Mr. S£im Citrus 0 Report post Posted March 2, 2004 I don't feel like explaining my situation to the rest of the fed, but Zed knows why I wasn't able to turn my match in; everything that could have possibly gone wrong for me today went wrong. I asked for an extension, because I had to leave for work before I was able to turn my match in, and had to wait until after I got off of work to send it, but then the shit hit the fan at my job. I didn't get out of the office until 7:30, and I didn't get back to my place until almost 8:00, which of course is way after midnight on the east coast. I sent my match off as soon as I walked in the door, but by then, the show had already been up for an hour. Unlike many others before me, this isn't a situation where I'm burnt out, or it isn't fun for me anymore, or any of that other stuff that causes most people to quit... I simply can't keep up. The deadlines and my schedule are fatally incompatible; in the last three or four weeks, there have been at least three shows that were delayed on my account. As of today, I am withdrawing from singles competition; I am simply unable to meet deadlines that fall while I'm still in the middle of my working day, and it's unfair of me to continue to ask you guys to wait on me to get off work. I will continue to write with Johnny to defend the Tag Team Titles, and after that, unless my schedule at my next command is favorable (which is unlikely), I'll probably be done for good. I wish it didn't have to end like this, as I still love writing Wildchild; ever since I've joined this fed, I've begged for the Cruiserweight division to be re-instated, and having finally succeeded at Clusterfuck, defending the Cruiserweight Title has been the most fun thing that I've ever been able to do in this fed. Clark will make a great Cruiserweight Champion and, truth be told, it had been my intention from the time I won the belt to give him the rub when it was time for me to go, so I guess you guys just get a jump start on the Alan Clark reign. I wish him nothing but the best. Rando, I appreciate your offer, but I'm going to have to decline; I'm not going to ask you guys to conform to my schedule anymore, but I simply can't keep up with yours. At any rate, if anyone cares, this is the piece of shit I sent in to Zed; I was trying to create a little drama, with just a taste of pre-PPV hype, and set up a rematch in which I would eventually do the job, anyhow... - Dub Cee ======================================== FADE IN Announcer: “And now for the SWF Instant Replay, brought to you by Frost-brand™ Buffalo Wings, now available in Frosty, Hot, and WHOO-HAH!” << Flashback to: February 20 Storm >> (Stevens) – YOU TOO! Shut the hell up! Now…the two of you have been pissing me off for the last 3 weeks, and I don’t have time or energy to deal with it. Thugg…you’re not an employee here anymore…Clark…you know better than to start some shit with someone that doesn’t work here. You tryin’ to hurt yourself before PPV? (Clark) – Mark! I can take… (Stevens) – I said, SHUT UP!...I can’t have employees and former employees fighting in the parking lot of the arena! You know how much crap I’ll have to deal with?? Do you? So, listen! Since the two of you want to pound each other into the pavement…and you seem determined to do it on my time and my property…I have no choice but to… …give you a stage to fight on! RAAAAAAA! (Stevens) – So…next Sunday…at From the Fire…it will be HVT…vs. Alan Clark…in a STREET FIGHT! The fans explode inside as Stevens steps into Thugg’s face… (Stevens) – BUT! But…that’s it. It ends there. At From the Fire…this ends. You get one match…just one. No rematches…not later ons…no next times…ONE SHOT…to tear each other apart. Whoever wins, wins…that’s it…it’s over. I’m not going to deal with this crap for another second. << fast-forward >> And with that, Mark Stevens storms back towards the arena, cursing Thugg and Clark to himself. The fans inside are screaming at the Street Fight between Thugg and Clark set for From The Fire. Thugg and Clark stare at each other, both still in the grasp of the police… (HVT) – See you in two weeks lil’ man… (Clark) – I’ll be waiting you fat fuck. And with that, they both go their separate ways, with the cops standing to ensure there is a peaceful departing. << End Flashback >> Announcer: “Try Frost-brand™ Buffalo Wings: Taste so good, they make you wanna slap your mamma!” **** “Welcome back to Smarkdown,” says an enthusiastic Cyclone Comet, “as we continue on down the final leg of the road to From the Fire! And next Sunday, Wildchild will team up with Johnny Dangerous to defend the World Tag Team Titles against the House of Todd, but tonight, he’ll have to defend the Cruiserweight Title against Alan Clark!” “I’m giving the edge to Clark in this match,” says Bobby Riley. “The last time that these two squared off in the ring, Alan Clark came within an eyelash of becoming the new Cruiserweight Champion and, if not for Thugg playing mind games with him, he would have won!” << Flashback: the screen flashes back to the Feb. 16 Smarkdown, where Wildchild defended the Cruiserweight Title against Alan Clark: >> WHAT THEY DON’T KNOW IS… BOOM! Alan Clark’s attention is now completely trained on the stage, which becomes engulfed by fire. “Where is he,” asks Comet. “Bobby, do you see him?” “I can’t see anything after that pyro,” replies Riley. “Oh man, what was Clark thinking, getting involved in Thugg’s business?” “Getting involved in Thugg’s business,” challenges an exasperated Comet. “Thugg started this, not Citizen Clark!” The flames finally subside, and no one appears to be forthcoming from the back. “Who We Be” fades into the ethereal and still nothing, causing Clark to look out into the crowd apprehensively. “Clark is looking out into the crowd for Thugg,” notes Comet. “It looks like he’s still worried about him sneaking up on him!” “I don’t know why,” says Riley. “It’s not as if Thugg is the kind of guy that can hide!” Unnoticed by Clark, Wildchild regains consciousness and, seeing the challenger poised upon the top turnbuckle, springs into action! Racing to the corner and leaping up to meet Clark on the top turnbuckle, the Human Hurricane locks his hands behind the challenger’s head as he plants his feet into his stomach as he arches back… WHAAAAM! … Launching Clark off of the turnbuckle and three-quarters of the way across the ring with a monkey flip off the top! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “By Hippolyta’s Girdle,” shouts Comet. “Freefall from the top rope! What an AMAZING maneuver!” Wildchild rolls to his feet and runs up behind Clark, the impact of the fall having nearly knocked him back to his feet. The Caribbean Cruiser tucks his head underneath Clark’s arm, locking his arms with those of his opponent as he lifts him off of the canvas, suspending him upside-down off of shoulders before kicking his legs out… WHAM! … Planting him head first into the mat with the Wild Ride! The crowd erupts as Wildchild rolls over to cover his opponent, and Hall drops down to count the pinfall: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! << End Flashback >> “As you all just saw,” continues Riley, “Alan Clark had the situation well in hand, until Thugg decided to play mind games with him by having his music played, just as Clark was about to put the finishing touches on Wildchild!” “That’s all speculation,” replies Comet. “We don’t know that Thugg had anything to do with it; he was in Washington DC that night, after all!” “Don’t be stupid, Comet,” replies Riley. “Who ELSE could it have been?” Comet shrugs in response. “I don’t know, Robert. It may have very well been Thugg, and he may have very well cost Alan Clark the Cruiserweight Title, but I think that you’re selling the champion short; Wildchild has been nothing short of phenomenal in his reign as the Cruiserweight Champion, and find myself wanting to believe that he would have found a way to win the match no matter what; just like he did last week against Todd Royal!” “Well, I’ll tell you what, Comet,” says Riley. “Why don’t you want in one hand and crap in the other one, and see which one fills up faster? Clark had him beat! Wildchild had nothing left; there’s no question that he was going down!” “Conjecture, my friend,” Comet replies calmly. “We’re both assuming facts not in evidence, so it might be best to abandon this particular train of thought. At any rate, Citizen Clark will get another shot at the Cruiserweight Title tonight, and this time he could be even more formidable!” “That’s right,” adds Riley. “Clark has dug deep into his subconscious and come back with Bloodshed and the Apostle! He’s re-visited these two violent and highly volatile aspects of his past in order to be able to compete with Thugg in a street fight at From the Fire, and I strongly believe that the intensity that has consumed Alan Clark is going to be too much for Wildchild to overcome tonight!” “Well,” replies Comet, “many men have made the mistake of taking Wildchild lightly; as awesome a force as Thugg is, Dub Cee isn’t someone you want to look past… but, we’ll find out if Alan Clark is prepared to give it his all tonight, as we go to the ring and the irrepressible Funyon!” The SWF’s impeccably dressed announcer stands in the center of the ring, having changed during the break into a white tuxedo with a gold bow tie, and matching wingtips. Raising the microphone to his lips, he says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a ten-minute time limit, and it is for the SWF Cruiserweight Championship!” With that, the viewers at home see their television screens fade to black and white, as a storm seems to be brewing on the horizon. Those watching from within the Coleman Coliseum look up towards the SmarkTron to see a long horizon line on the highway as sounds of heavy wind and rain accompany Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive.” The sounds of the storm fade into the ethereal as Alan Clark steps out from behind the curtain, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “Look into those eyes,” says Riley, noting the intense expression on Clark’s face. “That doesn’t look like somebody who’s looking past his opponent; that looks like somebody’s who’s about to run THROUGH their opponent!” “Making his way to the ring at this time,” says Funyon, “the challenger! From Long Beach, California, weighing two hundred twenty-five pounds… Alan Clark!” Clark makes his way to the edge of the ring, removing his guitar from his shoulders before surrendering it to a nearby ring attendant, and then sliding underneath the bottom rope to enter the ring. “You don’t get any more focused than that,” states Riley. “I don’t see how you can possibly have any doubt about Alan Clark here tonight!” “Citizen Clark’s focus is indeed remarkable,” replies Comet, as Alan’s music fades out, “but just whom is he focused on?” As Clark leans back against the turnbuckles, the enthusiastic Alabama fans begin cheering wildly as the arena lights dim and fade to black: ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA… Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” whips the fans into a frenzy as the Cruiserweight Champion bounds onto the stage! In between the alternating flash of the white-hot spotlight, the Bahama Bomber can be seen holding his title overhead inciting the fans to cheer ever louder, before jogging down the ramp, slapping hands with fans at ringside as he makes a beeline for the ring. “His opponent,” says Funyon, as Wildchild somersaults into the ring, “from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, he is the SWF Cruiserweight Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild rolls gracefully to his feet and glances sideways towards Clark before walking confidently over to the edge of the ring, where he leaps onto the middle turnbuckle and holds the Cruiserweight Title high overhead as Reggie Noble screams: I CAN’T GET IN DA CLUUUUUUB! “There’s no shortage of confidence in the Wildchild,” notes Comet, as Funyon exits the ring. “He knows what it takes to hold on to that Cruiserweight Title!” Wildchild climbs down from the ropes and then surrenders the title to referee Brain Hebner, who holds it aloft before walking over to the edge of the ring and delivering it to Funyon, and then ordering the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match. DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone,” shouts Comet. “And we’re underway!” Wildchild and Clark immediately approach each other and engage in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Clark muscles Wildchild towards the edge of the ring and into the ropes. The referee demands a clean break, and Clark acquiesces, backing away towards the center of the ring. Wildchild approaches him once more, and as Clark steps towards him, shifts to the side, grabbing his opponent by the wrist and whipping him towards the edge of the ring, but the Apostle quickly reverses, sending the Champion into the ropes instead… WHACK! … And leaping into the air as Wildchild rebounds, whipping his lower body around sharply to smack him in the face with a spinning wheel kick! Clark returns quickly to his feet and simply glares at Wildchild, who uses the ropes to pull himself back to his feet. “Credit Clark for getting the better of Wildchild on that exchange,” says Riley. Alan and Wildchild meet in the center of the ring yet again, locking into another collar-and-elbow tie-up, this time with Wildchild managing to trap the challenger in a side headlock. Clark leads Wildchild back against the ropes and then pushes him off, launching him across the ring, and leveling him with a standing shoulderblock as he bounces off the ropes. “That may actually be the best strategy for Citizen Clark,” remarks Comet. “As I recall, he enjoyed a little success when he capitalized on his strength advantage the last time these two faced.” Wildchild remains on the mat as Clark bounces off the ropes again and runs over the top of him. He springs to his feet as Alan rebounds a second time and immediately leaps into the air, and over the top of the Apostle as he runs underneath back across the ring… SMACK! … And springs without hesitation back off of the canvas, flipping backwards as Clark rebounds a third time and blasting him squarely in the chest with a backflip kick! Wildchild rolls back to his feet at once and runs over to Clark, grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring, but the challenger easily reverses again, sending Wildchild into the ropes. Alan turns to the side and scoops Wildchild up off of the mat as he rebounds, but the Human Hurricane continues to swing his lower body up towards the challenger’s head, wrapping his legs around Alan’s neck and jerking him off of his feet, flipping him forward and to the mat with a dynamic headscissors takeover! “Alan Clark was looking for the Chartbreaker on that exchange,” says Comet, “but Wildchild reversed it into a headscissors takeover, and now he’s got the challenger reeling!” “Well, Clark has had problems dealing with Wildchild’s speed before,” adds Riley. “He’s accustomed to being the smallest man in the match, and he’s not used to competing against opponents that are smaller and faster than he is, but I just have a feeling that he’s going to be able to wear Wildchild down this time!” Wildchild waits for Clark to get to his feet before running towards the edge of the ring, leaping onto the top rope and springing back towards his opponent, landing in a seated position on Alan’s shoulders. Before the Caribbean Cruiser can wrap his legs around the challenger’s head, Clark pushes him off forcefully, and he flips backwards gracefully down to the canvas… WHACK! … But the Apostle rolls forward suddenly, slashing his heel through the air and blasting Wildchild on the top of the head with a rolling Koppou Kick that sends him tumbling out of the ring and down to the arena floor! “Amazing Koppou Kick to counter that hurricanrana attempt,” shots Comet. “Alan Clark showing tremendous ring presence so far in this match!” Alan steps out onto the ring apron and turns to face the inside of the ring as Wildchild gets back to his feet, before hopping onto the bottom rope and flipping backwards out onto the arena floor… SPLASH! … Crashing into the Cruiserweight Champion with a picture-perfect Asai moonsault! Clark pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him over to the edge of the ring, rolling him underneath the bottom rope back into the ring, before using the ropes to pull himself back onto the ring apron. Upon standing up, he grips the top rope with both hands before using it to sling himself into the ring… SPLASH! … Landing on top of Wildchild with a slingshot senton splash! He leans backwards, holding Wildchild’s upper body to the canvas with his own as the referee dives into position to assess the three count: ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! “Wildchild able to kick out from that half-hearted cover at two,” notes Comet, “but Alan Clark is wasting no time trying to win this match; he’s being very aggressive here tonight!” “As well he should be,” agrees Riley. “You don’t want to give Wildchild enough time to react to your game plan; the best strategy against him is to hit him hard, fast and often! Don’t give this guy even a second to catch his breath, because he’s so fast, he can string together a sequence of moves before you know what hit you!” Clark pulls Wildchild to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, and lowering his head as the Champion rebounds to lift him into the air with a backdrop, but the Bahama Bomber flips all the way through and lands on his feet behind the challenger. Wildchild runs to the edge of the ring, but Alan cartwheels in the center of the ring as he bounces off the ropes… SPLASH! … Springing into the air suddenly and twisting around crashing into the Caribbean Cruiser with a cartwheel body press! “Pitch Drop,” exclaims Comet, as Hebner dives into position. “Pitch Drop inside the ring! That was incredible!” ONE! TWO! THRE— NO! Wildchild kicks out from the pinfall attempt, but not without considerable effort. From outside the ring, Funyon raises the microphone to his lips and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, five minutes have gone by in this match! There are five minutes remaining!” “Did you hear that,” says Comet. “Only five minutes left! Citizen Clark better kick this into high gear!” “Don’t worry about Clark,” replies Bobby nonchalantly. “He’s got this match well in hand!” Clark pulls him up to his feet and then ducks down, positioning his head between the Champion’s legs before lifting him up overhead, dangling him down over his back. The crowd begins to cheer in anticipation of Clark’s offense. “We could have some Southern Rock coming up here,” notes Comet. “I’m sure that this Tuscaloosa crowd can appreciate a move that’s based on the Alabama Slam!” But before Alan can get a grip on Wildchild’s legs, the Tropical Tumbler wraps his arms tightly around the challenger’s waist and tips his legs backwards, trying to take him over in a Sunset Flip, but the Apostle hangs onto the ropes! As the referee asks Clark to release the ropes, Wildchild takes advantage of the distraction to get away from his opponent and run across the ring. Alan turns around in time to see the Champion rebounding off the ropes and lowers his head to allow Wildchild to leapfrog him, but the Bahama Bomber appears to stop himself in mid-flight, landing on Clark’s back and hooking his legs underneath the challenger’s arms. Before the Apostle can figure out what’s going on… WHAM! … Wildchild jerks his body towards the canvas, wrapping his arms around Clark’s waist as he rips him through the air, planting him into the mat with a Code Red powerbomb! “Code Red,” shouts Comet, as Wildchild flops backwards onto the canvas. “But he can’t hold him for the pin! Alan Clark’s early offense must have worn him out!” The Caribbean Cruiser finally pulls himself up off of the mat and leans forward to press Alan’s shoulders against the mat as the referee dives into position to count the pinfall: ONE! TWO! THR— “Kickout,” shouts Riley. “Wildchild hasn’t done enough damage to take him out!” Wildchild rolls away from Clark, and then returns to his feet. He runs towards the challenger as he gets to his feet and leaps into the air… WHAM! … But Alan catches him in midair and spins him around, driving him down onto his knee with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! “And there’s the Chartbreaker,” cries Comet. “He got him that time!” “Wildchild is down and out,” adds Riley, as Clark heads over to the corner. “But what the hell is Clark doing?” Alan steps out onto the ring apron and climbs up to the top turnbuckle. Without a word, he leaps off of the turnbuckle and flips forward into the ring, extending his leg to deliver a somersault legdrop… CRASH! … But the Bahama Bomber rolls into the corner, and Clark hits nothing but canvas as he crashes down! “Citizen Clark tried to end this match with the Party Crasher,” cries Comet, “but he appeared to have tried that move prematurely!” “Absolutely,” agrees Riley, as Wildchild uses the ropes to pull himself back to his feet. “This is the time when you want to rub Wildchild’s face into the mat, and continue to wear him down; there was no need to try to go for the ‘home run’ there! Now he’s given Wildchild a little bit of breathing room… and we both know that a little bit is all that Wildchild needs to turn the tables on a match!” Wildchild pulls Clark to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring into the opposite turnbuckle! Before the challenger can even stagger out of the corner, the Human Hurricane launches himself forward with breakneck speed, leaping into the air as he draws near the corner and twisting his body around… SPLASH! … Crashing into the Apostle with his patented Blue Crush body splash! “Blue Crush,” shouts Comet. “That move drives all of the air right out of you! That could be the break that Wildchild needs to take over this match!” Wildchild races towards the edge of the ring as Clark staggers out of the corner, and leaps into the air as he bounces off the ropes… WHAM! … But Alan runs underneath him and grabs him by the legs, snapping forward in one fluid motion and slamming the Bahama Bomber into the canvas with the Southern Rock! “Southern Rock,” screams Comet as the crowd cheers emphatically. “He hit that out of NOWHERE!” “So much for Wildchild taking over this match,” says Riley, as Clark drops to one knee, shaking his head vigorously to clear the cobwebs. He stands up and pulls Wildchild to his feet, moving behind him and wrapping his arms around the Champion’s waist before lifting him up… WHAM! … And dropping him backwards to the mat with a German Suplex! He maintains his bridge for a pinfall, as Hebner begins the count: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “By Zeus, was that close,” sighs Comet, as Wildchild barely rolls his shoulder off of the canvas in time. “We could have had a new champion right there!” “I wouldn’t worry about that,” replies Riley. “We ARE going to have a new champion here tonight!” Alan gets to his feet and drags Wildchild over towards the corner, positioning him parallel to the ringpost before climbing up to the top turnbuckle. The fans rise to their feet in nervous anticipation as Clark looks out into the crowd. “What do you suppose he’s going to do from here,” wonders Comet. Alan leaps fearlessly off of the top turnbuckle; flipping backwards and rotating his body five hundred and forty degrees before pumping his legs together in a jackknife motion… SPLASH! … And crashing into Wildchild’s chest with his patented 540º Frog Splash! “Joy to the World,” exclaims Riley. “We’ve got a new champion!” The crowd counts along with the referee as his hand slaps against the canvas: ONE! TWO! THREE! “Not yet,” shouts Comet, as Hebner stops his count just short of three. “Wildchild got his foot underneath the bottom rope!” “He lucked out there,” growls Riley, as Clark looks up at the referee, frustration etched all over his face. “There was no way he was going to kick out of that!” “Still, give credit to Wildchild for good ring awareness,” says Comet. “He knew exactly where he was in relation to the ropes, and that enabled him to hang on to his title, if only for a few moments longer!” “Ridiculous,” argues Riley, as Clark returns to his feet. “That was sheer instinct! Wildchild’s not smart enough to be that calculating!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” interrupts Funyon, “seven minutes have gone by in this match! There are three minutes remaining!” “Only three minutes left,” cries Comet. “Can Wildchild hold on?” Alan pulls Wildchild to his feet and pushes him against the ropes… SMACK! WHOO! … Before rearing his harm back and slicing it into the Champion’s chest with a reverse knife-edge chop! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! Clark chops into the Bahama Bomber a few more times before grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring. The Apostle grabs Wildchild as he bounce off the ropes and lifts him up into a bearhug… WHAM! … Before driving him down onto his knee with an inverted Atomic Drop! As Wildchild bends clutches his lower body in pain, Clark runs back towards the ropes, and launches himself back towards the Champion with surprising speed, his arm extended to deliver a fierce running clothesline… CRACK! … But as quick as Alan is, Wildchild is even quicker, and he ducks the clothesline attempt, slashing his leg up as the challenger spins around to blast him in the mouth with a shuffling sidekick! “Sidekick,” shrieks Comet. “Wildchild still had enough left in the tank to duck that clothesline, and hit the side kick on Clark!” As Clark staggers backwards from the force of the kick, Wildchild races towards the ropes, leaping onto the top rope and curling into a ball as he springs off… WHAM! … Smashing into the Apostle’s chest with his patented Pinball attack! Both men lie motionless on the canvas as the referee begins his count: ONE! TWO! THREE! “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “eight minutes have gone by in this match! There are two minutes remaining!” “Oh my goodness,” shouts Comet. “This match is going down to the wire! There’s not much time left for one of these two to come away with the victory!” SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! At the count of nine, Alan sits up to the cheers of the crowd. He rolls over onto his knees and crawls over to the Wildchild, who still hasn’t moved, and collapses on top of his chest. Hebner dives down to the mat and counts the pin: ONE! TWO! THREE— NO! “By Zeus,” sighs Comet, “Wildchild kicked out! He will not stay down!” “Clark better stop screwing around and put him away,” adds Riley. “He’s running out of time!” Clark pulls Wildchild to his feet and goes behind him to apply a waistlock. He lifts him up off of the canvas to deliver a strong backdrop suplex, but the Human Hurricane rolls through, flipping off of Clark’s shoulders and landing behind him. The Champion runs past the Apostle to hit the ropes, and leaps into the air as he rebounds, whipping his leg sharply through the air to deliver a leg lariat, but Alan ducks down at the last second to avoid him. WHAM! Clark races towards the ropes as Wildchild gets back to his feet and grabs him by the hair as he rebounds, driving him into the mat with a bulldog face-slam! “Ladies and gentlemen,” shouts Funyon, “nine minutes have gone by in this match! There are sixty seconds remaining!” Clark gets to his feet as Wildchild rolls over onto his stomach and runs towards the edge of the ring. He leaps onto the middle rope and springs backwards…. SPLASH! … Flipping through the air before crashing into Wildchild’s back with a springboard moonsault! He rolls the Champion onto his back and hooks the leg as the referee drops down to count the shoulders: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Kickout,” shrieks Comet. “And Clark’s time is running out!” Alan pulls Wildchild to his feet and pushes him back into the corner. He grabs him by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but the Bahama Bomber reverses, sending the challenger crashing into the turnbuckles instead. Wildchild races into that same corner and leaps into the air, twisting around before crashing into his opponent… CRASH! … But this time, the Apostle dives out of the way, causing Wildchild to crash into the turnbuckle pad! As the Champion staggers out of the corner, Alan kicks him in the midsection, doubling him over to trap him in a front facelock… WHAM! … And spinning around suddenly while maintaining control of Wildchild’s head and dropping his weight to the canvas as he crushes the Champion’s face into the mat with his Getting Amped Neckbreaker! “Alan Clark is Getting Amped,” shrieks Comet. “But, can he capitalize on it in time!” Clark rolls Wildchild onto his back and races towards the corner, climbing rapidly up to the top turnbuckle. Saying a quick prayer to himself, he leaps recklessly off of the turnbuckle… SPLASH! … Twisting around gracefully in mid-air and crashing into Wildchild’s chest with a Phoenix Splash! “Amplifier,” shouts Riley. “It’s over! We’ve got a new champion!” Alan hesitates just a fraction of a second to ensure that Wildchild can’t reach the ropes before hooking his legs for the cover. Brian Hebner immediately dives into position to count the pin, and the crowd counts along with him: ONE! TWO! THREEEEE— DING! DING! DING! The crowd erupts as Clark rolls off of Wildchild in relief, “He’s done it,” exclaims Riley. “We’ve got a new champion!” Everybody in the Coleman Coliseum appears to be celebrating except for the referee, who looks outside the ring with a bewildered look on his face. “Wait a minute, Bobby,” says Comet, as the referee walks over to the edge of the ring. “I think there may be something wrong here!” Clark climbs onto the middle turnbuckle, his arms raised above his head in triumph as the referee leans outside the ring, conferring with Funyon. After a few seconds, he has the ring announcer hand him the Cruiserweight Championship. “Well,” says Riley, “that settles it! I told you, Comet! I told you that Wildchild was going to lose today!” Alan climbs down from the turnbuckle and the Bahama Bomber finally begins to recover, and walks over to the referee to accept the Cruiserweight Championship, but he is suddenly stopped by the sound of Funyon’s voice: “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “before the referee counted three, the time limit had expired…” BOOOOOOOOO! The crowd becomes incensed as the announcer continues, “There was no pin… I repeat, No Pin! The referee has officially ruled this contest… a DRAW!” “What an unfortunate break for young Alan Clark,” sighs Comet, as the crowd continues to emphatically voice their displeasure. The referee walks over to Wildchild and hands him the Cruiserweight Championship. “As a result of the referee’s decision,” concludes Funyon, “still your SWF Cruiserweight Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” As Funyon begins to make his way back to his seat, Wildchild crawls over to the edge of the ring and demands the microphone from him. “What do you suppose Wildchild has to say,” ponders Comet, as Wildchild pulls himself to his feet. “He’s probably wants to thank whatever person invented the time limit for saving his ass here tonight,” grumbles Riley. “Ey,” pants Wildchild, “I don’ want t’keep my title like dis! Clark deserves de chance to win here tonight if he can finish me off, an’ so I’m gon’ ask de referee to give dis match five more minutes!” The fans erupt at Wildchild’s suggestion, and begin to chant their agreement: LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT! “Can you believe this,” marvels Comet. “What character by the Cruiserweight Champion! He’s already managed to retain his title, but he’s willing to put it back on the line, against the man who nearly took it from him, just a few minutes ago!” Wildchild and Alan continue to make their appeal to the referee, and he appears to be about to relent… WHAM! … When suddenly, from seemingly out of nowhere, Todd Royal and Landon Maddix streak down to the ring, attacking both Clark and Wildchild from behind! “It’s the House of Todd,” cries Comet, as the fans boo mercilessly. “They’ve got no business being down here!” “On the contrary,” replies Bobby, as the heels continue their hideous beatdown. “They came down here to prevent an injustice!” “What in Zeus’s name are you talking about?” “Wildchild was about to allow Alan Clark to have another shot at the Cruiserweight Title, even though he just failed to win it,” replies Riley. “By all rights, he should have to go back to the bottom of the rankings and work his way back up to another title shot!” Maddix throws Clark over the top rope as Royal pulls Wildchild to his feet. He traps the Bahama Bomber into a full-nelson as Maddix turns his attention back towards the inside of the ring. “Oh no,” moans Comet. “They’re about to hit Wildchild with the Final Judgment!” But before Maddix can deliver his lethal kick, the crowd begins to cheer, alerting him to the impending arrival of Wildchild’s tag team partner, Johnny Dangerous! Todd releases Wildchild from his grip, and he and Maddix flee the ring as the Barracuda dives in underneath the bottom rope. “It’s Johnny Dangerous,” sighs Comet. “Johnny’s come down to make the save!” Johnny pulls Wildchild back to his feet as the House of Todd retreat back up the ramp. “These two teams have a score to settle,” shouts Comet, “and they’ll get their chance in just six days at From the Fire!” Wild and Dangerous continue to glare at the fleeing House of Todd, burning daggers into their rivals… As we: FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
the.weej 0 Report post Posted March 2, 2004 I really didn't want to give Clark the no-show win, but que sera sera. That said, I do understand your situation fully, but it doesn't make this any less disappointing to me. Of course, I knew you were getting shipped out of Hawaii before the end of the month anyway, and that would've ended Wildchild there, but still. I'm going to say this now: By far and large, you were my single favourite writer to ever grace the SWF. Ever. And I still believe, as I did when you got bumped, that you had more straight up writing ability than anyone else in the fed. I think the only real pity is that you never wanted a big-time, main event run, because at any point over the last six months, I think you could've just said the word. And it's for that I shed a single tear over your leaving, WC. I shed a single tear and then heave a sigh as I look at my roster. ::salutes:: -Z Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
HVilleThugg 0 Report post Posted March 2, 2004 Fuck man... I understand the situation you are in man...and it blows. Despite lacking originality...I want to reiterate Z's sentiments. On my very short list of people who I truly think are amazing...you are definitely up on it. Hopefully you stick around here, despite not writing. CC could always use more markers, AND...there is the little matter of the HOLT report...my single favorite weekly occurance. Anyway...yeah...you rock...that's all I got. Da "please still do the HOLT report" H Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Toxxic 0 Report post Posted March 2, 2004 It's a shame you'll be leaving, Dub-Cee. After my injuries have healed from the beating that i'm sure Aecas will give me at FTF I was hoping to be able to gun for your Cruiser title. Ah well, I guess I'll have to chase the equally battered ass of Clark instead. But from the little I've seen of the SWF in my stay i really liked Wildchild's character and super-hyped-up-crazy speed attack style. It'll suck not having you around, not only because the roster shrinks again... *tries to think of someone else he knows who'd be interested in e-fedding* *Fails* Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Evolution Report post Posted March 2, 2004 Posted in the wrong thread. Anyway, see ya WC. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
