Riley Fan #1: Ooooo, I love those pants! Are they Ralph Lauren?

 

Riley: Yep.

 

Riley Fan #2: So stylish... I can see myself in those pants, if you know what I mean...

 

Riley: Heh... you know... that was a disturbingly gay comment... can we not do that anymore? Thanks.

 

Meanwhile, Ejiro has awakened in a large, walled-in yard, correctly named the Exercise Yard. He gets to his feet slowly and looks around at his surroundings, seeing the large walls, realizing there’s no way out...

 

 

...Or is there? Looking up, he notices there’s a chunk of wall missing from the top of one of the walls, and a brick sticks out, able to be used as a climbing grip. Ejiro smiles and his eyes widen, a happy expression spreading across his face as he stumbles over towards that wall.

 

Stevens: Looks like Ejiro might have found himself a little short-cut...

 

He grabs onto the brick, using it to pull himself up to the hole in the top of the wall. He grabs hold of the bottom of the hole and pulls himself up to the top of the wall, where he realizes that the wall overlooks a drop of about 10 feet.

 

Riley: ...But you look to be mistaken once again, oh stupid one.

 

Riley Fan #2: Yeah, Mr. President of Idiotcy, you’re mistaken.

 

Riley: Ummm... how about no. Only I get to rip on Mark. You two just shut up and praise me.

 

Ejiro gulps loudly, but notes that there’s a tree about three feet from him. If he can make the jump and grab hold of the tree, he should be able to slide down and reach the ground safely.

 

Riley: Don’t do it!!! It’s not worth it!!! Think about Flesher! And Frost!!! How will they live without you?

 

He takes a big breath, then leaps across...

 

Stevens: Oh my God!!!

 

Riley: WHOA!!!

 

 

 

 

...Grabbing hold of the tree trunk for dear life! His legs also wrap around the trunk, and slowly, he begins to slide himself down the tree trunk, trembling in fear. As he slowly lowers himself down, the camera pans over upon hearing a large slam, and focusing in on a figure in the distance, picks up Michael Craven, who is making his way now down the switchbacks that lead down the hill from the prison to the dock. The picture, though, is not that good, as the fog is starting to roll in.

 

Stevens: Fog starting to roll in off the bay...

 

Riley: This late in the day? Seems a little odd, don’t you think?

 

Ejiro stops his descent as Craven comes by, not wanting to have to face the angry Nightmare at this point. Craven continues to walk down the switchbacks, but stops as he comes to the tree Ejiro is holding on to. He desperately looks around, but can’t see anything through the incoming fog.

 

Craven: Dammit, I can’t see a thing!! Stupd fog!

 

Craven kicks a tree in his anger, the same one Ejiro is in, before he calms himself down and continues on down the switchbacks to the dock. The tree, though, sways back and forth, throwing Ejiro off balance as he holds on. However, his grip slips, and Ejiro falls out of the tree, headed down towards a dumpster that is used to hold garbage from the tourists.

 

Ejiro: Yaaaaaahhhhh!!!!

 

“THUD!” Ejiro lands in the dumpster. Some garbage flies out of it, but it mainly stays inside with Ejiro. And if things couldn’t get worse...

 

 

“SLAM!” The dumpster lid slams shut on Ejiro, thanks to the force of his fall. He is now stuck inside the dumpster, unable to really do anything else at this point.

 

Stevens: Fasaki is trapped in that dumpster!!! And now he can’t get out! How will this affect our match?

 

Back to CIA, who now stands in front of his next peril. He is nside of the powerhouse, but the only way out is through a duct used for the boiler. Flames shoot across it at different times as the entire mechanism continues to run. The Canuck watches the timing on the flames, and once he’s got it down, ducks down. Lying on his side, he rolls into the duct, and in a scene out of “The Rock” CIA rolls through, stops, then rolls again and stops, then rolls through without a burn on his body!!! As he gets up on the other side and brushes himself off...

 

 

CIA walks through the door above the duct, and looking down, spots the other CIA!

 

CIA: Who are you?

 

Guy: Ummmm... I’m your stuntman...

 

CIA: Stuntman?

 

The two men turn to look at each other, then turn back, and simultaneously shrug their shoulders. Then, the real CIA makes his way down the stairs and into another room, where he spots a door with a sign marked “EXIT”, He makes his way to the door and opens it, leaving the powerhouse and stepping on terra firma again. Inspecting his surroundings, he notes an old sign, reading “DOCKS” with an arrow pointing to the left. CIA breathes a sigh of relief, knowing he’s almost there

 

Stevens: CIA is almost to the docks-wait a minute!

 

Cut to the docks just as Michael Craven arrives there, joyously and merrily celebrating as he makes his way to the boat. He hops in to it, turning towards the outboard motor. Grabbing the starter cord, he pulls back. The first time, it doesn’t fire, but the second time, it does, and with a loud roaring sound, Craven smiles happily. Looking out into the bay, he can barely spot the referee, who sits on his tiny little raft, dressed in a poncho and yellow rubber fisherman’s hat, listening to “Willie Nelson’s Greatest Hits” while he waits for someone to arrive. The boat is already pointed towards the raft, so all Mike has to do is ride it out to the ref. He unties the ropes fastening it to the dock and pushes off, turning to place one foot on the bow of the boat as he triumphantly laughs.

 

Craven: I’ve won!!! Hahaha!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! AHAHAHAHA-

 

“PUTT-PUTT-PUTTTTTTTT-sppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrtttttttttttt...”

 

The boat’s motor dies on Mike. He looks at his surroundings and realizes he’s only gone about three or four feet from the dock.

 

Craven: Well, this is an interesting predicament...

 

Stevens: The boat motor just died on Craven! He’s gotta get it re-started!!!

 

Craven turns himself around, grabbing the starter cord, but as he pulls back this time, he hears something...

 

Voice: AHHHHHHHH!!!!

 

And through the fog leaps CIA, wielding an aluminum trash can he found on the way here. CIA flies through the air, headed at Craven

 

Riley: That’s not fair!!! He can’t do that!!! Aluminum trash cnas are an illegal weapon!!!!

 

Stevens: Whose stupid rule is that? Your fans’ rule?

 

Riley Fan #1: I resent that comment, sir-

 

Stevens: Get out of here. NOW.

 

CRUNCH! The can crushes into Craven’s skull as CIA leaps into the boat, pulling the cord back. As he falls, though, he releases it, and it flies back into the motor, the motor restarting with a vengeance as the boat takes off. Five, ten, twenty, thirty feet... there they go by the ref, and they keep going, farther and farther out into the bay before the boat stalls out again. As soon as it does, they pick up fighting, though all we hear are voices:

 

 

Voices: Agghhh... no... don’t do that-AAAAAHHHH!!! OUCHIES!!! That hurt! Why you little-”CLANK!” AAAHHH! “CLANK!”

 

And then, silence. Then the boat restarts, and by the sound, is headed back towards the ref. As it pierces the fog, tough, it is not Michael Craven on top...

 

Stevens: CIA!!! CIA is gonna win!!!

 

CIA stands on top of Craven, pinning him down with a boot on the chest. His good arm is raised in the air as he nears the ref, Craven wiggling underneath CIA. As he wiggles, though, he frees an arm, and with great force, drives a hard closed fist into CIA’s groin!

 

Riley: What a low blow!!!

 

CIA grabs his groin in pain, but Craven grabs CIA’s ankle, tripping him up. CIA falls back, his bad arm slamming onto the motor casing, causing him to scream in pain as he grabs it. Craven slowly gets to his feet as the boat nudges into the raft, and crawling forward, crawls over the edge of the boat. The ref puts his headset down while Craven falls into the boat, landing on his back before he tries to get up onto his feet. The ref clutches Craven’s wrist as he gets up and lifts it into the air.

 

Ref: The winner of this match... Michael Craven!

 

The crowd in the arena boos loudly while Craven celebrates on the tiny raft, dropping to his knees as he lifts his arms into the air, but as he drops to his knees, he grabs his back and cries out in pain, falling forward. Perhaps CIA’s shot to the back with the chair did more damage than we thought, but Craven laughs in between the throbs of pain as he lies on his back.

 

Riley: Hey, whatever happened to Ejiro?

 

Back on the island, a very smelly Ejiro Fasaki is stuck inside the dumpster still, and he is pounding on it, hoping to get someone’s attention.

 

Ejiro: Someone help me!!! I am stuck in this dumpster!!! ...Hello? Anyone there? ...Anyone?

 

Ejiro remains in the dumpster as we fade off into commercial before the main event...

[Guest Grand Slam]

The shot fades in on the legendary Golden Gate Bridge. A cabin cruiser passes under the suspension bridge as lights up and down its wires twinkle in the still night. A voice is heard warbling horribly off key, “I left myyyyyy hearrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt in San…Fran…ciscooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

 

“It’s hard to believe Tony Bennet isn’t dead, but that just might kill him,” chime the mocking tones of a familiar voice.

 

“Just because your parents forced you to be in little league and not glee club is no reason to belittle my God-given talents,” Bobby Riley retorts as the scene fades in to find him and Mark Stevens at their usual ringside seats.

 

Stevens sighs, knowing full well that Bobby will believe whatever he wants. “If the caterwauling of my colleague wasn’t indication enough for those of you who are tuning in late, SWF Storm is coming to you live this week from the Cow Palace in San Francisco.”

 

“And I haven’t seen one cow all night,” puts Riley as though he thinks there is some conspiracy.

 

“But we HAVE seen some thrilling action,” Mark adds, trying to get the show back on track, “including a US title match for the ages between Mak Francis and Danny Williams, what might very well be the last match of the under appreciated Xero’s career, and a crazed Escape From Alcatraz match between Ejiro, CIA and Michael Craven. Bobby, the likes of that one we may never see again.”

 

“Because we’ll never be stupid enough to try something like that again… although I highly doubt that.” Riley shakes his head shamefully. “We said the same thing after Stash the Ash, remember?”

 

“To cap it all off,” Mark continues as he completely ignores his colleague, “we have a tag team showdown between the Midnight Carnival and the Magnificent 7. Although the tag titles will not be on the line, SWF Tag Team Champions Frost and Tom Flesher will be taking on the speedy and wily combo of El Luchadore Magnifico and Annie Eclectic.”

 

“Man, that’s not even the gravy on the mashed potatoes. Clusterfuck winner and the number one contender to the SWF Heavyweight Title, Taylor Nicholas Thompson, will be serving as special guest referee.” Riley grins with relish at the thought.

 

“Thompson’s connections to the four participants are long and winding. While Eclectic is a member of the Midnight Carnival now, she was with the Magnificent 7 back when TNT was also a member. Of course, so was Frost; as we all know, he and Thompson were one of the most dominant tag teams the SWF had seen in quite some time, under the moniker of Chilly Chilly Bang Bang.”

 

“That was until Flesher and Frost picked up the mantel as champions,” Riley chips in.

 

Mark picks back up. “Tom Flesher, as the leader of the Magnificent 7, refused Taylor reentry to the stable upon his return to active duty. Not a lot has occurred between them since, but you can lay even money on the Superior One not being fond of a wrestler he rejected having a big chance at the upcoming pay-per-view after he failed in winning the World Title.”

 

Riley scoffs. “I’ve seen ELM get his ass handed to him by third graders, but this is one time I’ll give the nod to Magnifico. There is no way Thompson wins the title before Flesher does.”

 

“What was ELM doing around third graders?” asks Stevens with an eyebrow cocked in the air.

 

“He relates well to them. He can look them in the eye and they have about the same IQ and all,” says Riley with a shrug.

 

“And what were you doing around third graders?”

 

Bobby purses his lips and starts sweating as he fumbles for an answer. “Uh…er…let’s go up to Funyon for introductions.”

 

“OY! OY! OY!”

 

Boos fire up in reaction to the all-time great AC/DC’s “TNT” and the red and orange strobe lights that beam down on the stage curtain.

 

“Now entering the arena,” Funyon booms “as special guest referee for our main event. He is the number one contender for the SWF World Heavyweight Title. The Explosive One… TAYLOR… NICHOLAS… THOMP…SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!”

 

The hulking figure of TNT emerges from the backstage curtain and encourages the fans to boo and hiss even louder. Thompson pays them no heed as he strides down the ramp, looking positively cramped in his tight black and white striped ref’s shirt.

 

Stevens speaks. “After a brief sabbatical where it was rumored he was surfing in Australia, Thompson pulled off what many termed a major upset by winning the Clusterfuck.”

 

“Over the odds on favorite, his old partner Frost,” Riley mentions to stir the pot. “Plus, Annie Eclectic was this close,” Bobby holds up his index finger and thumb nearly touching, “to winning the ‘Fuck herself until Thompson tossed her out.”

 

Taylor slides under the bottom rope and glides to his feet in the ring. He backs toward Funyon in the center of the ring with his eyes glued to the backstage curtain waiting for his charges in the coming match.

 

“MIDNIGHT CARNIVAL.”

 

A soft feminine voice coos as the lights go dark. The fans clap along with the opening beats of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ cover of “Love Rollercoaster.” Three blue laser lights zip across the auditorium from out of nowhere. The lasers scamper around before focusing on the entrance curtain and fanning out into a hazy blue sheet of light. Two small, yet proud figures emerge from behind the curtain. The blue lasers dance about wildly once more as purple strobes shine down to catch the heart and soul of the Midnight Carnival.

 

“You know, it’s entrances like this one that make all those kids have seizures,” Riley grumbles.

 

“Entering first,” Funyon starts “at a combined weight of 368 pounds… They represent the Midnight Carnival. Number one Contender to the SWF Hardcore Title ANNIE ECLECTIC and the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION EL LUCHADORE MAGNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The houselights spark back up to catch the beloved faces trotting down the steel ramp waving and smiling at the roaring crowd. They vault to the ring apron in unison and take the top rope with both hands to flip over the strands into the squared circle. Annie and Magnifico look at Thompson, who only briefly returns their gaze before returning his eyes to the entrance stage.

 

“And their opponents…”

 

“HERE WE ARE…BORN TO BE KINGS…PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE!”

 

Pulsing, multicolored lights shine down on the entrance curtain in time to the opening beats of the Queen song. Red and blue pyro spray from the back of the entrance stage and trace a path around the area and down the ramp to the ring.

 

“Making their way to the ring for this non-title bout,” Funyon announces, “the SWF Tag Team Champions. Tipping the scales at a combined 509 pounds and representing the Magnificent 7. The SWF ICTV Champion… FRRRROOOSSSST! And THE SUPERIOR ONE… TOM… FLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

 

Flesher bursts out from behind the stage curtain with a wide grin on his face. High above his head in each hands he holds a crispy taco piled with all the toppings.

 

Funyon shuffles his index cards. “Tom Flesher would like it to be known that he eats this Frost Brand Taco in honor of El Luchadore Magnifico. In addition, Tom will be eating something different later tonight in honor of Annie Eclectic. Interested ladies should see the Superior One after the show.”

 

“Being we’re in San Francisco, I’m not sure how man interested LADIES he might get,” muses Stevens. Riley merely sighs dreamily.

 

Flesher takes a big bite out of the taco as he walks down the ramp. Frost steps out from behind the curtain shaking his head. He surveys the jeering throng with a deep draw on the cigar between his lips and follows his partner to the ring.

 

“With shenanigans like that, Frost might feel like he’s teaming with TNT all over again,” Mark states.

 

“The old TNT,” Riley corrects. “Thompson has really found a way to focus himself upon his return and he’s all business in that ring now. That’s why we should see a fair and impartial refereeing job here tonight.”

 

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Mark tosses off gruffly.

 

The tag champs leave their titles at the timekeeper’s table and bound to the lower right ring corner. Flesher licks his fingers and motions for Frost to start off. Frost spikes his cigar to the outside floor mats and steps over the top rope to the ring proper. Thompson nods his head to Frost in recognition and the Icelandic giant returns the same. Magnifico can be seen raising his hands up to Annie and pushing her back to step through the cords to the apron. She points at Frost, insisting that she wants to start, but eventually she complies with the leader of her stable and allows him to have the honors.

 

DING DING DING

 

“Frost and El Luchadore Magnifico to start out. They circle each other looking for an opening,” Stevens calls.

 

“You should probably mention that Frost notched a non-title win over Magnifico from a few months ago,” Riley reminds his partner.

 

“One he gained through the interference of Sacred.”

 

“Doesn’t say that in the books. A win’s a win.”

 

ELM bobs and weaves, trying a single leg takedown here, attempting a quick rabbit punch there. Frost smacks him away with sharp reflexes, but lacks the speed to collar the lightening fast grappler. Finally, Magnifico feints to his left. When the Icelander moves that way, ELM baseball slides under his legs and pops up behind the surprised big man. Frost balls up his fist and extends his right arm. He pivots around on his axis, but the World Champ deftly ducks the swing and drives a shoulder into Frost’s midsection.

 

“Magnifico dodges the spinning back fist and tries to drive Frost to the far corner,” Stevens says with a hint of hope in his voice.

 

ELM fires two more shoulders into Frost’s gut, but he takes only a slight step back. He brings a clubbing forearm down across his opponent’s back and ELM drops hard to the mat.

 

“Abs of steel!” Riley chortles. “Billy Blanks should have it so good.”

 

ELM clings to Frost’s leg and tries to shake the cobwebs loose. Frost brings Magnifico up with a hand in his stringy hair. Frost hears a deep “Hey!” from his corner and looks to see Flesher with his hand out to request the tag.

 

“Standard Flesher strategy in the works here,” Stevens grouses. “Let someone else do the dirty work, then come in and take advantage.”

 

“Isn’t it ingenious?” Riley applauds.

 

Thompson barks at Flesher to put his free hand on the tag rope. Tom gives TNT a shifty look, but complies. Frost takes ELM by his left wrist and whips him into the lower right corner. The World Champion turns to strike the turnbuckles back first and slumps down. Frost charges with a shoulder block. Flesher hooks a finger into a belt loop on the World Champion’s pants to keep him in place. Frost crunches the much smaller man in the corner and he crumbles to a seated position. Frost slaps hands with Tom, who holds up the tag rope facetiously in the air to show Taylor they’ve made a legal tag.

 

“I don’t think TNT saw the subtle holding of ELM in the corner.” Stevens is willing to give the guest ref the benefit of the doubt.

 

“Of course, he didn’t. TNT would never favor the Magnificent 7, never ever, not in any way,” Bobby says in a mocking tone.

 

Flesher steps through the ropes and bends over to pick ELM up by the sides of his head. TNT points to the center of the ring and tells Tom to move him out of the corner. Flesher turns ELM around to face the corner and ducks his head under his armpit while grabbing a waistlock. He hoists Magnifico up and staggers back with him before falling rearward and driving his head with a meaty thump into the canvas.

 

“BACKDROP DRIVER! AN EARLY COVER!” Mark shouts.

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

“Kick out.” Grand Slam sighs with relief. “A little too early to be going for the finish.”

 

“A little too early to be going for the fast count.” Bobby mutters almost unintelligibly under his breath.

 

Flesher stands and holds up two fingers to TNT with a smile plastered on his face. Thompson holds up a pair of fingers to signify that it was indeed only a two. Tom fires down two stiff stomps into ELM’s gut and his body tremors from the blows. Flesher holds up two fingers and slightly shakes his head ‘no.’ Thompson shoots out a pair of fingers again, this time a bit more annoyed. Flesher boots ELM twice more in response.

 

“This is just ridiculous.” Stevens bemoans. “Flesher is toying with Thompson and obviously doesn’t take him seriously as an official, even though he’s the legal referee in this contest.”

 

Annie claps her hands in the corner to fire up the crowd. They start clapping themselves and the Superior One points at himself, acting as if the ovation is for him. The camera picks him up mouthing the words ‘You’re too kind’ as he leans down to hook Magnifico around the midsection.

 

“Tom Flesher is playing with the fans now too as he looks to be setting up the Ego Buster.”

 

“Just face it, Stevens,” says Riley. “The crowd adores the Superior One wherever he goes.”

 

Flesher holds ELM out to the side and spins him upside down. The Luchadore rides the torque around to flip out of the move and lands on his feet in front of a surprised Flesher! Tom skips back on his right leg and fires out the left in a Yakuza kick. ELM uses his catlike reflexes to catch the boot and then uses the leg as a pivot to swing around and nail Tom in the face with a spinning heel kick! The fans pop while ELM takes the opportunity to scamper toward his corner!

 

“A little cocky there, Flesher gave his talented foe more than enough time to recover and bust out of the Ego Buster,” Mark declares with just a shade of Carnie pride.

 

Flesher rolls to his feet just in time to see ELM tagging Annie. The fans pop anew as she enters the ring and goes right for her former stable leader. She takes to the air and plows into Flesher with both feet to the mouth!

 

“DROPKISS!” Mark screams with delight.

 

Flesher flops to his back, but quickly makes his way up with a hand to his mouth. Annie runs to the far ropes and rushes off with added speed. She takes to the skies again and strikes Tom with a second Dropkiss! He strikes the mat and rolls with the blow, making it to the floor. He staggers around, off balance, as Annie heads to the ropes once more. TNT hollers at Flesher to get back in the ring and goes to start a ten-count, but is cut off by Eclectic diving to the mat and sailing under the bottom rope with a baseball slide! Flesher has just enough on the ball to sidestep the skating-by Hardcore Queen and heads back to the relative safety of the ring. Annie gains her bearings and follows, but not in time to cut off the tag to Frost!

 

“Great misdirection by Tom there,” Riley says, trying to save face for one of his favorites. “He gets Annie to chase him so he can make the tag.”

 

“And he had to make the tag due to Eclectic knocking him off balance as soon as she hit the ring. There’s nothing she’d like more than to score a pinfall over the man who had Danny Williams punk her out of the Mag 7.”

 

Frost throws out a stiff right hook as Annie makes her feet. She has more than enough speed to duck the brute’s blow and head for the far ropes. Frost turns slowly while Annie hits the cords and leaves her feet on a cross body. Frost catches her across his chest and takes a stutter step back from catching the flying weight. He juts out his right leg and hammers Eclectic across his knee with a backbreaker! The audience boos as Annie slides off the Velvet Hammer’s leg to the mat, arching her back.

 

“Annie has been fighting off nagging injuries to her lower back and ribs for months now,” Mark reminds the viewing audience.

 

“The tag champs know this,” Riley says nonchalantly. “These are two men who always do their homework and know where to strike an opponent.”

 

Frost looks at TNT, who is hunching over with his hands on his knees intently watching the action. Frost slightly chuckles and shakes his head at how the in ring personality of his former partner has changed. One can’t miss that he’s a little proud, though, especially thinking he might have had some positive influence on Thompson in that regard. Frost hoists Annie up by the shoulder and nails her in the spine with a series of forearms.

 

Stevens relates the action. “Frost uses those forearms to push Annie into the ropes… clothesline… NO!… Eclectic ducks and rushes for the far ropes! This didn’t work out well for her last time… and again, Frost spins to greet her.”

 

Annie is tripped up by a slight twinge in her back as she approaches Frost, who easily envelops his arms around her upper thighs. He flings her down with sheer power and the ring quakes from impact!

 

“WAAAAAAAAAAAH!” shouts Bobby with glee. “Standing spinebuster, good night Irene.”

 

Frost makes with a lateral press.

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

THR-

 

Annie barely gets her shoulder up and the audience gasps with relief. Thompson holds up two fingers and Frost obediently breaks the cover and pulls Annie up by her hair.

 

“It looks like Frost is giving his former tag team partner and stablemate a little more credence than Flesher is,” Mark points out.

 

“There’s no denying that there’s a little more chemistry and communication between those two,” Riley admits. “However, if TNT wants to rejoin the Magnificent 7, he’ll do the right thing by Flesher in the end.”

 

Frost wraps the helpless woman in a half nelson. He takes a couple plodding steps forward before jerking her off her feet and plowing her face first into the canvas! Frost sits on the mat near his corner and extends his arm to tag Tom Flesher. The crowd cascades down the loathing and Tom soaks it in with a wave and a smile.

 

“Half nelson bulldog by the Velvet Hammer and Tom Flesher returns after the Hardcore Queen has been significantly softened up by Frost,” says Mark with more than a hint of disdain.

 

“Rumor had it that Frost and Flesher were a bit at odds.” Riley tries to downplay the animosity that had been building between the two men. “Tagging as much as they have lately has seemed to really unite them, though.”

 

Flesher grips the top rope with both hands and stomps Annie in the lower back. TNT puts a hand on Flesher’s shoulder to back him off the ropes.

 

“Not to mention Flesher rabidly protecting his half of the tag team titles at any cost. After the World Title loss to ELM, his identity seems sewn to those straps,” Mark notes.

 

“That may have been the worst pun ever,” sighs Riley.

 

“No worse than the time you invited Flesher over for a barbeque and just asked him to bring the buns.”

 

“That’s a dirty lie and you know it,” spits Bobby. “I wanted him to bring the meat.”

 

With Annie splayed out on her stomach, Flesher struts around her and pretends that he doesn’t know what to do. He rears back his leg to kick her in the ribs… but stops short and shakes his head with a derisive expression on his face. He raises his arms up in the air, signaling a diving headbutt… but decides against that, too, shrugging at TNT as if he was asking for advice. The referee simply glares at Flesher and points at Annie, indicating that Tom would do well to do something if he wants to win the match and stay in the number-one contender’s good graces. Flesher simply rolls his eyes. He sits down onto Annie’s back with a plop, and as the Hardcore number-one contender cries out in pain, plainly raises an eyebrow at TNT.

 

“It’s like he’s trying to show TNT who’s boss,” says Stevens. “Probably not a very good idea, especially with TNT wearing the stripes.”

 

“Little-known fact,” interjects Riley. “Vertical stripes are slimming, which explains TNT’s choice this evening. He’s been hitting the twinkies pretty hard lately.”

 

Lazily, Flesher reaches down to Annie’s arms and lifts them up. He hooks them over his thighs, then wraps his hands under Annie’s chin. Sitting back, he pulls her back and neck out of joint with a classic camel clutch! The fans begin to boo as Flesher’s expression melts into a mask of sheer and utter disdain for his opponent. Looking over at Magnifico, who stands in the corner holding the tag rope, Flesher simply sneers and tries to suppress a snicker.

 

“Standard camel clutch,” says Stevens. “Interesting choice. We don’t see Flesher use this very often, but considering Annie Eclectic’s history of back and rib problems, it’s a sound strategy.”

 

“As opposed to Magnifico’s silly, pointless and unnecessary flip-floppery,” Riley chimes in. “It’s a wonder they call it ‘wrestling’ at all. Now a good, old-fashioned caballo like Flesher’s got on right now, THAT I can sink my teeth into.”

 

Flesher looks out at the crowd, cranking the camel clutch as Magnifico shouts encouragement at Annie to try to spur her into powering out of the hold. He leans all the way over the top rope, shouting at her to stand up, break the hold, anything but lay there and give up. Eventually, he starts stomping on the mat, and soon the entire crowd has joined in! The crowd chants along in rhythm, shouting “ANNIE! ANNIE!” to Magnifico’s stomping beat.

 

Annie hears the chants, looking around and trying to get her bearings. She attempts to push herself up, but with her arms hooked over Flesher’s legs, meets with little success. Instead, she tries to get her legs under her body and stand up. Again, Flesher merely has to sit back a little further, increasing the force he exerts on Annie’s neck, in order to stop her short. Annie strains, trying to break the hold, and finally resigns herself to reaching out toward the ropes. She frees one arm, reaching as far as she can but coming up just a few inches short of the bottom strand. Flesher smirks, watching her strain, flail and just barely miss the ropes. In his moment of relaxation, though, he loosens the hold just a shade… which gives Annie just barely enough extra space to hit the bottom rope and wrap her hand around it! TNT gives Flesher a stern look and counts out an even ONE… TWO… THREE… FOUR! before finally ushering Flesher back off of his adversary. As a concerned Magnifico looks on from the corner, Flesher nudges Annie in the ribs with his boot, then swaggers back over to his corner.

 

“For some reason, Flesher actually seems proud of that tactical error,” says Stevens. “He can’t blame anything but sheer laziness for Annie being able to break his camel clutch, and yet he’s strutting like he has something to be proud of!”

 

“Of course he is,” retorts Riley. “Even if he didn’t get the submission, he wore Annie’s back out like a cheap pair of heels.”

 

“Is that something you know from experience, Bobby?”

 

“Oh, come on, like you DON’T spend Thursday nights in drag with the guys.”

 

Stevens coughs, then says nothing, leading to fifteen seconds of dead air.

 

“Dumbass,” sighs Riley.

 

Flesher stops in front of the corner and grins at Frost. He points to Annie, indicating that he wants Frost to go in and take care of business. Frost nods, clasping his hands together at the prospect of putting Annie Eclectic out of the sport once and for all. He begins to step into the ring, but Taylor Thompson glares at him. Frost dutifully grabs the tag rope and extends his hand, which Flesher slaps. The men then switch sides, and Frost re-enters the ring.

 

He grabs Annie by her hair and lifts her to her feet. Annie tries to retaliate by throwing a stiff right hand, but in her gelatinous state, her blows are no match for Frost’s meaty frame. The Icelander absorbs the blow, sneering at the total lack of power behind it, and then shoves Annie firmly into the Magnificent Seven’s corner. The fans, already knowing what’s about to happen, begin to boo furiously.

 

“Oh,” groans Stevens, “nothing good can come of this!”

 

“Sure it can,” says Riley. “Flesher’s about to choke Annie with his rope! That’ll show HER!”

 

Sure enough, as soon as Annie slams back-first into the turnbuckle, Flesher has the tag rope lifted up. Frost, knowing his part in the routine, walks over to Magnifico and, in a simple, businesslike manner, piefaces him with a stiff right hand! Mags falls backwards, but regains his footing very quickly as Flesher wraps the tag rope around Annie’s throat! Magnifico leaps into the ring, pointing and shouting, but Frost pushes him back into the ropes! Stevens shouts, “What a bully!” as Magnifico does his best to ignore the harassment. He shouts that Flesher is choking Annie, but TNT orders him back to his corner! Frost, smirking, turns and starts a full-force charge into the corner. Annie’s eyes bulge out as she sees the Siberian Express roaring toward her. She tries to lift a leg to kick him away, but in her weakened state and with Flesher choking the life out of her, she just can’t. Frost slams into her with a loud smacking sound, and Annie nearly crumbles to the mat. Flesher holds her up, though, and quickly resumes the tag-rope choking.

 

Across the ring, Magnifico finally cedes to Thompson’s demands to return to the corner and sulks back out of the ring. As TNT turns around, Flesher panics and tries to cover the obvious choking. He looks up at Frost, who just nonchalantly throws his giant hands around Annie’s neck and begins choking her in the more conventional manner. Taylor Thompson stomps across the ring, seeing Frost’s blatant chokehold and shouting for him to break it. Frost pretends to ignore the official, continuing to flagrantly choke the already-limp Annie E. TNT counts out the standard ONE… TWO… THREE… FOUR! When Frost continues to ignore TNT, and Magnifico shouts and screams about the choke, TNT takes it upon himself to physically shove Frost away! With the ref distracted, Flesher discreetly unwraps the tag rope and lets Annie fall to the mat. He smirks and makes an exaggerated show of wiping his brow, then flings his sweat down onto Annie. The crowd, of course, choruses with boos.

 

“What strategy!” gushes Riley. “Frost is showing commitment to his tag partner by protecting the team, possibly at the expense of his relationship with Taylor Nicholas Thompson! Of course, TNT’s so stupid that he’ll forget this whole thing in ten minutes anyway, so it’s no matter.”

 

“First of all, that’s HARDLY fair to TNT. He’s a very bright athlete. In my book, he’s got one of the best wrestling minds in the whole SWF!”

 

“Of course,” replies Riley, “your book is The Joy Of Cooking.”

 

As Thompson admonishes him, Frost nods thoughtfully. Finally, as TNT wraps up his reprimand, Frost pats him on the shoulder and gives him the most earnest-sounding fake ‘Thank you’ that the viewing public has ever had the opportunity to see. He then walks over to the corner, picks up the limp Miss Eclectic, and bends her over into a front facelock.

 

“This could be it!” says Stevens. “If Frost hits the Ice Pick here, we might as well start up the car and head home. There’s no way Annie can kick out of that in her state.”

 

“That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said all night,” adds Riley contentedly. “Now if only you’d start chipping in on the fruit baskets we send to the Magnificent Seven, I’d be happy.”

 

Frost starts to lift Annie up for the Ice Pick, but looks over to the corner… only to see Flesher leaning nearly all the way over the ropes, stretching out his hand to beg for a tag. Frost, slightly put off, initially refuses the tag… but finally acquiesces. Flesher bounds over the top rope, looking as thrilled as a kid in a candy store. Without even checking his position, he locks on the same front facelock that Frost had, and lifts Annie much the same way his partner would have. However, Flesher doesn’t stop at 45 degrees, instead getting Annie all the way into the air and hanging her upside down. He stalls…

 

Stalls…

 

 

STALLS……

 

 

and finally SLAMS Annie headfirst into the mat with a brainbuster! The crowd boos out loud as Annie’s limp form comes to rest near the edge of the ring. Flesher nods and taps his temple, then rolls over onto Annie for

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!!

 

“Wait!” shouts Grand Slam. “Taylor Thompson is waving off the pin!”

 

Sure enough, TNT points to the bottom rope, where Annie’s foot is neatly draped. Flesher looks over, gets angry, and stands up glowering. However, after a moment’s pause, his face softens as he turns to TNT and engages him in a line of questioning about whether Annie’s foot had been on the rope before the three. TNT assures him that the call was correct and tells him to quit stalling. As Flesher raises a hand to ask one more question, Annie scoots behind him and, acting mostly on adrenaline and instinct, grabs him in a schoolboy rollup! TNT counts

 

 

ONE

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

THR- KICKOUT!!!! Flesher bounces back up to his feet. Angrily, he shouts at TNT to quit distracting him. Meanwhile, Annie begins crawling toward her corner, where ELM is holding the tag rope and leaning out frantically.

 

“Can Annie make the tag?!” asks Stevens, to no one in particular.

 

“Of course not!” shouts Riley. “Flesher’s done an amazing job of wearing her down! There’s no way she’s going to be able to make it to the corner.”

 

Flesher sees this and does his best to keep TNT distracted just long enough for him to miss Annie’s slap of ELM’s hand! ELM roars into the ring, making a beeline for Flesher, but TNT cuts him off directly! Flesher goes over, grabs Annie and drags her back to the center of the ring, the crowd booing all the way.

 

“TNT, making the only major mistake in the match thus far by completely missing the tag that Annie and ELM needed,” says Stevens dejectedly. “This one may be over, folks.”

 

In the center, Flesher gets behind Annie and threads one arm behind her head, and one leg around hers. Grinning like a jackal, he locks on an abdominal stretch, and simply leans on Annie to wait for the tap-out. Annie’s face becomes a mask of pain as she feels her sore ribs and back being contorted in Flesher’s sadistic submission.

 

“So, Stevens,” says Riley casually, “how long ya think she can last? Twenty seconds? Thirty?”

 

“There’s Carnie Pride on the line, Bobby. She can last as long as she needs to.”

 

Pause.

 

“So, you’re saying, forty-five?”

 

Flesher relaxes a little, opting to lean on Annie for pressure instead of torquing her joints. Just as Riley opens his mouth to point out what an excellent strategy this is, Annie readjusts the way her arm is hooked behind Flesher’s. Flesher’s eyes open wide, since he knows exactly what’s coming. He sinks his hips, trying desperately to avoid his imminent fate.

 

Fortunately for Annie, he can’t.

 

“Annie Eclectic breaks the abdominal stretch with a hiptoss!” shouts Stevens. “She throws Flesher to the mat, and now she’s moving toward the corner!”

 

“STOP HER!” screams Riley. “Grab her boot, pull her tights, anything, just don’t let her make…”

 

SLAP!!!!!!

 

“… the tag.”

 

The fans burst into cheers as El Luchadore Magnifico leaps over the top rope and bounds into the ring. Annie, meanwhile, leans in the corner and tries to stay out of the way. Magnifico jumps up and slams Flesher into the ropes with a solid dropkick to the chest! Flesher staggers backwards, and Magnifico hammers him once again, this time sending him tumbling over the top and onto the floor!

 

Not one to stand idly by, Frost charges back into the ring. He tries to grab onto ELM, but gets met with a spinning leg lariat for his trouble. He absorbs as much of the blow as possible and rolls with it, spinning around and just barely missing Magnifico with his spinning back fist! Thinking ahead, Magnifico grabs Frost’s arm and leaps into the air, somersaulting down into a flying cross arm breaker! The fans pop like a cherry on prom night for Danny Williams’ favorite move, which Frost tries to counter before even hitting the mat. He fails, though, and proceeds to grab frantically for the ropes. As soon as he hits them, Magnifico releases the hold and rolls to the side, then kips back up! Frost, on the other hand, blows ELM off entirely and slides out of the ring, much to the delight of the fans.

 

“El Luchadore Magnifico has just cleared out the ring!” declares Mark Stevens. “Listen to the ovation!”

 

“Oh, come on, Canned Spam. He hasn’t even DONE anything yet! So what if he gets off a few lucky moves. The match ain’t over!”

 

Magnifico turns away from Frost to check on Flesher’s condition. When he looks to the concrete, he sees Flesher barely on his feet, walking shakily. Without a second thought, Magnifico runs to the far side of the ring and bounces off the ropes. Using his momentum, he leaps into the air and hits a picture-perfect handspring, then jumps to his full height as he comes out of it. Using his extra momentum, Magnifico jumps onto the top rope and springs off! Frost slides back into the ring , making a beeline for Annie. The fans, meanwhile, gasp collectively as the World Champion floats through the air toward Flesher, landing on him with flying headscissors and then arching back! Flesher goes flying through the air as Frost grabs Annie Eclectic and absolutely mauls her with the Touch of Frost heart punch! She collapses back to the mat while Tom Flesher lands hard on the concrete after a breathtaking springboard rana! The fans get on their feet, cheering Magnifico’s unbelievable feat of athleticism while simultaneously trying to warn him about Frost.

 

“WHAT A FRANKENSTEINER!” shouts Stevens. “Simply AMAZING!”

 

“And it’s working out just like Flesher wanted it to.”

 

“What the-”

 

As Magnifico tries to recover on the outside from his beyond-belief leap of faith, Frost collects Annie off the mat once again and bends her into a standing headscissors. With crisp execution and a no-nonsense quickness, Frost underhooks Annie’s arms and swings her into the air. Flipping her onto her back, he sits out. With a loud CRASH, Annie lands back-first on the mat, victim of an Early Winter!

 

“NO! This isn’t right!” shouts Stevens. “NEITHER OF THEM IS EVEN LEGAL!”

 

“Shut up and let TNT do his job!”

 

With that, Taylor Thompson drops to the mat and counts

 

ONE

 

 

ELM, on the outside, hears the count. He pulls himself up to the apron and scrambles to get back into the ring!

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

Magnifico slides into the ring and starts making a desperate dive to break up the pin!!!

 

 

 

TWO 1/2!!!!!!

 

 

 

He dives in and hits Frost with a double axehandle!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEE!!!!!!

 

… just a shade too late.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!!!

 

Frost shoves Annie off to the side and rolls away from Magnifico. TNT looks around and can’t find Flesher, who is still on the floor holding his head. Instead, he opts to just raise Frost’s hand.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “Your winners, FROST and ‘THE SUPERIOR ONE’ TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!!!!”

 

“Fans,” says Stevens, “we are all out of time! Don’t forget SWF From The Fire, where two of those five competitors, El Luchadore Magnifico and TNT, will square off for the SWF World Heavyweight Championship! For Bobby Riley, I’m-“

 

“Gay! Later, ya bunch of boobs!”

 

SWF Storm, February 23, 2003

© 2003 White Apple Productions

All Rights Reserved

"SWF: Raising Workrate By Typing Faster"

[Guest Grand Slam]

No recap tonight. I'm too tired and I have to be up in... 5 hours to go to work.

 

But have no fear, there will be a card up very early tomorrow (before 8:30 am Eastern)!! I am going to try and get us back on schedule.