SMARKDOWN FOR FEB 28TH!!!

March 1, 2003

Xero's promo will go here, assuming he writes it.

March 1, 2003

We fade in to see the ever-experienced interviewer, Ben Hardy, standing next to Annie Eclectic, who is doing stretches with the assistance of her Kendo stick. She puts the Bokken behind her neck and rests her arms on it in a crucifix pose as she turns from left to right for her warm-ups.

“Well, today we have Annie Eclectic here to give us her side of Hardcore wrestling. We’ve done a few interviews already with the Judge, so what are your responses to his claims?”

“Ben, I just think it’s all a crock.” She responds nonchalantly, bending over to the right side. “Really, he has no understanding of what Hardcore wrestling really is. It isn’t garbage wrestling, like he claims. It has all the elements of a straight up wrestling match: strength, speed, strategy, stamina… hell, I would argue even more. Improvisation should be in there as well. You have to be able to use your surroundings to your advantage at all times, and not everyone can handle a Bokken like I do. You have to be able to meld those weapons into your moves as well.”

“What about his remarks on Mick Foley?”

“That’s just inexcusable. Mick Foley is a fantastic person, a great speaker, and a wrestling legend. He’s been able to wrestle and beat the best, and he’s a man who was willing to put everything on the line to win. That’s the spirit of Hardcore wrestling: Never giving up and not giving in, no matter what punishment or the odds.”

“Were you actually trying to do the Superior Stretch in your last match against the Judge?”

Annie looks up from her stretches and gives a small smirk. “Oh yeah, that was the Superior Stretch I nearly had Mental in. Next time he won’t be so lucky to get a rollup like he did.”

“Only one more question, Annie: we both know that right now the Judge has beaten you twice, and has held the Hardcore title for a while now. Your match is scheduled for the upcoming PPV, From the Fire. So-”

“Yes, I’m going to win, no matter the stipulation. I’m totally ready to show the Judge how hardcore I can really get. So far I’ve just taken him on a beginners course, but at the PPV, I’m going to show him the advanced stuff. He’s going down and that’s a decree”-Annie drops the Bokken to her side and points at the camera “-by the Hard… Core… Queen.”

Fade out…

March 1, 2003

TNT vs Annie would have gone here, had anyone bothered to write. TNT? If you want your title shot at the PPV you'd best be PMing me with a damned good excuse.

March 1, 2003

Fade in on the Staples Center! Various signs are shown as the camera pans the crowd. Unfortunately, the camera is panning so quickly that we can’t see any of them. Finally, it settles on the announce table, where, as usual, are two suited men who most of the fans have never seen before.

“Fans,” says the moppy-haired, bow-tied man on the right, “welcome back to SWF Smarkdown! Tonight in the Crossfire we’re going to have two of the SWF’s more prominent workers, Tom Flesher and Longdogger Pete! I’m Tucker Carlson…”

“And I’m Paul Begala,” adds the short, bald guy on the left. “Let’s go to Funyon.”

Funyon announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a special Crossfire match! The first competitor…”

The SmarkTron goes white with the blue words "SUPERIORITY COMPLEX" and "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN" on it. Then, with an explosion of blue pyro, "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin bursts out over the loudspeaker. Tom Flesher emerges from the cloud of smoke, striding confidently to the ring as videos of his signature moves alternate in half-second clips with the words "SUPERIOR ONE," "AWARD-WINNING," "MAIN ATTRACTION" and "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN." Wearing his grey suit with the SWF Tag Team Title strapped around his waist, Flesher enters the ring and poses in the center head bobbing in time with the music, until the symphonic hook at 50 seconds in, which cues a machinegun-like burst of blue and white pyro from each corner.

“Hailing from Buffalo, New York, and weighing in at 213 pounds… ladies and gentlemen, bow down before the only man in the free world willing to admit that Ralph Nader’s not such a bad guy, bow down before your Superior One, TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“You know, Tucker, Tom Flesher is actually one of the most politically active men in Buffalo.”

“The problem with that, Paul, is that you’re a balding midget who Robert Novak shit out one morning.”

“You know, that’s not fair.”

“Tell it to Billy Rehnquist! Muahahahahahahahaha!”

Flesher poses in the center of the ring, grinning, as Funyon hands him a lectern. Flesher adjusts it, then sets a pile of notecards on it. Meanwhile….

“And his opponent…”

"You will get yours...

you will get yours...

YOU WILL GET YOURS!"

After the fifth repetition of the opening line, an explosion of white pyro goes off on the stage, and then the entrance fills with smoke. Pete steps out, decked out in an unusually natty tie-dyed t-shirt and hemp pants over knee braces, topped off with a blazer. He wastes little time getting to the ring, walking down the ramp with one arm raised in anticipated victory. The lyrics continue as he enters the ring.

"You have no right to calm me down

You were never that around

And I have missed

Cold contagious

All the mighty mighty men

What you save is what you lose out in the end

Cold contagious

Cold contagious...!"

“From Miami, Florida,” intones everyone’s favorite salted snack treat, “and weighing in at 272 pounds, this is LONG… DOGGER…. PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETE!!!!!”

“Ahhh, Florida,” says Carlson, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “Where would we be without you?”

Begala simply grumbles under his breath.

Pete moves into the center of the ring, attempting to share the lectern with Flesher. Tom glances sidelong at Pete, then shuffles over to the center of the lectern to crowd him out. Referee Eddy Long checks both men’s notes to make sure everything is kosher, and then rings the bell.

DING DING DING!!!!!

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Eddy Long, and I’ll be your moderator this evening. Each of you has been allotted two mintues for your opening remarks, and we’ll start with you, Mr. Flesher.” Long takes out his stopwatch. “And, go.”

Flesher smiles and nods. “Thank you, Mr. Long. I’d like to start off this evening with a quote from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

‘When I was a young man,’ says Nick Carraway, the narrator, ‘my father gave me a piece of advice that I’ve been turning over in my head ever since. “Nick,” he said, “Longdogger Pete eats bags of dicks regularly.”’

“That quote has had life-changing implications on me,” continues Flesher, “and this evening I’d like to put it into practice.” He turns to LDP. “Pete, that’s quite a feat, and I think our fans would like to see it. I’ll produce a bag of dicks. Just say the word.”

“Brilliant!” says Carlson.

“What a tool,” mumbles Begala.

“Don’t make me get Novak!!!!” says Carlson threateningly.

Begala cowers. “I’ll be good!”

“Mr. Long, that concludes my opening statement.”

Long clicks the stopwatch, then turns to Pete. “Would you like to make a rebuttal?”

“Please.”

“And… go.”

Pete turns toward Flesher. “Tom, we’ve got a saying down on the bayou that… BLARG!”

With that, Pete lunges at Flesher and nails him with an overhead right hand! Flesher staggers backwards, the lectern tipping over. Pete continues pressuring him backwards with overhead rights, and when Flesher reaches the ropes, Pete nails him with a right cross that draws an unbelievable pop from the crowd.

“Longdogger Pete gains the upper hand,” says Begala. “Get it? Upper hand? HA!”

Carlson turns around, bitchslaps Begala, and without a word turns back to the action. Begala sighs and mutters, “I wish James Carville was here.”

Pete turns around and plays to the crowd a bit while Flesher regroups. He grabs the mic and says, “Mr. Moderator, permission to break protocol?”

Long shrugs. “Granted.”

With that, Flesher steps forward just as Pete spins around and nails him flush in the crotch with a hard kick of his Doc Marten boot! Longdogger Pete doubles over in pain as Flesher slides over to the lectern. He picks up the podium by the base. When Pete stands up, his face flushed from the pain of the completely gratuitous low blow, Flesher spins quickly and cracks him across the face with the wooden lectern! The fans burst into a chorus of boos as Pete falls backwards in a Nestea plunge to the mat and Flesher tosses the stand off to the side. Flesher drops onto the unconscious Pete, and Eddy Long counts

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!!!!!!!

DING DING DING!!!!!!

Funyon announces, “The winner of the match, via attack ad baculum, TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“That was GREAT!” says Tucker Carlson. “That was almost as nice as it will be when Miguel Estrada is confirmed for the Supreme Court and they finally push that ‘frying baby seals’ legislation through!”

“Tucker, that’s simply despicable. What could you possibly have to gain by eating the flesh of innocent baby seals?”

Carlson winds up and cracks Begala upside the head. “NOTHING!!!!! But who’s going to stop us?! Muahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

Begala sighs. “From the left, I’m Paul Begala.”

“And from the right, I’m Tucker Carlson! We'll see you next time Flesher doesn't finish a match on time on SWF Crossfire!”

Begala looks up with a cocked eyebrow and says, "What the hell does that mea-?"

FADE.

March 1, 2003

On a cold, fog-filled, rainy morning, two hundred thirty four rabid SWF faithful anxiously wait outside the Federation's corporate headquarters to find out if one of them is the lucky winner of the first ever "Spend a day with the SWF Commissioner" raffle. Despite the freezing temperatures, these brave souls have answered the ad shown for the past two weeks during SWF broadcasts. More than twice this number were expected to show, but in this weather, at 0530 in the morning, the SWF Corporation is amazed at having more than two hundred out in the rain. The crowd twitters in anticipation of the announcement of who exactly will be the lucky fan, the fan that will spend a day with the most powerful card-obsessed commisioner the wrestling world has ever seen. The only thing that keeps this crowd under control, the only thing that prevents a full blown riot from breaking out causing a mad rush for the door to ensue is a rather large thing, a three hundred pound, 6'6" SWF security guard that answers to Michael Dratch, Mr. Dratch to his friends, a veritable door unto himself. He is a brute ofa man, a human wall that was hired exclusively to keep the SWF wrestlers in line. If it wasn't for his strict code of ethics, his loyalty to his company and employers, some of those very wrestlers would have legitimate cause to fear him.

A small, shadowed figure steps out from behind the door and passes a small piece of paper to Mr. Dratch. The big man's eyes quickly scan the paper, looks up and lets out a bellowing roar of "Number one hundred seventy three!" The boos of two hundred thirty three strong can't even begin to overpower the one, exstatic, victorious voice, screaming at the top of his lungs, "I won! Holy freakin' crap, I've won! I get to meet Mr. King!" The lone figure runs up to Mr. Dratch, dodging glares, feet set out to trip him and even a few fists as another lone figure is about to appear...

Out from the fog, from the rain he appears, slowly walking forward, solemnly bearing the light drizzle that falls about his shoulders. His physical features, obsquered by the fog, are indistinct, but his leather jacket, grey sweater, blue jeans and green duffel bag are readily apparent. His steps show definate purpose as he determinely stalks forward towards the entrance of SWF Corp. Once he clearly passes past the limits of the fog, Mr. Dratch notices this man so full of purpose heading his way. Dratch barely blinks as the winner enters the building, taunting those fans left behind. The man from the fog stalks up to the 6'6" beast of a man, the smoothly shaved sides of his head, the short brown hair on top, the scar within his left eyebrow and his eyes, his blazing brown eyes, simmering with fury and torments past, become obvious to Mr. Dratch and those nearby. Approximately ninety five of the two hundred thirty three degected fans halt in their tracks, curious to see what kind of business this man, so mysteriously charismatic even from afar, has with the SWF Corporation. Who is this man, they wonder, utterly captivated by this person. Who could he be, emerging from the fog like a dark phoenix emerging from the smoke? What might be this man's legacy, what may be this dark phoenix's dynasty?

"Hey, where the hell do you think you're going," shouts Mr. Dratch as this supposed newcomer is but a few steps away. The man with the duffel bag just keeps walking. "Answer my goddamned question!" The man stops mere inches away from Mr. Dratch. He slowly sizes up Dratch from head to toe, reaches intohis leather jacket, Mr. Dratch tenses up, the man pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, Mr. Dratch relaxes slightly, the unknown man puts a smoke in his mouth and lights it up. He slowly puts the pack and the lighter away and then stares at Mr. Dratch through half closed eyes while taking a drag.

The man absently flicks his smoke and ash falls upon Mr. Dratch's shoes. Mr. Dratch looks down at his shoes and then back at this man who takes another drag. The crowd backs away as Mr. Dratch's face goes red and the veins start to pop out of his neck. The man takes a drag, and spits out, while sucking in air, "I'm here to speak with Stubby." "Stubby," Mr. Dratch incredously shouts as the man exhales a plume of smoke. "Stubby!?! It's not, 'Stubby', it's Mr. Freakin' King now and there's only two ways you'd get to see him today. One, you win the frickin' raffle and it's too late for that-," Mr. Dratch looks this man up and down, "-ya' frickin' vagrant. And two, the second way, you're on the list and since there ain't no mention of a livin' breathin' pile of fecal matter on my list, your ass ain't gettin' i-"

The man starts walking straight past Mr. Dratch.

Dratch's eyes goes wide as he springs into action, reaches to grab the man and comes to a screeching halt with his hand centimeters away from the man's chest as he comes face to face with the blazing eyes of this man. "Y-you...," Mr. Dratch starts, "you...you can't..." Mr. Dratch pauses, his eyes shifting about and he notices the crowd of ninety five strong that has gathered around this confrontation. Mr. Dratch appears to be off his game as his eyes start darting around , however, once his eyes drift down and settle upon the blue SWF Security emblem on his black shirt, he manages to regain his composure. After he puffs out his chest and straightens his back, Mr. Dratch spits out, "You are not getting in there."

The man takes another slow drag from his smoke.

"What do you have to say to that," gloats Mr. Dratch, with a toothy smile that shows a few gold teeth.

"...watch me."

The mysterious man turns and opens the glass door. "You piece of shi-," screams Mr. Dratch as he swings a right and-the man side steps to his own left, grabs Mr. Dratch's right wrist with his left hand, places his right hand under Mr. Dratch's chin and send the three hundred pounders head right through the door! The crowd cheers on as this man stands over the bloody fallen security guard, lying in the shattered glass strewn about. The man takes a long drag off of the cigarette hanging from his mouth. He reaches up with his right hand, pulls the smoke free, stares at the firey ember and the smoke wafting off of it for a few moments and then flicks it at the unconcious guard. "...let me guess...piece of sh*t?" The man then steps over Dratch and walks into the corporate office.

As he makes his way down the open corridor that leads to the main reception area, a young, mousy woman with a long black skirt, white blouse, black high heels, glasses, long brown hair pulled into a ponytail and a clipboard in her hands heads towards him from the other end. Her mind so into whatever notes she has written upon that board, she doesn't even notice him. "Then, when LDP is apparently on his last legs, he'll...," she starts to mutter to herself, before the chaotic yelling of ninety five hardcore fans break into her reverie. Those that had been waiting outside for hours, a few even days, are now causing rampant destruction within, charging past their temporary hero, making sure to give him space as they pass by, out of a mixture of respect...and fear. Unfortunately for the woman, they didn't see her put down any three hundred pound, 6'6" monstrous security guards recently. They knock her down, sending her glasses and papers flying, causing her ponytail to come undone. They nearly trample her a number of times before the multitude passes her by on their way to the main reception area.

"My goodness," she says once the hall quiets down once more, "how did Mr. Dratch ever allow those brutes to get past him?" She doesn't notice the man in the leather jacket coming towards her. "I mean, in all my years working here," she pushes her hair behind her ears while starting to gather the papers, still on her knees, "working for the SWF and even the IGNWF before that, I've never met a man more capable...or more feared than Mr. Dratch...," she pauses with a wistful, longing look in her eyes, "...well...except for..." She lets out a deep sigh and suddenly feels a shiver down her spine as a shadow falls upon her. She stops and notices a man in blue jeans is standing right in front of her without her ever hearing him as he came near. She looks up and tries to make out his face, but her vision is far too blurred. She slowly reaches for her glasses, puts them on her face, looks up and...gasps. The glasses almost fall right off her cute little nose. This petite woman can barely get out the words, that even then are barely a whisper on the wind...

"...you're back..."

The man starts walking right on by her. Right before he enters a door, he mutters, "Not only that Jane," and then...he's gone. She's left there, flustered, her heart pounding and whispers, "...but...my name's Michelle..."

March 1, 2003

As we come back from a brief break in the action, the camera zooms around the Staples Center, taking in legions of rabidly cheering SWF fans. It finally comes to rest on the (in)famous SWF announcers, sitting as usual at ringside.

Stevens: Hidey-ho there once again, fans! Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown, coming to you from Los Angeles, California!

Riley: Who the hell are you? Mr. Hankey? “Hidey-ho”?

Stevens: Bobby, please. I’m trying to do my job.

Riley: As am I: Giving my opinion of watching men wrestle. Big, sweaty men... wrestling... in spandex... the sweat... the heat... like when-

Stevens: Pardon in the interruption of your fantasy, Bobby, but next, it’s a triple threat match to determine the #1 Contender to the US Title-

Riley: What do you mean “fantasy”?

Stevens: Well, the homoerotic overtones of that last little monologue you started on-

Riley: If this is about me being gay, I’m just going to get up, go home, pop in my Indigo Girls CD, and buff my expensive and fancy shoe collection.

Stevens: *sigh* Funyon, for the love of God... take it away...

Suddenly, the lights go out completely, and Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D minor" starts up. After the first few measures, lots of white lights and strobes flash as Fugue appears and slinks down the ramp, smiling at the crowd.

Funyon: The following contest is a Triple Threat Match for #1 Contendership to the SWF US Championship!!! Introducing first, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 181 pounds, he's a member of The Magnificent Seven... FUUUUUU-GUE!!!

Stevens: Fugue comes off of a well-earned victory on Storm-

Riley: -Against Xero of all people. God damn, Stevens, think of who we’re talking about here.

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

Stevens: I know who we’re talking about, Bobby, and Xero’s not the second coming of Cutthroat, as you seem to think.

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

“BOOM-BOOM BOOM... BOOM...”

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

Riley: Xero has done nothing in my eyes, Mark, but on the contrary, this man, his old tag team buddy has.

A huge pyro blast kicks up from the front of the stage at the guitar drop, about 50 seconds into the song. Flames simultaneously shoot high up into the air on the edges of the stage not touching the ramp, shooting up in a synchronized pattern, in beat with the song following the initial blast, as a red tint covers the stage. Suddenly, as Chris Cornell begins to sing, a spotlight shines down on Mike Craven as he bursts through the smoke cloud in a half-sprint, looking just a tad bit on the intense side. He stops turning to look at the fans, and brushes them away, ignoring them. The crowd starts up a “CRAVEN SUCKS!!!” chant as he turns around, points at the ring as he hops in place with a traditional amateur wrestling warm-up, and sprints down to the ring like the match has started without him, ignoring the chanting fans as he can as Funyon looks down at a little 3x5 card.

Funyon: And his opponents: First, from Tampa, Florida, weighing in at 265 pounds, he is The Next SWF US Champion... ladies and gentlemen... MICHAEL CRAAA-VENNNN!!!

Stevens: Craven is nothing more than an egotisical, buff, thick-headed, re-sized version of Tom Flesher, a man that he once despised and never wanted to become.

Riley: And your problem is?

Still in full stride, he slides under the bottom rope. Mike then hops up to his feet, snapping the ropes back before he mounts a near-by turnbuckle and lifts both arms into the air. As he hops down, he looks at Fugue. Actually, he looks down, as Craven towers a full seven inches over the M7 member, and smiles, his confidence high as his music fades out...

And all goes silent.

Then, the sounds of "The Everlasting Gaze" by the Smashing Pumpkins hits the PA system, and the crowd goes crazy. Suddenly, Wildchild springs from behind the curtain onto the stage area, banging his head in time with his music. He slaps hands with the fans at ringside as he jogs towards the ring, somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes before springing back to his feet, immediately running to the ropes and leaping atop them, posing for the crowd while Funyon bellows:

Funyon: And, from The Bahamas, weighing in at 217 pounds... WILDCHILDDDDDD!!!

Wildchild hops down off the turnbuckle, taking up his place in a corner, as do the other two men. Wildchild warms up, jumping in place to kep his legs loose. Craven already looks warmed up, just wanting to start this thing, as the intros have become an abysmal bore. And Fugue? He looks like the lunatic he is, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Fans: WI-LD-CHI-LD!!! “Clap-clap-clapclapclap!!”

Stevens: Looks like the fans are behind Wildchild here at the beginning...

Riley: No, really... I can’t hear that myself...

Referee Timmy Thompson turns to look at the timekeeper, then signals, leading to...

DING DING DING!!!

The crowd is about ready to blow the roof off the building as Fugue steps forward to tangle with Wildchild, but it allows Craven to sneak in from the sides and catch Wildchild with a jumping knee blow to the head! Down goes Wildchild to the mat, and back up he comes, staggering backwards into the ropes as Fugue and Craven close in on him and begin to open up with a few rapid jabs and body blows to tenderize the Bahaman. Wildchild takes the pain, not having much of a choice at this point, and the loosely-bound team of Fugue and Craven take advantage. Craven grabs a wrist and whips Wildchild across the ring, Wildchild hitting the ropes and flying back at the two men. Craven charges forward, making his mark as he attempts a clothesline, but Wildchild ducks. Fugue, though, leaps into the air, thrusting his legs out and catching Wildchild in the chin with a swift front dropkick!

Stevens: Perfect dropkick from Fugue!

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

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

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

BOOM! Hard right into Fugue’s face! Fugue staggers back, grabbing his jaw as Craven serves notice that he's alligned with no one in this match. But as he readies for another such punch...

BOOM! Fugue cuts him off with a hard right into his face! Craven fades back grabbing his jaw as the crowd slightly pops for the insane Philly native.

Stevens: Craven reeling from that right hand from Fugue-

Riley: You’re joking, right? Fugue’s about as weak as the French army!

Craven, though, fires back with a hard right hand, only to be hit following the punch with a jumping leg lariat, courtesy of Wildchild! Craven falls to the mat as Fugue recovers from the blow, just in time to get a wonderful arm drag from Wildchild! The two men quickly get to their feet, but Wildchild leans back for the ropes. He hits them, flying forward, leaping into the air and knocking the now standing Fugue to the mat with a flying forearm!

Stevens: Both men down on the mat as we get a quick cover from Wildchild following a flying forearm!

One!

Kickout from Fugue before Craven drops an elbow into Wildchild’s back! As Wildchild gets to his feet, he's sharply kicked in the gut by the rising Craven. Doubling over with a grunt, Mike applies a front face lock on Wildchild and drops back, executing a spiffy little DDT that rattles the ringposts!

Riley: DDT from Michael Craven! How fabulous!

Stevens: Not for Wildchild it isn’t! That looked painful!

Riley: Well, this is wrestling we’re talking about, not crappy Little League baseball...

With Wildchild downed for a second, Craven gets up to his feet amidst the boos of the crowd. He almost smiles as he places his boot across the back of the downed Wildchild’s neck, and looking up, shouts something inaudible at the crowd, then spins around, driving his heel into Wildchild’s back as he forces his weight onto the heel, causing Wildchild to scream in pain and the fans to boo even louder and more passionately!

Stevens: What an act of cruelty towards Wildchild!!!! Only a heartless being like Craven would get joy from that!

Riley: That was cool!!! Do it again!! Do it again!!!

Craven lifts his boot off Wildchild’s neck, and the Bahaman immediately flips onto his back, grabbing the back of his neck while Craven chuckles. The crowd boos loudly before Fugue leaps from behind Craven, throwing his elbow forward into the back of Mike’s head! Craven staggers forward, but abruptly turns himself around to confront his attacker, he's met with a boot to the chest. Doublign over, Fugue grabs Craven's arm and bars it in front of his body so he's holding out the arm with the arm furthest away from Craven's body. He then reaches over Craven's shoulder and wraps it around Craven’s arm with other. Fugue then suddenly drops down and drives Craven's shoulder into the mat with a single arm DDT!!!

Stevens: Powerful single arm DDT from Fugue!!! Craven’s shoulder might have broken in two!!!

Fugue immediately transitions into his next move as he locks Craven’s elbow out straight with both arms, applying pessure as he rolls into an armbar!!! Craven reaches out for the ropes almost immediately, but he’s not even close to them. Fugue laughs like the madman he is as the armbar is locked in, Craven flailing as he tries to pull out.

Stevens: And he transfers right into an armbar!!!

Riley: Who does he think he is? Danny Williams?

The hold continues for only a few more seconds before Craven forces his arm out oif the locked position slightly and allowing him to partially to get to his feet. While not enough to pin Fugue to the mat, he does reach around and catch Fugue with a hard right hook, breaking the hold. Craven’s position allows him to get to his feet quickly, and retaliation is swift in the form of three rapid right hands and a whip to the ropes. Fugue hits them and comes off them hard into Craven’s waiting arms as he lifts Fugue up in the air as if for a back drop, but instead of tossing him over, pushes him up in the air when Fugue is horizontal and forcing him to hit the mat hard on his chest and face with a huge flap jack!!! Fugue bounces off the mat from the sheer recoil of the move, flipping onto his back and allowing Craven to cover him for a pinfall attempt!

One!!!

Two!!!

...Shoulder up from Fugue at two and a half! Craven drops right back down, trying to cover Fugue again...

One!!!

Two!!!

Abrupt kickout by Fugue at two! Craven can’t believe it as he gets to his feet, grabbing hold of Fugue and pulling him to his feet.

Stevens: Only a two-count after a monstrous flap jack by Michael Craven!!!

Riley: I’ve seen some pretty impessive flap jacks in my life, but nothing as big and hard as that!! That’s how I like ‘em... big and hard...

Stevens: Bobby, if only you could hear how gay and dumb you sound right now... if only...

As Craven pulls up Fugue, he looks up, right into an oncoming leg lariat from Wildchild!!! Craven is sent back down to the mat, dropping Fugue, but Craven scurries up to his feet, slipping a bit as he rises to his feet. The crowd explodes in cheer as Craven and Wildchild turns towards each other rapidly, Craven spinning around just in time to catch a Wildchild boot to the chest!

Stevens: Wildchild with the big kick to the chest... but what next?

Craven doubles over momentarily, just enough time for Wildchild to grasp Mike in a front headlock. He stomps the mat before he pulls Craven backwards sharply, lifting him up and back with a Chris Benoit-like snap suplex!! The ring shakes as Michael Craven hits the canvas with a thud, but both he and Wildchild are quick to get back to their feet. As he gets up, Craven ducks a quick Wildchild high kick, Craven sliding behind Wildchild before grabbing him by the back. Wildchild is lifted onto Craven’s shoulder before he falls back! Wildchild, though, quickly twists his body around and floats over Michael’s back in a flipping motion, locking his legs around Craven’s neck in a headscissors, and arches back, pulling Craven through the air, the resulting action resembling a hurricanrana, but with Craven facing the opposite way as the crowd reconginzes the move.

Crowd: JUNK-A-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Riley: Say what?

Stevens: The Junkanoo!!! It’s one of Wildchild’s more well-known moves!

Riley: What language is that in? Chinese?

As Wildchild lands the Junkanoo, he hooks Craven’s legs with his arms, pinning his shoulders to the mat in unique form as the ref drops to make the count...

One!!!

Two!!!

Kickout by Craven following two!!! The hold is broken and Craven’s legs fall back to the mat, Wildchild getting to his feet, preparing to do more damage to Craven, but before he can, a recovered Fugue intervenes. Fugue immediately grabs and lifts up Wildchild as if for a bodyslam, but then he kneels down and inverts Wildchild, dropping the Bahaman shoulder first onto his knee! The shoulderbreaker causes Wildchild to drop to the mat in pain, falling onto his back, allowing Fugue to go to work while Craven recovers from the Junkanoo.

Riley: What’s a Junkaroonie anyways? Is it Wildchild’s best Booker T impression?

Stevens: It’s Junkanoo, Bobby.

Riley: Same thing. They both mean “Big Loser” in whatever language it is.

Fugue drops to the mat, starting things off by locking in a full nelson as he sits on Wildchild’s back, then flips forward into a bridge, holding him down in a bridging double armbar hold!!! Wildchild cries out as Fugue holds firm, keeping Wildchild pinned down on his stomach as his arms are slowly filled with jagged pain, forcing more laments from his lungs.

Stevens: Fugue locks in his Major Chord hold!!! This cannot be good for Wildchild, as Fugue hopes to wear him out into submission!!!

Fugue smiles as the hold is locked in, but as he holds it in, Wildchild pushes himself up off the mat breaking Fugue’s bridge, but he's not prepared for what comes next, because next, Fugue gets halfway up, moving over on top of the downed Wildchild. He bends down and latches his arms around Wildchild in a waistlock, The Music Man pulling him off his feet as he bends back and drops Wildchild onto his shoulderblades with a German suplex!

Riley: German from Fugue, and a beatuful bridge into a cover! Perfect!

One!!!

Two!!!

Kickout by Wildchild!!! The bridge breaks, and both men fall to the mat for a second before Fugue sits up, slowly pushing himself to his feet as the crowd pops for the kickout from Wildchild!!!

Stevens: Only a two count for Fugue!!!

Riley: Hey, nice slow count, ref!!!

Stevens: Slow count? You’re kidding, right?

Riley: Hell no I’m not!!! And I bet he’s doing it on purpose just to screw Fugue out of his shot!!!

In the ring, Wildchild has been dragged up by Fugue and whipped to the ropes, bouncig off them. As he flies back at Fugue, the M7 member prepares to catch him, but Wildchild jumps into the air, legs spread apart as he leaps frogs over Fugue! The crowd goes nuts, but the go even more nuts as Wildchild thrusts his legs back, nailing Fugue with a backflip kick! Fugue falls forward onto his face, slow to get up as Wildchild rolls to his feet, popping up onto them and running for the opposite ropes! He flies back from the ropes, leaping onto the rising Fugue’s shoulders. His legs wrap around Fugue’s neck before he flips himself back, sweeping Fugue off his feet and driving him down into the mat with a hurracanrana! The crowd cheers as Wildchild wastes no time, getting to his feet and letting loose two quick punches that knock a recovering Michael Craven back to thge ropes. The crowd cheers as Wildchild grabs Craven by the arm and whips him to the ropes with his “good” arm.

Stevens: Whip to the ropes by Wildchild-

Craven, though, reverses with a whip of his own, and as Wildchild goes by, Craven smashes him in the back with a forearm, forcing him to the mat! Once there, Craven grapevines the arm Fugue was working on with his legs, locks his hands across Wildchild’s face, and pulls back, locking in-

Stevens: CROSSFACE!!! CROSSFACE ON WILDCHILD!!!

Wildchild’s arm flies out, reaching for the ropes half a second after the hold is locked in and Craven pulls back, but he’s facing away from the ropes. However, his feet are close enough, and loosening Craven’s grip just a tiny bit, he reaches back with his leg, dangling his foot for a second or two before he hooks it to the ropes! The ref notes this, immediately calling for a rope break, which stirs up a cheer from the crowd!

Stevens: And a rope break forces a release of the hold by Craven, who looks quite displeased.

Riley: Who does he think he is, trying to win with a crossface? Chris Benoit?

Stevens: Well, both Craven and Benoit were trained at the Hart Dungeon-

Riley: And both suck big cock, Mark.

Stevens: Just like you.

Stevens laughs briefly at his joke, while Bobby doesn’t seem at all pleased.

Riley: I find your lack of intelligence disturbing.

Craven is very unhappy with this decision, and as a result, he gets to his feet after he releases the hold, grabbing the arm of Wildchild he was just working on while the crowd begins to boo once more. He uses that arm to tow Wildchild out into the middle of the ring, and keeping the arm elevated, adds in a few quick stomps to the elbow for good measure, then drops down, once again grapevining the arm with his legs before he applies the crossface hold across Wildchild’s face!

Stevens: And again, the Crossface on Wildchild!

This time, Wildchild is too far from the ropes to grab hold of them. Craven knows this, and he smiles as he pulls back...

But that smile is interrupted by Fugue, who with a dropkick to the face, breaks the crossface hold on Wildchild! Craven falls back, both he and Fugue slowly getting to their feet. As they do, however, Fugue’s head slides under Craven’s left arm, arms waistlocking the Nightmare as he attempts to lift him up into the air for a Northern Lights Suplex near the ropes!

Riley: Fugue’s gonna launch Craven into the air-

However, as Fugue tries this, Craven breaks the waistlock, Fugue not really able to lift Craven up all that much anyways. Craven whips his arm around and smashes Fugue in the back with a forearm, forcing him to the mat! Once there, Craven grapevines one of Fugue’s arms with his legs, locks his hands across Fugue’s face, and pulls back as Bobby stammers in shock from the counter, locking in a-

Riley: C-crossfaaaa-ffffaaa-

Stevens: CROSSFACE!!! CROSSFACE ON FUGUE AFTER COUNTERING A NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX!!!

Fugue quickly shoots his arm out and grabs the ropes before Craven can hold the crossface on for more than seven seconds, but even that’s enough time to start wearing Fugue down. The ref calls for the rope break, and Craven complies fully, releasing the hold as he gets up onto his feet. The crowd is against him, hollering boos loudly as they chant:

Crowd: CRAVEN SUCKS!! CRAVEN SUCKS!!!

With a scowl upon his face, Craven pulls Fugue up onto his feet, The Music Man still feeling the after effects of the crossface. Still, that does not matter to Craven, who forces Fugue over and grabs him around the head... then just stands there for a second, absorbing the crowd’s boos. He then smiles, lifting his free arm up, and flips the bird before he lifts Fugue off his feet and drops back, sending the crowd into “Riot Mode” as he drops Fugue to the mat with an inverted DDT!!!

Riley: Now that’s how you show a crowd who’s boss!!! Good job, Craven!!!

As Fugue’s head hits the mat, Craven smiles, rolling him over onto his back and hooking his leg, the ref in turn dropping to the mat to make a somewhat delayed count...

One!!!

Two!!!

Three-NO!!!! Fugue barely gets a shoulder up!!!! Craven as he gets onto his knees, angrily stomping his boot into Fugue’s chest and head for a few seconds, the crowd booing each thrust with greater intensity.

Stevens: Craven extrememly pissed as he gets to his feet, and it looks like he’s taking his frustration out on Fugue!

Riley: I’d be, too, if I got a slow count!!!

Stevens: What is it with you and this slow count theory?

Riley: Simple. Refs count faster for people that the crowd tend to like, the ones who are uptight squares, like you. But for the intelligent ones who know how to find loopholes and such, they get booed, and get slower counts, such as Tom Flesher, who, by the way, is a great wrestler.

Stevens: What is it with you and Flesher?

Riley: I love him... in a brotherly love kind of way...

Having been pulled to his feet in the meanwhile, Fugue looks dazed as he stands there, but Craven grabs him by the arm, and with a quick tug, Irish whips him into the corner! Fugue hits it chest first, staggering back out instantly from just the force of the whip and the impact in the corner as Craven draws his arm back like a shortstop scopping up a grounder and throwing it to first, before he draws his hand close to his head and drives his forearm into the head of Fugue with amazing force! Fugue is slammed hard down onto the mat, grabbing his head as Craven stands tall, the crowd booing him profusely.

Stevens: WHAT A FOREARM SMASH!!!

While Craven stands over Fugue, ready to pick him up for more damage, the crowd suddenly pops, and from behind Craven, Wildchild delivers a brief kick to the back of the knee, stunning Craven for a second and allowing him to run back to the ropes. Bouncing off them, Wildchild flies back at Craven, catching him in the head with a rolling elbow that sends him to the mat!!! Wildchild quickly drops down on top of Craven, pinning him to the mat as the ref and fans count:

One!!!

Two!!!

Th-Shoulder up by Craven!!! The crowd boos in disbelief as they thought Wildchild had Craven down for the three-count, the Bahaman slowly rising up from the pin. He looks somewhat worn down, and as he gets to his feet, seems to favor the arm Fugue and Craven weren’t working on, using it to push himself slowly to his feet.

Stevens: Only a two-count for the rolling elbow!

Riley: He deserved it for such a weak move. Did you really expect him to win with a rolling elbow, Mark? Get a grip...

Stevens: But here comes Craven, back onto his feet, but he looks a little exhausted...

As Craven slowly ascends to his feet, Wildchild grabs Craven by the arm and whips him to the ropes. Craven hits the ropes and flies back, but as he does, Wildchild ducks down and quickly slides Craven onto his shoulders for a Samoan Drop, but Craven shifts his weight forward, throwing Wildchild face first to the mat, where he grapevines the arm and locks his hands around the face of Wildchild for yet another-

Riley: CROSSFACE #3 ON WILDCHILD!!! Ruthless agreesion from Craven!!! I love it!!!

Stevens: And this time, Wildchild’s in the middle of the ring, Fugue is down... there’s no way he can get out of it!!! Perhaps this is it!!!

Wildchild freaks out as Craven locks in the hold, too far from the ropes to reach them, but unable to move, the pressure increasing as the crowd freaks out, Craven grinning from ear to ear. The ref drops down to check on Wildchild, but he refuses to give in, though things don’t look good for him. Blood rushes to his face as his eyes slowly begin to flutter shut, Wildchild straining to keep them open as the crowd boos Craven.

Riley: Make him squeal, Mikey, make him squeal!!! Make him tap-

But Riley is interrupted by Fugue, who with a dropkick to the face, breaks the crossface hold on Wildchild! Craven falls back, both he and Fugue slowly getting to their feet.

Stevens: Fugue may have just saved Wildchild for tapping!!!

But as Craven gets to his feet, slowly turning around to deal with the meddling Fugue...

WHAM!!! From out of the blue, Fugue lifts his leg up into Craven’s crotch, catching him in the family jewels! He falls to his knees as a result, eyes open, voice screaming as Fugue grabs Craven by his head and shorts, and takes a few steps forward, throwing him through the space between the top and middle ropes! Craven’s body flies to the outside of the ring, doing a tumbling flip in mid-air before coming down hard with a slap and a thud into the concrete ground below! Craven sits up, grabbing his back in pain, eyes rolling into the back of his head, as back in the ring, Fugue has turned his attention to Wildchild, pulling him to his feet and whipping him to the ropes. Fugue charges after Wildchild as the ref follows them, but as Wildchild hits the ropes, he leaps up and jumps backwards off the ropes, flipping once in the air and landing a devastating asai moonsault on top of a standing Fugue... and the ref!

Stevens: And down go all three men to the mat, including the ref!!!

Riley: It was obviously a ploy! He knows that Fugue was going to beat him, so he cheated to win!!!

Stevens: This match just got VERY interesting!!!

As Wildchild and Fugue get to their feet, Wildchild hooks an arm of Fugue, lifting him off the mat as he attempts a hip toss, but Fugue flips over him onto his feet, He unhooks his arm and staggers a bit forward, but as he turns around, he bows down, ducking a quick leg lariat from the energized Wildchild! Breathing heavily, Fugue quickly manages to slip behind his opponent. Catching Wildchild's arms and pulling them behind his back, the Music Man hauls Wildchild up off his feet, sending him slamming down onto his shoulders and neck! But Fugue isn't done, as he rolls over out o the tiger suplex and pulls Wildchils back to his feet! Wildchild staggers but can't break the hold as Fugue lifts Wildchild into the air in a double chickenwing!!!

Riley: IT’S THE CODA-

“CLANK!” A steel chair interrupts the Coda, causing the hold to be released and Fugue to drop Wildchild before he falls forward onto the mat! The crowd boos heavily in disgust as Craven discards the steel chair, the ref still down and unable to see the heinous act!!!

Stevens: What the hell is Craven thinking??? This isn’t a Hardcore match!

Riley: I see no problem here. Just a man trying to fufill his dream and move up in the company!

As Craven gets to his feet, he grabs the Bahaman Bomber and whips him up to his feet. With a quick whp to the ropes, Wildchild is sent flying, and Craven awaits his return. But as Wildchild flies back from the ropes, he ducks a monstrous clothesline from Craven, sliding behind him as Craven turns around. Wildchild lifts his knee so he’s standing with his side to Craven. Wildchild then shuffles his feet and pushes out his leg level to the ground, striking Craven with the bottom of his foot! Craven is thrown back by the sudden shuffling sidekick, spinning and falling onto the bottom rope, between two of the turnbuckles. The crowd pops as Craven lies there, Wildchild running back to the ropes. Bouncing off them, he slides in between the bottom and middle ropes, grabbing them before he swings his legs into Craven’s face, knocking Craven back onto his back with a variation of the 619!!!

Stevens: CHICKLET BUSTER!!! CRAVEN IS DOWN!!!

Riley: This, I do not approve of...

Craven lies on his back, stunned by the blow, but as he does, Wildchild, now standing outside the ring, leaps up to the top rope closest to himself, slowly balancing himself on it. Fugue is still down in the middle of the ring, but Craven is only beginning to recover from the Chicklet Buster, trying to get to his feet, wobbling and nearly falling as he attempts to get up. All the meanwhile, Wildchild just stands there, waiting patiently for the right moment as the crowd pops.

Stevens: Wildchild’s ready to come off the top rope! This cannot be good for Michael Craven!!

As Craven gets to his feet, Wildchild leaps from the top rope, arms extended as he leaves his feet for a flying cross body, but as he flies through the air at the standing Craven, about ready to hit him...

...Craven floats his elbow over, slamming it into Wildchild’s back as he drives him to the mat! Craven drops with him, quickly locking the arm out with his legs as they hit the mat. Then, locking his hands around Wildchild’s face, he pulls back, executing a fourth crossface hold on Wildchild!

Stevens: CROSSFACE FOR THE FOURTH TIME ON WILDCHILD!!!

Wildchild freaks out as Craven locks in the hold, too far from the ropes to reach them, but unable to move, the pressure increasing as the crowd freaks out, Craven grinning from ear to ear. The ref drops down to check on Wildchild, but he refuses to give in, though things don’t look good for him.

Riley: The fat lady’s warming up, Mark!

Stevens: Not so fast! He’s gotten out of it three times before, and he might be able to do it again!

He lets out a cry of pain, terror, and anger...

...

...Then taps out as his threshold of pain is broken, the ref signaling for the bell!!!

DING DING DING!!!

Funyon: Your winner, by submission, and new #1 Contender to the US Title... MICHAEL CRAAAA-VENNNN!!!

Craven immediately releases the hold, slamming Wildchild’s face to the mat with his hand as he gets up, hand raised in victory while the crowd boos loudly.

Stevens: In a superb match, Michael Craven pulled out the crossface four times to become #1 Contender to the US Title, but more shocking may have been the use of the crossface!!!

Riley: It’s a new strategy. I think the old experimenting Craven is gone, and he’s gone back to what worked for him before: a mix of power and technical wrestling. It’s like Danny Williams meets Frost!!!

Stevens: Wow, that’s one hell of an analysis Riley, but we have to taka quick commercial break. However, stay tuned, because the US Title is on the line... next!

March 1, 2003

Stevens: Welcome back to SWF SMARKDOWN!!! We are coming to you live from the sold out Staples Center in Los Angeles, California!

Riley: Home of the Clippers and Jack Nicholson!

Stevens: Speaking of good ol’ Jack, he’s just one of the many stars at hand tonight, bearing witness to the sports entertainment extravaganza that is the SWF!

Riley: Yep, I told you that Tom Flesher would draw the A-list stars!

Stevens: Anyway, coming up in just a few short moments, we will see recently crowned United States Champion, Danny Williams, taking on rookie sensation, Johnny Dangerous!

Riley: Rookie Sensation? Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha! That’s a good one, Stevens.

The house lights dim as a females voice says ““Johnny Dangerous!”” and the fans respond with a roar of cheers!

Suddenly the theme from ““Mission Impossible 2”” by Limp Bizkit rocks out from the massive wall to wall sound system as colorful arrays of lights begins circling over the arena. On the screen various clips of Johnny Dangerous performing many spy like actions (Like leaping from a 50 story building window to catch a dangling ladder from a helicopter, etc.) mixed with clips of Johnny’’s in ring fights are displayed.

Funyon: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the United States Championship! Introducing first, the challenger, weighing in at 210 pounds, hailing from Los Vegas, Neveda......JOHNNY “THE BARRACUDA” DANGEROUSsssssssssssssssssssssssssss!

Johnny strides from backstage and to the ring with out a care in the world, usually taking the time to wink at a few ladies or even blow a kiss in there general direction before hopping foot into the ring. Depending on how good of a response he is getting Johnny may or may not whore himself to the crowds even more from the turnbuckles.

Stevens: Could this man be the next United States Champion? Or is he simply being fed to the hungry vet as a punishment for his laziness.

Riley: Considering that he had his ass kicked by real title contenders last week, I’ll say the latter.

Stevens: I’m not to sure about that, Riley. He does have a lot to prove, especially since his lost to his former partner Wildchild. I somehow don’t see him, rolling over and dying.

The gentle melodies of In Flame’’s ““Jester’’s Dance”” echoes through the arena, triggering a chorus of ““boos””. Williams pushes his way through the heavy curtains draping from the locker room entrance, and slowly makes his way out to the platform.

Funyon: Making his way down the aisle, weighing in at 238 pounds, hailing from Louisville, Kentucky........THE SWF UNITED STATES CHAMPION......DANNY WILLIAMSssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!

With the object of their hatred now in clear sight, the fans taunts become even louder. Williams lets the negative reaction bounce right off of him, and slowly makes his way down to the ring like he has all the time in the world. Once in the ring, Williams carefully removes his belt and hands it off to Soapdish.

Riley: Danny Williams is fresh off an amazing victory over Mak Francis, winning back the United States Title!

Stevens: Yes, Williams may have fended off the Franchise’s invasion for now, but his position is being threatened once more, this time by Johnny Dangerous. Does Williams have enough provisions to hold off another invasion, or will Johnny Dangerous overwhelm the battle weary Champion?

Riley: Bah, enough analogies, it’s time for the fight!

DING! DING! DING!

A frenzied “JOHN-E! JOHN-E! JOHN-E!” chant, drowns out all the sound in the arena as the U.S. title match opens. Williams confidently walks out of his corner with his head held high, while Dangerous anxiously jogs out to the center of the ring. With an almost uninterested look on his face, Williams extends his hands for a grapple. Dangerous eagerly lunges in, locking up with Williams! Thanks to his superior power, Williams has no trouble in backing the smaller man into the ropes.

“Break!”, orders Soapdish.

Williams unties his arms from Dangerous’....

Crack!

only to drill him with a cheap Elbow Smash!

“Booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” growls the in raged fans.

Stevens: We’ve seen Williams do this before, hitting on the break in order to jump out to an early lead.

Riley: Yeah, I’m surprised it still works. That Dangerous must be a real dumbass.

Crack! Crack!

Williams clocks Dangerous with two elbows more for good measure, before sending him flying across the ring with an Irishwhip! Williams takes position in the center of the ring, knocking Dangerous on his ass with a face crushing Elbow Smash!

CRACK!

The fans “boo” away as Williams effortlessly yanks Dangerous up, pushes him into the ropes, and shoots him off yet again! As Dangerous speeds back at him, Williams draws back his arm to greet him with another big Elbow!

Swoooooooooosh!

Williams fires, hitting nothing but air, as suavely Dangerous ducks underneath him! Dangerous hits the ropes, and sling shots back at Williams with blinding speed! Hoping to still have a chance to catch him, Williams speeds around, finding that he’s too late!

Crack!

Dangerous nails Williams with an athletic Spinning Heel Kick to the face, drawing the “ahs” of the crowd! Dangerous shakes off the effects of Williams’ numbing elbows, and frantically hooks Williams’ legs for the pin.

ONE!

Williams kicks out with authority, but finds himself trapped in a Rear Facelock. Dangerous tightens his grip around Williams' mouth, adding pressure to where he just kicked him.

Stevens: Perhaps underestimating the challenger, Williams went for the same move twice, and paid dearly. I guess that Dangerous really isn’t that big of a dumbass, eh Riley?

Riley: Go to hell, Stevens.

Dangerous sticks a knee in Williams’ back, pulling back with all his might on Williams’ head! His face going numb with pain, Williams desperately fights his way back to a vertical base, forcing Dangerous to adjust to a Front Facelock. Now that he’s back on his feet, Williams has no trouble in pushing Dangerous back into the ropes. “O.K., break!”, barks Soapdish. Dangerous hesitantly releases Williams, who at first backs up, but than suddenly fires an elbow....

which is blocked! Before Williams can bring his arm back, Dangerous counters with a right, left, right hook combo that sends the champion back paddling to the center of the ring! Dangerous has no trouble in tying the dazed champion up with a Front Facelock, using it to wrestling Williams down to the mat. The crowd rewards Dangerous’ bravery with a rousing applause.

Stevens: Once again, the Barracuda corrects a previous mistake, holding the champion at bay.

Riley: Yeah, Yeah. Anyway, call me crazy, but I think Johnny boy is developing some sort of a strategy.

Stevens: Those facelocks can make him more subjective to punches and ohter face and head attacks late in the match, while also having have a sleeper effect on him, wearing the champ down if you will.

Dangerous really works the facelock this time, breaking a sweat in the process. The added pressure sends tremors of pain throughout Williams’ face, he also starts to noticeably become drowsy. Despite feeling very weak legged, Williams manages to get back on his feet, so Dangerous once again makes the switch to the Front Facelock. Lacking the strength he flaunted just a few minutes ago, Williams has to back step his way to the ropes. Dangerous happily releases the facelock, and begins pounding away at the cornered champion’s face! Under a bombardment of heavy punches, Williams drops to his knees, and brings his arms up in a vain attempt to shield himself! Loving every second of this, the crowd erupts into a standing ovation!

Stevens: WILLIAMS IS HURT! WILLIAMS IS HURT! DANGEROUS IS TAKING THE FIGHT TO THE CHAMPION!

In a final act of desperation, Williams grabs hold of Dangerous’ tights, and uses the leverage to pull him forward! The momentum propels Dangerous through the ropes, and down to the arena floor! The super hot crowd shifts their energy into a much more negative direction!

Riley: Williams, busting out a clever old school trick to break up Johnny’s momentum! To watch that, you would think that Danny was trained in Memphis rather than in Japan.

Crawling on his hands and knees, Williams makes his way to his feet, where he drunkenly stumbles to his feet. To Williams’ surprise, Dangerous is not only on his feet, but has already made his way back into the ring. The crowd roars as Dangerous dashes forward, and starts relentlessly pounding the champion’s head with brutal haymakers! After turning Williams’ brain into mash potatoes, Dangerous grabs another front facelock, using it to drag the champion down to his knees!

Stevens: Dangerous is just overwhelming the Champion, he is fighting his heart out tonight!

Riley: Yeah, but skill always beats heart out in the end, and don’t you forget it.

Stevens: I don’t know about that, Riley. Dangerous is bringing the brains too, notice how he always goes back to the facelock in between punch flurries. This allows him to catch his breath, while still keeping the pressure on Williams, wearing him down more and more with each passing second. Make no mistake, Dangerous is wrestling a very smart match, possibly the smartest of his career.

His once stylish hair now a sweaty mess, the Barracuda grunts as he squeezes Williams’ face as hard as he can in order to keep him down. Dangerous waits several long moments, before making his next move. Feeling he has Williams weak enough to take a risk, Johnny uses the front facelock to pull him up to a vertical base. Dangerous tosses Williams’ inside arm over his shoulder, grabs a handful of tights, and lifts! “DAAAAAAAAH!” groans a trembling Dangerous as he hoists Williams up for the Vertical Suplex....

but Dangerous can’t get Williams past the half way point, before he has to sit him back down. Not giving up, Johnny takes several deep breaths in preparation for another lift. The crowd gets behind the Barracuda, feeling the arena with the rumbling of stomping feet. With a bending of the knees, Dangerous lifts...

“GAH!” spits out Johnny after the lift his brought to an abrupt halt thanks to a leg grapevine! Having bought himself some time, Williams grabs hold of Dangerous’ tights, and makes a lift attempt of his own.....

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” screeches Danny as he powers the surprised challenger up over his head! Not taking the time to pose for pictures, Williams immediately falls back, bringing Johnny down with a ring shaking Vertical Suplex!

BOOM!

Both men are down, inciting a “LET’S GO JOHNNY, LET’S GO!” chant.

Riley: It doesn’t matter how long Williams has been in a facelock, he isn’t going to let some punk ass junior match overpower him.

Squinting up at the arena lights with dilated pupils, Williams slowly starts to sit up. But Dangerous is up first, sucking up the pain in his back to desperately trap Williams in a Front Facelock before he can get up!

Stevens: Williams is still feeling the effects of that facelock, giving the Barracuda enough time to recover from the Suplex, and go back to work on the Champ!

Not willing to play this game again, Williams pushes his way up to a vertical base, and hooks an arm through Johnny’s legs! Williams scoops the Barracuda up with relative ease, and slams him off!

Boom!

However, Dangerous pops right back up, catching Williams off guard with some right hands! Williams’ knees buckle as each shot connects, allowing the Barracuda to grab another Front Facelock....

Boom!

but Williams scoop slams him off like last time! Johnny is hurt this time, holding his back and wincing in pain. Since Dangerous doesn’t look like a threat at the moment, Williams doubles over with his hands on his knees, hoping that the throbbing pain in his face and jaw will go away with some rest. Suddenly the crowd gives a big pop as Dangerous springs back to life, once again attacking the weary champion! After landing three consecutive right hooks, Johnny bends Williams’ head back down into the Facelock!

Boom!

Just as before, Williams sends the Barracuda to the mat with a Scoop Slam! Wanting to keep Dangerous grounded for good this time, Williams draws back his boot, and slams it into the exposed back of his floored opponent!

Smack!

The fans sympathetically “oh”, while Dangerous thrashes about on the mat in agony. Williams pops his head a few times in a Rainmanesque fashion to shake the remaining cobwebs lose, before going to work on Johnny. Williams drags Dangerous up by his tights, grabs a handful of hair, and tosses him out of the ring! The Barracuda hits the floor with a sickening thump, obviously knocking the wind out of him. Williams follows Dangerous out, quickly snagging him by the arm, and jerking him to his feet. With a hard Irishwhip, Williams sends the challenger crashing into the guardrail with authority!

Clank!

His arms slung over the steel barrier, a delirious Johnny Dangerous can do nothing but wait as Williams stomps towards him. Williams pulls Johnny off the guardrail by his hair, and slams on the floor with a brutal Scoop Slam!

Thump!

The girls in the audience scream in horror as Williams lays some MEGA stiff kicks into Johnny’s lower back for the hell of it!

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Feeling his job is down, Williams slides back into the ring, and rests on one knee. Upon hearing Soapdish start to count him out, Dangerous ignores the cramping pain in his back, and starts crawling towards the ring apron.

Riley: This is a smart strategy by Williams, he knows that if Dangerous wants the title he’s going to have to come to him. So all he has to do is wait for the challenger, and rest up.

Stevens: Annie Eclectic actually used this strategy against Williams all the way back at, maybe he picked it up from her.

Riley: How dare you imply that our United States Champion is a thief!

Stevens: My aren’t we defensive, and no I wasn’t calling Danny a thief. It’s actually quite common for

A hyperactive girl screams,”Go get him, Johnny!” as Dangerous sluggishly rolls into the ring to beat the count. Williams shoves Soapdish out of the way, so he can welcome the Barracuda properly by dragging him up by his hair. Suddenly, Johnny swats away Williams’ hands, and nails him with a hard right hand!

Crack!

Williams palms the sides of his head, and staggers away in agony.

Stevens: Williams felt that one, once again the early facelock comes back into play!

Dangerous keeps the pressure on, following Williams to the ropes wear he corners him, and starts pounding away with some more right hands! Smelling a comeback, the crowd starts to heat up.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

But Williams ducks underneath one, letting the momentum carry Dangerous chest first into the ropes! Taking advantage of the situation he’s presented with, Williams whacks Johnny in the lower back with an Elbow Smack! Grunting in pain, Johnny’s legs give out, causing him to drop to his knees. Not letting up, Williams precedes to slam his boot into Dangerous’ back with some stiff Roundhouse Kicks!

Smack! Smack! Smack!

His jaw still throbbing from the punches, Williams backs off, leaving Dangerous grimacing and slumped over on his knees with his head and arms dangling over the second rope. Needless to say, the crowd has cooled off.

Riley: Now that’s how you kill a comeback, that will make Dangerous think twice the next time he wants to punch somebody in the face.

Stevens: Indeed, all Williams had to do was go back to the back, and it was all over for Johnny.

Williams aimlessly wonders around for a little bit, rubbing his jaw and blinking hard, before pulling Dangerous up by his tights. The impatient fans groan as Williams drags Johnny to the center of the ring, and slaps on an Abdominal Stretch. Wearing a sadistic grin on his face, Williams pushes Johnny down to the mat until he is forced to do cheerleader style splits with one leg going out in front, the other behind him. The men flinch and the young girls cry and shield their eyes as Dangerous screams his head off while Williams horizontally pushes his torso down into his out stretched leg! After recovering from their shock, the fans start a passionate “JOHN-E!” chant.

Stevens: Oh my, I cannot even begin to imagine how that must feel! It seems that Danny is worried about another Dangerous come back attempt, so he’s gonna try to wear him down with that hellaish variation of the Abdominal Stretch before attempting more offense.

Riley: I’d say he’s doing a lot more than wearing him down, Stevens. Unlike most wrestlers, Williams doesn’t use the Abdominal Stretch to take a breather, he really works it for all it’s worth, actually trying to beat you with it.

Stevens: Yeah, Williams always look for the submission with it, since there’s no way you can make the ropes from the split legged position. You are completely at his mercy, all you can do is try to tough it out, and prey that he get’s tired and frustrated.

Soapdish asks the question and despite his hamstrings feeling like they are going to tear at any second, Dangerous refuses to give up, managing to spit out a “Noooooo!” in between wails. Frustrated that he can’t the get submission, Williams releases Dangerous, of course in typical Danny fashion, he gives him a good kick in the back!

Smack!

The fans jeer at Williams’ lack of respect, while Dangerous attempts to bend his legs back into a more natural position. Not giving Johnny the opportunity to get up on his own, Williams jerks him up by his wrist, and floors him with a vicious Short Arm Chop!

Smack! Boom!

Keeping a hold of Dangerous’ wrist, Williams forces him and hammers him with another Closed First Chop, than another, than another, than another! Williams attempts to pull the Barracuda up for a sixth one, only to find that he’s too limp, so he scrambles on top of him with a lateral press!

ONE!

TWO!

Johnny kicks out, sparking cheers from the hopeful fans! Looking to crush their hope, Williams drags Dangerous up by his arm, and whips him into the corner! Johnny crashes back first into the turnbuckles, drawing “ohs” from the fans.

THUMP!

Williams than pats his elbow, takes position in the cross corner, and charges at full speed! Just before Williams can connect with the jaw shattering Back Elbow Smash, Dangerous not only side steps him, but trips him up with a Drop Toe Hold that sends the champion face first into the top turnbuckle! The crowd gives a riotous applause, a lot of the young ladies go completely nuts, jumping and screaming in celebration. His face buried in his hands, Williams blindly staggers out of the corner, collapses, and starts kicking his legs in the air.

Riley: The Champion is down and he is hurt!

Stevens: That face and head work has really given Dangerous the edge he needs against the much more experienced and stronger United States Champion!

His back still giving him trouble, Dangerous is slow to get up, having to use the ropes for support. Realizing he has to attack now, Johnny pushes the pain down inside, and presses the attack against the champion. Unable to feel his face, Williams winces as he staggers to his feet, blind to the fact that Dangerous is rushing him from behind! By the time that Williams is up, Johnny is already right on top of him. The Barracuda leaps into the air, palms the back of Williams’ head, and sits out!

Stevens: FACE CRUSHAAAAAAAAAH!

Williams thrashes around on the mat, clutching his aching face, while the fans gives a standing ovation for Dangerous.

Stevens: The Barracuda is not forgetting what brought him to the dance, he knows he’s got Williams’ face hurt, and he’s going to work it over every chance he gets!

Riley: Yeah, it’s best Johnny keeps it simple like this. When your overmatched by a more experienced and stronger opponent, the best thing you can do other than low blow them, is pick out a body part and work it over to no end.

Stevens: Correct, I do believe that Dangerous is bit too classy to use cheap shots.

Riley: Which is exactly why he won’t make it anywhere in this company, take a look at our last couple of United States Champions, Annie Eclectic, Mak Francis, Danny Williams. All three of them will cheat their asses off every chance they get, and that’s why they are Championship material.

Wincing as he gets up, Dangerous lets out a sigh as struggles to get the rubber legged champion up right. After several failed attempts, Johnny succeeds in steading Williams at a vertical base. With Williams drunkenly wobbling in place, Dangerous balls up his first, performs a 180 clock wise spin, slamming it into the champion’s mouth!

SMACK!

Stevens: URAKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!

Riley: OUCH!

The crowd gives an enormous pop at the sight of Williams crumbling to the mat, with a hand clinched over his busted mouth! Dangerous quickly falls on top of Williams, covering him up for the pin! Soapdish hits the deck, and the fans cheerfully count along!

Stevens: THIS COULD BE IT! NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THRE-Ohhhhhhhh!” sighs as the fans as Williams kicks out, but to say it wasn’t with much authority would be an understatement. Dangerous can’t believe it, breaking his cool, to nervously run his hands through his hair with a worried look on his face.

Riley: Dangerous can’t believe it, despite all the effort he’s made to work over Williams’ face, he still can’t keep him down for the three!

Stevens: It’s risk taking time! If Dangerous throws caution to the wind and lets it all hang out, his risk of error may increase, however he will have a better chance of actually pulling off the victory.

After regaining his cool, Johnny controls Williams up enough to toss him over his shoulders in a Fireman Carry. The crowd “ahs” in amazement as Dangerous gets a running start, and slams Williams into the mat with a beautiful somersault! The Barracuda rolls through to his feet basking in the flash photography of the thousands in attendance, leaving Williams laid out on the mat. Once he comes down from his emotional high, Johnny flinches and grabs at his back, but the cramp goes away as quickly as it came on. Dangerous than brings a fist down to signal the Moonsault Double Stomp, prompting the fans to blow the roof off the place!

Stevens: The Barracuda, looking to murder Williams with his feared Moonsault Double Stomp! If he can nail it, we may see a new U.S. Champion crowned tonight!

Dangerous begins his journey to the top rope, but he doesn’t get far. Not as out of it as he appeared, Williams springs to his feet, catching Dangerous on the second rope! Williams wraps his arms around Johnny’s head in a Sleeperhold, and rips him off the turnbuckle! To the disgust of the fans, Williams starts spinning in circles, the momentum lifts Dangerous’ legs off the mat nearly turning his body completely horizontal in the air!

Stevens: OH MY GOD!

Riley: That looks like fun!

Getting dizzy himself, Williams stops spinning, and pulls Dangerous down into the Doushime Sleeper! With a deranged look on his face, Williams shakes his head up and down, working the hold for all it’s worth, squeezing Dangerous’ head so hard that his thin skinned biceps threaten to tear. Fired up, the fans immediately begin to chant “JOHN-E! JOHN-E! JOHN-E” as fast and loud as they possibly can. Drifting into the land of dreams, The Barracuda desperately tries to pry Williams’ legs apart, but he doesn’t has strength.

Riley: Williams, doing excellent job of draining the fighting spirit out of the challenger!

Stevens: Good thinking by Williams, he can wear Dangerous down with the Sleeper, without expending to much energy himself, thereby giving himself some time to recover from the Barracuda’s offensive burst.

In a last ditch effort, Dangerous summons enough power to roll to the salvation of the ropes, though he’s barely conscious by the time he makes it there! Losing his patience, Williams releases Dangerous, back rolls to his feet, and vents his frustration with some stiff punts to the challenger’s exposed back!

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Unable to take this type of punishment anymore, Johnny rolls out of the ring as quickly as he can. Getting a crazy look in his eye, Williams takes position on the far side of the ring, opposite where Johnny is. Sensing something is up, the fans rise to their feet. Holding his back and groggy from the Sleeper, Dangerous slowly forces himself to a vertical base. Camera flashes light up the ring as Williams darts across it at full speed, diving through the ropes, slamming an Elbow into Dangerous’ temple!

CRACK!

The impact blows the Barracuda back into the guardrail, before lifelessly flopping on the floor!

Stevens: ELBOW SUICIDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Riley: Williams is threw with draining the fighting spirit out of Dangerous, now he’s just gonna knock it out of him!

Williams tugs on Johnny’s limp arm, sitting him up just enough so that he can roll his dead body into the ring. Rather than pursue the challenger, Williams opts to climb up on the apron, where he begins climbing the nearest ring post.

Stevens: Williams going up stairs, perhaps looking for his Diving Elbow!

Riley: Now I have no idea why Danny would be taking a risk like this, he doesn’t have too, he’s got Johnny right where he wants him.

Stevens: Maybe deep in the back of his mind, he’s worried. Johnny had Williams in trouble not to long ago, and I don’t think he wants to find himself at the challenger’s mercy again.

While Williams climbs, the sleepy challenger desperately tries to get back on his feet. Williams approaches his destination, perching on the top turnbuckle like a bird of prey, there’s just one problem, his prey is heading right for him. Now on his feet, Dangerous rushes Williams, scaling the turnbuckles! His balance threatened, Williams sits on the turnbuckle, making him easy prey for a flurry of Johnny Dangerous’ haymakers! But Williams puts a stop to that with a couple of elbows, that sends Johnny free falling back to the mat!

Boom!

Williams wipes his forehead and lets out a sigh of relief, but Dangerous is up again! The Barracuda desperately climbs back up to the second rope, and begins wildly swinging right hands into Williams’ face!

Stevens: WHAT DETERMINATION FROM THE CHALLENGER!

Riley: THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE! How can he just shake off those elbows and that sick ass fall, only to pop right back up again?

Williams is completely overwhelmed this time, choosing to cover his face, rather than fight back! The crowd is going completely psycho, rooting Dangerous on as he pounds away at the vulnerable champion! Taking full advantage of this window of opportunity, Johnny bravely leaps backwards off the second turnbuckle, wrapping his legs around Williams’ head, pulling him down into a beautiful Super Hurricanrana! The fans explode for the high spot, giving a deafening applause. Williams hits the mat so hard, that he bounces almost a foot into the air!

KA-BOOM!

Riley: OH DEAR GOD, WHAT A FALL!

Stevens: BREATH TAKING MANEUVER FROM THE BARRACUDA, WHO IS NOW IN FULL CONTROL OF THIS MATCH!

Instead of staying on top of Williams for the pin, Johnny crawls off him, finding his way to the ring apron. Dangerous kneels on the ring apron, wildy shaking his fist into the air, further enticing the hot crowd!

Stevens: Just last week, it was Danny Williams who was overwhelming the United States Champion....

Riley: What are you getting at, Stevens?

Stevens: I tell you what I’m getting at, irony has placed Williams in Mak Francis’ boots. Now he is the champion under fire, having to hold back the assault of a driven challenger!

Riley: Big deal! That’s the position that Danny was in when he entered that match against Francis, but he reversed the situation, putting the pressure on Mak instead! If he can escape the heat than, he can escape it now.

The air knocked out of his lungs and his balance thrown off, Williams painfully climbs to his feet, unaware of the fact that Dangerous’ is in a attacking position on the apron. Now that Williams is up, the Barracuda spring boards on to the top rope, using it as a launching pad to fire himself at Danny!

Smack!

Johnny slams his boots into Williams’ neck with a graceful yet brutal Springboard Dropkick that leaves the champion face down on the mat!

Riley: I DON’T BELIEVE IT! I THINK HE BROKE DANNY’S NECK!

Dangerous sits up on his knees, raising both his arms triumphantly in the air to an ear shattering pop from the crowd! Johnny rolls the corpse like champion over, and hooks his limp leg for the pin!

Stevens: THIS IS IT! NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THRE-Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!” moans as the fans as Williams wiggles a shoulder up! His eyes as wide as the grand canyon, Dangerous looks up at the sky in disbelief!

Stevens: COUNT OF TWO, ONLY!

Riley: Dangerous may be putting the pressure on Williams, but he isn’t gonna cave in like Francis did in the same circumstances last week!

Pouring sweat and sucking air like someone that just ran a marathon, Dangerous pulls Williams up by tights, and locks his arms around his waist in a rear waistlock.

Riley: What the hell is he doing now?

Johnny bends his knees low to the mat, and with a mighty heave, tosses Williams high overhead!

Stevens: RELEASE GERMAN! RELEASE GERMAN! RELEASE GERMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!

Thump!

Williams lands right on the back of skull, and rolls all the through back on to his feet. Looking at Dangerous with glazed over eyes, Williams stagger steps sideways like someone trying to walk on slipperily ice. Making his way to the edge of the ring, Williams tumbles over the second rope, and down to the arena floor. The fans are out of their seats, dancing in the ails while pumping their arms up in the air sharing Johnny’s triumph! The pop somehow remains constant as Dangerous climbs to the outside to retrieve Williams’ carcass.

Stevens: What a Cinderella story this has become, fresh out of the junior leagues with no major SWF victory to his credit, Johnny Dangerous came into this match with a zero chance of walking away with the victory. Who would have guessed, that things would turn out like this?

Riley: This match isn’t over with yet, Stevens, so quit talking like it is!

With of the aid of a front facelock and a handful of tights, Dangerous manages to roll the limp champion into the ring. The Barracuda slides in, drags Williams away from ropes by his boots, and strains to get him on his feet with a rear waistlock. Williams isn’t so much a corpse now, more in a zombie like trance. Johnny bends his knees low to the mat for another German Suplex, driving the fans even more apeshit!

Riley: HE’S GONNA SUPLEX HIM AGAIN!

Stevens: I DON’T THINK WILLIAMS CAN TAKE ANOTHER HEAD DROP!

Dangerous prepares to bridge back, but before he can, Williams springs back to life and dives for the ropes! Not expecting a fight, Johnny is unable to stop Williams from reaching the ropes, and securing his arms around them! The fans let out a collective sigh as Dangerous can’t seem to make Williams budge. Giving up, the Barracuda releases Williams, and starts hammering the back of his neck with forearms! Weakening Williams enough that he releases his death grip on the ropes, Johnny spins him around, and shoots him off the ropes with an Irish whip! Dangerous takes position in the center of the ring, and right when Williams hits the ropes to make his return trip, he extends his boot for the Superkick....

Stevens: JOHNNY KICK!

but Williams desperately hangs on to the ropes, stopping himself from charging into certain doom! Curious as to what happened, Johnny lowers his boot to see Williams propel himself forward like a human bullet!

SMACK!

Williams nearly decapitates Dangerous with a vicious Hooking Lariat, that drags him to the mat by his neck!

Stevens: NO! HOOKING LARIAT! HOOKING LARIAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!

Williams also goes down, but in a less brutal fashion, dropping to his knees, and collapsing on this stomach from exhaustion! The fans shift their electric energy into a much more negative direction, bring a chorus of “boos” upon the ring.

Riley: Williams is quite experienced in avoiding Superkicks, everyone in the damn fed pretty much uses one.

Stevens: I have to agree with you there, Danny has tasted the boot of Annie and Mak Francis before on numerous occasions. Bottom line, it isn’t nothing he hasn’t seen before, and knows how to deal with.

The crowd briefs a sigh of relief as Dangerous stumbles to his feet, rubbing his stiff neck. Williams is also getting up, so Johnny take the initiative and helps him up. But, Williams suddenly swats his arms off, and clubs him with a vertebra shattering Enzui Lariat!

Smack!

Both men go down, but Williams is up in a flash. Williams staggers back a few feet on his heels, but he regains his balance with ease. Dangerous isn’t so lucky, lying face down, with both his lands locked around the back of his neck in a vain attempt to stop the paralyzing pain.

Riley: With a series of neck snapping lariats, Danny Williams has taking back the control of the match!

Stevens: I don’t know, Riley. I’m not sure if Williams has feet fully underneath him yet.

Riley: Sure, but Dangerous has broken neck, compare and contrast Stevens!

Williams pulls Dangerous half way up by his tights, and takes position in a corner, creating enough run way to land a plane.

Stevens: He’s sizing the Barracuda up for something....

Riley: That’s one of the reasons Williams is so successful, he can beat you in so many ways, you never know what to expect!

Having only to do half the work now, Dangerous finds his way to his feet, signaling for Williams to rocket out of the corner at a him! Once in range, Williams springs off one boot, and at peak height, slams the other boot into Johnny’s face with a lethal Jumping High Kick! A sweat cloud flies into the air as Dangerous goes down like a sack of bricks! The women in the audience turn away, covering their eyes, hoping to purge their memory of the grisly scene.

Riley: I got this one, Stevens.

Stevens: Be my guest.

Riley: DYNAMIC KICK! DYNAMIC KICK! JOHNNY IS DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAD!

The outraged fans shout taunts and profanities as Williams hooks Dangerous’ legs for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

TWO1/2....

TWO3/4.....

NO! Johnny somehow wiggles a shoulder up at the last possible micro second. Williams keeps his cool, casually sitting Dangerous up, and slapping on a Rear Sleeperhold! The fans desperately try to pull Dangerous through this, stomping their feet and chanting “JOHN-E!”.

Riley: Smart, smart, wrestling by Danny Williams. Rather than resort to his risky big moves, Williams is simply gonna try to take Dangerous out with a Sleeperhold!

Stevens: This late in the match, and given the amount of punishment that Dangerous has already taking, a Sleeperhold could be just enough to take him out.

Fighting to stay awake, Johnny frantically scoots his way within arms reach of the ropes. Dangerous stretches his arms out as far as they can go, gracing the bottom rope with his finger tips, but Williams stands up and drags him away from the ropes with the Sleeper. The fans sigh as Williams squats back down behind Dangerous, and starts twisting his head from side to side to speed up the effects of the hold! It isn’t long before Johnny goes limp, and Soapdish administers the arm test. Nick lifts Dangerous’ arm into the air, releases it, letting it flop back down to the mat. The crowd finally quiets down as Williams releases Dangerous, letting him lifelessly drop back to the mat, before smothering him with a tight ateral press for the pin.

Riley: HE’S OUT, HE’S OUT!

Stevens: THIS SHOULD BE ENOUGH!

ONE!

TWO!

TWO1/2....

TWO3/4....

THREE!

DING! DING! DING!

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”, moans the pissed fans. Dripping sweat, Williams rises up on one knee, and Soapdish raises his hand to make the win official.

Funyon: The winner of the match at 17 minutes and 54 seconds, AND STILL YOUR UNITED STATES CHAMPION........DANNY WILLIAMSssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!!!!

Stevens: And Danny Williams survives a close one! Dangerous brought a great strategy, but when it came down to crunch time, Williams was able to use his experience to pull off a convincing victory!

Riley: A close one? Williams got a little scare towards the middle there, but that’s all it was, a little scare.

Stevens: Fans, we have to take a short commercial break, but stay tuned! Because up next, we’ve got Boxing!

March 1, 2003

The camera fades back in on a wide shot of the interior of the Staples Center. The fans can be heard buzzing and a cable can barely be made out descending from the ceiling. The shot transitions to a close-up of Funyon in the center of the ring receiving the microphone on the end of the cable dangling from high overhead. The ring bell sounds three times before Funyon speaks.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our following contest is a special ten round boxing exhibition match. Standard boxing rules are in affect. The bell cannot save a fighter until the last round. The three knock out rule and standing eight count are also in affect. If a clear winner has not been determined at the end of ten rounds, we shall go to the judges scorecards at ringside.”

The scene transitions again to a table next to the commentators at ringside. The three people seated at the table stand up. The camera lights on each one for a moment while Funyon introduces them.

“Introducing our special guest celebrity judges. First, ESPN boxing analyst and host of Around the Horn, MAX KELLERMAN!” The fans boo and hiss, while Kellerman playfully swats his hands as if he could deflect the crowd noise.

“Our second judge distinguished himself through 14 years in the NBA and four Championships. A former interim head coach and current assistant coach of YOUR Los Angeles Lakers,” the crowd pops huge for the name drop “KURT RAMBIS!” The tall geeky man in thick glasses turns and waves to all sides of the loving crowd.

“They love him, but not me, I’m Max Kellerman!” moans the smarmy douchebag. Someone screams, “You suck Kellerman!” for his troubles.

“Our final judge,” Funyon continues “is one of the most beautiful women in the world by virtue of being chosen as the 2002 Playboy Playmate of the Year. Measurements are 34-24-35. Her turn-ons include a nice smile, tanned skin and a good sense of humor. Her turn-offs include bad hygiene, a hairy chest and cock…” Funyon looks down at his notecard, “…y attitude. Miss DALENE KURTIS!” The perky blonde waves to the wolf whistling crowd and blows them a kiss.

“Our special referee for the proceedings,” Funyon announces as the shot jumps back to the ring “is legendary boxing official Mills Lane!” A respectful pop washes over the old, yet sprightly man as he brushes his thumb against his nose three times and then points at the camera.

Without further ado, the thundering guitar work of Dweezil Zappa cuts through the arena to elicit a sound roar of boos. Tom Flesher marches out from the backstage curtain wearing a pair of sunglasses and gaudy rings on each finger. He holds his tag team title belt over his head and jumps up and down as he trots down the ramp. Frost enters behind him wearing a hooded black robe. He slowly walks with his head down and his gloved hands up. Behind him holding a spit bucket and smoking a cigar is the Memphis Eel. He is wearing a black sweatshirt reading “Frost Brand Cut Man” with a white towel over his left shoulder.

Stevens: “Mark Stevens back with you along with Bobby Riley. A very intriguing and, to my knowledge, unheard of encounter for the SWF.”

Riley: “ELM and Frost squared off in a tag match last week with the Magnificent 7 naturally coming out on top. If there’s anyone who likes to kick a dog when he’s down it’s Frost and our commissioner the Suicide King.”

Stevens: “You say that like it’s a positive trait.”

Riley: “Hell yeah, after bitch smacking the blind, kicking dogs is my favorite hobby.”

The heel entourage makes their way to the ring and Tom Flesher holds his hands up for Frost to hit while still wearing his robe.

“Fighting out of the blue corner in the silver trunks. Weighing in earlier today at 296 and ¾ pounds and standing at a height of 6 feet 7 inches tall. He represents both his native Iceland and the Magnificent 7, The SWF ICTV and Tag Team Champion, FRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSST!”

Funyon points toward the bottom left corner and Frost rears back like a stallion to shake off his ring robe. The fans jeer louder.

Funyon shuffles to his next index card. “Tom Flesher would like it to be pointed out that while Frost holds nothing personal against El Luchadore Magnifico, he will eat his children.”

“UNO! DOS! TRES! QUATRO!”

The fans absolutely explode at the counting of the heavily accented Mexican voice. Orange pyro bursts from the four ring corners to the disdain of Frost. “Mission Trip to Mexico” by Bunch of Believers gears up in full on the sound system. CIA comes through the ring curtain first with the SWF World Title held high overhead. He holds the stub of a cigar in his teeth and wears a black wool cap with a pull over black sweatshirt. Behind him, his body radiating sheer electricity is El Luchadore Magnifico in a yellow ring robe. He holds his gloved hands up to the screaming audience with a bright smile. Trailing last is Mr. Nagasaki holding ELM’s precious Mexican flag with reverence.

Riley: “Welcome to the Twilight Zone, where we have an Asian dwarf carrying a Mexican flag for a Hispanic midget.”

Stevens: “Longtime SWF road agent and former manager of Ash Ketchum will serve as cut man for Magnifico, while the Memphis Eel will be holding those duties for Frost on the other side. Odd, considering that Frost was knocked out by the Eel for his insubordination at the Clusterfuck this year in not leaving the ring area when eliminated.”

Riley: “The Eel was just doing his job and Frost knows that. He’s also the best cut man in the business since Cowboy Bob Orton wasn’t available. Frost might have the skills, but Flesher has the know how to bring in a winner and recruiting the Eel is an important part of it.”

Funyon finishes his introductions as the face contingent enters the ring. “Fighting out of the red corner in the orange trunks with the red stripe. Weighing in earlier today at 193 pounds even…”

Riley: “Soaking wet, by the way.”

“and standing at a height of 5 feet 11 inches tall. He represents both his native Mexico and the Midnight Carnival, the SWF World Champion, EL LUCHADORE MAGNIFICOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

ELM dances about the ring and makes with a flurry of fist work to delight the cheering throng.

Funyon finds one more card in is pile. “CIA would like it to be known that El Luchadore Magnifico plans to eat lightening and crap Frost.” The center is filled with laughter and Frost’s face turns a beet red.

Lane waves both men to step to the center of the ring and he stands between them. “Alright,” his shrill voice barks, “you two have briefed of the rules in the back. I want a good clean fight. No rabbit punches, no headbutts, no hitting below the waist, no biting, especially biting of the ear, no suplexes, no powerbombs, no bulldogs, no DDT’s, none of that gay looking submission crap, none of that flippy floppy lucha stuff, no hanging off a guy’s back like you’re Bugs Bunny. Frost,” he shakes a finger in the man’s face “I’ve got my eye on you.” He then turns to ELM and places a hand on his shoulder. “Son, I’ll make sure to notify your next of kin personally upon your probable and likely death. Go with God. Touch gloves and come out fighting.”

ELM holds out his fists and Frost hammers his mitts down into them, “I must break you,” he booms out gutturally. ELM gulps loudly and smacks his gloves overtop Frost’s.

Stevens: “While the corners make their last preparations, let’s go to the tale of the tape, Bobby.”

A graphic pops up on the screen with a picture of Frost on one side and ELM on the other with their physical stats in between.

Riley: “Let’s take a look here, Frost has the height advantage, weight advantage, reach also goes to Frost. Chest, Frost. Wrist, Frost. Bicep, Frost. Ankle, Frost. Boxing experience, Frost. Age…hey, ELM wins one.”

Stevens: “It’s no secret that Frost has the World Champion outmatched in every facet here, except one very important one.”

Riley: “If you say heart, I’m going to trade seats with Kellerman.”

Stevens: “Never mind then.”

DING DING DING

Mills Lane knifes his hand vertically and roars, “LET’S GET IT ON!” to pop the fans.

Frost and ELM walk out of their corners and stop a foot short of each other near the center of the ring. They circle each other cautiously. ELM looks awkward and uncomfortable while Frost seems to be smoothly comfortable in what is a more natural element for him.

Stevens: “A counter at the right hand bottom corner of the screen will count down the two minute rounds for the fans at home, with the round marked in the upper left corner.”

Frost shoots out a right jab that just sails over ELM’s head. He steps under it and looks for a quick right hook to Frost’s ribs, but he sucks in his stomach to avoid the shot. Frost covers up his midsection and backs up to reset himself. ELM dances back to look for a second opening.

Stevens: “Not only would the size difference make this a highly unfair contest, but Frost has loads of boxing experience. Encouraged by his grandfather, Frost almost went into boxing before wrestling caught his fancy. In fact, Frost holds several amateur boxing titles from his native Iceland and frequently employs such tactics in his matches today.”

Both CIA and Flesher shout encouragement and advice to their men from the floor as the audience buzzes expectantly. Frost advances with his guard up while Magnifico keeps light on the balls of his feet and looks to dance to the giant’s right. Frost hits a couple glancing left jabs as ELM glides by, but he coolly keeps his composure and backs into the upper right ring corner.

Riley: “ELM doesn’t have any former boxing experience that we know of, but growing up in Mexico City you either boxed or killed rats with a slingshot and since Magnifico has been mistaken for a rat on many occasions…”

Riley trails off as Frost advances to pin ELM in the corner. CIA pleads with ELM to get out of the corner and he tries to rush to the right, but Frost cuts him off with an uppercut to the middle. Magnifico gets his gloves down to block, but neglects to raise them back up and Frost scores with a looping left hook to the temple! ELM falls into the ropes dazed and Frost follows with a hammering right jab that throws ELM to the corner!

Stevens: “ELM’s inexperience caught him there.”

Riley: “And Frost’s experience allows him capitalize.”

Magnifico hunches into a ball and covers up as best he can while Frost peppers him with hooks to the body and overhead blows to the crown of his skull.

“CLENCH! CLENCH!” CIA yells. Magnifico throws himself into Frost and wraps his arms around him in. Frost musters his raw power to push ELM off back into the corner, but he throws himself into Frost again and hangs on like a pesky mosquito that won’t leave you alone. Mills Lane gets between the two and orders the break.

Stevens: “CIA has definitely studied up on boxing strategy in the past week, giving ELM some sound advice. I know the Carnival did not walk in here tonight totally unprepared.”

Riley: “Which would make it different from every other match those jokers have ever had. CIA needs to not worry about this so much and focus on the tag match he has next with Justice and Rule, better known to the uninformed as Judge Mental and Ejiro Fasaki.”

The clapper is heard to signal ten seconds left in the round. ELM dances away from Frost, making sure to face him the whole time. Frost puts his hands up and inches toward ELM, but makes no moves to swing at him before the bell sounds ending the first round.

Stevens: “Both fighters retreat obediently to their corners. A feeling out round to start that quickly shot by.”

Riley: “Frost is too set in how one usually fights a match and doesn’t realize that he could end this in about three seconds.”

Stevens: “ELM’s speed is giving Frost trouble as usual and it looks like the big man’s strategy is to let ELM come to him and not get over anxious. We have the corners wired for sound, so let’s check in on the World champ now.”

“Alright, ya’ jabroni,” CIA gruffly spits out in a mock Brooklyn accent “ya’ looked good to start, but don’t let him pin you in the corner again like that. That was ya’ own fault.”

“Si, si, my fault.” ELM repeats.

The camera shifts to the heel corner and the advice of Tom Flesher. “So, reservations at Dan Tana’s are for eleven, then Fugue mentioned this small after hours jazz club we can go to afterwards. Personally there’s this strip club off the interstate where you can shoot pool with topless women I and the Eel will probably check out, but whatever.”

The ref calls for them to clear out and Flesher nods his head. “Ok, champ, you couldn’t get it done in one, so let’s get it through in two.”

Frost stands and the Eel removes his stool as the bell for the second round chimes.

Stevens: “The Magnificent 7 do not seem to be taking this match too seriously.”

Riley: “Do you think it was booked that way by King? This was just so Frost could lay in a good beating to that runt and make him easier pickings for TNT during their ppv match.”

The two men come to the center of the ring again and stop. However, this time Frost looks a little more aggressive and presses toward ELM as he tries to keep his distance. Jabs are pushed aside or dodged as ELM keeps his feet churning and refuses to be pegged down.

Stevens: “I would say that Magnifico isn’t even concerned with winning, just surviving.”

Frost keeps throwing jabs and moving closer as he steers ELM to the lower right corner. CIA barks at him to get out of there. ELM head fakes to his right and then slices to his left, but the crafty ring veteran is not fooled and follows ELM to his right. Frost rockets up a big right uppercut with all the brute force of a pissed off Mike Tyson. It catches the Luchadore right on the button of the chin! His head snaps back and his wild main of hair whips in the nonexistent wind! He soars off his feet to strike the turnbuckles back first and plummets to his rear! Lane counts as ELM looks up dazed and Frost retreats to the neutral corner.

(ONE)

Stevens: “FROST SCORES THE FIRST KNOCKDOWN!”

(TWO)

Riley: “Most likely the knockout! You can’t use that bush league psych out crap on someone who knows his way around a boxing ring.”

(THREE)

Magnifico puts his hands on the second rope and starts to hoist himself up.

(FOUR)

His right hand slips and he sinks down to one knee.

(FIVE)

ELM shakes his head and takes the top rope with his right hand to stand up fully.

(SIX)

Lane waves Frost to stay back and steps to Magnifico to finish the standing eight count.

(SEVEN)

(EIGHT)

Lane asks ELM if he wants to continue and he shakes his head ‘yes.’ Mills backs up and waves Frost to come in.

Stevens: “ELM looks real shaky, he’d better keep his distance until the end of the round.”

Riley: “He better charter a flight to Bermuda then.”

Frost senses opportunity at hand and rushes his opponent to fire down a series of sharp lefts and rights. ELM covers his head and tries to dance away, but can’t quite get his feet moving under him. Frost sends a left hook to the gut that thumps ELM in the elbows. He leans forward from the shot and drops his guard just enough for Frost to sneak in a clubbing right directly to the eye! ELM’s body tremors to the right and he goes back down! The crowd jeers ravenous and incites Frost enough to raise his hands above his head to taunt them, confidence now flowing freely. Lane pushes Frost to a neutral corner. He chuckles slightly and lackadaisically shuffles to the corner.

(ONE)

Stevens: “Mills makes his second knock down count of the round.”

(TWO)

Riley: “This is a slaughter! It’s like Super Macho Man on Glass Joe!”

(THREE)

Stevens: “Frost’s strength and smarts are proving way too much for ELM to overcome. You can never question his heart, but sometimes it takes more than that to gain victory.”

(FOUR)

Riley: “What did I say about that heart rubbish? Flesher can tell you how little heart counts for, especially when you’re up against somebody without one, like Perfect Bo last week.”

(FIVE)

Stevens: “ELM is starting to stir, but more on instinct that anything. If CIA has learned some little boxing trick to get ELM through, he better employ it now.”

(SIX)

ELM crawls about on all fours. CIA and Nagasaki moan “GET UP! GET UP!” while the Eel and Flesher yell “STAY DOWN! STAY DOWN!”

(SEVEN)

Magnifico reels back to his knees, not knowing which set of voices to heed.

(EIGHT)

“GET UP! GET UP!”

(NINE)

“STAY DOWN! STAY DOWN!”

The World Champion lurches to his feet at the last instant and trips into the ropes. Lane halts his count and approaches Magnifico as he bounces off the strands. The ref takes the Mexican’s gloves in both hands and looks him straight in the eye.

Riley: “Give it up. This is ridiculous, he’s out on his feet.”

Stevens: “*cough* heart *cough*”

Riley: “What?”

Stevens: “Nothing.”

Lane backs up and Frost charges like a bull moose. As he reaches Magnifico, the bell sounds to the end the round. However, Frost doesn’t, or refuses, to hear it and smashes ELM in the nose with a running right hand!

Riley: “HE’S DOWN! TKO! TKO!”

Stevens: NO! THE BELL SOUNDED!”

CIA and Mr. Nagasaki swoop into the ring and shove Frost aside as he hovers over Magnifico. Lane rips into Frost for the late shot and threatens disqualification. Flesher talks with the ref and the Eel pulls Frost to the corner. CIA and Nagasaki drag ELM to his stool and the mysterious Asian hits the floor and removes something out of the pack of supplies he brought to the ring.

Stevens: “There was absolutely no call for such a blatant cheap shot.”

Riley: “Don’t get you panties in a bunch, grandma. Frost didn’t hear the bell. He smells blood and tunes everything else out.”

ELM slumps like a sack of rocks on the stool. CIA tends to the quickly blackening eye, while Nagasaki hands him a glass through the ropes. The cup is half full with a bubbling amber liquid.

“Alright, champ,” CIA says keeping in character “I didn’t want it to come to this, but I’m afraid we have no other choice.” He holds the glass up to ELM’s lips. “Drink.”

Magnifico takes a few sips and his face turns to a sour expression. “What is it? It tastes like Pine-Sol.”

“It secret Oriental potion.” Mr. Nagasaki confirms with a nod of his head.

“You will hear things nobody else can hear and see things nobody else can see. Your mind and body will be increased ten fold.” CIA informs ELM with a mystic air.

Riley: “*cough*PCP*cough*”

Stevens: “What?”

Riley: “Nothing.”

The shot switches to the heel corner where Flesher sits on the canvas in front of Frost on his stool and the Memphis Eel leans over the ropes. They are eating sandwiches and drinking out of thin-lipped wine glasses.

“Fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches.” Flesher says with a sticky mouth. “Eel says they’re a quick energy boost, Elvis swore by them.” The Eel crosses his heart and stares toward the heavens. Flesher reaches for the spit bucket, which we find to be an ice bucket holding a bottle of Dom Perione. “More champagne?”

Lane comes over and claps his hands. “Picnic’s over boys.”

Flesher scurries to the apron as the Eel drops to the floor. “We need to leave, take him in three” Tom rhymes and the bell rings.

ELM stands up with seeming increased vigor. “Hear things no one else can hear, see things no one else can see.” CIA repeats like a mantra on the floor.

Stevens: “We’ll see if Nagasaki’s ancient energy boost has any effect.”

Riley: “Hey, don’t forget the Eel working his own Memphis magic in the other corner.”

ELM races right up to Frost and slides under a lazy left jab. He catches the Velvet Hammer in the ribs with a right hook and proceeds to furiously work the body! The crowd picks up a bit at the flurry of offense, while Frost’s eyes shoot wide in surprise more than pain.

Stevens: “Magnifico looks like a totally different fighter this round, a lot more confident.”

Frost pushes ELM back with a forearm and Lane lifts his arm and pats it to tell Frost to watch doing that. Frost fires out a stiffer jab this time, but ELM charges under it and goes back to working the body.

Riley: “Am I the only person who sees the cheating going on here? You can’t just drink some…funky…herbal…tea stuff in the middle of the fight and gain supernatural powers.”

Stevens: “Well, so much for the Eel’s Memphis magic then.”

Riley: “Hey, now that’s legit tactics.”

Frost covers up his midsection and scoots back toward his corner. He throws his thick right arm around ELM and won’t let go. Magnifico struggles against him and the ref comes around to look at the clench. With Lane on the right side, Frost dips his shoulder on the left and juts it under ELM’s jaw. ELM flops back staggered.

Stevens: “How about that blatant cheating?”

Riley: “You must have drunk some of that wacky juice, Mark, because now you’re seeing things nobody else can see.”

Frost hits a right jab to the top of the forehead. ELM goes back a step more and dances away to his right. Frost attempts to cut him off with a haymaker right, but Magnifico skates under and gets a left to the armpit! Frost winces and blocks his left side, allowing ELM to circle around and score with a hook to the top of the chest! Frost tries to brush him off with an overhand right. The Luchadore parries it off and gets a slicing left to the chest!

Stevens: “ELM pouring it on now. Frost thought he had him beat and that was a costly error.”

Riley: “Notice Magnifico working the body? He can’t reach his face, must have left the lifts in his other boots.”

Mag follows with an uppercut to the breadbasket, starting to look like a real fighter. Two more left hooks to the ribs and the audience cheers riveted. Frost staggers to his right and ducks to cover the body. ELM reaches as high as he can with a right to the chin. However, Frost jutes just enough for the shot to miss and counters with a sledgehammer right! ELM is rocked, but keeps his feet and just goes insane with a wild flurry to the body as the clapper thumps.

Stevens: “The round is coming to a close and none too soon for Frost. This might not be the cakewalk he envisioned.”

DING DING DING

Lane separates the two and ELM skips to his corner a washed in the roars of the crowd with his hands up. The Memphis Eel forces Frost to sit and starts tending to the bruising torso.

Stevens: “Where’s Flesher?”

The camera cuts to find him whispering in Dalene Kurtis’ ear at the judges’ table.

“A girl like you is way too classy to be a judge. You should really be a ring girl. I know this gig you got with Hef must be sweet, but I know of this guy around the L.A. area, dabbles in wrestling, dabbles in some exotica. Totally tasteful stuff of course. Here’s Rob’s card,” He slips it into her delicate hand “and if you have your own python, BONUS!”

“TOM!” shouts the Memphis Eel from the corner and the Superior One whips his head around.

“Got to go, but I’ll see you after the show.” Tom winks and leaves. Dalene rolls her eyes and tosses the card over her shoulder.

Riley: “That Flesher, he’s a master.”

Stevens: “But at what, is up to conjecture.”

CIA gives ELM more of the liquid and the Mexican’s eyes dance. “Mind and body increase ten fold. You feeling it, champ.”

“Si, the power courses through my veins. I feel invincible. I can win this.”

“Go to it.” ELM leaps up and CIA pats him on the back. He steps to the apron to stand by Nagasaki. “What is that stuff anyway?”

“Mr. Pibb and a little carnauba wax for that extra gloss.” Nagasaki confides.

“Don’t let that runt get to you.” Flesher tells Frost as he stands. “Now it’s time to really fight. Put him on the floor, do it in four.”

Stevens: “There’s the bell and both men charge like bulls from the gate.”

Frost slams ELM full in the face with a crushing right jab. His head snaps back, but then returns upright without a sign of ill effect. Frost hammers in another shot and another and another. Magnifico’s head snaps back with each one, but he stands his ground and refuses to give an inch.

Riley: “Block with your face, that’s sound strategy. ELM can’t get any uglier.”

ELM’s eye has a black ring around it now and Frost tries to punish it more. Magnifico shakes off all the punches and finally sees his opening to dart in with a fierce shot to the chest. All the air escapes Frost’s lungs in a long exhale and the Luchadore helps it along with another shot to the gut.

Stevens: “ELM is picking his spots and using his speed. Frost is trying to power him down, but it’s not working.”

Frost doubles over and Magnifico finally lands one to the face! The sweat on Frost’s brow flies off like a summer shower as ELM presses on. Three clubbing right hooks to the face gets Frost leaning one way and a belt with the left gets him going the other. Frost is woozy on rubber legs. ELM reels his right arm back and batters an uppercut to the chin! Insane applause erupts. Frost stumbles to land in the bottom left corner. ELM dashes in with his gloves up, but Frost sidesteps him and trips away with a hand on the ropes to balance himself. The World Champion follows undaunted and leaps to smack Frost in the back of the noggin! Lane admonishes him and turns Frost around in the near corner to check on him as he holds his head.

Riley: “Look at this cheating left and right. They know it’s the only way ELM can beat Frost. Fight fair and lose with dignity.”

Stevens: “Frost shouldn’t have turned his back on him, don’t think he wouldn’t have done the same. Since when have you believed in fighting fair and losing with dignity?”

Riley: “Since it applied to El Luchadore Magnifico.”

Frost’s nostrils flare with anger and his face is crimson with rage. He nods to the ref that he is fine and sprints past him to knock ELM’s block off in the far corner. ELM holds his position to the last instant and dives out of the way of a laser guided right! Frost smashes the turnbuckle and quakes the ring. Frost turns to find ELM and finds a hook to the ribs instead! Frost ‘oophs’ from the blow, but quickly shakes it off and nails a right jab to the black eye! Magnifico ducks to tend to the eye and Frost windmills his arm around for a pounding punch. ELM springs up from his crouch and whams the Icelander square in the chin with an uppercut! The whole scene freezes for a second and then rushes forward to see Frost drop to the canvas and the fans lose it!

(ONE)

Riley: “FLASH KNOCKDOWN! HE SLIPPED! IT WAS THE FAN MAN!”

(TWO)

Stevens: “No! ELM was playing opossum and suckered Frost in. Anger and overconfidence are often Frost’s Achilles heels and Magnifico knows how to work them. In boxing, it doesn’t matter how hard you hit someone as long as you hit them in the right spot.”

(THREE)

Frost gets his legs underneath him and pushes up.

(FOUR)

(FIVE)

Frost stands and Lane tries to look him in the eye to finish the standing eight count. Frost only has eyes for ELM though.

(SIX)

(SEVEN)

(EIGHT)

Lane backs up and bring his hands together to signal both men to fight anew. The audience is alive with excitement.

DING DING DING

Stevens: “Wha? There should still be about 25 seconds left.”

The camera cuts to a wide shot just in time to see Tom Flesher scampering away from the timekeeper’s table. Lane looks confused, but points both men to their corner. Flesher bounds to the apron and into the ring with the ice bucket in hand. He strides half way across the ring before Mills catches him. Flesher throws the melting ice and water into the face corner out of frustration! CIA looks ready to fight, but Lane holds him off. Flesher can just be heard saying, “it slipped” over the thundering jeers.

Stevens: “A cheap tactic from a frightened man.”

Riley: “It’s a message, the kid gloves are off now.”

Flesher ducks low in the corner with the Eel keeping an eye on the ref.

“We wanted this to be a nice leisurely ass beating, but I guess that won’t be happening. They won’t play with us; we won’t play with them. No one left alive, after five.” The camera can just make out Flesher using a pair of scissors to cut through the tape on Frost’s right glove.

Stevens: “It doesn’t seem like Tom Flesher has a lot of faith in Frost.”

Riley: “Don’t be stirring up trouble again. Everything is copasetic between them right now. Flesher is tired with this joke of a match as I’m sure Frost is. The Carnival want to cheat, the Mag 7 will teach them what cheating really is.”

CIA massages ELM’s shoulders over the ropes while Nagasaki looks on from the floor. “You’ve got him on his heels now, Rock” he barks “let’s put this bum away, he ain’t no machine. Let’s fight and remember Mickey loves ya.’”

DING DING DING

The bell sounds and all hell breaks loose! The Memphis Eel comes barreling around the corner with the champagne bottle cocked back over his head. The audience warning doesn’t alert Mr. Nagasaki in time and he’s blindsided with the bottle to the skull! It shatters in a million pieces and Nagasaki drops! Lane screams red faced at the Eel who holds his hands up and the broken bottleneck innocently. CIA lands with a thump on the floor and snaps out his right leg with a superkick! The Eel takes it and crumples to the ground. Tom Flesher races in from behind with a double axehandle and clocks CIA in the nape of the neck! They both hit the mats from the force of the blow!

Stevens: “Flesher blindsides CIA! How despicable.”

Riley: “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Mills Lane tries to restore order on the outside as the camera zooms out to catch the in ring action. Frost lopes in with his right glove off and his taped fist free. Magnifico contemplates leaping to his stablemate’s aide and misses the sledging right cross to the temple coming his way! ELM shutters to his right and hits the canvas done for the night.

Riley: “HEY REF! FROST JUST KNOCKED ELM OUT!”

Stevens: “With a taped fist, that’s not legal!”

Lane spins around due to the crowd noise and sees Magnifico floored. He starts to count, but spies Frost trying to hide his right hand while slinking off to the corner. Lane runs over and grabs his elbow and tugs on it. Frost won’t let it loose. Max Kellerman hides under the table while Kurt Rambis runs to the ring and hops with his knees on the apron.

Stevens: “Judge Kurt Rambis is telling Lane what happened. Look out!”

Frost yanks his arm out and tries to sucker punch Rambis on the apron. He falls rearwards to avoid it and Lane sees the taped fist fully. He calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Funyon: “Here is your winner, by the results of a disqualification in the fifth round, EL LUCHADORE MAGNIFICO!”

Riley: “This atrocity will not stand! Magnifico can’t beat Frost! Even by dq, this is unfathomable.”

Stevens: “Play with fire and you get burned!”

The camera cuts to the outside where CIA and Flesher are brawling madly. Nagasaki pulls the Canadian off, while the Memphis Eel restrains Flesher. Frost hits the floor screaming bloody murder and points at the ring. Nagasaki and CIA immediately tend to the downed ELM. Lane and Rambis stand their ground in the ring and flash their own fists to pop the crowd! The heel contingent back up the ramp throwing their hands up and cursing!

Stevens: “Flesher and Frost are washing their hands of this mess and are leaving. It’s clear this was never meant to be a real fight, just another cheap way to try to beat up the nearly unstoppable World Champion.”

Riley: “Well, duh.”

Stevens: “CIA needs to let the medics tend to his fallen friend and prepare for the coming tag match, which we will have live on Smarkdown…NEXT!”

March 1, 2003

A MULTI-TIME CHAMPION

A MAIN EVENTER

A LIVING LEGEND

AN IGNWF ICON

ONE OF THE MOST POPULAR MEN IN IGNWF HISTORY

IN MARCH 2003

FROM THE FIRE

HE MAKES HIS RETURN

ARE YOU READY?

March 1, 2003

We come back from a brief commercial break to the roar of the Staple Center crowd, ready for the Main Event of SWF SmarkDown! The camera does a wide shot pan, revealing the massive number of fans on hand before zooming down to the announcer’s table with the always amiable Mark Stevens and the ever annoying Bobbie Riley.

“It’s main event time, and we sure have one heck of a tag match coming up!” says a cheerful Grand Slam, “While there isn’t much history between these teams, but in the teams there are certainly some stories to tell. There aren’t many fans out there who don’t know the heated rivalry between the first two tag partners, Mak and CIA...”

“Nor is there anyone out there who hasn’t seem them get stomped on by everyone who’s fought them. Mak has been sucking it up like a Hoover vacuum. If we still had just 2 shows, his title reign with the U.S. would have been just as short as TNT’s. And don’t get me started on CIA…”

“Well, CIA has been on a pretty cold streak as of late, but these men are both ready to shake up the tag division.”

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

“The following match is scheduled for one fall to determine the number one contenders for the SWF World Tag Team Titles...”

Red pyrotechnics go flying off to the left and right of the ramp, as the vaunted team of William Hearford, known more commonly as Judge Mental, and Ejiro Fasaki come into view on the stage, adorned in Magnificent 7 Football Jerseys. They step down the ramp way confidentially, with both The Judge and Ejiro taunting a few of the more vocal fans stationed near their path.

“Now entering the ring, weighing in at a total combined weight of 430 pounds and members of the Magnificent 7… the team of William Hearford and Ejiro Fasaki ... They are ‘JUSTICE AND RULLLLLLE’!”

“Now that’s a tag team!” Says a cheerful Bobbie Riley, pointing out to the heels as they proceed to the ring. “Look at the unity: Same entrance, same uniforms, these two are on the level with each other, and looking stylish while doing it.”

“Well, it’s obvious that these two have a good working relationship with each other. In the last few weeks they’ve worked with each other in quite a few tag matches, and these two certainly share the same mindset.”

The two heels slide in under the ropes and go over to their corner, where they proceed to do a few stretches while going over their game plan. But that huddle is broken up immediately as the house lights shut off as the wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena. You can feel the pulsation of the light dings, as a hard beat done by violins, suddenly strikes up slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lights in the arena change, slightly, everything acquiring a red tinge, as the SmarkTron flickers to life, portraying a Canadian flag, flowing in the wind, and the instrumental accompaniment to 'O Canada' playing. Or at least, the first verse, before a soft, digitized female voice cuts in, whispering through the arena speakers for all to hear 'Midnight Carnival', the image on the SmarkTron showing the members of the Carnival standing side by side for a single instant, and then....

BOOM!

A bright red rush of fireworks shoots up along the stage, glittering points of red light slowly drifting down from above, and a voice rings out, accompanied by the opening riff to 'Secret Agent Man', and the emergence of a masked figure, microphone in hand. The SmarkTron shows a number of highlights from some of CIA's finest moments. Although for CIA, it is worth noting that those finest moments varies between amazing athletic feats, and silly showboating.

“It’s time, it’s time, it’s Molson time!” he says, walking down to the ring to a huge pop. “It’s great to be here in Los Angeles, and damn it if the crowds here are always the best! Now it’s time to give you what you came to see… Ejiro and Judge getting beaten by Mak and me!”

“Now entering the ring at a combined weight of 462 pounds... “The FRANCHISE” MAK FRANCIS and C... I... AAAAAAA!”

CIA comes right next to his partner on the floor and with that they simultaneously step up to the apron and enter the ring together. Walking over to their corner, Mak and CIA climb up to the middle rope together to a massive ovation from the gathered crowd. Exchanging words briefly, Mak decides to stay in the ring while CIA heads to the apron. After a few moments of conferring with each other, the Magnificent 7 contingent decides that the Judge will start for the team of Justice and Rule.

DING! DING! DING!

The bell rings, and both men immediately come out to the center of the ring and meet in a collar and elbow tie-up. Grappling together, Mak immediately drops down to a knee before Hearford uses a brief burst of strength to try and put a side headlock on Mak. Holding on tightly, Judge tries to put a squeeze on his opponent but the college prodigy is quick and strong enough to pull his head out of the hold and immediately locks on a waist lock in the process. Mak immediately arches back for the German Suplex, but the Judge won’t his body to go backward as he sandbags and tries to break the grip on the waist lock. Turning back, Hearford quickly fires off an elbow to Mak’s head, and another, and finally a third to break the Franchise’s grip. The Judge quickly spins around with a standing back switch, and grabs Mak’s arm as well to place him in a hammerlock. Hearford sneers as he pushes up on the hold, but Mak refused to stay in that position long and he quickly ducks down underneath Hearford and takes control of the hammerlock… only to have the Judge almost immediately reverse back into control. The Judge immediately turns the hammerlock into a wristlock with a quick spin. But the Franchise shows off his unbelievable skills as he does a quick cartwheel to complete the reversal and take control of the wristlock himself! The crowd gives a small cheer at Mak’s incredible agility and awareness as he grabs the back of the Judge’s neck and grapevines the leg before snapping him to the mat with a swift and deadly a side Russian Legsweep!

Stevens remarks, “An incredible display of chain wrestling by both men, but Mak is able to take control with his decided speed advantage. Mak is doing great job of keeping up with a veteran like Hearford, who is going to get left in the dirt if he doesn’t use his power to slow Francis down real soon.”

The Judge quickly works to rise up to his feet, but Mak doesn’t give him much time to recover as Francis grabs his wrist and swings him around into the ropes. But the wily old man doesn’t go anywhere as he reverses the whip, and sends the Franchise running right into a strong short clothesline that sends The Franchise slamming into the canvas. Mak isn’t down on the ground for long as he rolls into the ropes and uses them pull his body to its feet, but Hearford immediately goes on the assault and kicks Mak strait in the ribs. Hunching over, Mak can provide no defense as The Judge hunches over at the waist and pulls The Franchise up before slamming him down hard across the knee with the side backbreaker. Getting up with a sneer, The Judge looks to do even more damage to Francis’ lower lumbar region by hooking him up for a vertical suplex. Pulling The Franchise high, Hearford holds Francis up high to allow the flow of blood to rush to his opponent’s head. But Mak is not a former US Champion for nothing, though, as he kicks wildly with his legs in order to fall down behind the unsuspecting Hearford. Taking to the air, Mak blasts The Judge in the pectoral muscles with a leaping dropkick that sends The Judge to the mat.

“And once again, Mak Francis uses his quickness to disable the grinding power attack of William Hearford. The Magnificent 7 are going to have to do something to neutralize that, Riley.”

“Well golly gosh darn there Stevens,” replies Riley, “I guess they’ll have to shatter his kneecaps.”

“Always one to cut right to the chase, aren’t you Riley?”

Taking to the air once more as The Judge rises to his feet, Mak strikes him once again with a hard dropkick that sends the member of Justice and Rule rolling all the way out to the floor. Meeting him there almost immediately, Ejiro Fasaki gets into a huddle with his partner as Mak looks for an opportunity to propel himself onto both of his opponents. But Justice and Rule are too alert at the moment to fall prey to the machinations of their opponent as they step out of the range of any sort of flying attack as they discuss what to do next against The Franchise. Finally, The Judge rolls back into the ring to go head to head once more with Francis. The two men jockey once again for a collar-and-elbow tie up but this time Judge manages to sneak a quick knee to the gut before bringing Francis down to his knees with a tight top key lock. But Mak does not stay down for long as he quickly fights back up to his feet... before The Judge immediately hits the mat with a thud!

“What... a display of power from Francis?” asks Stevens.

Rolling right up to his feet, The Judge and Ejiro both motion to the referee that Mak pulled the hair. Stepping up to Mak with an accusatory look, Referee Eddy Long asks The Franchise if he did indeed ... GASP ... cheat?

“Me?” answers The Franchise as he looks out to his fans. “Me cheat? You’re DAMN RIGHT I cheat!”

The crowd loves the sound of that and share a laugh with Mak as The Magnificent 7 display their outrage to the official, but really all he can do is give Francis a warning. Tired of being treated so shamelessly, The Judge runs forward with a clothesline that the speedy Francis easily ducks underneath before rising up and deliberately thumbing Hearford right in the eyes to stop The Judge right in his tracks. Popping off the ropes for the Yakuza kick, Mak tries to take Judge’s head off only to have Mental move to one side and catch the leg over his shoulder. Cinching up on Francis’ head, Judge leans back and tosses The Franchise overhead with a beautiful capture suplex! Getting right back to his feet, The Judge makes the first tag of this contest and introduces Ejiro Fasaki to competition. Doubling up on Mak, Justice and Rule snap The Franchise into the canvas with a double snap suplex. Immediately reaching over, Ejiro hooks a leg as Long drops down to make the quick count...

ONE!

TWNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!

“It’s much too early for even a move as well executed as that suplex to keep The Franchise down for three,” remarks Stevens. “Even though Francis went through the wars last week against Danny Williams, he’s still has a hell of a lot of fight in him.”

Pulling Francis off the mat, Fasaki shoves him into a neutral corner and begins to go to work with a flurry of short elbows to the side of the head. Again and again, Ejiro swings the lumber into Francis as the official counts away towards a disqualification. Breaking away at four, Ejiro makes sure to give Eddy Long a bit of lip before going back on the attack on The Franchise. But even that minor distraction is enough to give Mak enough room to strike back with a hard knife edge chop across Fasaki’s chest, sending Ejiro staggering back a step before he rushes forward once again with an elbow. But Mak is not going to just quit and he smashes his hand across Fasaki’s chest again with a loud smack that causes everyone in the arena to wince in sympathy pain. Not about to get into a slugfest with Mak, Ejiro simply reaches up and gouges away at Mak’s eyes to stop his momentum.

“See Francis?” yells Riley with a bitter intonation, “That’s the way to attack someone’s eyes! This guy thinks he’s so smooth with his cute little rule banding, but Justice and Rule are the real masters of making each and every shortcut count.”

With a disdainful look on his face, Fasaki pulls a blinded Francis into the center of the ring and sets him up for another suplex. But even pulling up on the tights, Fasaki cannot find the strength to send Francis up and over. Soon enough, Mak finds the wherewithal to drive a knee up and into the gut of Fasaki in order to break Ejiro’s grip. But Francis is not about to give up his grip on the suplex and he uses that basic positioning to sweep Ejiro into the mat with a spinning neckbreaker! Shaking on the mat in pain, Ejiro can do nothing as Francis staggers up to his feet once more and reaches back to tag in to the ready and willing CIA. The crowd erupts as the perennial fan favorite enters the ring for the first time this evening. Up on his feet once again, Ejiro is unable to defend himself as The Canadian Intelligence Agent sends him into the ropes and propels him into the air with a high backdrop toss! Thudding into the canvas, Fasaki pulls himself up once more for just a moment as CIA takes advantage of his off balance opponent with a flying forearm to the top of the head. Trying to continue this momentum, CIA lifts an arm high and motions to the fans that it might be time for a Canadian ham hock to the head.

“He’s loading up that roaring elbow!” remarks Stevens as CIA eyes up the staggered member of Justice and Rule.

Rushing forward with a spin, CIA looks to knock Ejiro’s block off but the quicker wrestler immediately ducks his head and avoids the strike. Turning on a dime, Fasaki goes for his own patented backhanded elbow but CIA blocks the shot with his hands and sends Ejiro turning around once more so CIA can finally blast him to the mat with a hard roaring elbow right underneath the chin! Dropping low, CIA hooks a leg as Long counts...

ONE!

TWO!

THR...NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Fasaki kicks away in time to avoid the defeat as CIA snaps his fingers in mild frustration. Getting to his feet once again, CIA looks to use the ropes for some momentum for another elbow when he feels an odd tingling sensation in his back as Hearford buries a knee into the small of his back from the apron. Falling down to a knee, CIA tries to regain his wind as Ejiro moves up to his feet once again. This time it is Fasaki who hits the ropes, and this time it is Mak Francis who knees an opponent from the apron!

“That filthy cheat!” whines Riley, “The referee should be disqualifying Francis right now! How long can he let this aggresses behavior go on?”

“Weren’t you just saying that The Judge and Fasaki could out cheat him?”

“Never mind what I said! The Franchise is cheating like Michael Jackson on Bubbles and you know it!”

Getting up and seeing Fasaki holding onto his back in pain, CIA quickly tries to keep the assault going as he hauls Ejiro up and onto his shoulder. Carrying the light wrestler around easily, CIA runs forward and crushes him against the turnbuckle! Pulling Ejiro back onto his shoulder, The Canadian runs out of the corner and slams Fasaki into the mat with a hard Calgary Stampede powerslam! Not satisfied with that blow, CIA points upstairs and makes his way up to the top rope as Long makes sure that The Judge does nothing to disturb the ropes and interfere. Finally as Fasaki staggers up to his feet, CIA takes to the air for a flying ax handle only to be met in midair by a Fasaki dropkick that takes the air out of the entire building!

“What a move by Ejiro!” remarks Riley. “Admit it Stevens, he is rule! He is rule!”

“I’ll admit that was a hell of a move, but it alone won’t be enough to stop CIA. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than any dropkick for anyone to put down CIA.”

Getting up once more off the mat, Fasaki goes to press his advantage by jamming a hammerlock in behind CIA’s left shoulder and tossing him right into the turnbuckle. Gritting his teeth in pain, CIA holds the arm tight before Ejiro uses the hammerlock once again to send CIA though the middle rope and all the way out to the arena floor. And that is where Hearford is waiting to take charge of the action by grabbing a hold of CIA by the arm and sending it crashing down across the top of the guardrail as Mak Francis comes flying into the ring. But it is only The Franchise that gets the referee’s attention as he works to send him back to his corner as The Judge continues his assault on the floor. Using the hammerlock once again, Hearford sends CIA flying right into the ring post as Ejiro works some nefarious magic.

“Ejiro is pulling away the protective padding on the floor to reveal that concrete below!” shouts Stevens as Ejiro introduces a new dynamic to this already hot contest.

Finally under protest, Mak Francis climbs back out to the apron as The Judge sends CIA rolling back into the ring to the already waiting Fasaki. Wrenching CIA’s shoulder down with a wristlock, Fasaki reaches out to his partner and makes the tag to Judge Hearford. Quickly as his body can carry him, Hearford climbs all the way up to the top rope and comes down like a blacksmith’s hammer across CIA’s shoulder with a hard knee. Trying to cover himself up as Fasaki and the Judge complete their exchange, CIA tries to roll closer to his corner only to be easily cut off by the veteran member of the Magnificent 7. Hearford easily is able to extend CIA’s arm once more and he slaps on the Anderson style pump handle armbar as the referee checks in close to see if a submission is forth coming. But the tough as nails Canadian is not about to quit just yet as The Judge continues to crank away deep on his shoulder.

“You know Riley,” adds ‘Grand Slam’, “CIA sure has had some bad luck with his shoulder as of late, as Frost really went to work on it only two weeks ago, getting a tapout with the Cobra Clutch to defend his ICTV title.”

“And you know as well as I do that The Judge and Ejiro knew that coming in here tonight and had a target on CIA since the beginning. And you also know that patch of concrete that Fasaki exposed is going to be a whole big piece of their plan as well.”

Cranking on the arm, Hearford holds on tightly as CIA battles back against the pain as best as he can. Fighting and scraping, CIA refuses to submit to the pain and pressure of the armbar as Mak looks on with a worried expression. But CIA still has it in him to use his free arm to pull up on Judge’s right leg in order to find the space to fight and battle his way up from underneath The Judge and work his way up to his feet! And as the dogged Hearford holds on tightly to the arm, CIA slams a fist into the side of The Judge’s head again and again and again. Finally finding some space, CIA frees his battered arm from The Judge’s grip and reaches out for a tag to his partner only to get cut off as Hearford grabs a hand full of hair and brutally whips CIA down to the canvas mere inches away from his partner. Walking over to his corner while dragging CIA by the arm, The Judge makes the tag to Fasaki before lying on the canvas to expose CIA’s injured shoulder. Hopping into the ring with a casual ease, Fasaki pulls down a kneepad to expose the hard bone below before dropping it down across the shoulder of his weakened opponent. And as The Judge rolls out to the apron, Ejiro quickly and ruthlessly slaps on the deadly cross armbreaker!

“It’s locked on! ... BUT Mak makes the save immediately! He comes into the ring and boots Ejiro right in the head to break the hold. And that’s the ... ”

“Most cowardly thing I have ever seen!” interrupts Riley, “Mak knew that CIA was moments away from getting his arm hyper extended and made the save. I know if it was me in there, I would make sure my partner had the chance to quit before I left the apron. Oh but not The Franchise... because he wants to win. Bastard”

But all is not right in the world of CIA as the referee is escorted from the ring, The Judge makes an illegal entry into the match and tosses CIA right over the top rope to the arena floor before leaving the ring to the enormous hatred of the fans. But that is only the beginning of the plans of Justice and Rule as Fasaki rolls right on after CIA and brings him ever closer to the concrete floor. Finally getting CIA where he wants him, Ejiro tucks an arm in behind CIA’s back before jerking him into the air and delivering an armbar slam onto the concrete!

“Oh my god, Riley! That has got to be a sure way to separate a shoulder if I have ever seen one. This team of Hearford and Fasaki are like animals in there.”

“That’s where you are wrong Stevens. Animals kill to feed themselves. Animals fight to protect their territory. Animals go into heat....

.

Anyway, Justice and Rule is a machine. A machine built to win by any means necessary.”

Holding onto his shoulder like it is about to fall off, CIA struggles to find his feet even under the help of Fasaki who casually shoves CIA into the ring under the bottom rope before sliding back into the ring after him. Quickly laying a short series of kicks to the arm, Fasaki sets CIA up once for that pump handle armbar and slaps it on with a furious anger. Pushing away at the shoulder with all of his might as CIA struggles underneath his weight to escape the hold. But even as CIA reaches back for the leg like he did against The Judge, Fasaki kicks his leg free of CIA’s grip and retains the base needed to wrench away on the shoulder. But unfortunately for Ejiro, there is no anchor around Mak Francis’ legs keeping him from lending a hand. Stepping into the ring and brushing past the referee, Mak grabs Ejiro by the hair from behind and sends him flying right over the top rope and onto the concrete!

“Ejiro hit the bare concrete that he revealed earlier. Man ... talk about your karma.”

Going splat into the hard arena floor is not good for your back and Fasaki is extremely slow to pick himself up as CIA lies on the canvas of the ring as Mak exhorts him to make the tag. But it is the twisted back of Ejiro Fasaki that holds up as he rolls back into the ring close enough to his corner to make the tag to The Judge as CIA finally gets himself up to his knees and reaching for his partner.

So very close!

So very, very close!

But oh so far as Hearford comes running across the ring after getting the tag and knocking Francis off the apron! Quickly collecting CIA once more, Hearford sets the Canadian Intelligence Agent up and slings him down to the canvas with a hammerlock suplex! Rolling on top, The Judge hooks a leg as Eddy Long counts away...

ONE!

TWO!

THREEGAHHHHHHHNOOOOOOOOOOO!

Slapping the canvas with insane rage, Hearford demands that CIA stay down for the three as Fasaki and Mak look on with apprehensive eyes. Pulling a rather limp CIA off the mat, Hearford pulls his opponent onto his shoulder and looks to drop him face first on the top turnbuckle but the cagey Canadian slides down the back and sends The Judge into the turnbuckle instead. And as Hearford staggers back, CIA desperately locks on a full nelson before driving The Judge down with the Via Rail!

“What a move! CIA uses his best attack to get himself an opening, but now he must ... make ... that ... tag!”

And with both men down, the referee counts away towards ten as the partners look on and something else as well. Because as Fasaki turns his back to the ring and reaches into his tights for that oh so special friend, Mak Francis heads into the ring to cut him off.

“Ejiro has that chain again! Doesn’t he ever leave that thing at home?” asks Stevens as the referee forces Mak out to the apron once again as Ejiro limps into the ring as CIA finally pulls himself back up to his feet.

WHAM!

And CIA is right back down as Fasaki clocks him behind the ear with the chain! Tossing the chain into the air, Fasaki raises his arms in premature victory as he turns his back on the action. But he should have made his way out of the ring first as the referee turns his attention to getting Ejiro out of the ring while Mak Francis hatches his contingency plan. Reaching into his kneepad, Francis waves a chain of his own at Fasaki behind the back of the referee. Struggling to cut Francis off, Ejiro fights against the will of the official as Long struggles to force him out of the ring. While at the same time, Mak grabs the staggered Judge, winds up and KNOCKS HIM INTO THE NEXT TIMEZONE! Tossing the chain away just as his opponent did, Mak takes his place back on the apron and starts to clap his hands to get the fans behind CIA and get him to MAKE THE TAG!

“Cheat and counter-cheat! CIA and the Judge have both been laid out by chain shots, and now it’s a race to make the tag!”

CIA slowly begins come to, his head dizzily shifting from side to side as he pushes up off the mat.

On the other side of the ring, Hearford stirs a little after taking the monumental blow from Mak, and rolls himself over while Ejiro franticly jumps around on the apron, calling to his partner to make the tag.

The crowd begins to chant “C! I! A! C! I! A! C! I! A! C! I! A!” as the secret agent moves towards his partner’s outstretched hand at a PAINFULLY slow crawl.

“The entire Staple Center is up chanting CIA’s name, trying to give him that last bit of strength to make it to Mak!”

“Ha! Stupid crowd! Anyone with half a brain knows Canadians can’t spell!”

The Judge gives his head a sharp shake begins to move towards the heel corner, moving ever-so-slightly faster than CIA.

“He’s almost there! He’s almost there!” yells an excited Mark Stevens over the “C! I! A!” chants while the Carnie begins to stretch out his arms for Mak and comes up about a foot or so short.

… The Magnificent 7 member is almost there as the ref carefully looks on, wary of any cheating by Justice and Rule…

… CIA pushes off with his right foot, making a desperation dive for the tag…

The arena holds its breath, the announcers go silent, and everyone at home watches for the tag…

*SLAP*

“JUDGE MADE THE TAG! JUDGE MADE THE TAG!” screams an ecstatic Riley as Ejiro begins to go right through the ropes, while CIA falls JUST SHORT of the tag! Mak looks at Fasaki as he makes the tag, then he looks over at the ref, who is watching the two heels like a hawk. One thought runs through his mind before he decides his next course of action:

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

*CLAP*

The ref looks over to see Mak’s hand fly to the side, and doesn’t do a thing to stop him as he makes a false tag in! The crowd goes bonkers as Ejiro’s face suddenly fills with horror, then a size 13 Boot heel as the Fra¢hi$e nails him in the head with a Yakuza kick!

“NO! NO! NO NO NO!!!! THIS MATCH IS COMPLETELY SCREWED UP!” cries Riley at Ejiro does a 450 flip that would make the late great Curt Hennig smile with pride. “The Magnificent 7 is supposed to cheat to win, not the morons!”

Ejiro tries to raise himself up quickly, but Mak is right there as he gets to his feet with a short-arm lariat! Fasaki does another flip around as the bigger man plows through him, and Mak notices Hearford trying to get back up to his feet. He moves over quickly, and grabs him right around the waist as he gets on all fours. The Judge tries desperately to stay on the ground, his hands grazing the mat as he tries to find some way to hold on, but Mak has dealt with people like him in amateurs before and is able to lift him up and put him down to the ground with a Gutwrench Suplex!

“Mak is destroying anyone who gets in his way, and there’s nothing that could possibly stop him now!”

As Hearford lies in pain on the ground, Mak kips right back up to his feet! The crowd goes insane at the maneuver, and Francis looks over to see Ejiro beginning to get back up again. Putting his hands on his knees, he waits for Ejiro to turn around, motioning with his hand to turn around. The stunned Fasaki stumbles a little as he gets to his feet, and he turns right around into a forward waistlock! With a mighty roar, Francis propels Ejiro right through the air with a Belly to Belly Suplex! Ejiro writhes in pain as Mak rolls back up to his feet and goes over to the spent Ejiro, though he doesn’t notice the rising William Hearford behind him. Mak quickly hooks the leg for the Franchise Tag, completely oblivious to Mental coming in from behind…

WHAM!

Like a shot out of the blue, CIA uses his last bit of strength to nail the Judge with hard spear, knocking Hearford right to the ground with a mighty “Oof!” The crowd cheers their heads off as the two crumple in a heap, and Mak turns his head a little to see what the hell just happened.

“What a sacrifice by CIA! Now tha-”

“SMALL PACKAGE! EJIRO GOT MAK WITH A SMALL PACKAGE!”

Indeed, Ejiro grabs Francis’ head and slides one of his legs behind Mak’s, pulling him forward in a small package pin!

ONE!

The crowd yells for Mak to kick out strong….

TWO

… And Mak give it one mighty effort…

THREE!!!

… But it’s half a second short as he kicks out right after the ref’s palm hits the mat!

*DING DING DING!*

“The winners of match and the #1 Contenders to the TAG TEAM TITLES…. JUSTICE AND RULE!”

Mak sits up on the mat and slams his fist down one time, giving an audible “FUCK!” at losing the #1 Contendership on a roll up. The ref walks over and pulls up the panting Ejiro, who in turn goes over and pulls up the Judge as well. They stand in the middle of the ring, arms raised, bodies aching, and give small smiles at the boos they receive.

“Well, it looks like Ejiro and Judge stole the match right out from under Mak Francis and CIA. But now that they are the #1 Contenders, they are going to have to fight the leader and Lieutenant of their own stable.”

“Either way it’s gonna be a match of the year!” says a cheerful Riley.

And with that, we fade out to the image of the tired yet still triumphant team of Justice and Rule…

March 1, 2003

No wrap up for obvious reasons. Also no card til tomorrow since I'm waiting on several things and have had many requests for a show off.

SMARKDOWN FOR FEB 28TH!!!

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