SWF Battleground 2005!

[Chuck Woolery 0]

The annual Battleground Pay Per View continues on. Foot mounted cameras bring SWF fans their next match of the evening. The Brawling Titty is the site of this image. It’s a nicely furnished bar, offering many things for many different types of people. The majority of the establishment is made up by the large bar, surrounded by stools. Behind the bar is an abundance of bottles, filled with vodka, whiskey, and rum, brandy, and beer taps. The illusion of there being many more bottles is given by the mirror behind them.

 

“The Brawling Titty” also features simple four seated tables, a row of booths, a dart board, a spacious fireplace with a mantle designed after The Alamo. A billiards table with a Shiner Bock light hanging above it, a life size cardboard cutout of Tim Duncan, and many other points of interest fill out the bar. Also, several Texas flag designs are seen throughout, as Texan’s love their state.

 

Finally, the camera sweeps back around and runs smack dab into Ben Hardy’s face. Standing next to Hardy is dark match referee Glenne Kwagmeier. “Reporting from The Brawling Titty, I am Ben Hardy! We are just moments away from the bar room brawl between Arch Griffon and Muhammed Koran,” Hardy introduces. “Thank you, Ben. I have to say, I’m glad King and I am not there right now,” Pete chuckles. “Yes. Make sure to put in a raincoat you shmuck,” says the evil King. “Haha, no I haven’t purchased a coat for this event,” the now emotionally scarred reporter says. “We wait now on Muhammed Koran, as Griffon has already taken a seat at the bar,” says Hardy.

 

Off in the distance sits the hulking form of Arch Griffon, cigarette in his right hand, a drink in his left. His sneaker covered foot twitches with anxiety on the floor. He is also dressed in a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans, which are held up by a simple leather belt. He finishes his cigarette, and snuffs it out in a nearby ashtray. He then goes about downing the last gulps of drink, and slams it on the table. He then rises, pays and tips the bartender, and walks over to the booths on the other side of the establishment. He calmly sits in a booth next to the windows.

 

Indian music suddenly starts to blare throughout The Brawling Titty. In walk Muhammed Koran and his manager “The Prince” Haram Nazeer. The music comes from a boom-box held over Nazeer’s shoulder. He bobs to the drum beats. The pair is dressed in matching black track suits. “And here is Muhammed Koran. He requested this match, and dog gone it, he had gotten it,” says Pete. “I love their tracksuits! Especially how they have “The Tigris Express” emblazoned on the back. They should win on fashion alone,” says King, obviously taking the side of the duo. “Too bad this match is about who can inflict more damage, King,” corrects Pete.

 

Not unexpectedly, the men inside the bar are hostile towards Koran. He just looks on defiantly. One big man comes up to him. All that needs to be said is that he wears a “Dale Jr. #8” cap. He comes up to Koran and Nazeer, and starts to mouth off to the two men. Koran, feeling cornered by the crowd of angry rednecks, quickly kicks this man in the stomach, doubling him over. Koran quickly leaps into the air, grabs the man, and falls to the seat of his pants. The man’s head pounds into the hard wood flooring, as Koran has hit the Arabian Pride! “Now that was uncalled for, Koran! You could have broken his neck!” screams Pete. “He was just setting an example for the rest of the gentleman in that establishment! Look at their reactions! They’re scattering!” King says, a master of the human mind and group dynamics.

 

The patrons of the establishment scatter. The bartenders join the exodus. Friends of the fallen redneck pull him out of the bar as well. Ben Hardy leaves as well, but the referee sticks around. Koran and Nazeer now stand alone in the bar, their position blocking their view of Griffon, who still sits in a booth behind the wall. Nazeer turns off the stereo and places it down on the ground.

 

“Is anyone here man enough to play for blood?” Koran says unexpectedly.

 

“I’m your huckleberry.”

 

Koran and Nazeer track the noise down to its origin, but can’t see a soul. Finally, Koran notices smoke billowing away from the obstructed booth. Koran wheels around and sees Griffon sitting on the edge of the booth, enjoying a cigarette. “I swear, if Griffon doesn’t stop smoking, he’s going to get emphysema before he has a shot at the SWF Title!” King says, obviously affected by the anti-smoking ads on television.

 

“Are you just going to sit there, Archie? Or, are you going to fight me and Nazeer?!” asks Muhammed, pumped up. Griffon chuckles, even though the rage building up inside of him is quite visible. “I’m a sharpshooter with this thing,” says Griffon, out of the blue. “What?!” quizzes Koran. Griffon then takes his cigarettes and flicks it Koran. The cherry nails Koran right between the eyes! Arch quickly rises to his feet, and due to Koran’s confused state, is able to pick him up off his feet, and drive him into a near by wall! “That was such is ridiculous move for Griffon to take there!” screams King. “He did that right to his face, and after all, this is a ‘brawl’,” answers Pete.

 

Griffon grabs a hold of Koran, and starts to pummel him with knees to the ribs, taking the wind out of Koran, and making him slump to the floor. Nazeer, in a panic, rushes over to Arch, and punches him in the back of his head. Griffon stops attacking Koran. “Well, since this a bar room brawl, I guess that Nazeer can be an active participant then!” says King, coming back at Pete. Griffon slowly turns around, and locks his sights on Nazeer. A look of panic stretches across the much smaller man’s face. He attempts to run away, but Griffon grabs him by the neck of his tracksuit. Griffon pulls Nazeer towards himself, and then throws a forearm to the back of Nazeer’s head, stunning him. Griffon then turns Nazeer around, and puts him in a standing headscissors. Griffon is able to pick up the small man with ease, and puts Nazeer’s legs over his shoulders. Arch points himself towards the windows next to the front door. “Yes, Nazeer was part of this match, King,” jokes Pete. “Where is your heart, Pete?” asks King.

 

Koran finally recovers Griffon, and climbs to his feet. At the same time, Griffon charges forward and flings Nazeer through the window!

 

*SMASH*

 

“Bloodlust Powerbomb from Griffon!” yells Pete. “Well, down goes Nazeer,” comments King. The crowd outside scatters again as they see the young man fly through the window and to the sidewalk. Back inside, Griffon watches the rest of the window fall to the ground. Muhammed Koran gets back to his feet now, and walks towards Archie. As he approaches his foe from behind, he drops down to his knees, and swings up a fist! Griffon goes down hard after the low blow, clutching his lower abdomen. “The shot to the nuts took Griffon down rather quickly!” says King.

 

Muhammed stomps away at the fallen Griffon, snarling with each blow. Slowly, Griffon starts to rise to his feet. Koran meets Griffon as he rises, and spins around behind Arch and puts on a reverse face lock. Muhammed then falls to the floor, spiking Griffon with a Falling Reverse DDT! Arch immediately grasps the back of head in pain. “Koran just planted Griffon with that DDT. Here’s the cover! Muhammed may pick up in upset in a hurry!” screams Pete. Referee Kwagmeier quickly slides into position after Koran puts on a horizontal press.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

TH-NO!!!

 

“And Archie gets the shoulder up to stave of defeat!” says Pete. “That low blow has really changed the complexion of this match,” adds King. Muhammed drags Griffon back to his feet and puts him in a standing head scissors. Koran takes a moment to cough up some spit and let loose on the floor, showing disrespect to Griffon. The few seconds of nothing is enough for Arch, as he able to power out of the standing head scissors and backdrop Koran on to, and off of a nearby table! “And Griffon protects himself from further punishment,” says Pete. Back in The Brawling Titty, Griffon pulls up a chair to take a seat in and gather his bearings. Meanwhile, Koran slowly rises to his feet, favoring his back. Griffon rises out of his chair, and approaches Koran. Griffon lets go with a big right hand, which snaps Koran’s head back. Muhammed shrugs it off and comes with a right of his own. Archie absorbs the blow and comes back at The Tigris Express with another right hand.

 

Koran backpedals down the store a little bit, and winds up near the Alamo fireplace. Arch is quick to follow, however. Griffon lands another right hand to Koran’s noggin. Muhammed stumbles once more, and Archie pounces with another right hand. “These punches from Archie are sending Koran into a whole different world1” states Pete. Griffon then goes low, and picks Koran off of the ground. Archie retreats towards the fireplace and lets Koran go. Muhammed collides into the fireplace, his head bouncing off of the bricks. Koran then falls back into the room, and to the floor. Something falls to the floor in front of Archie. It’s a coonskin cap. Of course, Griffon puts on the cap. “I’m Davy Crockett! Bring me the head of Santa Anna!” screams Archie the history buff.

 

“For those not familiar with Davy Crockett, he was a former United States Senator, a frontier pioneer, and of course, on of the heroes from The Alamo’s stand against the Mexicans.” Pete informs the general public. “Oh just shut up, Pete. You and your...” King pauses, “ability to read and learn!”

 

Back in The Brawling Titty, Griffon, still wearing his new found hat, drags Koran back to his feet. Upon getting him up to his feet, Griffon balls up a fist and drives it into Koran’s face! The tail on Griffon’s hat flails magnificently. Griffon throws another punch, which lands flush on The Tigris Express’ face. Koran, woozy, can’t defend himself as Griffon Irish whips him into the fire place. Koran smashes his face into the brick once more. Muhammed falls to the floor, and something else falls from the mantle. It’s a large hunting knife! Griffon notices this falling to the floor, and picks it up. “It’s Sam Bowie’s legendary knife! Bowie was an interesting fella. He was involved in,” Pete is interrupted. “Oh just shut up and talk about the match!” King stabs at Pete.

 

Back in the bar, Griffon take a good look at the knife, gets an idea of what he can do with, but then quickly shrugs off the idea and throws the knife into a nearby rubbish bin. “It’s a good thing that Arch Crockett through away that knife. We spend way too much money on legal manners, anyhow,” says Pete. “I wish that Koran would tear that hat off of Griffon’s head.” says King. As Arch turns back towards Koran, Muhammed reaches up and rakes Griffon across the eyes. Griffon retreats, and his hat falls off as the eye rake jarred it lose. “Yaha!” exclaims King.

 

Koran stalks after Arch, but it met with a knee to the stomach. Griffon then takes control of him, and drags him over to the bar. After an Irish whip into the bar, Griffon snarls and picks up a bar stool. Archie slams the barstool into Koran’s back, making The Tigris Express slump over the bar. Griffon then hoists Koran up on the bar, gets a good grip of his tracksuit, and proceeds to race him down the bar. Koran knocks over a bowl of nuts, a couple of ashtrays, and empty glasses as he skids across the bar! Finally, Koran falls off the edge and lands on the floor hard. Arch goes for the cover.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

THR-NO!!!

 

“Koran is just able to kick out after the barslide of doom!” says Pete. “I believe everyone, at some point in time, has wanted to slide someone down a bar,” say Riley, wholeheartedly. Griffon takes a moment to regain his composure, and heads back towards the prone body of Koran. Muhammed, in an act of desperation, grabs Griffon and falls backwards, driving Arch into the bottles and mirror behind the bar! Griffon’s head goes into the mirror, cracking it slightly, while his arms get cut up slightly from all of the broken glass! Arch howls in pain and falls to the floor.

 

“There’s blood and glass everywhere, King,” says Pete. “A very good move by Koran to stay alive,” says King. Finally, Koran gets back to his feet. He quickly drags Griffon back to his feet, and puts him on top of the bar, lacerations causing the nice finish on the bar to become stained. Muhammed climbs on top of the bar, and drags Arch to his feet with a front facelock. Koran then spins around and puts Griffon in position for the Arabian Pride. He just stands there for a moment, and stretches out his back.

 

“With Griffon bleeding and dazed, it looks like Koran may finish this right here!” yells Pete. Before Koran can pull off the move, Griffon pushes him off. Muhammed can’t stop Arch, as the big man quickly locks on his version of The Full Nelson, called The Gridlock! Koran flips out and swings his arms, trying to fight out of it. “Griffon may get Koran to tap! He defeated Koran with the hold once before!” yells Pete. “This isn’t the same Griffon who destroyed Koran a month ago; this is a bloody and tired man. He can’t keep this on for too long,” says Riley.

 

Streaks of blood that run down Griffon’s arms stain Koran’s neck and tracksuit. Muhammed keeps thrashing around, and Griffon’s energy starts to fade. Griffon awkwardly throws Koran away. The smaller man goes crashing to the floor, and Griffon slowly follows him.

 

“Griffon knows he is running out of time. He is just about to pass out.” comments King. Griffon now hovers over the mutually hurting Koran. Griffon drags him to his feet, grabs Koran’s left arm, and comes forward with a short armed clothesline. Muhammed goes down but is brought back up Griffon, who again hits him with clothesline. Having locked in the Griffon’s Grasp, Arch pulls him again, but this time tucks Koran under his waist in a standing head scissors.

 

“Here we go. After getting Koran dazed with Griffon’s Grasp, Arch looks to put him away for good!” screams Pete. “Curtains,” adds King. Arch picks up Koran and holds him perpendicular to the ground. Archie reaches around and hooks a leg, giving himself more leverage. Arch then drives him into the hard wood floor with a Cradle Piledriver! Muhammed flops on the floor for a moment, his body in shock. The bloody Griffon quickly lies on top for a cover! Glenne Kwagmeier makes the count.

 

“He calls that the Arch Nemesis! And it is devastating!” bellows Pete.

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

THREEEEEE!!!

 

“And Griffon has defeated Koran once and for all!” reports Pete. “Short and sweet, just the way I like my brawls,” adds in King.

 

 

 

After Kwag’s hand slaps the wood for a third time, Griffon climbs back to his feet. The referee is hesitant in raising Arch’s arm, but does it anyway. Griffon looks down at the fallen Koran, and then stumbles over to his cigarettes and lighter. Arch then walks out the front door of the establishment, his sneakers crunching over the broken glass from before. After he gets outside he lights a cigarette. The camera continues to follow him outside. Arch looks to his right after taking in a deep breath of the south Texas air. He sees Nazeer recovering from his nasty spill. Nazeer can be seen rubbing the back of his head. The Prince sees Griffon, yells, and immediately charges. With some energy still left in the tank, Griffon drops down and lunges forward with his right foot. He strikes Nazeer in the jaw with a Superkick. Nazeer goes down like a hooker in an empty movie theater. After taking a puff of his bloody cigarette, Griffon takes a long walk back to the arena, where bandages await.

 

We then fade it into a video package featuring the anticipated Hardcore Championship rematch between Insane Luchador and JJ Johnson.

[Chuck Woolery 0]

Pete: “Battleground is off and running, King!”

 

King: “Can you believe that was only the first match? We still have seven or eight matches to go tonight!”

 

Pete: “And we’re getting ready to determine a challenger for the International Championship as Jay Hawke takes on Manson.”

 

King: “Let’s be honest here, Pete. It has been absolutely no secret that Jay Hawke’s goal is to gain that International Championship. The man came within an eyelash of winning that championship in that tournament a few weeks back, and he’s done nothing but chase Johnny Dangerous since. Can you imagine how explosive that rematch would be?”

 

Pete: “But Manson has been on a roll lately, seemingly rejuvenated. He’s looking better than he has in a long time, so make no mistake about it, the winner of this match is going to have to earn their victory.”

 

King: “It’s just that Manson will have to work that much harder for it.”

 

Pete: “I don’t necessarily agree with that.”

 

King: “You should, because when I’m right, I’m right. And I’m always right.”

 

Pete: “We’ll find out how right you are in just a few moments. Let’s go to Funyon for the introductions.”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 30 minute time limit, and it is to determine the number one contender to the SWF International Heavyweight Championship!”

 

The lights dim, eliciting a pop from the capacity crowd, but the cheers quickly turn into boos as the opening notes of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” begin to play over the public address system.

 

Funyon: “Introducing first … from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio … weighing in at 215 pounds … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

The boos grow louder as Jay Hawke emerges through the curtain, the spotlight illuminating Hawke’s beautiful black and purple sequined robe. Hawke looks at the crowd in disdain as the boos turn into a familiar chant:

 

 

“JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

 

Hawke reaches the ring, wiping his boots on the ring apron before stepping between the middle and top rope. As he takes off his robe and folds it, he glares at the crowd with a disgusted look on his face. He hands the robe to the referee, then turns to the crowd and makes the “I want the belt” motion with his hands, prompting even more jeers from nearly 20,000 fans.

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke certainly isn’t making any friends with these gestures to the crowd.”

 

King: “Oh, they’re probably still upset about the damage Hawke did to their precious hero Johnny Dangerous about three weeks ago. Not that it matters, since I don’t think Hawke wants to have too many friends anyway.”

 

As the house lights dim and red strobes pulse the fans rise to their feet, the buzz in the arena reaching a fever pitch, as Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" blasts from the speakers.

 

Funyon: “And his opponent … from Denver, Colorado, and weighing in at 240 pounds … MANNNNNNSON!”

 

Manson emerges moments later to an explosive round of cheers, throwing up the horns in stride and heading straight down the aisle, focused on the ring. He rolls in under the bottom rope and immediately pops up to his feet, going over to his corner.

 

Pete: “Can you believe how these fans have gotten behind Manson in the last few weeks?”

 

King: “I still can’t believe people thought Ringo Starr was a good drummer. How the hell am I supposed to believe the crowd reaction for Manson?”

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

That bell signals the beginning of the match, and both men casually walk to the center of the ring. Jay Hawke quickly makes the “I want the belt” motion once again, and Manson rolls his eyes. Hawke notices the eye roll and goes, “Do you really think you can take me, pal?” Manson simply smiles, and Jay Hawke responds by spitting in Manson’s face.

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Manson responds with a hard slap to the face…

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

…then immediately takes his anger out on Jay Hawke, backing him up with a series of right hands that would make Vitaly Klitschko go, “Damn, that’s an awesome series of right hands.”

 

King: “Manson quickly throwing the rulebook out the window!”

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke apparently didn’t do his homework, as he set off that fiery temper of Manson in short order!”

 

A few more punches has Hawke backed up into the corner. Manson uses as much leverage as he can muster to whip “The Dean” all the way into the opposite turnbuckle, following in with a clothesline that rocks the last-ever USJL Champion. Manson immediately grabs Hawke, hooking him as if to go for a Russian legsweep, but Hawke pokes Manson in the eye to prevent the move. Hawke does a head BUTT…

 

Pete: “A head BUTT from Hawke! We’ve never seen him use that before!”

 

…and Hawke holds his own head in pain, showing there’s a reason he’s never used the move since joining the SWF.

 

King: “Well…umm…I guess the picture speaks for itself right there.”

 

Hawke shakes off the cobwebs and levels Manson with a forearm that staggers him about three steps backwards. “The Dean of Professional Wrestling” whips Manson into the ropes, but he’s unprepared for the rolling elbow that catches him flush in the face. Hawke immediately falls flat onto his back as Manson covers, neglecting to hook the leg:

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Pete: “A tremendous countermove by Manson there, and he wasted no time trying to get the victory!”

 

King: “There’s an old adage in wrestling that the promoter doesn’t pay you by the hour, and you get more money to win. And in this case, you also get a shot at the International Title. I hate to give Manson credit, but that was tremendous judgment to go for the pin right there!”

 

As Hawke makes his way to his feet, Manson tries to keep him grounded with elbows to the head and kicks to the stomach. Hawke stands, and Manson tries to whip Jay into the ropes. Hawke spreads his legs to block the whip and reverse it. Manson quickly tries to go into a flash “Consequences” diamond cutter, but Hawke shoves Manson into the ropes, then hits him in the face with a dropkick that sends his opponent out to the arena floor.

 

Pete: “Manson went for the kill right away, but Jay Hawke had that one well-scouted.”

 

King: “He went for the end of the match way too soon. Trying a flash pin is one thing, but trying to hit your finisher in the opening two minutes is like asking your opponent to counter!”

 

Jay Hawke steps through the ropes to prevent Manson from catching his breath, and he immediately focuses his attack on the head and neck, leveling Manson with a series of elbows to the back of the head.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

Jay Hawke attempts to whip Manson into the steel steps, but Manson reverses it, driving the Dean’s knees into the ring steps.

 

FIVE!

 

 

SIX!

 

 

Manson rolls Jay Hawke back into the ring.

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

Manson slides back into the ring, forcing referee Scott Ryder to stop the count.

 

Pete: “Both men beating the referee’s count of ten, and had either man been counted out, the other man would have advanced to face the winner of tonight’s International Title match!”

 

Manson takes Jay Hawke down with a dragon screw leg whip, then locks in a toehold, twisting the foot to put the Dean in added pain.

 

King: “I don’t understand the strategy of Manson’s there, though. I doubt that Jay Hawke was returning to the ring after hitting the steps like that. Why wouldn’t you just roll into the ring and take the countout victory?”

 

Jay Hawke rolls over onto his front and gets on his knees to alleviate the pressure of the toehold. He slowly makes his way to his feet and faces his opponent. He leaps for the enzuigiri, but Manson ducks the hold. Hawke hits the mat hard and rolls over to his back, and Manson is quickly there to drop an elbow and make the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TW--kickout.

 

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke kicking out even before the two count there.”

 

King: “Another impressive move by the Dean of Wrestling. Hey, why take the risk of the referee hosing you with a fast count? Get out at one and take it out of the referee’s hands!”

 

Manson grabs the left leg of Jay Hawke and drops his knee onto Hawke’s inner thigh. He goes for a spinning toehold, but Hawke uses his free leg to push his opponent from behind, and Manson winds up hitting the turnbuckle shoulder first. Manson falls to the mat clutching his shoulder, and Jay Hawke smiles eerily when he sees it.

 

King: “Here we go! One move right to the shoulder, and now you’re going to watch Jay Hawke do what he does best, Pete!”

 

Manson slowly makes his way to his feet, doubled over in pain as he clutches the shoulder. That makes him a sitting duck for Hawke to lock in a front facelock. Hawke hangs on to the hold for only a few seconds, as he takes his larger opponent down with a swinging neck breaker. Hawke goes for the pin, hooking the right leg for leverage:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

Kickout. Hawke refuses to give Manson a chance to get to his feet, as he grabs the arm, extends it across the mat, then drops a leg across it. Another cover, this time with the left leg grapevined:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

T -- kickout.

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke is in firm control of this contest so far, but Manson refuses to even let the referee get to a two-count before kicking out!”

 

King: “What a stupid move! He should wait for the two count and save his energy!”

 

Pete: “Wait a second. You were praising Jay Hawke for kicking out at one a minute ago!”

 

King: “Well, Hawke’s a wrestling genius, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.”

 

Pete: “Uh huh, sure.”

 

Funyon: “Five minutes have gone by, 25 minutes remain.”

 

Jay Hawke clearly heard the announcement of the time remaining, as he begins to slow the pace down by hooking Manson’s arm behind him in a hammerlock. Hawke yells “Ask him” at the referee, but Manson makes no audible indication aside of grunting from the pain. Hawke begins to stand, presumably to release the hold, but instead he drops a series of knees onto the left arm. Each knee brings out a slightly louder yell from Manson as the pain begins to intensify. Hawke then tightens his grip on the hammerlock, bringing another scream from Manson.

 

King: “The Dean’s strategy is obvious here. He’s got the shoulder hurt, and he’s going to keep hurting the shoulder.”

 

Pete: “Smart strategy, but I figured he’d have gone after Manson’s neck considering the problems he’s had with that in the past.”

 

King: “Have you ever had an injured shoulder, Pete? If your shoulder is hurt badly enough, at some point the pain will extend throughout the arm, as well as to the neck. Hawke could be damaging a nerve in the shoulder muscles, and that’s going to take out his opponent’s neck.”

 

Manson shows his resiliency, making his way to his feet despite clearly being in intense pain. He takes a couple of steps forward and ducks, and the momentum of the move sends Jay Hawke through the ropes to the concrete floor. Manson shakes the arm a few times to get some circulation back, then rolls to the outside.

 

Pete: “Manson taking the fight to the outside, and this could be a mistake, King.”

 

ONE!

 

King: “I certainly hope so. Manson holding any title just doesn’t sound like it will draw any money.”

 

TWO!

 

Manson grabs Jay Hawke by the hair and drags him over to the right side of the ring.

 

THREE!

 

He rams Jay Hawke’s face into the broadcast table, sending Suicide King away from his seat.

 

FOUR!

 

Pete: “King, get back here.”

 

FIVE!

 

King: “With these two that close to us? Forget it, I’m retired!”

 

SIX!

 

Manson drags Jay Hawke over to the top side of the ring, but Jay Hawke stops him in his tracks with an elbow to the midsection…

 

SEVEN!

 

…then tosses Manson over the barricade with a hiptoss!

 

EIGHT!

 

King: “Yes! No Manson in the title hunt!”

 

NINE!

 

Jay Hawke rolls into the ring and celebrates, thinking he’s got a sure countout victory, but Scott Ryder stops his count to berate The Dean of Professional Wrestling for his behavior. The former USJL Champion is dumbfounded. What the hell was the point of returning to the ring at nine if the referee was just going to stop his count for no apparent reason? Ryder turns around and counts: ONE!

 

King: “Wait a minute here! What the hell is going on?”

 

Pete: “The referee is going to try to count out Manson!”

 

King: “About damn time! He’s been on the floor for over 30 seconds already!”

 

The count’s gotten to four, but Manson has made his way back over the guardrail. A disgusted Hawke shoves the referee aside and returns to the floor, ready to finish the job. The Dean moves in methodically, seemingly with an idea of how to finish the job, but Manson fires back with a clothesline that knocks Jay Hawke flat on his back.

 

ONE!

 

Manson grabs Hawke by the head again…

 

King: “Watch yourself!”

 

TWO!

 

…and rams Hawke’s head into the broadcast table again.

 

THREE!

 

Manson grabs Hawke by the hand, and the fans anticipate an Irish whip into the guardrail. And they’re right. What they don’t anticipate is Hawke reversing it, sending Manson crashing into the barricade.

 

FOUR!

 

Jay Hawke walks over to his opponent and lifts him onto his shoulder.

 

FIVE!

 

Jay Hawke turns 145 degrees and sees his target…

 

SIX!

 

THUD!

 

…and he rams Manson’s already damaged left shoulder into the steel ringpost.

 

SEVEN!

 

Manson clutches the shoulder yet again and lets out a scream that nearly pierces the ears of the front row fans.

 

EIGHT!

 

Jay Hawke rolls Manson back into the ring.

 

NINE!

 

And Jay Hawke follows, barely beating Scott Ryder’s count of ten.

 

King: “Now why the hell didn’t the referee stop the ten count when Manson reentered the ring?”

 

Pete: “I can only guess that it’s because Hawke rolled him in instead of Manson returning on his own accord.”

 

King: “That makes absolutely no sense, Pete!”

 

Jay Hawke climbs up onto the second rope, waiting patiently for Manson to get to his feet. Manson does so, doubling over as his shoulder begins to hang on his left side. Jay Hawke leaps and flips in midair, taking Manson down with a beautiful flying neck breaker.

 

Pete: “Blockbuster by Jay Hawke!”

 

King: “And now’s where he works the neck, which can’t be feeling well after all the work Hawke’s already done to the shoulder courtesy of a steel ringpost. I love it!”

 

Pete: “You would!”

 

Jay Hawke drops a leg across the throat of Manson. Some wrestlers would go for the pin here, but The Dean senses his opponent is still in decent shape. He picks up Manson and drops three hard elbows to the back of the neck. He goes for a fourth, but Manson catches Hawke with a couple of weak punches to the midsection, then a couple of harder ones to the face. The punches become more frequent and begin staggering Jay Hawke. Manson senses weakness and whips Hawke into the ropes, but he ducks his head too early. Hawke comes in and twists Manson’s neck in an uncomfortable looking manner with a spinning neck breaker, then quickly goes for the pin:

 

 

ONE!

 

Hawke hooks the leg.

 

TWO!

 

Kickout. Jay Hawke gets to his feet, glaring at the referee and shouting “Why don’t you count faster?”

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke is getting a little frustrated with the referee’s count.”

 

King: “And look at Scott Ryder. I think he’s getting intimidated. That’s what you get for having a rookie referee out here in an important match like this.”

 

Manson is still down, and Jay Hawke takes advantage by standing on his throat. Manson gasps for breath as the referee tries to make Jay Hawke break the chokehold:

 

Funyon: “Ten minutes have gone by…”

 

ONE!

 

Funyon: “Twenty minutes remain.”

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

Jay Hawke releases the boot chokehold, but he makes sure to stomp on the shoulder when he does. The referee warns Jay to break cleanly, but Hawke ignores him, putting his hands up as if to say “What? Me? Cheat? Never!” Manson rolls to the outside, hoping to catch his breath, but Hawke wastes no time going right out after him.

 

Pete: “This is a different Jay Hawke than we’re used to seeing, King. He’s spending more time on the floor than we’ve ever seen him.”

 

King: “Outside of maybe the Texas Tornado Match a few weeks ago, I think you’re right.”

 

ONE!

 

King: “I think he snapped after the unification match with Dangerous. He still wrestles smart, but he’s had an incredible mean streak since then.”

 

TWO!

 

Manson begins to walk away from the ring, trying anything to get a breather.

 

THREE!

 

Jay Hawke stalks him around the ring until Manson turns around…

 

FOUR!

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

…and spits right in the Dean’s face.

 

FIVE!

 

Partly angry and partly stunned, Hawke is wide open for another series of punches from Manson.

 

SIX!

 

Manson grabs a wobbly Jay Hawke, but Jay Hawke knees Manson in the midsection and whips him into the ring post.

 

SEVEN!

 

Manson’s left shoulder hits the post hard, and it’s still against the post when Hawke comes charging in with a clothesline to the back of the head.

 

EIGHT!

 

Jay Hawke rolls Manson into the ring, then reenters the ring himself before the referee can finish his ten count.

 

Pete: “Both men make their way back into the ring, and I can’t believe this match has been on the floor this long, King.”

 

King: “I can. The winner gets a shot at the International Championship, and the easiest way to put your opponent away is do damage on the floor with all the steel and cool little toys.”

 

Jay Hawke kicks away at Manson’s injured left shoulder, shouting “Get up” after each kick. Manson valiantly tries to follow the Dean’s advice, but Hawke drops an elbow to that shoulder. Hawke looks to the crowd with an evil grin as Manson crawls to the ropes, using them to pull himself to his feet. The Dean levels Manson with a forearm to the back, then grabs him. He begins to hook his right leg around Manson’s left, but Manson elbows Jay in the gut. Manson catches Jay with a few well-placed knees to the stomach, then he hooks Jay Hawke…

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

 

Pete: “STO! STO by Manson, seemingly out of nowhere, and he’s going for the pin!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

King: “But with that left shoulder hurting the way it is, he was unable to reach over and hook the leg!”

 

Manson slowly makes his way to his feet, still favoring the left shoulder. Jay Hawke makes his way to his feet, but Manson catches him in the side of the head with a hard forearm smash. A second forearm catches Jay Hawke right in the jaw, and Hawke falls down like a barrel of bricks from the roof of a 15-story high rise. Manson is quickly into the cover…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. Still hurting, Manson gets to his feet, but he’s quickly down again after dropping a knee to the chest of his opponent. Another cover, again without a hook of the leg:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

Kickout. Manson waves his good arm in an attempt to get the crowd behind him…

 

“RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

…and it works. Manson runs into the ropes and extends the left arm for a lariat, but Hawke side steps and hooks the arm, bringing his opponent down to the mat and applying pressure.

 

Pete: “Fujiwara armbar! Jay Hawke applying pressure to that already-injured shoulder!”

 

King: “It’s only a matter of time now, Pete! He’s in the center of the ring, and I don’t see any way he can make it to the ropes!”

 

But one thing Manson isn’t is a quitter. He begins crawling for the bottom rope in front of him. He gets maybe a foot forward before Jay Hawke cranks further back on the arm. Manson screams as it looks like Hawke might just rip the arm out straight from the shoulder socket.

 

 

“LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!

LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!

LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!”

 

 

The chant from the crowd seems to rejuvenate Manson, as he adds just a little bit more effort in his attempt to reach the ropes. He crawls until he’s about six inches away, weakening Hawke’s grip on the hold at the same time. He’s just out of reach, but he makes a seemingly desperate lunge for the ropes, just getting enough on it to reach the ropes and force the break. Hawke doesn’t release the hold right away, prompting a count from the referee:

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

 

Jay Hawke releases the hold just in time to prevent the disqualification, then pulls his opponent into the center of the ring. He locks Manson’s head into a rear chancery, then leans back…

 

King: “Dragon sleeper! Finish him off!”

 

Pete: “Aren’t you supposed to be impartial?”

 

King: “Screw impartiality! Make that man tap out!”

 

Jay Hawke cranks back on the hold, but Manson catches Hawke in the face with a knee. Hawke releases the hold, but before Manson can take advantage of the situation, Jay Hawke kicks Manson straight between the shoulder blades. Manson’s face contorts in pain, but Manson makes his way to his feet. Not for long, as Jay Hawke wraps his arms around Manson’s waist and takes him backwards into a German suplex:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR… kickout!

 

 

Pete: “Only a count of two! Jay Hawke is less than half a count away from finishing Manson off right there!”

 

King: “And Ryder’s counting slow!”

 

Pete: “No he’s not!”

 

The count doesn’t concern Jay Hawke, as he grabs Manson for a vertical suplex. He lifts Manson off the ground slightly, but Manson hooks his leg behind Hawke’s to block it. Manson knees Hawke in the midsection, then hooks Hawke’s leg before swinging Hawke around into a modified fisherman suplex…

 

Pete: “Moss-covered three-handled family gredunza, and the shoulders are down!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Jay Hawke punches the left arm, causing Manson to release the cradle and hold the shoulder again. Hawke stands up, waiting for his opponent to do the same. Manson gets to his knees, and Jay Hawke floats behind him, motioning for Manson to get to his feet.

 

King: “You know what’s coming here, Pete!”

 

Manson gets to his feet, and Jay Hawke goes for the crossface chickenwing portion of the Wing Span. Manson turns his body to prevent the hold from being locked on, and Hawke peppers the back of Manson’s head with a series of elbows as he attempts to lock it on.

 

 

“MAN-SON!

MAN-SON!

MAN-SON!MAN-SON!”

 

Manson uses his right arm to grab the Dean by the head and snap mare him over. The move gives Manson just enough time to back into the ropes and charge with a Western lariat…

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

…but Jay Hawke senses it coming and avoids the move…with Manson then hitting Scott Ryder, who happened to be behind The Dean.

 

Funyon: “Fifteen minutes have gone by in the match, fifteen minutes remain!”

 

Pete: “Oh no! At the halfway point of the contest, Manson accidentally clotheslines the referee!”

 

King: “Great. Every good guy’s best friend. The sleeping referee!”

 

Manson looks down at the referee, who is showing no signs of moving. Jay Hawke comes up from behind as the crowd screams:

 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

But Manson turns around and takes Jay Hawke down with a Diamond cutter out of nowhere!

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

Pete: “Consequences! Manson just took Jay Hawke down with the Consequences, and he’s got the match won!”

 

Manson covers instinctively, and the crowd counts: “ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

King: “The crowd can count to three all day long if they want to, but unless Scott Ryder wakes up and makes the count himself, it doesn’t count!”

 

Manson gets off of Jay Hawke’s prone body and goes over to try to wake the referee up.

 

Pete: “And Manson is aware of that as well, as he tries to wake the referee up!”

 

King: “Not smart! This is giving Jay time to recover!”

 

Jay Hawke rolls out of the ring and slowly heads over to the timekeeper’s table, where he reaches for his folded robe.

 

Pete: “Maybe Hawke thinks the match is over. He’s reaching for his robe as if to get out of here!”

 

Jay Hawke reaches into the pocket of his robe and pulls out a lead pipe.

 

King: “Um, Pete…I think that all he really wanted was an equalizer!”

 

As Jay Hawke rolls into the ring, the crowd screams at Manson that Hawke has a weapon. He apparently doesn’t hear them though. Just as the referee starts coming to, Manson turns around…

 

 

SMACK!

 

 

“OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!”

 

…and walks into a shot from that lead pipe, courtesy of a homerun swing from Jay Hawke. Jay Hawke immediately tosses the evidence out of the ring, then collapses to the mat as if he’s just been taken down with another Consequences. The referee finally regains his composure enough to turn around, and all he sees is both men down on the mat.

 

Pete: “What a cheap shot by Jay Hawke! That man will do anything to get that championship belt!”

 

King: “What do you expect? He’s been waiting nearly a month for that rematch now, and he’s got to sit back and earn it while lesser guys get shots!”

 

Jay Hawke “conveniently” regains his composure and grabs a fallen Manson, and this time he locks the Wing Span on.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Pete: “There’s that Wing Span submission hold from Jay Hawke, and I don’t see how Manson can hold out this time!”

 

King: “Hawke’s even locked that arm scissors on the free arm this time! There’s nowhere for Manson to go!”

 

The referee checks on Manson, who vehemently refuses to give into the intense pain. Jay Hawke cranks back on it just a little more to add pressure, but Manson still refuses to give in.

 

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!

PLEASE DON’T TAP!

PLEASE DON’T TAP!PLEASE DON’T TAP!

PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

Manson hears the crowd’s plea, and it seems to fire him up. He clenches his right fist and tries to get to his knees to alleviate the pressure. The crowd begins stirring, thinking Manson is going to break the submission hold.

 

Pete: “Look at Manson fight the hold!”

 

King: “I can’t believe it! Any other man in this company would have given in by now, but Manson is still trying to find a way out of the hold!”

 

Manson has made his way to his knees, but Jay Hawke is still applying every bit of pressure he can to the hold! Manson makes one last effort to get to his feet and possibly counter the hold, but he quickly falls back down.

 

“LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!

LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!

LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!”

 

Again the crowd rallies behind their favorite, but he’s fading fast. He tries in vain to reach forward for the ropes, unable to free his arm from the arm scissors. One more lunge follows, but Manson collapses. Jay Hawke leans back on the hold as Scott Ryder asks for the submission.

 

Pete: “Manson’s not answering the referee!”

 

King: “Then he can’t continue! Ring the bell!”

 

Scott Ryder decides to check Manson’s arms. He lifts it…

 

“LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!”

 

…it falls!

 

“LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!”

 

He lifts the arm again…

 

“LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!”

 

…and it falls again.

 

King: “One more and it’s all over!”

 

“LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!”

 

He lifts the arm a third time…

 

“LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!”

 

…and it falls. Scott Ryder immediately calls for the bell.

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

King: “What are these people booing for? The better man won!”

 

Manson is completely unconscious, but Jay Hawke refuses to release the hold. Scott Ryder practically begs Jay Hawke to release the hold, then decides to just start counting:

 

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

 

Jay Hawke releases the hold, just in time to avoid having the referee reverse his decision.

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, in 18 minutes 27 seconds, your winner of this contest … and the number one contender to the SWF International Championship … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

 

“JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

Jay Hawke smiles as “Learning to Fly” blares over the PA and the crowd continues their all-too-familiar chant.

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke has won the match to become the number one contender to the International Title, but I don’t approve of the way he did it, King!”

 

King: “What are you talking about?”

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke used that lead pipe while the referee was down, and in my opinion, that was the one thing that finally put Manson away!”

 

King: “Well, just to show you I’m a fair man, Pete, I’ll go ahead and say it. Truly a gallant effort on the part of Manson, as he was in the Wing Span for nearly two minutes without submitting. But the cream always rises to the top, which is why Jay Hawke will rise to the International Championship as soon as that match is signed.”

 

Jay Hawke goes to the ropes to leave the ring, but he stops short. He then looks down at Manson, who is still facedown on the mat.

 

Pete: “Wait a second. What’s going on here?”

 

Jay Hawke leans in closer to Manson until his nose is maybe six inches away from Manson’s head…

 

King: “He’s just getting a closer look at the damage he did.”

 

…then he spits on his fallen opponent before adding, “Thank you for warming up for Dangerous.”

 

Pete: “Can you believe the nerve of that man?”

 

King: “Hey, he’s cocky, he’s arrogant … but he’s the number one contender to the International Championship. I wouldn’t want to be Johnny Dangerous or Landon Maddix if they have to face this man.”

 

Jay Hawke leaves the ring and makes the “I want the belt” motion as he heads to the back.

 

Pete: “Well, beating Manson with a lead pipe is one thing. But can he beat the International Champion if he can’t get hold of that pipe?”

 

King: “He can beat anybody on any night, Pete. The pipe’s just an insurance policy.”

 

Jay Hawke holds one arm over his head as he exits through the curtain.

[Chuck Woolery 0]

“And the war continues here at BATTLEGROUND!” shouts out Longdogger Pete as the ring crew express finishes mopping up the sweat and assorted man juices from the previous match. “This next match is sure to be interesting contrast in styles as the strait-edge Todd Cortez mixes it up with the far … filthier Ejiro Fasaki.”

 

“You got that right smoky bear,” replies The Suicide King. “The question of tonight is going to be truly who can make me sick the least. Will be it be the holy guy that thinks beer is the evil or the one that does not have the good sense to follow his own vile instincts. I think I will prep the barf bags right now.”

 

“Well you have to wonder King is how long, if at all these two will hold onto their principles before they start upping the ante so to speak.”

 

“I was up your Auntie just yesterday and…”

 

“You leave Aunt Rose alone DAMN IT!”

 

With the announcers squabbling like a couple of schoolgirls about Orlando Bloom, the crowd extends their visual attention to the now green shading that is positioning itself towards the main stage. With the sounds of Breathe pulsing through the sound system, the crowd starts to shout to the heavens with praise for the man who just might be an ‘Urban Legend.’

 

FLOOOOOOOOOOOSH! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

 

 

VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

 

A mammoth explosion bursts into the skyline but the roar of the pyrotechnics is dwarfed in a moment as the hum of a motor. Quickly accelerating through the ringside curtain, Todd Cortez looks as though he’s leading a motorcade as he roars down the aisle on a police issue motorcycle. Roaring down the aisle, Todd stops just before reaching the ring and hops off the cycle. Pulling the helmet off his black hair, Cortez lifts the helmet up into the air as the Texas crowd routes on in support. Putting the helmet across the handlebars, Todd hops off the bike and quickly unzips his trademark bulletproof vest before rolling into the ring and lifting his arms into the air yet again. Ceremoniously removing his cross and giving it a goodbye kiss, Todd puts the chain over the ring post as the crowd looks on in appreciation.

 

“Introducing first… from Hollywood Boulevard and weighing in at 226 pounds. He is a member of Martial LAWWWWWWWWW this is the man, the myth, the URBAAAN LEGENNNNND TOD CORRRRRRTEZZZZZZ!”

 

And his opponent…

 

JUSTICE!

 

RULE!

 

POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP!

 

“HERE THEY ARE BORN TO BE KINGS…

THEY’RE THE PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE…

 

YEAH!”

 

Charging out from behind the curtain comes Ejiro Fasaki with an EVEN MORE pronounced scowl on his face than usually as a certain person that is attached to a certain voice that calls Ejiro’s cell phone to the sound of The Fall Guy is fresh on his heels. And suffice to say, that person is substantially hotter than Judge William Hearford.

 

“Who is THAT?” calls out LDP as the crowd breaks into a bit of a collective wolf whistle.

 

“It’s Ejiro’s… SISTER!!! He brought his FREAKING sister to the ring! Man has Melissa filled out!”

 

Standing in front of the camera with her arms stretched over her head, Melissa seemingly enjoys the attention that comes from a tight pair of hip hugger jeans paired with a ‘Rule’ football jersey cut off just so to show off her rock hard abs. On the other hand, Ejiro does not seem to get a whole lot of joy out of having the world check out his sister’s ass. Mumbling and cursing under his breath, Ejiro nonetheless heads to the ring and slides under the ring ropes. Getting up to his feet, Fasaki points right at his opponent as Todd Cortez looks on almost uncaring at the Fasaki siblings. Hopping up to the apron, Ejiro lifts his arm to the crowd and gets a great cheer in response, which may or may not have had anything to do with Melissa bending into the ring at the same moment.

 

“He weighs in tonight at 223 pounds and hails from Sarasota, Florida… he is accompanied to the ring by Melissa… this is EJIROOOOOOO FASAKEEEEEEEEE!”

 

Moving close to her brother, Melissa whispers in the former World Champion’s ear and motions towards Todd Cortez with a big smile. Rolling his eyes at whatever suggestion he just received, Ejiro nonetheless nods at the words and heads across the ring and puts a hand in the air. Quickly reaching out and accepting the shake, Todd moves back to his corner while The Suicide King debates what he just saw.

 

“He… He… he didn’t cheap shot him! Ejiro Fasaki just shook hands with someone and didn’t kick them! WHAT THE HELL! WHAT THE BLEEDING HELL! I demand cheap shots! I demand them!”

 

“You have to think now that Melissa is the one who has had the positive influence on Ejiro’s career. She must be the one pushing him to try and fight with honor from here on out.”

 

With Melissa now heading to the outside as Ejiro quickly wipes his hand off on his tights as Cortez shakes his head in mild annoyance. And as the bell rings to officially start the match both men come racing at each other only to have Cortez quickly alter his trajectory and pull Ejiro to the canvas with an arm drag. But as Todd gets up to his feet his ankle is quickly swept out from under him as Ejiro takes a single leg and immediately crawls on top for…

 

ONE!

 

Immediately kicking out hard, Cortez pushes Fasaki off to the point where Ejiro virtually lands on his feet. Quickly hitting the ropes as Cortez gets to his feet only to be knocked to the canvas again with a shoulder tackle. Quickly hitting the ropes on the other side, Ejiro goes for another tackle only to have Cortez drop towards Ejiro’s feet so Rule has to hurdle him as he runs to the opposite side. Quickly following up, Todd gets to his feet and leaps into the air to leapfrog over his returning foe before taking him over with a tight hip toss. Immediately sticking his feet up in the air, Ejiro uses them to kick Cortez off and to the canvas as Rule uses the open to get back to his feet as Cortez kips to his feet. Not waiting for any ‘stand off applause’ nonsense, Todd quickly scoops Ejiro up for a body slam only to have Rule slide out of his grip and down his back. Immediately taking Cortez by the wrist as he turns, Fasaki sends him across the ring with a whip and manages to catch him under the jaw with a hard elbow to the side of the head.

 

“And it looks as though both men are on even footing at the opening,” calls out LDP as Ejiro hits the ropes.

 

“It appears as though neither man wants to give in the first significant advantage,” replies The Suicide King, “but sooner or later they are going to have to slow down the pace or one man is going to have to take a moment to rest.”

 

Quickly dropping down to drop an elbow, Ejiro finds the pond empty as Todd moves to one side to avoid the blow. Quickly getting to his feet, Todd whips a leg towards Ejiro’s face only to have Fasaki quickly throw himself back to the canvas in order to avoid the kick. Quickly trying to capitalize, Todd tries to crush Ejiro under an elbow of his own only to have the alert Fasaki roll aside as Cortez hits only canvas. Snagging Todd around the arm as he gets to his feet, Ejiro winds the arm up in a wristlock only to have the advantage for a moment before Cortez rolls forward to the canvas to release the pressure and quickly reverse the hold. Moving Ejiro’s shoulder down a little, Todd peppers the arm with a flurry of light kicks as Rule grits his teeth against the pressure. Trying to use the arm to keep his momentum going, Todd uses it to whip Ejiro into the ropes only to have Fasaki stop and pivot to reverse the throw. Putting his arms out to catch his foe in a tilt-a-whirl, Ejiro soon finds his world turned upside down as Todd takes him to the canvas with a head scissors with enough torque behind it to whip Fasaki not only to the canvas but all the way out of the ring!

 

“First big move of the day goes to The Urban Legend,” notes Longdogger Pete, “but will he be able to maintain the momentum? Well he’s GONNA TRY!”

 

Quickly scrambling up the ropes, Todd perches on the top rope as Ejiro leans against the apron trying to shake off the impact of having his head smashed into the mat. Finally pulling his face off the apron, Rule turns towards his foe only to find his opponent twisting right at him!

 

Down he comes!

 

BOOOOOM!

 

“SHOOTING STAR LARIAT TO THE FLOOR!” screams Pete as Cortez crashes into his opponent and both men lay stunned on the floor.

 

“What a chance he took… what a stupid, stupid chance. It’s no wonder Martial Law can never win anything the way they throw their bodies all over the place like morons,” responds The Suicide King as Todd tosses Ejiro back inside the ring and slowly crawls in after him. Draping his body over the loopy Fasaki, Todd tries to send the fans home early as the referee counts…

 

ONNNNNNNNNNE!

 

TWOOOOOOOOOO!

 

NOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Kicking out just after the count of two, Ejiro keeps himself alive as Melissa starts to pound the canvas from the outside in order to get her brother back into the contest.

But Cortez is not going to let him off that easy as he pulls Ejiro off the canvas for a moment before using a snap mare to send Fasaki right back down before hopping into the air and crushing Ejiro under the weight of a high leg drop. Immediately pulling Ejiro over onto his stomach, The Urban Legend locks down on a camel clutch with one arm locked up tightly as the other hangs loose at the moment. Holding on against the pain, Ejiro reaches out for the ropes immediately as Todd seems satisfied to hold onto the chinlock for the time being.

 

“And this is what Todd Cortez should be doing in this match,” calls The Suicide King. “If you really think about it, Cortez’s style is general hybrid of Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous with the flying and the martial arts… and Ejiro has a great history of clubbing those guys to death. But as far as submissions go, that kind of wrestler seems to give Fasaki a great deal of trouble.”

 

But heedless of The King’s wrestling advice, Todd breaks his own hold in order to stomp down on the small of Ejiro’s back before grabbing him by the hair and picking him off the canvas. Scooping Rule off the mat, Todd slams him to the canvas with a slam before heading to the apron on the outside of the ring as Ejiro keeps a hand on his back to try and rub away the pain. Climbing all the way up to the top rope, Todd takes aim again and sends his body into the air before laying out for a huge senton back splash!

 

THOOOOOOOOOOM!

 

But the pool is empty as Ejiro rolls out of the way and Todd crushes himself against the mat! His spine impacted by landing on it from six feet in the air, Cortez squirms on the canvas in pain until Ejiro soon rolls over his form and clamps down with a vicious chokehold!

 

“Ejiro! NO!” shouts Melissa as she jumps to the apron. Waving at her brother, Melissa tells him to get off the throat as Fasaki readily complies. Shaking his own head almost in order to have the wave of rule breaking anger break on the shore, Ejiro breathes heavily before going back to work with a stomp to the side of Cortez’s face.

 

“You were right Pete,” says The King of Hearts, “that little punk is listening to his stupid sister and trying to ‘follow the rules’. God damn it! Why can’t the hoes stay out of man’s business!

 

Grabbing the still stunned Cortez off the canvas, Ejiro shoves his opponent into a corner and starts to drive shoulders into his opponent’s breadbasket time and time again. With his opponent significantly stunned, Rule takes Cortez out of the corner with an Irish whip but stops short and wrenches Todd’s shoulder nearly out of joint as his feet go out from underneath him. Immediately snatching at his shoulder as he lands on his knee, The Urban Legend feels the true pain for just a moment before Ejiro grabs him from behind in a hammerlock and tosses him into the turnbuckles with a full head of steam. Dropping down to a knee The Urban Legend slaps the side of his shoulder in order to get some sort of feeling back in his limbs. Pulling Todd back into the center of the ring, Ejiro slaps on a hammerlock again but this time hauls him up onto his shoulder before dropping him to the mat with a slam on top of the arm. Quickly pulling his arm out from under his body, Todd keeps massaging the shoulder for a moment before Ejiro locks on with an armbar. Positioning his knee against the joint of the elbow, Fasaki uses it as a fulcrum as Cortez shouts out in pain under the pressure.

 

“LETS GO TODD! LETS GO TODD! LETS GO TODD!” chants the crowd as Ejiro continues to work the hold as he knows how.

 

“That’s what they think of you Fasaki!” calls out The Suicide King from the announce position. “No matter what a good guy you are, those schmucks will always like another schmuck more!”

 

Surging under the cheers of the crowd, Todd rolls to his knees as Ejiro keeps the arm locked up as tightly as he can. Getting to his feet, Todd starts to walk himself and Ejiro about the ring for a moment before popping him across the face with a palm strike to the side of the face. Shaking his head, Ejiro simply grits back down on the arm and pushes Cortez right back to his knees before straddling over his fallen opponent with the pump handle armbar. Pushing on the shoulder, the former World Champion keeps Cortez subdued again as Todd reaches out now for the ropes in order to force a break. Pushing ahead with his knees, Cortez inches closer and closer to the safety of the ropes as Fasaki tries to keep him from getting there. But as Todd gets just within reach, Fasaki quickly wrenches Cortez to one side to keep his free arm away from grasping the ropes… of course Ejiro can still get to them. Snagging the ropes, Ejiro pulls on the top strand in order to add a whole lot of illegal leverage to the hold.

 

“HEY REF!” comes a voice from the other side of the ring, “Ejiro’s got the ropes!”

 

“Oh come on!” shouts Ejiro in response as Melissa informs on him like he just stole his dad’s wallet.

 

Not even letting the referee tell him to break the hold, Ejiro tosses the arm to one side and goes to have an argument with the person he brought to the ring with him. Shouting at his sister for getting in the way of his own match, Fasaki gets a face full of a response as Melissa lays right back into her brother for continuing to break rules despite all the long meetings they have had on the topic. The crowd … does not help.

 

“FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI!”

 

Pointing out to the crowd, Fasaki shouts back at all of them together as Melissa simply stares back at her brother and yells right back in his face as the debate continues. That is until Cortez uses his healthy arm to pull Ejiro backward with a schoolboy roll up!

 

ONNNNNNNNNE!

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

NOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Kicking his way free, Ejiro is up immediately and is there to boot Cortez across the chest as the martial artist from the streets gets to his knees. But Ejiro seemingly has a whole lot more issues to work on as he starts to bash Cortez across the face with hammering elbows to the head.

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

BAM!

 

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

 

 

 

 

 

BAM!

 

He has a whole lot of issues.

 

Finally allowing Todd to collapse to the canvas a bruised mess, Ejiro shakes with rage as his manager shakes her head as his sour demeanor. Rubbing his own elbow from the continuous impacts with someone’s skull, Ejiro ends his debate with his sister and backs away from the punch drunk Urban Legend. Taking Cortez by the back of the head, Ejiro puts him where he wants before hitting the ropes as hard as he can…

 

 

 

WHOOOOOOOOOM!

 

 

 

AND GETS CUT IN HALF!

 

“HOLLOW POINT!” shouts LDP as Cortez leaps forward almost on instinct and knocks Ejiro flat to the canvas.

 

Rolling to the side of the broken body that used to be Ejiro Fasaki, Todd moves his aching body to the ropes and uses them to get up to his feet as Fasaki barely begins to move. Still holding onto his shoulder Todd catches Ejiro under the chin with a palm thrust under the chin that knocks Fasaki back to the canvas. Continuing to grab Fasaki around the head, Cortez bashes his head against the top turnbuckle as the crowd starts to rally behind his offensive flurry. Taking Ejiro with his good arm, Todd tosses Fasaki across the ring with an Irish whip that causes the former World Champion to rebound out of the corner and right into a high backdrop toss into the stratosphere. Just barely getting to his feet, Ejiro is soon jammed right back down to the canvas with an STO takedown! Getting to his feet in a moment, Cortez slaps his shoulder once again in order to get his blood flowing yet again. Quickly heading to the ropes, Todd hops to the middle ropes and propels his body backward with a middle rope moonsault…

 

CRASH!

 

Landing right on his bruised face, Cortez puts a hand on his throbbing forehead as he ends up on his knees for almost a full three seconds before Ejiro knocks him all the way over with a running knee to the face! Quickly reaching over and hooking the far leg, Ejiro tries to send it home with a count of …

 

ONNNNNNNNNEEE!

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

THRENOOOOOOOO!

 

Shouting a shoulder off the mat keeps Cortez alive in the match for the time being if only Ejiro would give him a chance to get his wind back. But Rule is not about to allow that to happen as he quickly slams across Todd’s back and hammers a number of short forearms to the back of the head. Quickly securing a Fujiwara armbar, Ejiro quickly pushes his hips off the canvas and continues to crank on Todd’s injured shoulder. Wrenching on the shoulder, Ejiro calls for a submission as the referee moves in to check with Todd to see if he wants to continue. Waving his hand at the referee, the Urban Legend shouts that he is not about to quit as his opponent works to pull his arm out of socket. But something keeps Todd from quitting … something loud and pulsing through the Alamo crowd!

 

“LETS GO TODD! LETS GO TODD!”

 

Nodding along with the chant, Todd uses his free arm to call out to the people that he is indeed not going to just go out like that. Instead, he reaches out and uses his arms and legs to push himself and a pissed off Fasaki across the ring canvas until he can get a leg underneath the bottom rope in order to get the referee to break the hold.

 

“IF there is one weakness to the Fujiwara armbar is that it leaves three points of movement to escape,” notes The Suicide King. “But by the same token, you can hold onto it without using a great deal of energy.”

 

Releasing the hold just as the referee calls for the break, Ejiro breaks clean and wanders across the ring with his hands on his hips. As if calculating where to go next with his plan of attack, Ejiro pulls Cortez closer to the center of the ring and winds up the shoulder yet again and drives Todd down to a knee. Controlling the Urban Legend with the arm, Ejiro pulls his foe to a doubled-over position and throws a leg over the shoulder in preparation for the Fasaki fuser. But before Ejiro can hop into the air, Cortez violently rips his hand free and away from Ejiro’s grip and quickly rallies with a punch to the top of the head! But Ejiro counters immediately with a knee to the chest that knocks Todd right back to the canvas where Fasaki can drive a knee into his shoulder.

 

“Narrow escape there,” calls out LDP as Ejiro drops another knee into to the equation, “but Todd Cortez needs to find a way around this focused attack and he needs to do it in short order if he wants to come out of this match with the win.”

 

Knowing that as well as anyone else, Ejiro takes Cortez in a reverse hammerlock and uses it to pull Todd backward into a corner. Hopping up and into the middle ropes, Ejiro cinches up on the injured arm and looks to leap into the air for a Tornado single arm DDT that will finally seal this match in frozen amber. But before Ejiro can take to the air, Cortez counters with a HARD palm shot to the jaw!

 

SLAP!

 

Falling back over the top turnbuckle, Ejiro temporarily impales himself on the post as even the crowd shows sympathy for his plight… for about a second. That is until the wounded Legend climbs up after his opponent and hammers away with his healthy hand much to the delight of the Texas faithful. Climbing up all the way to the top rope, Cortez snatches Ejiro by the hair to pull his opponent up so that both men are now standing on the top rope strand. Standing there together for a moment the two men jockey for footing before Cortez leaps off the ropes and catches Ejiro around the head with his legs before pulling off the turnbuckle with a SUPER FRANKENSTEINER!

 

SLAMMMMMMMM!

 

Landing flat on his back, Ejiro shudders violently from the impact as Cortez once again keeps an arm on his shoulder as he scrambles across the fallen body of his opponent as the referee counts…

 

 

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE!

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

THHHHREEENOOOOOOO!

 

 

Barely getting off the mat in time, Ejiro looks over to his sister with a pleading look on his eye as Cortez gets up to his shaking feet. Keeping an eye on Fasaki as Rule keeps his eyes locked on Melissa, Cortez lines him up and aims a super kick right at his head!

 

CRACK!

 

Slaughtered by the kick, Ejiro falls to the canvas in a heap as Cortez once again ties to get the cover with a…

 

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE!

 

 

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

THREEEENOOOOOOOOO!

 

Looking at the referee with a questioning glance, Todd nonetheless goes back top work as he pulls Ejiro up and pushes him to a corner where he can send roundhouse kicks right into the chest of his opponent! Dropping down a moment, Cortez rises again with a mammoth palm strike that sends Ejiro into the air for a moment before he lands on his ass in the corner. Moving back to the other side of the corner, Todd races across the ring and puts both boots right in the face of his opponent! Backing off the fallen opponent, Cortez roars out to the crowd as Ejiro sends another pleading glance at Melissa who simply cheers for her brother as he continues to take an ass kicking.

 

“You can do it Jerry!” calls out Melissa, “you can do it on your own!”

 

But Todd does indeed feel a whole lot different about the matter as he once again kicks Ejiro across the face yet again before pulling him off the mat. Tossing Ejiro across the ring, Todd tosses a spinning wheel kick at his opponent only to have Fasaki go into a forward roll underneath the strike. But as he rises again, Cortez is there to strike again with a running boot to the head!

 

BOOM!

 

Not satisfied with just that Todd heads out to the ringside apron as Ejiro struggles to get to his feet. Using his arms to pull himself up to the top in one motion, Todd takes an extra moment to balance himself on the top rope due to his injured arm and leaps across the ring with a lariat…

 

But he gets snagged!

 

 

FLOOOOSH!

 

Quickly adjusting on the fly, Ejiro grabs Todd by the injured arm and takes him over with an arm drag! Shouting at the pain of the drag, Cortez slaps his shoulder time and again as the pain has reached an obvious amount of concern for the Urban Legend.

 

“Desperate maneuver by Ejiro Fasaki and now both men are down!” calls out LDP as Ejiro also has to get some semblance of sanity back in his brain again after being kicked in the head so often.

 

Together both men get to their feet just about the same time but it is Ejiro who strikes first as he aims a kick right at Todd’s chest only to have it intercepted! But as Todd holds Ejiro’s foot there, he realizes just will happen if he tosses the leg to one side…

 

 

CRACK!

 

BUT YOU JUST CAN’T STAND THERE EITHER!

 

“Enziguri to the shoulder!” calls out LDP as Ejiro swings around and cracks Todd against the head and shoulders and knocks him to the canvas!

 

Quickly moving on top of his opponent, Ejiro locks it down…

 

 

COOOOOOOOOOOBRA CROSSFACE!

 

“TAP! TAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” shouts Ejiro as he cranks back on the hold!

 

Keeping the hold on tightly, Ejiro looks to outside as Melissa cheers for his brother as he inches closer and closer to getting out of Battleground with the win. But now Ejiro needs to focus on causing enough pain, blues and agony to get his ass out of there. Lying underneath, Todd can do nothing but reach out for the bottom ropes in the hopes of forcing a…

 

 

TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

“Its all OVAH!” calls out LDP, “and he won the match fair and square! No interference, no cheating, Ejiro Fasaki did it on his own!”

 

Releasing the hold, Ejiro leaves Todd all a quiver on the canvas as he tries to assess just how badly he’s been hurt by the crossface. Sitting up on the mat, Ejiro picks his battered face off the canvas and looks at the damage he has done with just about the least amount of filthy cheating that his nature would allow. But the important thing to him is that he was still able to get out of the match with the victory. And that is what he feels as Melissa gives him a round of applause which is followed by a polite ovation from the crowd as well.

 

“I’m so going to hurl all over this arena, I swear,” calls out The Suicide King as a severely weakened Todd Cortez gets up to his feet with a hand still cupped under his shoulder.

 

Clearly unhappy from having to tap out (which is sure as heck a better idea than getting your shoulder pulled out of its socket), Cortez glares across the ring at his adversary. Finally standing to his full height, The Urban Legend makes his way across the ring to his foe and extends a hand of respect to the victor.

 

“Blarg… BLAAAARG!”

 

Looking on with a wary eye, Ejiro stares at the hand as though it is probably poisoned in some way. Ejiro glances at his sister for a moment Ejiro finds that she is more than happy to urge her brother to take the hand of his opponent. Cautiously joining hands with The Urban Legend, Fasaki shakes the hand of his opponent as the crowd happily cheers the good sportsmanship shown here tonight.

 

“FFFFFFFLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

 

“Ew. Fans, as we clean up after the Suicide King, get ready for the next contest as Battleground is about to CONTINUE!”

[Chuck Woolery 0]

The final image fades away and Battleground 2005 backstage at the Alamodome in San Antonio, Texas returns. Ben Hardy, dressed down in camouflage outfit with matching helmet, stands outside a locker room’s door. He awkwardly pauses before speaking.

 

“We’re here at Insane Luchador’s locker room door because I hope to catch a few words on his match tonight. He’s going to be the challenger for the Hardcore Gamers’ Title bout with JJ Johnson. He, without doubt, is the most comfortable in a hardcore environment and is a staple of the hardcore world. He gained the Hardcore Gamers’ Championship during Calvinball II and in an interesting twist he lost the belt rather quickly to the rising star JJ Johnson who at the end of the match joined Revolution Zero!” The fans in the arena jeer at the summary.

 

But a familiar voice comes from behind and Ben Hardy pokes his head around the hallway’s corner. The camera swings over to see JJ Johnson dressed down in his gear standing next to Toxxic! The fans boo intensely as the World Champion tries to give his stable mate some final words of advice. Johnson is looking down with his head hung low in a focused stare as he nods his head to Toxxic. He slowly reaches up with his arms and removes his red and white robe, handing it to Toxxic.

 

“Well I wonder what’s going on here…” Ben Hardy says as the SWF employees switch their focus.

 

Toxxic suddenly disappears from sight and JJ Johnson stands there with the Hardcore Gamers Title fastened snuggly on his waist over his red and white signature tights. He rolls his shoulders back and looks up at Hardy who’s peering around the corner like a peeping Tom.

 

Toxxic reappears with a shove to Matthew Kivell who stands in front of JJ Johnson. Toxxic crackles in laughter as he pats Johnson on the back before turning away and leaving. JJ Johnson quickly stalks over towards the Luchador’s locker room as Ben Hardy panics.

 

“Well back to you guys because I’m getting out of the war zone!” He quickly says before bailing from the scene.

 

“Know what’s sad? He used to be a decent wrestler,” King says.

 

“That’s true. But we are back and I think this match is going to start ahead of schedule!” LDP cries out.

 

JJ Johnson detaches the belt and hands it over to Kivell. He turns into the narrow hallway with all the locker rooms as he pauses at Insane Luchador locker room door. He grabs the doorknob and swings the door open, charging in for the ambush.

 

“Not very polite of him not to knock,” King quips.

 

 

Insane Luchador, who sits on a steel chair in middle of the bare room, looks up in surprise but doesn’t have time to react. JJ Johnson is flying out with a high knee that smacks Luchador in the face causing him to fall down as the chair comes crash down also. The challenger rolls up to his feet but Johnson is ready as he approaches then knocks his opponent down with a short arm clothesline. He looks behind him at Kivell who shakes his head no and holds his ground.

 

“Not until you two hit the hallway!”

 

JJ Johnson grunts as the Insane Luchador is back on his feet and nails him with a jab! It acts as a catalyst as the two engage in a punching brawl- the two going toe-to-toe.

 

“JJ Johnson may be an expert in the striking aspect from UFC but that doesn’t mean Luchador won’t try,” LDP says.

 

“Well that’s because IL has killed off so many brain cells he doesn’t know any better,” King replies.

 

But Johnson throws up a knee that causes Rickmen to double over. He grabs the back of his head and a hold of his shirt- heaving him out of the locker room. Luchador’s momentum carries him shoulder-first into the door across the hall as he flops onto the floor.

 

“See that ambush was genius,” King says.

 

“Cheap,” LDP corrects.

 

JJ Johnson walks over and picks up the chair, folding it up and coming out towards the hallway. He stands in the door’s frame then lifts the chair above his head and smacks it against Luchador’s chest on the ground! He groans out in pain and tries to roll away but Johnson steps out and raises the chair up again. Kivell disgustedly calls for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“This match is underway!”

 

Insane Luchador unleashes a high kick to the side of Johnson’s head as he drops the steel chair. He responds to Luchador’s attack with a haymaker right that the challenger is somehow able to avoid. In frustration he lunges out and lets the fists fly. The Luchador is pressed up against the wall and trying to bob and weave. But JJ Johnson’s keen striking skills forces Luchador to bend over in a desperate defense as Johnson sends his elbow cracking down onto the back of Luchador’s head! He crumbles to all fours and Johnson gives him a kick in his shoulder. He drops flat onto the cement and rolls over, clutching the steel chair with one arm. But his opponent simply steps onto the Luchador’s arm and leans forward to add weight onto it. His fingers let go of the chair and JJ steps away. IL gets to both knees and Johnson sends a kick flying towards his temple. But he ducks underneath it then pops up, smacking JJ with an uppercut. He feigns a left then unleashes his right hand-

 

SMACK!

 

“WHOO!”

 

“Luchador trying to regain some momentum because he’s been at a disadvantage from the get-go,” LDP says.

 

Johnson grits his teeth and retaliates-

 

SMACK!

 

“WHOOOO!”

 

Luchador gives a short wheeze but draws back his arm and-

 

SMACK!

 

“WHOOOOOOO!”

 

Johnson takes a step back and sees his red chest. He brings back his head and lunges-

 

SMACK!

 

“WHOO…OOOOHHHH!” The fans cry out in sympathy from the vicious chop.

 

Johnson continues the assault-

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

 

“WWWWWWWHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The last chop leaves Luchador downed at one knee as the Champion throws out his leg, nailing his opponent with a kick to the temple. He falls to the cement and groans. JJ pauses and sees the steel chair nearby and he walks over to pick it up.

 

“Insane Luchador could be in trouble here!” LDP proclaims.

 

The HGC Champion swings the chair down to hit the Insane Luchador. But the wily veteran knows to roll out of the way and spring back to his feet. He charges forward and throws out his elbow but his opponent uses the steel chair as a shield. Luchador’s elbow smacks against the steel and he grimaces, stepping back. Johnson quickly brings the air into the air and smacks Luchador right on top of his cranium! He falls to one knee.

 

The fans burst into jeers.

 

“A vicious chair shot by JJ Johnson right on top of Luchador’s head!” LDP says.

 

“I’d be more concerned about the elbow, he could’ve hit his funny bone right there,” King sarcastically says.

 

Johnson slowly raises the chair in the air again to smack Luchador again but he instead comes out, taking his opponent down by the knees with a tackle! He topples over like a tree and drops the steel chair which Luchador snatches in one hand. He places it on top of Johnson’s face then scrambles to his feet- stomping right onto the chair.

 

“I hope Johnson didn’t like his nose.” LDP cheers on the Luchador.

 

He sends another stomp to the chair as Johnson flips over to his stomach, pushing himself up. Luchador quickly snatches the chair for security and waits. Johnson gets to both knees with his back turned as Luchador swings the chair like a baseball bat- nailing Johnson right in his back! He arches back and crawls forward in pain as Luchador follows in pursuit. The HGC Champion stands up and whirls around only to get the steel chair jabbed into his stomach! Luchador drops the chair underneath Johnson and secures a front headlock then falls down for the snap DDT. Johnson’s head bounces off the chair as he rolls away.

 

“DDT onto the chair by Luchador and this match is shifting in his favor,” LDP says.

 

Luchador bends over and slaps Johnson on the side of his head, taunting him to get up. As he starts to get up the Luchador grabs a hold of him then scoops him up onto his feet. He stands on the side of Johnson with a hand on the back of his head- tossing him away from the hallway and onto one of the main corridors. IL smirks and runs for the follow through. His opponent stumbles but regains control as he turns around and instinctively throws back an elbow which catches Luchador right in the face! He grabs his face and stumbles back only to have Johnson grab him by the back of his head. He draws back Luchador’s head and takes a huge step forward before smacking his head on the cement walls! He retains the hold as Luchador crumbles to one knee.

 

“What about it being in Luchador's favor?” King asks.

 

“Well the match has barely begun,” LDP mumbles back.

 

JJ Johnson checks his surroundings- in one direction is a stretch of hallway filled with clutter for the show and the door towards the boiler room. In the other direction is an even longer stretch of hallway with many corridors branching off including doors to the locker rooms, an unmarked office, storage area, and finally ending with a turn in either direction. He glances in both directions again and he sends an elbow down onto his opponent’s head to buy time. He apathetically throws the Luchador down the cement as he shuffles over to smack him in the kidneys with a kick! Luchador begins to crawl for cover as Johnson throws out another kick but Luchador rolls away. He gets to his feet and tries to surprise Johnson as he throws out a punch but instead he gets caught in an arm drag! He begins to charge after but suddenly stops, seeing a fire extinguisher in a protective glass case.

 

“Hey now, that’s for emergencies! That’s to put out flaming things!” LDP protests.

 

“Well since Riley’s not here what other flaming things would we face?” King shoots back.

 

“Da-boom, boom, t’ish,” LDP dead pans.

 

Johnson takes a step back and sends a kick at the glass case. It shatters and he tugs out the fire extinguisher as he walks over to the Insane Luchador. He waits and sprays Rickmen in the face for humiliation before bringing the BUTT of the extinguisher against his opponent’s forehead. He drops the weapon as Luchador lies on the cement trying to get himself back up. He looks at the janitor’s bin down a bit from him with a broom leaning against it. JJ Johnson walks over to the janitor’s bin and glances into it seeing nothing fit. So he grabs the broom and begins to approach the Luchador. His challenger is at his knees and as Johnson approaches he throws a punch to his gut. He tries to capitalize but as he stands up Johnson times a knee perfectly- colliding with Luchador as he stands up. He stumbles back from the knee strike and Johnson steps behind him, choking him with the broomstick! Luchador wheezes and squirms but Johnson begins to choke out his opponent.

 

“He’s going to try to choke the Luchador out!” LDP cries out.

 

“Hey anything goes,” King says.

 

Luchador’s face turns red and he struggles but Johnson keeps the applied pressure. He begins to slump down as his face reaches a shade of purple. He tries to worm his way out but Johnson instead pulls back even harder. Luchador wheezes and suddenly brings his leg back to smack Johnson in the jewels.

 

“Hey!” King yells.

 

“Anything goes,” LDP beams.

 

JJ Johnson loosens the hold and Luchador slips away. He stands side-by-side to Johnson, grabbing the broom and holding it across his opponent’s throat, grapevines the leg then falls down for the broom-assisted side Russian leg sweep! Luchador bounces right back to his feet as he tosses the broomstick away. He grabs his opponent and hoists him onto his feet. The two collide in a grapple. It goes back and forth until Johnson overpowers his opponent and locks in the front facelock. He grabs a handful of Luchador’s baggy cargo pants before quickly snapping back, smacking him against the cement with a snap suplex! Both of the competitors roll right back up to their feet but Johnson is up more quickly. As Luchador stands up the HGC Champion bombards him with a massive dropkick! It sends the Insane Luchador right back onto the cement as Johnson scrambles back to his feet. He walks over and stomps on Luchador’s gut. He then bends over to tug his opponent up by a clump of his wild black spiked hair. He carefully aims and tosses the Luchador forward into a pile of wooden crates. He collides with them as they all fall out of place, Luchador in the middle trying to get up. Johnson approaches and picks up a wooden crate, holding it high in the air, and smashing it down onto Luchador’s back! The Psychotic Hero grunts but begins to crawl free as Johnson picks up another heavy wooden crate. He gets to his feet and turns around right as Triple J swings the wooden crate. He jukes out of the way and jumps into the air- dropkicking the crate into Johnson’s chest! The HGC Champion stumbles back and drops the crate as Insane Luchador runs forward. He hops onto the crate and springs off of it. He connects and wraps his arm around Johnson’s neck and swings his body weight before dropping down and planting his opponent with a tornado DDT! He quickly hooks the leg for the cover-

 

“Oh! Luchador nailing JJ Johnson with a tornado DDT and now he is going for the pin.”

 

ONE!

 

But Johnson quickly gets his shoulder up and in the arena there’s a wave of groans. IL isn’t fazed as he gets to his knees, grabbing onto Johnson’s neck and tugging him up with him. He gets behind the HGC Champion only to be nailed with an elbow. Johnson whirls around with a roundhouse kick that sends Luchador off balance. He wraps his arms around the former HGC Champion and closes him in tight. But then he promptly picks the Luchador up in the air as he slams him down onto his back! Johnson hops onto his feet then barely jumps in the air with his legs bent- ready to smack Luchador with his knees. But Luchador rolls away and JJ smacks the cement on his knees.

 

“He tried to rip a page out of Luchador’s playbook and instead is going to have a serious case of arthritis in his knees down the road,” LDP gleefully says.

 

Luchador flops over to his side and launches his leg out while grounded- smacking Johnson in the head! He falls over and Luchador gets to his feet as Johnson wearily does also. The Psychotic Hero, Andrew Rickmen, energetically hops on his feet with his hands up in a defensive stance. He openly invites Johnson to take a swing.

 

“Shouldn’t he know when he’s outmatched?” King asks.

 

“Well apparently he’s killed away all his brain cells,” Pete sarcastically rehashes King’s earlier comment.

 

“Yeah, don’t get bitter over me being honest.”

 

JJ Johnson presses forward with his arms openly swinging as Luchador ducks and weaves. He blocks a hook with his arm tucked near his head so Johnson simply brings a knee into his stomach. Insane Luchador doubles over and his opponent grabs him- throwing him down the hallway. He quickly loses balances and falls to the ground but he gets right back to his feet. But Johnson is relentless as he is already right on top of the Luchador with vicious strikes including a particular nasty palm strike to his chin. That very strike sends him reeling back as JJ Johnson keeps the assault going with a roundhouse kick. But the Luchador is able to guard his head as the kick harmlessly bounces off his arm with a resounding smack. That doesn’t discourage JJ Johnson who leaps out with an elbow to Luchador’s face! With his guard down Johnson is able to slip behind him. He pulls out a classic ultimate fighting submission as he wraps his right arm over his neck and brings his left arm up while his right fingers grab that forearm for the extra squeeze. He then hops into the air and wraps both of his legs around Luchador’s arms at his chest while squeezing his legs muscles also.

 

“JJ with a standing rear naked choke by on Luchador.” LDP follows the action. “This hold is a staple submission in mixed martial arts.”

 

“It’s brilliant, King insists, “best thing possible is he chokes him out for the win and worst case- Luchador’s sapped of energy!”

 

The jeers are even heard in the backstage area as Johnson squeezes and Luchador knows he has little time to act. He sways as the oxygen gets cut off but remembers his surroundings. He turns around and leaps back against the cement wall which sandwiches his foe. JJ lets the hold barely let up while IL takes a gasping breath. He looks straight ahead at the red door in front of them. With nothing to lose he moves as quickly as he can towards the door, spinning around and smacking Johnson against the door. The door nearly crunches as Luchador takes a step forward and repeats. Johnson tugs the hold a bit stronger but the Luchador begins to pick up the pace with leaning forward and bringing his foe back.

 

“You’d think with a place called the Alamodome they’d compensate by doing a good job with their construction,” LDP muses.

 

Johnson releases his legs and he grounds himself. Luchador quickly launches an elbow back into his opponent’s ribs. But he maintains the lock as Luchador’s face begins to turn a shade of red for the second time. He slowly starts to turn towards the door and bends over. The HGC Champion uses the chance to get his legs for trapping Luchador’s arms. But as Luchador struggles he fends off one leg then grabs onto the doorknob, swinging the door open. Still bent down he takes a few quick steps forward before using all of his leg muscles to leap out in a front flip. Johnson lets go of the hold completely in shock as he’s carried over, smacking against the cement, and finally being used as a cushion for the Luchador.

 

“Now that’s brilliant! Luchador uses the space to flip the two over and break the hold!” LDP says.

 

“It’s not –that- impressive,” King insists.

 

Luchador gets to his feet and takes deep breaths as Johnson flops over to his stomach to collect himself. The two both finally gain their bearings and see the room they’re in. From the desk to the wooden stools to the mini-bar is a dark mahogany wood.

 

“Who the hell is getting that sort of special treatment?” King asks. “Wait, how come I don’t get a room that nice!” He snaps.

 

In front another closed door is suddenly flung open as Allison Onita runs out with a towel to cover her body.

 

“Hey we just got strip Risk started!” Flesher protests inside his office loudly.

 

From behind Johnson sends an axe handle to the back of Rickmen’s head. He staggers forward but turns around with a jab that smacks Johnson in the face. He grabs his competitor and throws him into Flesher’s office before stepping in himself.

 

“Man this is like a bar room brawl and we’ve already had one of those!” King whines.

 

Tom Flesher sits out his cleared desk with a Risk board spread out with a bra hanging from its corner. Behind him is a cardboard, life sized, cut-out of himself and otherwise the office is bare. He stands up from his desk in protest to reveal his lower body only in boxers.

 

“Dear God,” Pete grumbles.

 

“Definitely a great thing Riley isn’t around anymore,” King points out.

 

Luchador and JJ Johnson ignore the Smarkdown commissioner while the two collide in a grapple. Luchador and Johnson go back and forth before Luchador gets the upper hand this time. He uses his height to wrap his arm around Johnson’s neck in a front headlock. But Johnson instinctively wraps his arms around Luchador and lifts him up into the air. He takes three running steps forward as Luchador begins to nail punches with his free arm into his foe’s kidneys. He suddenly smacks against Flesher’s desk as the Risk board goes flying, pieces and card in disarray. Johnson quickly squirms out of the lock and hits a nasty knife-edged chop.

 

“Oh that’s it!” Flesher declares as he grabs a newspaper and rolls it up. He leans over his desk and smacks Johnson with it before walking around the desk, really taking whacks at the Hardcore Gamers Champion. He then turns around and bonks Rickmen on top of the head with it.

 

“SHOO!” He cries at the two like dogs.

 

Both whimper away slowly before Flesher follows them with more newspaper swings. Laughter rings out in the arena as both hardcore staple figures are driven out by the pissed off Flesher armed with a newspaper.

 

“In their defense it is the Sunday paper and that thing can cause damage,” LDP says.

 

He drops the newspaper as the two retreats and he holds out his hand in a smacking motion.

 

“Damn cockblockers,” he mutters.

 

 

The two are back in the outer office and they both stand there with their fists up. Luchador this time presses forward and launches two hooks and a leg kick before he tries for a clothesline. But Johnson ducks under it and springs back with a dropkick to Luchador’s back. The momentum sends him smacking against the minibar while Johnson comes charging forward. But Luchador reaches into the mini-refrigerator and grabs a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka. He swings it behind his head as serendipity brings it crashing right on top of JJ Johnson’s head! The HGC Champion takes a dazed step back and the Luchador wraps an arm around his neck from behind then falls to his knee, snapping his opponent over with a snapmare. The move causes him to roll outside Flesher’s office and back into the corridor where Luchador follows.

 

“Close the door!” Flesher yells behind a closed door.

 

IL then slams the door shut and sees Johnson already on his feet. He strikes the challenger with a punch to his face. His head snaps back and hits the door as Johnson draws back his hand and delivers a knifed-edge chop against his throat. He begins to crumble and JJ Johnson grabs a hold of his wrist. He Irish whips him towards the wall but Luchador puts his arms out and stops the momentum. He then turns around and sees JJ charging. He waits before swooping down in a spear. But Johnson side-steps then wraps an arm around his waist before flipping his opponent over with a gutwrench suplex. Luchador quickly rolls to his feet and catches Johnson off guard with a lunging clothesline. It sends his opponent smacking against the cement but he also gets up quickly as he can. The two collide in a grapple as they both jockey for a position. But they reach a stalemate as Luchador lets go then throws his head forward, catching his opponent in the face with a headbutt! He clutches his face and reels back as Luchador takes a step out and nails a spinning backfist. This sends the HGC Champion reeling back and he smacks against the corner of the corridor and a small, branching off hall. He sways over and falls to his knees in the smaller hallway as Luchador walks over to his opponent. As he approaches he picks up his pace and drops down with an elbow drop to Johnson’s back. He flips JJ over and goes for the pin-

 

JJ Johnson quickly kicks out and rolls away. Luchador bends down to pick his opponent up but Johnson sends his boot smack into Luchador’s face! He reels back and through a swinging door. JJ Johnson rolls up and walks towards the door as Luchador kicks the swinging door to smack Johnson! He stumbles back and his opponent comes charging out and sends his leg up for a Yakuza kick! It sends JJ smacking back against the opposing wall and slump down. Luchador, however, turns back around and walks through the swinging door again. Matthew Kivell turns the corner and stares at the down Johnson then at the women’s restroom right across from him. Suddenly a shriek is heard and Allison comes running out again with the same towel to cover her chest.

 

“Man she just can’t catch a break tonight,” LDP laughs.

 

“I’m sure teenagers going through puberty are,” King starts.

 

“Hey why is Luchador in there?” LDP asks and quickly cuts off King.

 

Suddenly the ladies bathroom goes dark and everybody is in confusion. Slowly Johnson recollects himself and begins to get up.

 

“Luchador better do whatever he needs to do quickly because JJ Johnson isn’t going to give up,” LDP says.

 

Suddenly a loud, crashing sound happens and Luchador blurts out an obscenity. JJ Johnson stands up and leans against the wall momentarily before stepping towards the door. It unexpectedly swings open and a handful of glass shards come hurtling out- right towards his opponent’s face. He shields his face with his arms which get minor scrapes. The HGC Champion looks furious as he quickly swings open the door and steps in. But he comes reeling back and against the wall again as the Insane Luchador comes stepping out with a light tube in his hand!

 

The crowd roars in absolute approval.

 

“Come to think of it- Johnson pulling Luchador backstage is making him improvise instead of being able to pull anything from underneath the ring. But Rickmen is still being inventive,” LDP analyzes.

 

Johnson cautiously backs away towards the main corridor for space as he keeps his defensive guard up. His opponent follows him with the light tube now being held like a batter ready to smack a grand slam. JJ glances behind him and sees one last slightly opened door before the hallways split into either direction. The two circle until their backs are turned to either long direction of the corridor. Luchador, whose back is turned towards the hallway split, presses forward and JJ Johnson doesn’t even flinch. With enough room to move the HGC Champion boldly comes at the Insane Luchador with a flurry of strikes!

 

“It takes some big brass ones to charge somebody with a light tube,” LDP admires.

 

Luchador tries to take the abuse but a kick to his chest causes him to stagger backwards and JJ Johnson comes charging before throwing his leg up, halting his momentum, and going for the Yakuza kick! The Insane Luchador lunges off to the side and Johnson quickly draws down his leg knowing he’s missed. But the momentum has him turn his back towards the Luchador to maintain his balance as the challenger draws back the light tube-

 

“This doesn’t look good for our Champion!” LDP proclaims.

 

Johnson turns back around and his eyes go wide as he only has time to brace himself for impact. The light tube seems to explode on his chest as it pushes him back as glass shards go flying. The fans cheers carry into the backstage area as Johnson stumbles back and the Insane Luchador charges at his opponent. He leaps into the air and curls his legs into a ball. He grabs both of the HGC Champion’s arms and rests his feet and the stomach, tugging down. They fall to the cement and Johnson falls into position on Luchador’s legs served like a platter as he throws him over in a monkey flip! Triple J soars through the air before smacking against the cement and tumbling to a wreck at the hallway’s wall where it splits.

 

“Not just a light tube but then a monkey flip has given Luchador the chance he may need!”

 

“But he’s too stupid to capitalize on it,” King says.

 

Insane Luchador stands up and jogs over to Johnson who sits up. He hobbles to his feet as Luchador fiercely grabs him. The lock up in a grapple and JJ throws a knee to his gut. The two circle in their tie-up and Luchador lets go of it, shoving Johnson back hard. He stumbles back and Luchador takes a few steps forward before nailing him with a shoulder barge. The HGC Champion gets sent reeling backwards and he smacks against the double doors with the sign above it reading, “Parking Lot.”

 

“Now things can really get interesting,” LDP says.

 

“They better not touch my car,” King threatens.

 

He leans against the doors and Luchador swings with a haymaker that Johnson ducks under. He comes back up with a palm strike to his opponent’s face to create space. He then worms his way behind the Luchador and nails another gorgeous dropkick. Luchador goes flying into and through the double doors, crumbling at the entrance of the parking lot. Johnson walks in and picks up the Luchador immediately. He locks in a front facelock then grabs a handful of cargo pants before arching over for a snap suplex. With time to think he looks at his surroundings. The lower level is a sea of cars and there’s a small ramp that curves up into a very tiny section for special visitors that overlooks the lower parking spot by ten feet. The section is less than two rows of three spots and there’s nothing but a skimpy wooden barricade as a fence.

 

“That’s where my car is,” King brags.

 

“…How’d you get the special treatment?” LDP demands.

 

“I have friends,” King quickly adds.

 

Meanwhile Johnson grabs Luchador by the hair and drags him more in the clearing. He tugs him up and steps behind, securing a waistlock. The Champion suddenly throws back in the German Suplex as he doesn’t release but keeps the hold. Luchador smacks against the cement at a dangerous angle while Johnson keeps the hold with a bridge for the cover-

 

ONE!

 

“This could do it!” LDP cries out.

 

TWO! Matthew Kivell raises his hand up…

 

 

But Luchador kicks out and rolls out of the bridge to his feet. Johnson rolls to his feet and charges at his opponent. He stops short and throws out a roundhouse kick that IL ducks underneath. Before Johnson can react he gets a kick to the gut and then wraps his arm around JJ’s neck.

 

“IL might be going for the Evenflow!” LDP hollers over the crowd’s roar.

 

He hops into the air and goes for the drop but Johnson wraps his arm around Luchador’s waist. He drives forward and smacks Luchador’s back against the wall before taking a step back and arching over, throwing his opponent over in an impromptu Northern Lights Suplex. He bounces off the cement and winces in agony but scrambles to his feet. He retreats near the cars as Johnson comes charging after him. But the challenger drops down for the drop toehold and trips the Champion smacking his face into the SUV’s window! The window spider webs as Luchador stays on the ground, grabbing his opponent and the two get to their feet. Rickmen throws him onto the hood of the SUV as he hops up also.

 

“Oh man I hope there insurance can cover this…” LDP says.

 

Johnson rolls up the car’s windshield to escape as his opponent begins to go after him. He charges up the windshield only to be met by a punch to IL’s face. He staggers back and JJ Johnson grabs him by the waist. He pulls him up to the hood and lifts him into the air as he gets him into a powerbomb position! He takes a step out and drops down releasing Luchador! He falls down and smacks through the windshield as Johnson leans over the hood and grabs both of his legs, pulling them forward for a pin!

 

“This has to be it,” King says.

 

ONE!

 

“It is a bad situation for Luchador…” LDP admits.

 

 

TWO!

 

“IL! IL! IL!” The fans chant.

 

 

 

THREE! But Kivell throws up two fingers in disbelief as Luchador breaks the pin and rolls away. He rolls down off the hood to his feet on the cement as he leans against the car.

 

“JJ Johnson apparently doesn’t understand Luchador’s high threshold for pain,” LDP beams.

 

“Oh shut up,” King sulks.

 

JJ Johnson glares at Kivell before hopping down to the cement, walking over to Luchador. He grabs him by the head then forces his head to smack against the Neon.

 

“Whoever owns that will probably be happy it’s about to be demolished,” LDP laughs.

 

Luchador tries to resist but his head gets smacked against the car’s driver’s window. As Johnson pulls his head back up Luchador throws out his arm and grabs a hold of his opponent’s head! He slips his head from the Champion’s clutches and then smacks his head down with supreme force. The window nearly breaks as Luchador throws him back against the beaten SUV which makes the car rock. But Johnson isn’t intimidated and comes out with a grapple. The two struggles but JJ Johnson overpower the Luchador and tries to wrap his arms around his waist.

 

“He could be setting up for his Ontariobomb!” LDP cries out.

 

But Luchador brings his back up and flips Johnson over. He frees himself from the Champion’s grasp then walks towards the small ramp. JJ Johnson gets to his feet and he pursues Luchador who turns around and openly taunts him to follow him.

 

“Oh Christ, they touch my car and I swear!” King says.

 

“Johnson shouldn’t be doing this it’s obvious that IL has something planned!” LDP screams.

 

IL keeps walking backwards with the verbal assault as Johnson is near him just walking quickly after him. The two curve up the ramp and down the stretch before entering the small, VIP parking. Luchador stands still at the ramp’s exit and Johnson breaks into a jog after him. With a huge smirk the challenger tucks into a ball and rolls down then smacks JJ by the legs! He collapses against the ramp as Luchador stands to his feet and grabs Johnson. He leads him up the ramp and tosses him against a hunter green jaguar.

 

“Don't those two dare! I’ll come up there!” King yells.

 

“Nice ride,” LDP admits.

 

“You’re damn right it is!”

 

Insane Luchador walks over and goes for a chop but instead Johnson grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him back before headbutting his opponent. After the headbutt he clutches him belly-to-belly then spins around to face the Jaguar’s hood. He then smacks down Luchador against the hood with a belly-to-belly slam!

 

“Damn it!” King shrieks.

 

He retains the hold and lifts him back up taking a huge step before slamming him against the cement! He hooks the leg in high hopes-

 

ONE!

 

“This really should be it.”

 

TWO!

 

“Luchador could lose this chance,” King says.

 

But IL kicks out to JJ Johnson’s amazement. He looks in between the cars and sees the wooden barrier. With a malicious look in his eye he picks the Insane Luchador up. He drags Luchador along with him right near the barrier. He throws a kick to send the wooden barrier falls down, crashing down right near the closely parked cars.

 

“He’s going to take a fall!”

 

He pulls Luchador back after giving him a sampler and gives him a knee to the gut. Then he takes a huge step forward ready to throw the Luchador down! But he squirms free and gives his unnerving maniac laugh as he stands behind Johnson and locks in the Full Nelson.

 

“Oh Jesus! We could be seeing a Brink of Insanity here!” LDP yells.

 

The two struggle dangerously close to the edge as Johnson brings his hands over Luchador’s neck. He tries to reverse the Full Nelson but Luchador inches towards the edge and peers down apathetically. He takes a step back as JJ Johnson thrashes and he leads them in another step back. The Champion runs back and smacks him against the side of a car near the edge. But the Luchador applies more pressure to the Full Nelson and sides off to the side where he charges forward while dragging him along. He fearlessly leaps off and takes JJ Johnson down with him!

 

“LUCHADOR GIVES OUR CHAMPION A BRINK OF INSANITY OFF THE VIP SECTION!” LDP screams.

 

JJ Johnson and Luchador plummet down as Luchador retains the hold.

 

CRUNCH!

 

The two crash down as JJ Johnson is sent colliding with a Durango’s roof while Luchador releases the hold and smacks against a four door!

 

HOLY SHIT! The chant begins.

 

 

“He nails it, he nails it!” LDP hollers in disbelief. "These two have just had their fall broken by a car's roof!"

 

Johnson coughs and flops over to his back on the collapsed roof as he breathes heavily. Above Matthew Kivell stares over the edge in disbelief and begins to head down the ramp. Luchador slowly slips off the nearly broken roof and his face reflects obvious pain. He forces him to crawl onto the hood and up the windshield. He looks over at Johnson and gives a small smirk before laying over him for the pin fall-

 

“ONE!” The fans chant.

 

“This is it! We’re going to have a new Hardcore Gamers Champion!” LDP yells with a hoarse throat.

 

“TWO!”

 

“I need to call my insurance company…” King grumbles.

 

“TTTTTHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEE!” The fans let the declaration linger as Matthew Kivell stands on his tippy toes to barely lift Luchador’s arm into the air. The double doors swing open and EMTs come out with a stretcher and behind them is Ben Hardy who sheepishly walks over, glances at the carnage from the incredible fall, and holds the belt over to Kivell. Matthew Kivell hoists it in the air along with Luchador’s hand.

 

“A brawl nobody will soon forget and Insane Luchador regains the Championship!” Pete declares.

 

The crowd’s roar drowns out Luchador’s music in the arena but Funyon’s voice booms-

 

“YOUR WINNER AND NEW… HARDCORE GAMERS CHAMPION… IIIINNNSSAAANNNEEEE LLLUUUCCCHHHHHAAADOOOOOR!”

 

“Folks do not go away because the battle has just begun!” LDP yells.

 

The EMTs swarm the scene as the camera slowly fades away.

[Chuck Woolery 0]

The atmosphere at the Alamodome of San Antonio Texas is nothing short of electric as SWF Battleground comes back onto the air. Predictably, the crowd lets out a stunning roar right on cue as the cameras pan around the arena to pick up the ever familiar signs such as "Toxxic Sucks" followed by the name of a fellow Rev-0 member, and a few the bear the age-old slogan of "F-U Fasaki!" in honour of the recently returned former member of Justice and Rule. In typical dramatic fashion the cameras swing down over the announce table in a blinding whirl of colour, to settle on the forms of the announcers. Longdogger Pete appears to be dozing in his chair and the Suicide King files his nails in a decidedly effeminate manner before noticing the camera.

 

"Welcome back, fans and idiots alike!" he cries, while jabbing LDP with an elbow.

 

"Gnnargh. They're not all IDIOTS, King." Pete mutters before realising they're on air. "Welcome back to SWF Battleground, everyone! We've seen a great show so far, and it can only get better!"

 

"Or worse if someone like Wildchild actually wins their match." mutters King.

 

"Nevertheless King, up next..."

 

Abruptly, the sound at the announcer's booth cuts off, as an unfamiliar tune hums its way from the speakers. The crowd looks around curiously, trying to figure out just who could be making an appearance. It only takes a few frantic seconds for the announce team to re-establish their connection, as all the lights around the stage go an astonishingly soft shade of pink. Both announcers open their mouths at the same time, as the Smarktron lights up with a smiling, calm face.

 

A face with green eyes and long white hair... that's tipped with neon-pink dye. The face of the strangest Australian to step into the SWF. Terrence Bailey... or depending on his attitude, Janus. As the fans and the announcers try to puzzle this out, the Smarktron view abruptly pulls back, and in perfect mimickry of Marilyn Monroe, the seven footer stands in a dress, over an air grate. And then the air rushes up from beneath, lifting the dress up.

 

"My EYES!" LDP cries.

 

"Good god!" King sputters.

 

He's walking around

In this dress that she wore

She is gone, but the joke's the same

Pretty in pink...

Isn't he?

 

The song is from the Psychedelic Furs, and it's called "Pretty In Pink". As the lyrics lilt out of the speakers and everyone rubs their eyes in unison as if to scrub out what they could have seen, the name of "JANUS" shatters the image, shining tall on the Smarktron in sparkling pink letters. All across the stage, bursts of pink pyrotechnic fire in machine-gun like, stacatto bursts, showering the entranceway in a shimmering pink haze. And through it all comes a seven foot figure. His pink-tipped long white hair swishes about his head as he turns it left and right to grin out at the fans, lifting one great hand to wave.

 

"What's he wearing?" King asks incredulously.

 

"A tuxedo." LDP replies with faint awe. "White shirt, but... it's a frigging... pink... tuxedo."

 

The crowd is mixed between laughing, cheering and staring incredulously as the former Hell Machine presses his fingers to his lips and blows kisses out at the ground, still smiling as he proceeds down the ramp. He rolls easily under the bottom rope and rises to his feet, looking at the stunned Funyon with green eyes that seem to sparkle with a mischief one would have never expected of the giant. Janus spins around lightly on his feet and lifts his arms into the air, prompting PINK fire to explode from the turnbuckles and scaring Funyon out of the ring. Thankfully the announcer leaves his microphone behind and the big man scoops it up as the sound of "Pretty In Pink" fades out.

 

"Surprise!" the big man calls out to the crowd, still beaming as he stands there in his flamboyant pink tuxedo. Half-heartedly, some still giggling and some still awed, some of the crowd shouts it back.

 

"This is... unique." LDP manages. "This is Janus, right King? The same Janus who feuded with Nathaniel Kibagami, the same one who destroyed anyone who got in his way...?"

 

"Yeah... and I don't know what happened to him." King says with a sad shrug. "Maybe he got dropped on his head."

 

"I bet you're all wondering what the HELL I'm doing here tonight." Janus says, lowering his voice just a tad as he begins to pace the ring. "Well, if you're wondering, I'm NOT coming back to the ring just yet, but I did manage to wrest some ring time from the powers that be, and I thank their beautiful asses for it."

 

The crowd has slipped completely into awed mode, their silence broken only be some giggles as the former Hell Machine paces back and forth, glancing from side to side before stopping and simply facing one side of the arena, lifting the microphone to his lips. His green eyes seem to dance with delight as he looks over the fans, before beginning to speak once more.

 

"During my time off, I've noticed things. Serious things. Interesting things. Funny things, and some might even say romantic things. I speak, for example, of Wild and Dangerous. Sure, they've had rough times, sure they've had their spats, but in the end they always seem to really come through for each other, don't you agree? That has all the hallmarks..."

 

The Australian's smile widens.

 

"...of a beautiful relationship."

 

"WHAT!?" King and LDP sputter in unison while the crowd lets out something between a cheer for the tag champions, the sound of confused laughter at the giant's words.

 

"Now I don't mean that in the way that Toxxic did, as I caught wind of his little tirade and I'll get to him in a minute. I honestly think that were Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous that devoted to each other, they'd have a beautiful relationship and make an even more beautiful couple! They just need to go on a few dates, and I'm sure... but I get ahead of myself."

 

With the crowd murmuring among themselves and giving the individual in the ring looks like he's gone crazy, the former Hell Machine appears to be quite delighted by the reaction he's garnered, turning neatly on his heel to address the other side of the arena, green eyes alight with mischief.

 

"Now, there's also the topic of the charming young lad we all know as Toxxic." he begins, giving the crowd a moment to boo their united hatred of the World Champion. "Now, for all his misgivings and egotism when it comes to being the champion, for all I swear he looks like he wants to be Nathaniel... maybe he wants that relationship with me that Kibagami had!"

 

THAT gets the crowd laughing, and even the Australian is grinning at that as he continues.

 

"But no, what I meant to say is... that man is quite the team player. He's very good at it even with his heart set on the championship. He gives it his all for his stable, and for his stablemates, and maybe I'm the only one to see between the lines with how he sees Scott Pretzler. Now, I'm sure you all recognise he does have a girlfriend... but how he speaks to Scott, how he keeps the man motivated, is another hallmark of a potentially beautiful relationship."

 

Again the crowd is left to murmur among itself while the announcers look at each other in complete bewilderment.

 

"Is he implying..." King begins asking.

 

"...can he get away with that?" LDP asks back

 

The announcers look at each other for a moment longer, then at the pink-tuxedo clad figure standing in the middle of the ring. Janus seems sincere and yet clearly amused by what he's doing. Lifting his microphone to his lips a third time, he spins around to face the side of the arena, some of the crowd getting into the energetically cheerful way the seven foot 'monster' is moving. They wait for his next words, and with a laugh in his voice, the big Australian speaks.

 

"You all love to chant, don't you? Come on, get into the spirit of things. Think about it! And repeat after me. Johnny loves Dub-Cee!"

 

One or two people call it out, while the rest chortle to themselves. Undeterred, the former Hell Machine spins to the other side.

 

"And you lot! Come on! How much would Toxxic -love- to hear you chant this? Toxxic loves Pretzler!"

 

THAT gets a reaction, as the side of the arena he's facing launches into a rousing "TOXXIC LOVES PRETZLER!" chant. The seven foot Australian laughs out loud and turns around again, motioning to the other side of the arena as if to say 'you're going to let them upstage you?'. Getting into the spirit of things, the other side of the arena launches into a "JOHNNY LOVES DUB-CEE!" chant, which prompts the other side of the arena to simply get louder! No-one but the announcers notice the faint strains of 'Pretty in Pink' as the giant drops the microphone and rolls out of the ring, walking up the ramp and waving as the fans continue to chant at each other.

 

"Well an interesting... and very surprising appearance from the former Hell Machine..." LDP begins, at a loss for words.

 

"And he's caused a ruckus too!" King mutters. "Why can't these fans shush up!"

 

"Well, we'll be back with more SWF action for you after this break, folks! See you soon!"

 

The cameras fade to black as they cut to commercial, but the chants are audible to the last.

 

"JOHNNY LOVES DUB-CEE!"

 

"TOXXIC LOVES PRETZLER!"

[Chuck Woolery 0]

“The Smarks Wrestling Federation’s Battleground is brought to you by Danny Williams’ Strong Style Ribs,” Pete begins, trying to kill some time as the ring is being put back in order for the next match. “ ‘Danny Williams’ Strong Style Ribs: His ribs will stick to yours! Provided that he hasn’t broken any of your ribs with one of his ultra-stiff elbows’. ”

 

“And what a Battleground so far, and it only promises to get better!” Suicide King replies, oddly upbeat. “Because ‘the Critic’ Scott Pretzler is going to tear Wildchild apart in that ladder match.”

 

“Well, King, you’ll just have to wait a little bit longer to be proved wrong, as right now, two relative newcomers in Lil’ Buck and Lord David will square off,” Pete says.

 

“News flash: I don’t care, unless David smacks Buck around. It’d serve him right for beating Revolution Zero’s two newest members,” King adds.

 

“Be that as it may, let’s get down to Funyon for the introductions!”

 

A blaring guitar riff stops all conversation throughout the Alamodome in mid-sentence, and is shortly accompanied by percussion. Lord David leaps onto the stage, thrashing wildly to Gun’s “Word Up”.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from London, England, he stands five feet, nine inches tall and weighs in at one hundred, forty pounds, LOOORD DAAAVIIID!” Funyon bellows over the wailing guitars.

 

David makes his way down the ramp, air guitaring the entire time, garnering a slightly positive reaction from the crowd.

 

“Jesus...look at this moron. Doesn’t he know that nobody, and I mean nobody likes mimes?” King mutters.

 

“Oh, give the kid a break. It’s his second match in the federation. Don’t tell me you didn’t do stupid things as a rookie. Besides, what’s the matter with rocking out every now and again?” Pete asks.

 

“Nothing as stupid as that. Sure, I tried to pander to the fans like some sort of simpering jackass. I’ve got no problem with rock, he just doesn’t have to look like Keanu fuckin’ Reeves in those god awful Bill and Ted movies. And what do you know about rocking, you beach bum of a Parrot Head?” King wonders, more than a hint of anger in his voice.

 

Lord David comes to the ring, springs onto the apron and clambers up to the second turnbuckle as “Word Up” fades out. LD jumps into the ring and slips out of his jacket, waiting for Lil’ Buck.

 

“And his opponent, hailing from Lanett, Alabama, he stands six feet, three inches and weighs two hundred, seventy pounds, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon roars.

 

Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck” thumps over the speakers as Buck makes his way to the stage, brushing dirt from his George Gervin jersey, getting him a nice pop from the San Antonio crowd. Buck heads down the ramp, taking a sip from his pimp cup on the way. He slides the cup into the ring and rolls under the ropes. The Arrogant Alabaman strips off his jersey and hands it and the cup to Funyon.

 

“This should be an interesting match up. Both men are undefeated, though Buck has a more impressive record. He’s also the stronger of the two, while Lord David has an edge in terms of speed. Any predictions, King?” Pete asks.

 

“Hell no. I just want this thing over with quickly so we can get to something entertaining. Bring on Pretzler and Wildchild!” King shouts, wondering if snapping his fingers will make his wish come true.

 

With Funyon out of the ring, referee Kris Kristofferson checks both men for hidden items, finds nothing of consequence, and calls for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Lord David circles around Buck, and decides to take a risk. He darts towards the Gangsta of Love and tags him with a dropkick to the legs. Buck takes a step back, but stays on his feet, giving LD space enough to get back to a vertical base. As Buck charges in, David nimbly side steps and takes Buck to the mat with a drop toe hold. David stays down and grasps Buck’s leg in a half crab. Kristofferson kneels down to see if Buck will submit, but Sugarhill’s Finest blows past him, nearly yanking LD off his feet with the speed Lil’ Buck is crawling to the ropes.

 

“Nice half crab from Lord David, but Lil’ Buck is just too strong. He might as well be walking to the ropes,” Longdogger points out.

 

“Yeah, pretty stupid if you ask me. The match has barely started, Buck’s still fresh, and Lord David thinks he can do something with a half Boston crab?” King wonders.

 

“Well, I’m sure that there is some pressure on that leg, though I think Lord David should focus more on Lil’ Buck’s arms,” Pete adds.

 

Buck grasps the middle rope and David quickly releases before Kris can even count one. The Arrogant Alabaman pulls himself up and gets hit with a dropkick to the stomach. David pops back to his feet and snares Buck with a front facelock, looking for a DDT, but Buck doesn’t stay bent over very long. As Buck straightens up, David’s feet leave the mat as he isn’t quite ready to let go of the chancery. David arches his back, trying to pull Buck down, but he might as well be trying to yank down a redwood.

 

“Lord David seems to be in a bit of a pickle. He’s stuck up in the air, and there’s no way he can bring Lil’ Buck down with a DDT,” Pete states.

 

“Unless Lord David gains two hundred pounds in two seconds,” King says.

 

“That’s impossible, King. Who do you think he is, Rane?” Longdogger inquires.

 

As David struggles, Buck’s hands begin creeping upwards, looking for a slam of some kind. LD reacts quickly and spins behind Buck, not an easy task from a stationary position with no prior momentum. Lord David drops down, slamming his legs into the back of Lil’ Buck’s knee. Buck stumbles forward and David hits another dropkick to his knee. David turns around, grabs the top rope and pulls himself off the mat. LD bounces off the cable, twists his body, and snares Sugarhill’s Finest in a side headlock. The extra force from the ropes is the deciding factor, as Buck gets a faceful of canvas.

 

“Nice bulldog from Lord David. I honestly thought that Lil’ Buck would have dropped him on his head or something,” Pete says.

 

“No, because that would only happen in my dreams.”

 

David quickly scrambles to his feet and drops a leg across the back of Lil’ Buck’s neck. Hoping that it’s enough to keep him down, LD runs to the turnbuckles and climbs to the top. David takes a glance at the crowd, throws his arms up to get some encouragement, and jumps off, hitting Lil’ Buck with a double stomp, and sticking the landing impressively.

 

“Double stomp from Lord David! He seems to be focusing on Lil’ Buck’s torso, which will work well for either his frog splash, or the sharpshooter,” Pete notes.

 

“Is it just me, or does every cruiser use a damn double stomp?”

 

Lord David rolls Buck over and hooks a leg as Kris bends down to count the pin.

 

One!

 

 

 

T--No!

 

 

Buck kicks out, sending LD flying through the air. Buck gets to his feet, as does Lord David, but Lil’ Buck is a hair quicker and flattens David with a diving clothesline. Buck pulls David off the mat and sends him to the ropes with an Irish whip. Sugarhill’s Finest cocks his arms back and unloads on Lord David with a double axhandle, causing the Englishman to back flip and land flat on his face.

 

“Big double axhandle from Lil’ Buck, and it looks like he’s in firm control of this match right now,” Pete says.

 

“Thanks, Cap’n Obvious! I couldn’t tell, what with Lord David stretched out on the canvas, and Lil’ Buck standing over him. It just gets so hard sometimes to figure out who’s got the upper hand,” King replies.

 

“Well, I know it’s tough for you, King, but just wait, and hopefully medical science will come up with a pill to cure whatever the hell you’ve got.”

 

Buck picks LD up once more and locks on a front chancery. Kristofferson leans in to make sure Buck isn’t choking David, but has to back away as Lil’ Buck slams a forearm onto LD’s back and drives a knee into his stomach. Buck lands another combination of strikes and decides to lift Lord David off the mat. The Gangsta of Love lets Lord David dangle upside down for a moment before falling forward, driving LD into the mat with a powerbomb.

 

“Orange crush bomb! Lil’ Buck might have snapped Lord David in half with that devastating move!” Longdogger shouts.

 

“Good. It would be the first interesting thing to happen in this match so far,” King replies.

 

Buck rises to his feet, but is met with a chorus of boos, as not many people enjoy seeing a large man beat up someone from England half his size, unless of course, it’s Toxxic.

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

The Arrogant Alabaman lifts David to his feet and let loose with a mighty bitch slap, dazing LD. Buck steps back and crouches down, placing his right arm on top of his left, spelling out ‘Dirty South’ before springing forward, knocking Lord David to the mat.

 

“Lord David just got his chin checked by Lil’ Buck! Buck’s certainly taken control of this match in a relatively short amount of time,” Longdogger notes.

 

Once again, the San Antonio crowd show who they’re favoring.

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Buck walks towards David and makes a nonchalant cover as Kris gets down to count it.

 

 

One!

 

 

 

Two--No!

 

 

Lord David manages to get a shoulder up. Buck pulls David off the mat and rockets him into a corner. As LD slumps down, Lil’ Buck charges in after, crashing into him. Buck takes hold of David’s arms and loops them over the top rope, keeping LD in place. Sugarhill’s Finest walks away from David, shows off his ‘Dirty South’ tattoo to the crowd, and spins towards Lord David, slamming an elbow into his head.

 

“Goodness! What an elbow from Lil’ Buck! I think he’s looking to take Lord David’s head off!” Pete shouts.

 

“Now you’ve got my attention!”

 

The Gangsta of Love grabs David by the back of his head and shoves him down to the mat. Buck casually rolls Lord David over and cover him.

 

 

One!

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

 

T--No!

 

 

Once again, Lord David manages to get a shoulder up. The Arrogant Alabaman rises to his feet, visibly upset at his inability to put Lord David away. Lil’ Buck pulls David off his feet and whips him into the ropes. Buck picks LD up and begins rotating him, but David locks his legs around Buck’s neck and twists his body, sending Sugarhill’s Finest to the canvas.

 

“Lord David nicely reversed Ridin’ Spinners into a headscissor takedown. This might be the opportunity he needs to take control of this match,” Pete states.

 

“Huh? Sorry, I dozed off there for a bit. Wake me up when something interesting happens,” King replies.

 

Lord David scrambles to his feet and heads for the ropes. As he comes off the rebound, David dives towards Buck, nailing him just as he’d reached a seated position with a dropkick. LD reaches out and makes a cover and Kris Kristofferson dives to count it.

 

 

One!

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

T--No!

 

 

Buck kicks out with force, but before he can get to his feet, Lord David drops an elbow across his chest.

 

“And Lord David seems to be firing on all cylinders now. He’s just got to keep up this quick pace if he has any chance of beating Lil’ Buck,” Longdogger points out.

 

“He had a chance to begin with?”

 

“So you admit you’re pulling for Lil’ Buck, despite you practically cursing his name a few weeks ago?” Pete asks.

 

“No, not at all. I don’t think either man will win. I hope that someone comes down here and knocks them both out before this match draws on for too long,” King says.

 

Lord David gets to his feet and aims a kick at Buck’s head before grabbing at his legs. David steps over and drops, trapping Lil’ Buck in a figure four leglock. Kris Kristofferson darts in to see if Buck will submit, but Sugarhill’s Finest shakes his head and with a shove, rolls over, effectively reversing the hold. Kris crawls to David, but before he can check for submission, LD lets go of the hold and climbs to his feet.

 

“Very short figure four leglock from Lord David, as Lil’ Buck easily turned it over. David should have tried to wear Buck down a bit more before trying a move like that,” says the Longdogger.

 

“What did you expect? I said earlier that Lord David isn’t the brightest of men, and it showed just there when he tried to use the figure four against a man twice his size,” King adds.

 

David stalks towards Buck as he’s getting to all fours and LD darts in, snaring Lil’ Buck in a La Magistral cradle. Kristofferson quickly notices the pinning predicament and dives down to count.

 

 

One!

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

Th--No!

 

 

Buck manages to get a shoulder up, and the crowd has no qualms in voicing their displeasure.

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“Lord David almost got an upset there with that cradle. And listen to that crowd. They seemed to be pretty much split down the middle at the start, but I guess not many people enjoy watching a big guy pound on a little guy,” Pete says.

 

“I’m sure Bobby Riley doesn’t mind watching that,” King replies.

 

David disentangles himself from Buck and gets to his feet. He backs away from the Gangsta of Love until Buck is almost fully upright and rushes in, grabbing hold of Buck’s head and taking the Arrogant Alabaman to the mat.

 

“Swinging neckbreaker from Lord David! He is definitely back in this match,” Pete states.

 

“Does that mean the end is near? Please, let this thing be over soon,” King grumbles.

 

LD gets back to his feet, walks around Lil’ Buck and grabs his right leg. Lord David lifts the limb off the mat and lashes out with a kick to Buck’s knee. David lets another kick fly, and another before he scissors it and falls to the side, stretching out the appendage. Kris slides in to see if Lil’ Buck will submit, but he’s ignored as Sugarhill’s Finest begins dragging himself and Lord David towards the ropes.

 

“Nice crucifix kneebar by Lord David, but once again, Lil’ Buck is too strong for him, and he’s heading for the ropes very fast,” Longdogger points out.

 

“He’s not too bright, is he?”

 

“Well, it won’t last long, but that submission will take some toll on Lil’ Buck’s legs, and if Buck is grounded, he can’t drop Lord David on his head, too much,” Pete notes.

 

Lord David tries to torque on the leg as much as he can, but within seconds, Buck has reached the ropes and LD releases the hold before Kris Kristofferson tells him to. David slides away, letting Buck get to his knees before moving in, grabbing the Gangsta of Love’s wrist, and whipping him into the far ropes. Lord David bounces off the near set and charges forward, arm stretched out and connects with the clothesline. Sadly, it doesn’t have his desired effect, and Lil’ Buck turns around, no doubt thinking to himself, “What in the hell is this cracka thinkin’?”. David makes to attempt another clothesline, but Sugarhill’s Finest is slightly quicker and scoops him off the mat and drapes LD over his shoulder. Buck makes his way to the middle of the ring, while David tries to either writhe free or pull Buck down for an inverted DDT. Lil’ Buck stops David momentarily with a left hand to the temple and begins spinning around.

 

“Looks like Lord David is about to go on a trip!” Pete begins. “Gentleman, welcome aboard Crunked Up Airlines, your pilot today is Lil’ Buck,” says Longdogger, trying to imitate a pre-flight announcement.

 

“Longdogger, what have I said about you trying to be funny?” King asks.

 

“Not unless you’re too hammered to remember the next day,” Pete replies, upset.

 

Buck completes his fifth (FIF!) revolution, staggers to the left, then right, and finally falls forward, driving Lord David into the mat. Buck stays down, as he’s conveniently covering Lord David.

 

 

One!

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

 

Th--NO!

 

 

 

David once again gets a shoulder off the mat before Kris can count three.

 

“Another near fall for Lil’ Buck, and Lord David is proving himself to be very tough to put away,” Longdogger states.

 

“C’mon, Buck, just bash him in the face with a chair and get this thing over with!” Suicide King encourages.

 

Buck stands and pulls LD off the mat, holding him by his head. Sugarhill’s Finest cocks back his left hand, but David goes low, landing a dropkick to Buck’s ankle. Buck stumbles and falls flat, narrowly landing on top of Lord David.

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

David gets to his feet and drops an elbow across Lil’ Buck’s back before the Arrogant Alabaman can even think of getting up. LD darts towards Buck’s feet, grabs a leg, scissors it, and falls to the mat as Kristofferson leans in to check on Buck.

 

“Reverse crucifix kneebar from Lord David! Looks like he’s going to try and wear down Lil’ Buck’s legs bit by bit, but as I’ve said countless times tonight, Lord David doesn’t have enough weight behind him to keep Lil’ Buck stationary for any extended period of time,” Longdogger notes.

 

“So he should do what you do, Pete, and hit up some buffets,” King replies.

 

The Gangsta of Love once again begins an easy crawl towards the ropes while Lord David tries to dig his heels into the mat, but to no avail. Buck grabs the bottom rope and David once more reluctantly lets go of the hold. David gets to his feet, frustration written across his face. As Buck pulls himself up with the ropes, Lord David pounces, swinging a wild clothesline that catches the Arrogant Alabaman on the side of his head.

 

“Looks like Lord David is about to go psycho,” Pete mumbles.

 

“What? Speak clearly. Wait, no, be quiet. You keep waking me up right as I’m about to fall asleep. If the Pfizer corporation could bottle this match, they’d have the best damn cure for insomnia around.”

 

Buck eats another clothesline and quickly heads away from the ropes, providing Lord David the opportunity to bounce off of them and land another clothesline, this one to the back of Lil’ Buck’s head. Sugarhill’s Finest remains, standing, though, so LD switches up his tactics and dives low, knocking Buck down with a clothesline to his legs.

 

“It worked! Lord David actually managed to take Lil’ Buck down with a clothesline!” Pete exclaims.

 

“Good for him. When’s the medal presentation ceremony?” King inquires.

 

“Is there any time when you aren’t a gigantic asshole?” Pete fires back.

 

“I’d have to get back to you on that, Peter.”

 

David seems amazed himself over this feat and quickly hops up to the top turnbuckle, arms uplifted. LD turns around and jumps, driving his elbow with pinpoint accuracy into Lil’ Buck’s knee.

 

“DA-VID ROCKS!”

 

“DA-VID ROCKS!”

 

“DA-VID ROCKS!”

 

Lord David rolls Lil’ Buck over and covers him, making sure to hook Buck’s leg and stretch it as much as possible while Kris Kristofferson counts the pin.

 

 

One!

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

 

 

Thre--NO!

 

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“So close! Lord David almost had this match, but Lil’ Buck managed to kick out,” Pete says.

 

“I don’t think that Lord David thought he was going to win just then. I mean, he was pulling on Buck’s leg. Why would he try to further weaken the leg if he thought he was going to win?” King wonders.

 

“Well, that’s a good point, but I think that Lord David was just taking some precautions. If, on the chance that Lil’ Buck kicked out, which he did, his leg was weakened a bit more,” Longdogger points out.

 

Lord David gets to his feet and aims a kick at Lil’ Buck, but the Gangsta of Love rolls out of range. Buck slowly gets to his knees and LD makes his way over to Sugarhill’s Finest, fully intent on picking him up.

 

*WHUMP*

 

That plan immediately fails after a double axhandle from Lil’ Buck finds its way into David’s stomach. LD bends over, trying to regain his breath while the Arrogant Alabaman stands up and turns his back on Lord David. Buck reaches behind and hooks David’s arms.

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“It looks like Lord David is about to go on a Buck-Wild Ride!” Pete clamors.

 

“Good! That means the match is going to be over soon.”

 

However, before Lil’ Buck can twist his body, Lord David lashes out with a kick to the back of Buck’s leg. LD lands another, and a third kick, causing the leg to buckle slightly, allowing David to wriggle free of Lil’ Buck and knock him down with a dropkick.

 

“The ride has been canceled due to excessive kicks!” Longdogger shouts.

 

“Damn it! Just fall down and don’t get up!” King shouts.

 

“Who are you talking to, King?” Pete inquires.

 

“I don’t care. Both of them.”

 

David gets to his feet, crosses Buck’s legs up steps between, and falls to the mat.

 

“Inverted Indian Deathlock from Lord David! You’ve got to think that all of this focus on Lil’ Buck’s legs is starting to pay off for him,” Pete says.

 

“If it means an end to this match, then I’m all for it.”

 

Kris Kristofferson checks on Lil’ Buck, but is promptly waved away as Buck once more heads for the ropes.

 

“You know, Lil’ Buck is lucky that this isn’t under Pure Wrestling rules with a three rope break limit, as he’d already have used them all up,” Longdogger points out.

 

“But it’s not, so what you just said has no point. I might as well comment on the match as if America didn’t win the Revolutionary War and was still under British control.”

 

Lil’ Buck nears the ropes, but it seems that all of Lord David’s submissions have finally caught up with him, and Sugarhill’s Finest vociferates in agony as another spasm of pain wracks his body. Kris checks to see if Buck will submit, but the Gangsta of Love ignores Kristofferson and makes a fresh attempt for the ropes.

 

“GIVE IT UP!”

 

“GIVE IT UP!”

 

“GIVE IT UP!”

 

“Lil’ Buck really needs to get to the ropes. That inverted Indian Deathlock is not a good hold to be trapped in,” Pete notes.

 

“Hey, Longdogger, tell me a submission hold that’s a real peach to have someone apply to you.”

 

Sugarhill’s Finest pushes himself back up, drags himself and Lord David forward, and grabs hold of the bottom rope. Grumbling, LD releases the hold before Kristofferson can turn around to tell him to do so. Lord David gets to his feet and grabs Lil’ Buck in a side headlock before the Gangsta of Love can stand up straight. David heads away from the ropes, but before he can throws his legs out and complete the bulldog, Lil’ Buck heaves against LD’s back, sending him chest-first into the turnbuckles.

 

“Lil’ Buck narrowly avoided that bulldog from Lord David, but he’s far from being out of danger. It looks like he’s having some trouble with his legs,” Longdogger points out.

 

“This match is still going on? Isn’t it Monday already?” King asks.

 

Lil’ Buck hobbles towards David and eats an elbow, nearly literally as it connects with his mouth. Sugarhill’s Finest responds with an elbow of his own to LD’s head. The Gangsta of Love picks Lord David off the mat, turns him around, and seats him on the top turnbuckle.

 

“It looks like Lil’ Buck is going for the Dirty South Thang, and I can’t help but think that if he manages to connect, it’ll be all over for Lord David. And don’t say it, King, I already know you’re going to cheer for Buck on the sole principle that the match will be over.”

 

“You never let me have any fun, Longdogger,” King gripes.

 

“It’s not that, you’ve been sounding like a broken record the whole match,” Pete shoots back.

 

Before Buck even sets foot on the bottom rope, LD coils up his leg and sends it into Buck’s face. Lil’ Buck takes a step back, but shakes it off as best he can and heads for the turnbuckles once more, only to get hit with another kick from Lord David. The Arrogant Alabaman stumbles backwards, giving David time to grab the ropes, and as Buck steps back in, extend both legs into his face. David pulls himself onto the top turnbuckle and jumps, hitting Lil’ Buck with a missile dropkick.

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“Top rope dropkick from Lord David, and he somehow managed to fight off Lil’ Buck’s attempts for the Dirty South Thang!” Longdogger shouts.

 

“And the match goes on. Could someone tell me again why this thing was booked in the first place?”

 

Lord David gets to his feet, walks back to the corner, and climbs up to the top turnbuckle.

 

“Your wish might come true, King, as Lord David might be looking for his frogsplash!” Pete exclaims.

 

“He either is or he isn’t, there is no ‘might’,” King says, channeling Yoda.

 

With the crowd cheering him on, Lord David jumps off the top rope, jackknifes his body, and crashes down on Buck, bouncing off of Sugarhill’s Finest in the process.

 

“Frogsplash from Lord David! This match should be in the bag for him!” Pete screams.

 

“Thank you, God!” King shouts, even louder than Longdogger.

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

With the crowd urging him on, Lord David slowly gets to his knees, crawls towards Lil’ Buck and drapes an arm across the Gangsta of Love’s chest. Kris Kristofferson drops down to count, with the entire Alamodome counting along with him.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!

 

 

 

 

Kris surges to his feet, holding up only two fingers.

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“I can’t believe it! Lil’ Buck managed to kick out after that frogsplash from Lord David! What does David have to do to put Buck down?” Pete wonders.

 

“Damn it! There is no God, because if there was, He would have stricken me blind before this match started. Or smote these two jackasses.”

 

Lord David gets up, in total shock that Buck managed to get a shoulder up.

 

“ONE MORE TIME!”

 

“ONE MORE TIME!”

 

“ONE MORE TIME!”

 

David seems to be swayed by the crowd’s words, and heads back to the turnbuckles, but as he gets to the top, Lil’ Buck gets to his knees. LD jumps off the ropes as Buck stands, and Sugarhill’s Finest catches the Brit in mid-air, pivots, and drives David into the mat.

 

“Belly-to-belly suplex from Lil’ Buck! He might be running on fumes right now, but they’re still high-octane fumes, baby!” Pete shouts.

 

“Are we being sponsored by Exxon, now?”

 

Buck doesn’t bother getting up, and Kristofferson drops down to count the pin.

 

 

One!

 

 

 

 

 

Two!

 

 

 

 

THRE--NO!

 

 

 

Lord David manages to get a shoulder up just in the nick of time.

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

Buck pulls David up and drives a knee into LD’s gut, doubling him over. Sugarhill’s Finest reaches down, threads David’s left arm between his legs, and hooks the right arm.

 

“Lil’ Buck is about to Pump it Up!” Pete exclaims.

 

“So we are being sponsored by Exxon.”

 

Lil’ Buck lifts Lord David off the mat, grabs him around the waist, and falls forward, introducing David’s neck to the mat.

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

Buck remains on his knees, folding David over. Kristofferson notices the pin and gets down to count it.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

THREE--NO!

 

 

 

Despite the extra weight, Lord David manages to get a shoulder off the mat.

 

“He kicked out of that pumphandle powerbomb! Now Lil’ Buck must be wondering what he’s got to do to put Lord David away!” Pete bellows.

 

“How about they both think of something to put me out of my misery?” King asks hopefully.

 

Buck rises, pulls David to his feet, and whips the Londoner into the ropes. David bounces back, Buck scoops him up, but once again, Lord David wraps his legs around Buck’s head and spins, ending up this time behind Sugarhill’s Finest. Lord David seizes this opportunity, along with Buck’s right arm and takes his legs off of Buck’s neck, only to scissor Buck’s left arm with them. With a jerk, David pulls Buck to the mat and rolls his shoulders flush to the canvas.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE--NO!

 

Buck manages to get his legs past his head, rolling himself onto his stomach, thus stopping the count.

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“Amazing! Lord David once again countered Ridin’ Spinners, this time with a crucifix pin that almost got the three count!” Pete yells.

 

“Hmm. I can’t believe my eyes. This match is starting to almost not be boring,” King adds.

 

Lord David lets go of Buck’s arms and scrambles towards the Gangsta of Love’s legs, looking for another submission. David gets as far as lifting Buck’s right leg before the left collides with LD’s stomach. David stumbles backwards, allowing Buck to pull his legs in close to his body, and assume a kneeling position. David charges in, jumps, and drives his knee into the back of Buck’s skull.

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“You know, I think I’m starting to agree with those fans,” Suicide King begins. “Lord David’s head is full of rocks.”

 

“You know perfectly well what they mean, and might I add: Damn! What a flying knee from Lord David! If he had either some more weight behind him, or a bit more speed, that might have taken Lil’ Buck’s head clean off!”

 

Lord David pops to his feet and turns around to see Lil’ Buck slowly getting back to a kneeling position. LD rushes in and dropkicks Buck in the face, knocking him backwards.

 

“Ooh, that can’t be good for Lil’ Buck’s legs. From a kneeling position to flat on his back, that might be a good pre-exercise stretch, but not if you’ve had a crucifix kneebar or two applied,” Pete comments.

 

Lord David stands and goes to pull Lil’ Buck up, but the Arrogant Alabaman lashes out with his left hand, connecting with David’s temple. Buck slowly rises to his feet, and slams an elbow into LD’s head. Buck grabs hold of Lord David’s right arm, gives it a twist, and clubs his arm into David’s back, pulling him down. LD’s forehead connects with Buck’s knee, and it’s hard to tell who’s hurt more.

 

“Armbar takedown from Lil’ Buck, and he’s so used to throwing that knee out, he must have forgotten it’s been battered a lot during this match,” Longdogger states.

 

“Fascinating. Really interesting. Do continue,” King says, completely disinterested in the match.

 

Lil’ Buck stands, holding his knee, and hauls Lord David, still dazed, up. Buck clasps his hands, pulls back, and drives them into David’s stomach, doubling him over. Buck turns around and hooks David’s arms.

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“Lil’ Buck going for the Buck-Wild Ride again! I wonder if his legs will hold up under the strain,” says the Longdogger.

 

“Oh come on, Pete! Lil’ Buck used the Buck-Wild Ride on Arch Griffon, and he’s huge!” King shouts.

 

Buck starts to twist underneath Lord David, but a kick from LD stops him. David lashes out with another, and a third kick to Buck’s legs.

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Buck manages to ignore the pain long enough to get under David, but it doesn’t deter Lord David, who begins thrashing, trying to wriggle free.

 

“I don’t have much hope for Lord David right now. Nobody’s managed to escape once Lil’ Buck has gotten an opponent on his back, nor kick out afterwards. Hell, it’s the only move that Scott Pretzler has succumbed to,” says the father of the world’s deadliest second generation wrestler, Ian.

 

“You just had to bring that up about ‘the Critic’, didn’t you? He’s going to win that damn match!” King roars.

 

Lord David doesn’t seem to know the facts Longdogger just spewed, and in this case, ignorance is bliss, as David manages to free himself with all of his flipping and flopping, and lands in front of Buck, who is still bent over. LD ducks his head underneath Buck’s, and flips over, dropping the Gangsta of Love with a neckbreaker.

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“DAVID ROCKS!”

 

“Lord David just Dropped the Bomb! He fought his way out of the Buck-Wild Ride somehow, and just delivered that neckbreaker!” Pete screams.

 

“Let’s have a parade for Lord David for escaping the Buck-Wild Ride, then.”

 

Lord David would be in no condition to attend that parade right now, as it seems Lil’ Buck didn’t take the entire force of the neckbreaker. Both men lay on the mat, prompting Kris Kristofferson to start a ten-count.

 

One!

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Two!

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Three!

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Four!

 

David rolls over and heads for the ropes.

 

Five!

 

Buck slowly sits up.

 

Six!

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Seven!

 

Lord David gets to the ropes, but isn’t off the mat.

 

Eight!

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Nine!

 

David grabs the top rope while Buck gets to his knees.

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

David pulls himself up and leans heavily on the ropes.

 

“That was close! We almost had a no-contest after a very impressive match. I don’t know if either man has much left, but they’ve got to dig deep,” Pete says.

 

“Any other sports clichés you want to toss out?” King inquires.

 

Lord David turns around as Buck is getting to his feet, and heads straight for the Gangsta of Love, arm outstretched. Lil’ Buck sidesteps, though it’s not nimbly, but more of a shuffle. As David passes, Buck hooks LD’s arm, pulls him in, and grabs the other.

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

Buck lifts Lord David up, and drives him to the mat with a full nelson drop. Buck keeps the hold locked on and leans onto Lord David’s back, bending him forward. Kris Kristofferson slides in to see if LD will submit.

 

“Champion’s Requiem! Lil’ Buck has Lord David trapped, and I don’t think there will be any escaping on the part of David. It’s just a matter of time before he submits,” Pete notes.

 

“YES! That means this match is close to being over!” King yells gleefully.

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Lord David scrabbles on the mat furiously, trying to find some means of escape. Kris asks if he’ll submit, and gets back a garbled ‘No’. Lil’ Buck pushes down on David even more, forcing LD’s chin onto his chest. Kristofferson asks again, and the answer remains the same, only this time, it’s more choked.

 

“Lord David should submit soon if he wants to avoid permanent injury,” Pete says.

 

“And also if he doesn’t want me to kick his ass afterward for holding up the damn show,” King grumbles.

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

“LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!*

 

Kris goes to check once more, but stops as he sees David’s left hand feebly tapping against his own shoulder, then stops. Kristofferson stands, signals for the bell to be rung, and turns back to Lil’ Buck to get him to release Lord David.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match by submission, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon screams over the fans and the thumping chorus of “Knuck if You Buck”.

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“BUCK SUCKS!”

 

“He tapped! Lord David couldn’t take any more and finally tapped out! What a match!” Pete shouts.

 

“Finally! Time for Pretzler to destroy Wildchild!” King cackles.

 

Buck stands, accepts his cup and jersey, and hobbling, heads back up the ramp while the cameras focus attention on a shifty-eyed dog in the front row.

[Chuck Woolery 0]

The camera focuses on the ladder that has been erected in the center of the aisle leading down to the ring. Once the image appears on the SmarkTron, the fans break into a loud cheer:

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“What a night we’ve had so far,” says an excited Longdogger Pete. “And coming up next is the second of our four scheduled championship matches!”

 

“That’s right,” agrees the Suicide King. “For the first time since Genesis, the World Cruiserweight Title will be decided in a Ladder Match!”

 

“It’s one of the most unpredictable kinds of matches in all of the SWF!” adds Pete. “The kind of match that’s tailor-made for the fast-paced wrestlers in the Cruiserweight Division! And when you’re talking about fast, King, you’ve got to talk about the Wildchild!”

 

“Well, Wildchild may have the speed advantage, but Scott Pretzler knows how to beat this guy!” replies King. “I talked to him about the Workrate Report that he wrote just after losing the Cruiserweight Title to Wildchild, and he told me that, with what he’s learned about how Wildchild wrestles in the matches they’ve already had together, he’s confident that he knows how to beat Wildchild!”

 

“He may well know how to beat Wildchild in a wrestling match,” counters LDP, “but you have to throw all that out the window in a match like this! Scott Pretzler may not think too highly of Wildchild’s workrate, but he’s going to find that the Cruiserweight Champion is a handful, especially in a match like this!”

 

“I’ll grant you that,” concedes King. “Wildchild definitely has more ladder match experience than Pretzler, but look at it this way: over a year ago at Clusterfuck, Tom Flesher clearly had more experience than Wildchild going into their ladder match, and Wildchild was able to surprise a lot of people by coming away with the win.”

 

“That’s right,” agrees Pete. “A lot of people considered that match to be a symbolic passing of the torch in terms of Cruiserweight wrestling, with Tom Flesher, whom many considered to be the top Cruiserweight of days past, handing the mantle to the Bahama Bomber! And Wildchild, who has more ladder match experience than any other active wrestler in the SWF, has to feel confident going into this match!”

 

“Wildchild might be confident,” counters King, “but it only takes one ladder match to break through. Remember, the more experienced wrestler doesn’t always win, and you can’t keep a talent like Scott Pretzler down forever; cream always rises to the top!”

 

“Scott Pretzler is an outstanding wrestler,” says Pete, “but it remains to be seen whether he can translate his style to a match like this, so let’s go to Funyon in the ring!”

 

The SWF’s steadfast ring announcer climbs into the ring, having changed for the third time tonight, this time into a royal blue tuxedo with a fuchsia bow tie and matching cummerbund. Upon receiving his cue, he raises the microphone to his lips and begins his introductions:

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “the following contest is for the SWF WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP…”

 

RAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“And,” continues Funyon, “it is… A LADDER MATCH!”

 

RAAAAAAAAAH!

 

Suddenly, the stirring notes of Beethoven’s flood the Alamodome, heralding the arrival of Scott Pretzler. The fans begin booing in earnest as the Critic steps out onto the stage.

 

“Introducing first,” says Funyon, “the challenger! From Toronto, Ontario, Canada, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… the ‘Critic,’ SCOTT PUH-RETZLER!” Pretzler stands at the head of the aisle; he stops and stands with his hands at his hips, looking down at the fans with disdain.

 

“There he is,” says Pete, as Pretzler strolls down the aisle. “The former World Cruiserweight Champion!” Pretzler pauses midway down the aisle to look at the ladder. He places his hand on a rung, shaking it to assure himself of the ladder’s stability.

 

“The once and future champion,” corrects King. “I’m going on record right now, and predicting that Scott Pretzler will regain the Cruiserweight Title here tonight!” Pretzler climbs onto the ring and steps in front of the camera, waving two fingers in front of his face.

 

“All right,” says Pete, as Pretzler’s music fades out, “the two fingers of Scott Pretzler, showing that he’ll be come a two-time champion, should he win here tonight! But, I can tell you this much, King: as much as Scott Pretzler wants to win the Cruiserweight Title…”

 

 

ATTENTION!

 

“WILDCHILD WANTS TO KEEP IT!” finishes Pete.

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

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…

 

Only a solitary spotlight illuminates the Alamodome, flashing off and on in rhythmic time to Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” as it throbs melodiously throughout the arena. Forty thousand fans come to their feet as the Bahama Bomber bursts onto the stage…

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“They’re on their feet here for the Wildchild!” shouts LDP, as Wildchild races back and forth across the stage, waving his arms in the air.

 

“His opponent,” booms Funyon, “from Morgan’s Bluff, Andros, Commonwealth of the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, here is the SWF’s reigning… AND DEFENDING… WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION… THE WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild walks down the aisle at an uncharacteristically deliberate pace, stopping in front of the ladder and climbing up one side.

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

Wildchild stops at the top of the ladder and removes the Cruiserweight Title from his waist, raising it above his head and staring at his opponent, who glares back from inside the ring.

 

“Folks, you can cut the electricity in here with a knife!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild climbs down the ladder. We’re in for a tremendous battle for the Cruiserweight Title!” Wildchild continues his relaxed pace to the ring, slapping hands with the fans clamoring the barricade as Redman and DJ Kool’s voices pulse throughout the Alamodome:

 

 

IF YOU PUMPIN’ THIS ONE IN YA’ TRUCK (LET’S GET DIRTY!),

SAY ‘LET’S GET DIRTY!’ (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!)

AND YOU REALLY DON’T GIVE A *WHAT?* (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!)

SAY ‘LET’S GET DIRTY!’ (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!)

EVERYBODY GET YA’ HANDS UP! (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!)

SAY ‘LET’S GET DIRTY!’ (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!)

IF YOU AIN’T COME TO PARTY, *SHUT UP!* (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!)

SAY ‘LET’S GET DIRTY…’

 

Wildchild somersaults into the ring and rolls to his feet as the lights come back on, turning to face Pretzler to prevent any threat of a sneak attack, before raising the World Cruiserweight Title above his head once more.

 

“This match has been several weeks in the making,” says LDP. “Two contrasting styles who match up well against each other, but you have to admit that this match favors the Wildchild, King!”

 

“Everybody knows what Wildchild can do in a ladder match,” concedes King, “while few, if any, know what Scott Pretzler is capable of… But I think that works to the challenger’s advantage! Pretzler’s an unknown commodity; there’s nothing that Wildchild could have done to prepare for this match, other than hope that his usual offense will be enough to carry him through. On the other hand, you KNOW that Pretzler has done his homework on Wildchild’s ladder matches in the SWF and in the JL; he’s got a gameplan, you can count on it!”

 

Wildchild holds the Cruiserweight Title in front of him with both hands, looking nervously at his reflection in the polished gold. He brings the belt to his lips for a kiss before surrendering it to referee Ronald “Red” Herrington.

 

“That’s right,” quips King, as Herrington walks to the center of the ring with the Cruiserweight Title, “kiss the title goodbye, Clown-boy, because you’re never gonna see it again!”

 

Herrington slides the band of the belt through the solid metal ring attached to the harness and secures the hasp. He then tugs on the bottom of the belt in order to make sure that it won’t fall off, before motioning to the ring technicians to raise the harness. Wildchild and Pretzler both glance skyward as they watch the belt ascend towards the rafters.

 

“Well, King,” says LDP, as the belt continues to rise, “as of this moment, Wildchild, for all intents and purposes, has lost the Cruiserweight Title!”

 

“That’s right,” agrees King. “The only way he leaves San Antonio as the World Cruiserweight Champion is by climbing the ladder; this is one of the few types of matches in which the champion does not enjoy the ‘Champion’s advantage,’ and that’s one more thing that works in the favor of Pretzler. I’m telling you, MacDougal, the title’s going to change hands tonight, I can feel it!”

 

Once the belt reaches its intended suspended height, Red Herrington exits the ring, no longer needed, and signals the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Bell’s gone,” shouts Pete. “It’s time to get down to bid’ness!” Wildchild and Pretzler continue to look up at the Cruiserweight Title as they walk towards the center of the ring, each vaguely aware of the proximity of their opponent. Once they bump into each other underneath the belt, they turn their attention towards each other, talking trash about who’s going to come away from this match the victor.

 

“I wish we had a mike on those guys,” Pete says idly. “I’d like to know what those two are saying to each other!” Whatever it is that they’re saying to each other, Pretzler finally has enough, and he raises both hands to Wildchild’s chest, before shoving him backwards!

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Wildchild stumbles backwards a few steps, and then responds by lunging towards Pretzler and shoving him back!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

Both men step towards each other once more and cock their arms back to punch each other:

 

BAP!

WHAM!

BAP!

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

 

Pretzler gets the better of the fisticuffs, and then shifts into a side headlock, causing Wildchild to push him across the ring to get free. Wildchild bellies out as the Critic bounces off the ropes, and then leaps into the air to evade him with a leapfrog as he rebounds a second time. Wildchild leapfrogs Pretzler as he bounces off the ropes a third time, and thrusts his leg into the air as he anticipates the Critic’s return, but Scott grabs onto the top rope and stops his own momentum, just narrowly missing Wildchild’s foot! Pretzler waves his finger at the Bahama Bomber as if to say, “I don’t think so!”

 

“Wildchild misses with the superkick,” says Pete. “Pretzler hung on to the ropes; he knew it was coming!”

 

“He had to,” adds King. “Pretzler has that move well-scouted; he knows that if Wildchild can nail him with that, or that Caribbean Cutter, he’s going to be free meat for that Wild Ride!” Wildchild and Pretzler lock up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and Pretzler pushes Wildchild back into the corner Scott releases his hold on Wildchild, only to try and catch him sleeping with a right cross, but the Bahama Bomber avoids him easily, ducking behind Pretzler and drawing his right arm back as Pretzler spins around…

 

 

BAP!

 

… Snapping his head back with a lightning-fast jab!

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

Wildchild lights Pretzler up with rights and lefts before grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring, only for Scott to reverse. Wildchild leaps into the air as he approaches the corner and plants his hands on the top turnbuckle, springing backwards to vault over what he presumes to be Scott’s charging body, but the Critic waits patiently behind him trapping him in an inverted front facelock!

 

“Tildebang!” shouts King, anticipating Pretzler’s finisher, but the Bahama Bomber immediately pushes himself away, sprawling out of Scott’s grip and sliding all the way out of the ring.!

 

“Scott Pretzler was a fraction of a second away from applying the Tildebang Driver,” says Pete. “And Wildchild got out of there in a hurry!”

 

“Yes he did,” agrees King. “Both men trying to catch their opponent off guard with a quick finisher, but they’ve obviously both done their homework!” Wildchild rolls back into the ring and locks up with Pretzler, quickly taking advantage by grabbing Scott’s arm and twisting it into an arm wringer. He manages to give it one more twist before Pretzler reverses. The Critic twists Wildchild’s right arm into an arm wringer, and then draws his arm back…

 

 

SMACK! “WHOO!”

 

… Blasting Wildchild’s chest with a vicious reverse knife-edge chop!

 

 

SMACK! “WHOO!”

SMACK! “WHOO!”

SMACK! “WHOO!”

 

Pretzler tries to wind Wildchild’s arm up again, but the Tropical Tumbler pops him in the face with a sharp left jab!

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

 

Wildchild continues to jab Pretzler until he releases his hold on the armbar, and then increases the intensity of his assault, hammering the Critic with rights and lefts until he forces him back into a neutral corner. Wildchild grabs Pretzler by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but Scott reverses, rifling him hard into the turnbuckles instead! Pretzler charges towards Wildchild to follow up with a running lariat…

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… But the Bahama Bomber hooks his arm underneath the Critic’s and flings him out of the ring with a sensational hiptoss!

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

Wildchild races across the ring as Pretzler stumbles to his feet, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes before leaping into the air, twisting as he flies over the top rope…

 

 

SPLASH!

 

 

… Crashing into Pretzler with a corkscrew Tope con Hilo!

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“Beautiful move by the Wildchild!” exclaims Pete. “What amazing athleticism!” Wildchild pounds Pretzler repeatedly in the face before pulling him to his feet and whipping him across the arena floor, but the Critic reverses, sending Wildchild towards the corner…

 

CLANG!

 

… And bouncing off the solid steel stairs!

 

“Pretzler sends Wildchild hard into the ropes,” shouts Pete, as Scott walks around the ring. “And he’s going for the ladder!” Pretzler staggers up the aisle, his eyes locked on the ladder, but before he can reach it, Wildchild recovers and races after him, leaping onto the Critic’s back and knocking him down to the floor! Wildchild springs to his feet and measures Pretzler as he rolls onto his back, nailing him between the eyes with a lightning-fast fistdrop!

 

“Wildchild can thank his incredible speed for being able to keep Scott Pretzler from reaching the ladder!” shots LDP. Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and leads him to the ring by the hair…

 

BANG!

 

 

… Slamming his head against the ring apron! He slides into the ring and reaches through the ropes, pulling Pretzler onto the apron. Wildchild traps Scott in a front facelock and then reaches down to hook his leg, and tries to pull him into the ring with a suplex, but the Critic fights back! Wildchild tries to suplex him a second time, but Pretzler reverses…

 

CRASH!

 

… Sending Wildchild over the top rope and down to the arena floor with a tremendous suplex!

 

OOOOOOOOOOH!

 

“Big time suplex by Scott Pretzler,” cheers King, as Pretzler rolls back in underneath the bottom rope.

 

“He’s got Wildchild seeing stars after that one,” agrees LDP. “He can really do some damage now!”

 

“You know what I’d do?” asks King. “I’d try to tie Wildchild up in the ropes, and then go for that ladder! Pretzler glances up towards the title, but then happens to notice Wildchild crawling up the aisle towards the ladder. He climbs out of the ring and walks briskly towards the Bahama Bomber, leaps into the air…

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And drops an elbow into the small of Wildchild’s back! Pretzler quickly returns to his feet, and stomps Wildchild in the head as he tries to push himself to his knees. He then pulls the Tropical Tumbler to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him to the edge of the ring and tossing him underneath the bottom rope. Wildchild scrambles to his feet and tries to gather himself inside the ring, only to be knocked back down by a stiff right cross! Pretzler quickly pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him across the ring, but Wildchild surprises him with a reversal! The Caribbean Cruiser lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop as Pretzler rebounds off the ropes, but the Critic slams a double axe-handle into his back! Wildchild bounces up, clutching his back in pain, and Pretzler spins him around, trapping him in an inverted front facelock.

 

“He’s got him hooked,” shouts King. “He’ll get it this time!” Scott grabs Wildchild by the leg and lifts him up into his patented Tildebang Driver, but the Human Hurricane instinctively rolls over Pretzler’s shoulder, landing on his feet behind the Critic, and trapping Pretzler in a waistlock. Wildchild pushes Pretzler towards the ropes, releasing him before he reaches the edge of the ring and leaping into the air as he bounces backwards off the ropes…

 

CRACK!

 

… Blasting Pretzler with a dropkick in the kidneys! Wildchild races towards the edge of the ring, leaping onto the top rope as Scott staggers backwards and curling into a ball as he springs back into the ring…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And knocking him over with his patented Pinball attack! Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and whips him into the ropes, but the Critic reverses easily. Wildchild comes streaking off the ropes and Pretzler fails to compensate for his speed, meaning that he is unable to move out of the way when Wildchild charges back…

 

CRACK!

 

… And the two men’s heads collide as they slam into each other!

 

“Double noggin-knocker in the center of the ring!” shouts Pete. “Both men are down!”

 

“Neither man has been able to establish control yet in this match,” adds King. “We could see our first major turning point in this match right now!” Wildchild rolls onto his knees first, and begins to stand up. He pursues Pretzler into the corner and hammers him with a few weary right hands, before grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring, only for Scott to reverse, sending him slamming into the turnbuckles instead! Pretzler grabs Wildchild as he staggers out of the corner, whipping him across the ring, and then charges towards him as he bounces out of the other corner…

 

WHACK!

 

… Knocking him flat on his ass with at running European Uppercut! Pretzler loses his balance from the force of his blow, falling down beside Wildchild! Sensing an opportunity, Scott rolls out of the ring and stumbles up the aisle towards the ladder.

 

“He’s got it!” shouts King, as the Critic folds the ladder up. “Pretzler’s going to make his play for the title right now!” Wildchild pulls himself to a seated position, and then scrambles to his feet as he sees Pretzler walking towards the ring with the ladder in hand. He runs towards the edge of the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes and dives feet-first towards the ropes as Pretzler places the ladder up on the apron…

 

WHOOSH!

 

… But the Critic anticipates his attack and pulls the ladder out of the way, causing Wildchild to slide past him out onto the arena floor. Before Wildchild can plan a second attack, Pretzler rushes in towards him…

 

WHACK!

 

… And knocks him to the arena floor with a European Uppercut!

 

“Excellent defensive wrestling by Scott Pretzler!” cheers King. “He saw that baseball slide coming the whole time, and suckered Wildchild into a trap!” Pretzler slides into the ring and scrambles to his feet, pulling the ladder towards the center of the ring and raising it off the canvas, setting it up underneath the belt.

 

“Here we go!” shouts King, as Pretzler begins to climb the ladder. “Two-time Cruiserweight Champion!” Pretzler only gets a few rungs up the ladder, however, before Wildchild slides into the ring, pushing the ladder over and knocking Pretzler down to the mat! Wildchild folds the ladder up and lifts it to shoulder level with a clean-and-jerk. He waits for Pretzler to get back to his feet before swinging to his right with the ladder, only for the Critic to duck underneath it…

 

CLANG!

 

… But Wildchild follows through with his swing, and Pretzler stands up just in time to be smacked in the face with the other side of the ladder!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“Pretzler got out of the way of that ladder swing,” cries Pete, “but he didn’t plan on the backlash! And now Wildchild’s setting the ladder up!” Wildchild positions the ladder in the center of the ring and begins to climb:

 

 

One rung…

 

 

Two rungs…

 

 

Three rungs…

 

 

Four…

 

 

As Wildchild nears the halfway point of the ladder, he sees Pretzler getting to his feet. Realizing that he’ll need to take on a different strategy, he waits for Pretzler to stand fully erect before leaping off the ladder, landing on Scott’s shoulders and locking his legs around the Critic’s neck as he arches back…

 

 

SLAM!

 

 

… Slamming Scott to the canvas with a breathtaking Dragonrana!

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“Spectacular maneuver by the Wildchild!” shouts LDP. “He just hit Scott Pretzler with a hurricanrana from off the ladder! Unbelievable!” Wildchild folds the ladder and lifts it up as Pretzler gets to his feet, charging towards him with the ladder extended…

 

CLANG!

 

… And nailing the Critic in the chest with a ladder shot that sends him tumbling out of the ring, and down to the arena floor!

 

“Wildchild has definitely become the aggressor in the last few moments,” says Pete, as Wildchild stands the ladder up near the corner. “And what’s he going to do now?” Wildchild climbs quickly to the top of the ladder, steadying himself as down, almost twenty-five feet below, to see Scott Pretzler getting to his feet. Without a moment’s hesitation, Wildchild leaps off the ladder, spinning and twisting through the air as he falls…

 

 

SPLASH!

 

 

… And crashes into the Critic with a corkscrew moonsault!

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“Moonsault!” exclaims Pete. “Moonsault off the ladder! He must have been thirty feet in the air, King!”

 

“Oh, he was not!” rebukes King. “That ladder’s barely even fifteen feet tall!” Wildchild uses the apron to pull himself to his feet as Pretzler tries to crawl away up the aisle, so he gives chase, leaping over the Critic and snaring him by the head as he sails through the air…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Grinding Scott’s face against the concrete floor with a flipping neck snap! Wildchild drags Pretzler across the floor and lays him parallel with the edge of the ring. He makes a quick mental assessment of the distance between Pretzler and the apron before darting back into the ring and folding the ladder back up.

 

“Uh-oh,” groans Pete, as Wildchild lowers the ladder over the top rope and down to the floor. “I don’t like the way this is going!” The Human Hurricane leans the ladder against the ropes and then races across the ring, leaping into the air as he rebounds and grabbing onto the ladder as he sails over the top rope and falls down…

 

 

Down…

 

 

DOWN!

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… Onto Scott Pretzler’s chest, smashing the ladder into the Critic’s ribs!

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

“Oh my God!” shrieks LDP, as Wildchild clutches his own chest in pain. “That move looks like it even hurt Wildchild! But, I’ll bet it hurt Pretzler that much more!”

 

“That guy’s a lunatic!” growls King, as Wildchild rolls off of Pretzler. “He’s a menace to society! I don’t like him; he needs to be suspended!”

 

“Well, while King tries to lower his blood pressure,” jokes Pete, “let’s get back to the action!” Wildchild crawls away from Pretzler and pulls himself to his feet, stumbling clumsily back down the aisle until he arrives at edge of the ring, leaning heavily against the apron while he catches his breath. He then bends down to pick up the ladder, pulling it down the aisle and leaning it up against the ropes, before rolling back into the ring. Wildchild begins to pull the ladder back into the ring, but Pretzler’s hand seems to appear out of nowhere, latching onto his ankle!

 

“It’s Pretzler,” shrieks LDP. “Where did he come from?”

 

“He must have crawled all the way down the aisle,” remarks King. “He’s not going to let Wildchild get away with what he just did!” No longer able to concentrate on getting the ladder into the ring, Wildchild reaches down to try and get Pretzler off of him, but the Critic locks both hands around Wildchild’s ankle and pulls with the ferocity of a bulldog, dragging him underneath the bottom rope…

 

WHUMP!

 

… And dumping him unceremoniously out onto the floor! Pretzler leaps atop Wildchild and begins pummeling him mercilessly with hard right hands!

 

“This is horrible,” moans King. “As much as I’m enjoying seeing Pretzler put a beating on Wildchild, it’s such a shame that he’s allowed Clown-boy to drag him down to the depths with his garbage wrestling!”

 

“You should be happy that Pretzler has shown a willingness to adapt his style in order to try and win this match, King,” counters Pete. “What did you think he was going to do, wrestle his way up the ladder? This is a fight!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him to the ring barricade, grabbing him by the back of the head as he tries to slam him face-first into the hard rubber, but the Bahama Bomber slams his hands against the barricade to keep his head from getting bashed in! Pretzler tries a second time, and Wildchild blocks again, stunning him with an elbow to his bruised chest! As Pretzler staggers away, Wildchild lowers into a crouch, measuring the Critic for a superkick, but Scott sees him out of the corner of his eye, and catches Wildchild’s foot as he spins around. He clutches Wildchild’s ankle firmly as he twists in the air…

 

 

SLAM!

 

 

… And torques Wildchild’s knee unmercifully with a Dragon Screw Leg Whip!

 

“Beautiful Dragon Screw by Pretzler!” gushes King, as the Critic staggers around the ringside area. “I love the way that Pretzler has come prepared for this match, knowing that superkick is probably Wildchild’s most dangerous weapon, since it’s one of the few moves in his arsenal that doesn’t require a head start or some kind of setup, and he’s completely taken it away from him thus far in the match!”

 

“It looks like Pretzler is going for the standby ladder,” notes LDP, seeing Scott reaching underneath the ring. “Perhaps he feels as though that ladder might prove to be unstable, after Wildchild pretty much used it as a weapon against him!” Pretzler pulls the standby ladder from underneath the ring and leans it up against the apron before pushing it underneath the bottom rope. He slides into the ring and scrambles to his feet, dragging the ladder into position underneath the belt, but before he can start to climb, Wildchild pulls himself back to a standing position outside the ring.

 

“Pretzler had better move fast,” warns Pete. “Wildchild is back on his feet!” The Tropical Tumbler slides into the ring and scrambles to his feet, grabbing Pretzler by the tights as he reaches the midway point of the ladder, and pulls him back down to the canvas! He then runs to the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds, before Pretzler has time to react…

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

… And knocking the Critic off his feet with his patented leg lariat! Wildchild picks himself up and begins to climb the ladder as Pretzler rolls towards the edge of the ring.

 

“This could be it!” shouts Pete. “Pretzler’s on his back near the ropes, and Wildchild has a head start; can he catch him?” Wildchild looks up towards the Cruiserweight Title. “Only eight rungs to go,” he thinks to himself…

 

 

Seven rungs…

 

 

Six rungs…

 

 

Five rungs…

 

 

“He’s up,” shouts King, as the Critic uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet. “Hurry up, Scott; he’s almost there!”

 

Four rungs…

 

 

Three…

 

 

Before Wildchild can proceed any further, however, Pretzler lunges towards the ladder, tipping it over! Wildchild’s knee becomes tangled between the rungs as the ladder falls…

 

 

CLANG!

 

 

… Leaving him helpless as the ladder crushes his knee against the canvas!

 

 

OOOOOOOOOOH!

 

A loud hiss echoes throughout the Alamodome as over forty thousand fans gasp at the sight of Wildchild’s knee being mashed between the hard canvas and the unforgiving ladder!

 

“Oh my lord,” groans Pete. “Wildchild may have torn his knee on that fall, King!”

 

“And it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” crows King. “I’m going to love seeing Pretzler take this guy apart!” Pretzler gets to his feet and walks over to the ladder, folding it up with Wildchild’s leg still caught between it.

 

“Pretzler just closed that ladder over Wildchild’s knee,” cries Pete. “What’s he going to do now?”

 

 

CRUNCH!

 

 

Pretzler stomps down hard on the ladder, smashing Wildchild’s knee! He then backs into the ropes, getting a running start as he heads back towards the ladder…

 

 

CRUNCH!

 

 

… And stomps the ladder again!

 

“This is hideous!” spits LDP. “Somebody has to put a stop to this!”

 

“He had it coming,” counters King, as Pretzler continues his vicious assault. “Plus, this is brilliant strategy on the part of Scott Pretzler; Wildchild’s speed and agility give him the clear advantage in a match like this, so you take the man’s legs from him, and you take his advantage away!” Pretzler finally pulls Wildchild’s leg from out of the ladder rungs, but is far from finished dispensing pain, as he rolls the Caribbean Cruiser on top of the ladder, before lifting his injured leg up…

 

 

CLANG!

 

 

… And slamming it against the solid steel ladder! The Critic grabs Wildchild once more by the leg slamming that same injured knee against the ladder a second time! Pretzler picks up the ladder as Wildchild rolls around on the mat, clutching his knee. The Bahama Bomber struggles to get back to his feet, but the Critic stalks behind him, swinging the ladder…

 

SMASH!

 

 

… And clipping him from behind in the knee! Wildchild falls back down to the canvas and Pretzler drops the ladder in the center of the ring. He pulls Wildchild to his feet and scoops him up off the canvas, carrying him over towards the center of the ring…

 

 

CLANG!

 

 

… And slamming him, legs-first, down onto the ladder!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“I can’t believe that Pretzler can be so vicious!” spits LDP. “He’s going to cripple the Wildchild!”

 

“I know,” replies King. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? Pretzler is going to cripple Wildchild, a man who has ended or derailed many promising careers with his recklessness in the ring, and he’s going to take the one thing that Wildchild cares about most in the process!” Pretzler backs into a corner, still having a little trouble breathing, due to the injuries sustained to his chest. Looking down with contempt at Wildchild, he walks past him and over to the ladder, where he bends down to pick it up, and carries it over to a nearby corner, wedging it horizontally between the middle and top ropes.

 

“Pretzler is definitely pulling out all the stops, King, I’ll give you that,” concedes Pete. “He’s doing his best to make sure that Wildchild can’t climb that ladder!” Wildchild crawls towards the edge of the ring, trying feebly to use the ropes to pull himself up, but Pretzler closes in on him methodically, stomping him in the back of his knee and knocking him back down! He then pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him to the corner, smashing his face up against the top turnbuckle, before whipping him across the ring towards the ladder, but Wildchild can’t even make it all the way there, his knee buckling before he gets halfway across the ring!

 

“My goodness,” cries Pete. “The damage to Wildchild’s knee must be serious; he can’t even run across the ring when pushed!”

 

“If Wildchild can’t put any weight on that knee, this match is over,” King says gleefully. “There’s no way that he can climb the ladder if he can’t even stand up!” Far from showing any sign of mercy, Pretzler reacts to Wildchild’s weakness as a shark would to blood in the water, pulling Wildchild’s injured leg up off the canvas…

 

 

WHAM!

 

… And slamming it back down as he drives an elbow into it! Pretzler quickly rolls to his feet and drops another elbow! And another!

 

 

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

 

 

The Critic ignores the fans that scream derisively at him and latches back onto Wildchild’s leg as he stands up, whipping his arm through the air rapidly as if signaling for a figure-four leglock.

 

“Figure-Four coming up!” shouts King. “If he can slap this on him, that leg’s going to be done!” Pretzler grapevines Wildchild’s injured leg, and spins around to set up the figure-four…

 

 

CLANG!

 

 

… But, while his back is turned, Wildchild gets his good leg up and plants his foot underneath Pretzler’s rear end, pushing him into the ladder! Pretzler spits up blood as his already badly injured ribs slam into the solid steel!

 

“Desperation move by the Wildchild!” shouts Pete. “And Pretzler goes chest-first into that ladder!” Wildchild tries to get back to his feet, but the Critic traps him in a side waistlock, cuffing the Caribbean Cruiser by the ankle as he lifts him up, and carries him back over to the corner…

 

 

CLANG!

 

 

… Slamming his knee into the ladder!

 

 

“Wildchild wasn’t able to capitalize on Scott Pretzler’s injury,” reports LDP, “as the Critic slams Wildchild’s battered knee into that ladder! And he still has them up; he’s going to do it again!” Pretzler, Wildchild still trapped in his arms, charges back towards the corner, but this time, the Human Hurricane flips backwards over the Critic’s shoulders, landing on his good leg and planting both hands into Pretzler’s back…

 

 

CLANG!

 

 

… Shoving him back into the ladder!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Some more quick thinking by the Wildchild stuns the challenger,” shouts Pete. “Now, if he can only build on it this time!” Wildchild tries desperately to crawl away from Pretzler, only for the Critic to stagger towards him and stomp him in the back of his injured knee, stopping his egress dead in its tracks!

 

“But once again,” says King reverently, “excellent defensive wrestling by Pretzler! Staying on that knee!” Pretzler drags Wildchild to the edge of the ring and drapes his ankle against the bottom rope, straddling him before he leaps up…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And drops down to the canvas, lowering his full weight onto Wildchild’s knee!

 

 

 

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

 

WHAM!

 

 

Ignoring the jeers of the fans, Pretzler lowers himself onto Wildchild’s knee a second time! He leaps up off the canvas to drop onto Wildchild’s knee a third time…

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… But, once again, the Bahama Bomber gets his good leg underneath Pretzler’s posterior, and launches the Critic over the top rope and out of the ring!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Pretzler goes over the top!” exclaims Pete. “Can this be the break that Wildchild needs?” Wildchild scrambles painfully to his feet as Pretzler gets up outside the ring and limps energetically towards the edge of the ring, diving foot-first towards the ropes to deliver a basement dropkick, but he is simply unable to move at his usual high speed, enabling the Critic to sidestep his attempt at a baseball slide! He then grabs the ankle of Wildchild’s sore leg and raises it up…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Before slamming it down on the edge of the ring!

 

“My God,” croaks Pete. “There’s nothing but steel pipe under there!”

 

“And lookit, again, MacDougal,” quips King, “again! Every time it looks like Pretzler gets into any kind of trouble, he goes right back to that knee! Brilliant defensive wrestling!” Pretzler walks deliberately up the nearby steel stairs as Wildchild crawls away from him. The Bahama Bomber pushes himself clumsily to his feet, turning away from Pretzler to shield his injured leg, causing the Critic to push him into the ropes. Scott draws his arm back to deliver a right cross…

 

 

BAP!

 

 

… But the Caribbean Cruiser blocks with his left arm, and comes back with a hard right jab!

 

BAP!

BAP!

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

Wildchild assaults Pretzler with a battery of right and left jabs, daring to put a little more weight on his injured leg with each punch, as he drives Pretzler backwards!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“Wildchild’s got Pretzler reeling!” shrieks LDP. “Scott Pretzler may have underestimated Wildchild’s resiliency! This could be the turning point right here!” Wildchild backs Pretzler up against the ropes and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, but the Critic easily reverses. Wildchild hobbles awkwardly into the ropes, and is tripped up as he rebounds by Pretzler, who takes him down with a drop toehold!

 

“And Pretzler takes it back to wrestling,” says King approvingly, “and even though that drop toehold doesn’t directly affect the knee, you can bet that Wildchild felt the impact of that takedown in his knee when he fell!” With Wildchild on his stomach, Pretzler grapevines his shin before falling backwards down to the mat…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Making the Tropical Tumbler scream in pain from a devastating quad buster!”

 

“Quad Buster!” shouts Pete. “And Wildchild DEFINITELY felt THAT in his knee!”

 

“I can’t tell you how impressed I am with the way Scott Pretzler has wrestled this match!” gushes King. “He has dictated the pace, and most importantly, he’s kept Wildchild from wrestling to his strengths! That’s the kind of stuff that champions are made of, Drain-Clogger!” Pretzler turns Wildchild over onto his back, only to stomp on his injured knee a few more times. He walks over to the corner where he left the ladder, pulling it out from between the ropes, and carrying it to the center of the ring. But, instead of setting it up underneath the belt, the Critic simply releases the ladder and watches it fall…

 

 

CLANG!

 

 

… Right onto Wildchild’s injured knee!

 

 

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

PRETZ-LER SUCKS!

 

 

“Pretzler’s sadistic!” spits LDP. “I can’t remember ever seeing anyone be so brutal to their opponent!”

 

“What do you expect?” counters King. “Pretzler’s been in the ring with this guy before; he knows that Wildchild has what it takes to beat him. He HAS to pull out all the stops; they’re playing for keeps in there!” Pretzler kicks Wildchild out onto the apron and then, thinking that he has his opponent sufficiently incapacitated, walks back over to the ladder, setting it up underneath the Cruiserweight Title!

 

“This is it!” shouts King. “Pretzler is about to dethrone the legendary Wildchild!” Wildchild uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, and sees that Pretzler has already cleared the first two rungs…

 

 

Three rungs…

 

Wildchild limps over to the corner…

 

Four rungs…

 

He steps onto the bottom rope…

 

Five rungs…

 

To the middle rope…

 

Six rungs…

 

To the top rope…

 

Seven rungs…

 

“He’s almost there!” shouts King. “One more rung, and he’s the champ!” Unsure as to whether he has enough lift to reach Pretzler on one leg, but realizing that it’s now or never, Wildchild launches himself off the top rope and glides gracelessly towards the ladder…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Slamming into the Critic’s back with a double-axe handle that hits him with just enough force to knock his face against the top of the ladder! Dazed by the blow to the head, Pretzler falls to the canvas as the crowd explodes!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“Not yet!” shouts Pete. “Wildchild keeps this match going a little longer!”

 

“He got lucky,” replies King. “And you can see that he just barely got enough lift off of that one leg, just to be able to reach him from the corner! He’s never going to be able to get up that ladder fast enough to retrieve the title!” Despite still seeing stars, Pretzler is nonetheless able to beat Wildchild to his feet, scooping him up into his arms and running towards the ladder to drive him headfirst into hit, but the Human Hurricane slides down off Pretzler’s back, and shoves him forward…

 

 

CLANG!

 

 

… Knocking him headfirst into the ladder a second time!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Pretzler’s back down!” exclaims Pete. “Wildchild has Pretzler down on the mat!”

 

“But Wildchild’s not exactly in great shape, either,” counters King.

 

 

“LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP!

“LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP!

“LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP!

“LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP!

“LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP!

 

 

“Listen to these fans,” shouts Pete, as Wildchild and Pretzler both writhe around on the canvas. “Forty thousand plus on the edge of their seats, cheering for the Wildchild!”

 

“Then there are going to be forty thousand plus in here that leave with hurt feelings,” snipes King, “because there’s no way that Wildchild’s going to be able to come back!” Still the fresher of the two, Pretzler gets to his feet first, and goes immediately back towards the ladder, clamoring quickly up the first two rungs…

 

 

Three rungs…

 

 

Four rungs…

 

 

Wildchild gets back to his feet…

 

 

Five rungs…

 

 

Six rungs…

 

 

This time, Wildchild steps up on the ladder underneath Pretzler, trapping the Critic on his shoulders!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“He’s got him!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild backs off of the ladder. “Pretzler’s stuck on Wildchild’s shoulders! But what’s he going to do with him?” The Bahama Bomber staggers away from the ladder, losing his balance as he falls backwards…

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… AND DUMPING PRETZLER OFF HIS SHOULDERS, OVER THE TOP ROPE, AND OUT TO THE ARENA FLOOR!

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

“Holy Shit!” exclaims LDP. “What a drop! Scott Pretzler just fell ten feet to the concrete, and landed right on his head!”

 

“He tried to kill him!” roars King. “Wildchild should be arrested immediately! Somebody get security down to the ring right now!” Wildchild collapses to one knee, hanging onto the ropes just to keep himself somewhat upright. He pulls himself to his feet, limping around the ring as Pretzler remains unmoving on the floor.

 

“Go ahead Wildchild,” pleads LDP. “Pretzler is down; you might not get a better opportunity!” Wildchild walks over to the ladder, facing Pretzler to make sure that he doesn’t try anything. He wipes what’s left of his face paint clear before stepping onto the first rung. “One down, seven to go,” he thinks to himself.

 

 

Six more…

 

Pretzler stirs on the outside.

 

 

Five more…

 

 

Pretzler staggers towards the apron…

 

 

Four more…

 

 

Pretzler climbs onto the apron…

 

“Wait, Wildchild,” groans Pete, as the Bahama Bomber drops down to the canvas. “What are you doing? You could have had it!”

 

 

Realizing, contrary to the Longdogger’s opinion, that his injured leg was not going to allow him to climb the ladder fast enough to retrieve the belt before Pretzler got back into the ring, Wildchild instead drops back down to the ring and runs uncomfortably towards the corner, using his hands to help him vault up to the top turnbuckle before springing off, snaring Pretzler by the neck as he flies through the air…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And planting him face first onto the barely-padded arena floor with a Tornado DDT!

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“Tornado DDT!” screeches Pete. “Pretzler’s out cold! Wildchild can retain the title if he can just get back into the ring!”

 

“No way,” counters King. “He’s going to have to do more than that to Pretzler; even as bad a shape as he’s in right now, with that knee in the shape that it is, Wildchild’s going to need to create some distance between him and Pretzler to have a chance!” Sure enough, Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him towards front of the ring, pass the still-leaning ladder, and further up the aisle. Nearly fifty feet away from the ring, he looks out into the crowd and raises both hands above his head before pulling them sharply to his chest: the sign for the Wild Ride!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Wild Ride!” shouts Pete. “If he hits that from all the way out there, Pretzler won’t be able to close the distance fast enough to keep him from getting to the top of the ladder!” Wildchild doubles Pretzler over and positions himself in front of the Critic, reaching back to hook one of Scott’s arms…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… But, before he can hook the second arm, Pretzler lunges forward, clipping Wildchild in the back of his injured knee! Wildchild cries out in pain as he releases his hold on Pretzler, and the Critic doesn’t hesitate, immediately trapping Wildchild in an inverted front facelock, and lifting him up…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… DRIVING WILDCHILD HEADFIRST INTO THE CONCRETE WITH THE TILDEBANG DRIVER!

 

“He did it!” exclaims King, as a hush falls over the crowd. “Tildebang! He hit the Tildebang Driver! It’s over! It’s all over!”

 

“Wildchild’s down, and he appears to be out,” concedes Pete, as Pretzler rolls onto his knees. “But does Scott Pretzler have enough left in the tank to win this match?” Pretzler crawls over to the barricade and pulls himself to his feet. He rumbles, fumbles and stumbles all the way to the ring, collapsing against the apron, just to the right of the leaning ladder.

 

“He’s almost there,” says King, practically giggling. “A few more feet, and it’s all over!” Scott glances down the aisle, checking to see that Wildchild is still unconscious before sliding underneath the bottom rope to enter the ring.

 

“This is it!” shouts King. “All he has to do is get to his feet and climb those eight rungs, and he’s the champion!” Pretzler crawls to the corner and uses the turnbuckles to pull himself to his feet. He looks back down the aisle one last time, before staggering over to the ladder.

 

“It’s over!” squeals King triumphantly. “Eight little rungs, and it’s all over!”

 

 

One rung…

 

 

Wildchild stirs on the arena floor.

 

 

Two rungs…

 

Wildchild sits up…

 

 

“You hear that, Drain-Clogger?” asks King gleefully. “That’s the sound of Wildchild’s reign coming to an end!”

 

Three rungs…

 

Wildchild gets to his knees…

 

 

Four rungs…

 

Wildchild gets to his feet!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“Don’t count your titles before their won!” shouts Pete. “Here comes the Wildchild!”

 

Five rungs…

 

Wildchild begins to lumber maladroitly down the aisle, and looks up to see Pretzler nearing the top…

 

Six rungs…

 

Sensing that he’s going to have to gamble to have any chance, Wildchild runs as fast as his sore leg will allow, straight for the leaning ladder!

 

Seven rungs…

 

 

“He’s there!” exclaims King. “It’s over!” But The Human Hurricane runs up the leaning ladder, launching himself into the ring…

 

 

Eight rungs!

 

 

Wildchild snares Pretzler by the neck just fractions of a second before the Critic can reach up to grab the title, and falls towards the canvas…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

DRIVING PRETZLER INTO THE CANVAS WITH A FLYING HANGMAN’S NECKBREAKER!

 

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

 

“Neck Wrecker!” screeches LDP. “By God, a Neck Wrecker from the top of the ladder! I’ve never seen anything like that before!”

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“That neck wrecker is probably going to be the end of Scott Pretzler,” growls King, as Wildchild crawls over to the ladder, “but does he have anything left?” Wildchild uses the ladder to pull himself to his knees, and then to his feet, leading with his good leg as he steps onto the ladder…

 

 

Two rungs…

 

 

Three rungs…

 

 

Four rungs…

 

 

“This crowd is going crazy!” shouts Pete. “And Wildchild is only a few feet from retaining the Cruiserweight Title!”

 

Five rungs…

 

Pretzler stirs on the apron.

 

“Pretzler’s coming around!” cries King. “This isn’t over yet, MacDougal!”

 

Six rungs…

 

Pretzler crawls to the ropes…

 

Seven rungs…

 

Pretzler pulls himself to his feet…

 

Eight rungs!

 

 

Pretzler dives towards the ladder and pushes it out from underneath Wildchild…

 

 

BUT NOT BEFORE HE CAN GRAB THE TITLE!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“He did it!” shouts LDP, as Wildchild crashes to the canvas, title in hand. “I can’t believe it! Wildchild held on to the Cruiserweight Title!”

 

Forty thousand fans in the Alamodome erupt as “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play once more! Funyon rises from his ringside seat and returns the microphone to his lips:

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he shouts, his voice barely audible over the screaming crowd, “the winner of this contest… and STIIIIIL SWF WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION… THE WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

“Wildchild has overcome impossible odds in this matchup!” cries Pete. “He overcame excruciating torture to his knee! He overcame a Tildebang Driver on the concrete floor! Hell, he over came the toughest challenger to the Cruiserweight Title that he’s ever faced! But when it’s all said and done, he’s still the champion!” Referee Red Herrington helps Wildchild to his feet and then holds his hand aloft in victory!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“I saw it,” growls King, “and I STILL don’t believe it! And what’s going on here in the ring between Pretzler and Wildchild?” Pretzler staggers over to the Bahama Bomber, sweat and blood pouring down his face. He looks across the ring at his nemesis, who glares back at him, expecting the worst…

 

 

… And then he extends his hand!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Well, King,” says Pete, “it looks as if Scott Pretzler has a newfound respect for Wildchild after this match!”

 

“And it makes me sick!” spits King. “I can’t believe that Pretzler has gone soft!” Pretzler holds Wildchild’s hand up, acknowledging the better man as he leads the Champion around the ring…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… When he suddenly spins the unsuspecting Wildchild around and pulls him into a fierce lariat!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“I knew it!” crows King. “I knew that Pretzler wasn’t really that weak!” Pretzler walks over to the ladder and folds it up, carrying it back over to the Wildchild…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… And slamming it down into his chest!

 

 

“This match is over!” cries Pete. “Scott Pretzler doesn’t have a right to be doing this! Somebody get security out here!”

 

“He has every right to do it,” replies King, as Pretzler continues to pound Wildchild mercilessly with the ladder. “He was cheated out of his victory! The better man didn’t win this match!”

 

Finally, security runs down to the ring, separating Pretzler from his victim. Pretzler’s eyes bulge with rage as he watches EMT’s help Wildchild out of the ring, and onto a stretcher.

 

“My God,” says LDP. “Look at the rage in Pretzler’s eyes, King! I thought that maybe this feud was coming to a head, but the look in those eyes tells me that this rivalry is far from over!”

 

Pretzler continues to fight with security, who hold him down while the EMT’s remove Wildchild from ringside…

 

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[Chuck Woolery 0]

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am here backstage in the Alamodome with the World Heavyweight Champion, Toxxic,” Ben Hardy says, smiling into the camera before turning to the straight-edger standing beside him. “Toxxic, on Smarkdown you expressed your preference for facing Spike Jenkins tonight, but you didn’t get your wish as you are instead squaring off against Mak Francis. How do you feel about that?”

 

“Doesn’t bother me,” Toxxic replies, grinning lopsidedly at the interviewer. “Y’see, Mak came into my dressing room after my match at Slay Ride, giving it all this about the mistakes I’d made against Landon and generally coming off as some big shot. Then he goes and faces Sacred at Clusterfuck and gets himself disqualified by pasting the Aussie bugger in the head with a chair repeatedly.” The Straight-Edge Sensation laughs briefly, then composes himself.

 

“Thing is, Mak puts himself up as some wrestling guru, the super-cool Messiah of the Mat, but in reality he can lose it just as quickly as anyone else,” Toxxic explains. “Now I know Mak is a great wrestler, but you need more than that to beat me in the ring; you need focus.” Toxxic taps the side of his head a couple of times to make his point. “I’ve been in more World Title matches than anyone else on this roster. You can call it ‘getting in the zone’ or whatever other cheesy bollocks you want, but I am comfortable in there now. I know exactly what I can do, and perhaps more importantly I know what I can’t do, so I won’t try. Mak’s last shot ended in failure, and even though he caused it himself instead of getting beaten clean, that’s gonna be preying on his mind.” The World Champion raises his fingers and begins ticking them off.

 

“Flesher and Janus. Dace Night. Johnny Dangerous. Mike Van Siclen. Andrea Montgomery. Carnage. Sacred. Landon Maddix. Todd Cortez. Those are all the people I have faced and beaten in World Title matches,” Toxxic grins. “That’s a lot of matches Ben, and Mak knows it. And think about this as well; since Mak Francis started wrestling again, he has never seen me beaten one-on-one. Think that’s gonna help his mental state any? I doubt it.” The Straight-Edge Sensation laughs and turns away to go, but Ben Hardy clears his throat again.

 

“Er, Toxxic?” the bespectacled interviewer begins, causing the World Champion to pause and turn around again. “I was just wondering if I could ask you about the whereabouts of a couple of Revolution Zero members?”

 

“Go ahead,” Toxxic replies, looking slightly confused.

 

“Well first of all, I’d like to know about the condition of Sean Davis,” Hardy says. “We all know about the tragic accident that occurred-”

 

“-that was no bloody accident Ben, and you know it!” Toxxic snaps. “Spike crippled Sean deliberately, and believe me when I say I will get payback out of his sorry carcass! But since you asked,” the World Champion continues, calming down slightly, “Sean’s doing OK. He’s still in hospital - it was a compound fracture, which wasn’t properly diagnosed at first - but he can walk around in a fashion. Of course, Marcus Washington tends to be with him, although he still handles our contracts.”

 

“And your, erm, girlfriend Jet?” Hardy asks. “We haven’t seen her around much recently either?”

 

“No, you probably wouldn’t have,” Toxxic confirms, eyeing Hardy with faint amusement. “You see, Jet’s stepped up her wrestling training at the SF developmental camp, so she can’t be with me on the road anymore. But don’t worry Ben, she’ll be back soon enough… and when she is, I’ll make sure to tell her you asked about her.” The Brit reaches out to pat Hardy on the cheek, then shoulders his World Title belt and saunters off. Hardy looks vaguely embarrassed, then turns round and glares at the camera.

 

“What are you looking at?”

 

The shot wobbles slightly as Gus shrugs. Hardy suddenly seems to remember that they’re still live, and clears his throat.

 

“Erm, yes… fans, we now send you back to the ring where Johnny Dangerous and Landon Maddix are about to brawl~! Take it away, Longdogger!”

[Chuck Woolery 0]

Throughout the Alamodome, the crowd are on their feet already anticipating this next match eagerly. As the match screen appears on the SmarkTron, a cheer goes up through the arena for the two fan favourites, set to do battle. As the cheers die down, the camera pans around the Alamodome and the unwashed masses of San Antonio, Texas. The fans rise to their feet, hoping to get their faces and their signs...such as "LANDON MADDIX = HB(2)K(5)", "I LOVE SPOKE JUNKINS" and "LIL' BUCK SHOT MY MOM"...on screen, before the camera swoops down to Longdogger Pete and The Suicide King at ringside.

 

"Coming up next folks, it's your...semi main event." greets Pete with a smile. "With the International Championship on the line for the first time since it's creation, it's Dangerous-Maddix V!! And with four matches down, the score stands at two matches a-piece. Tonight...we see the rubber match, live on Pay Per View."

 

"Whoopee!" groans King.

 

"It was just under a year ago that we were in this very same position, at Ground Zero." begins Pete. "Just a few miles away in Dallas, it was Landon Maddix challenging Johnny Dangerous for the ICTV Championship. On that night at Ground Zero, in what proved to be one of the most underrated matches of the year, Landon Maddix regained the ICTV Title in an EPIC encounter! Will history repeat itself here tonight?"

 

"I doubt it. If you look at Ground Zero compared to tonight, you'll notice some crucial differences. Most noteably...Chris Card isn't in Maddix's corner. Natasha isn't in his corner. Johnny Dangerous has more of an edge than he did last year, Maddix doesn't..."

 

"Well, that may be true. But Landon Maddix has been more successful since getting rid of that slimeball Card than he ever was when he was around."

 

"That's only because I told Card to keep this idiot away from the World Title."

 

Pete pauses, unsure whever King has just proven his point right or not. King looks at the Longdogger curiously, while he gives up trying to make sense of his partner and simply sighs deeply...as we then swoop up to Funyon, standing centre ring with a smile on his face and microphone in hand.

 

 

"Ladies and gentlemen." Funyon begins. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall...and it is for... THE SMARTMARK WRESTLING FEDERATION... INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!"

 

"YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

 

With his piece said, Funyon backs away to have a chat with assigned referee Nick Soapdish...

 

 

"PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!"

 

...WAAAAAHHHHH...

 

*DUM DUM*

 

 

"YYYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

 

As suddenly, "Megalomaniac" by Incubus pierces the crowd's growing silence and brings the Texan natives to their feet! Wasting little time, the challenger bursts through the curtains and fires up the crowd, as Megan follows out behind him. Maddix turns to her and the two exchange a confident high-five, before Maddix bounds down the ramp tagging hands.

 

"Introducing first, the challenger. Accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye! From Huron, South Dakota...weighing in at two hundred, twenty pounds. He represents Martial Law...the former three-time SWF ICTV Champion... LAAAAAAAANNDDOOOOOONN!... "LA CUCARACHA!"... MAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXX!!!!!!"

 

Reaching the ring, Landon leaps to the apron, before running across the apron and leaping up to the middle turnbuckle. Looking out at the crowd, Landon grins and holds his arms out to the sides and soaks up the adulation of the San Antonio faithful, before leaping over the top and entering the ring. Maddix then holds open the ropes for Megan, before jogging over to his corner.

 

"It was Johnny Dangerous who stopped this man's record breaking ICTV Title at 138 days." reminds Pete. "But tonight, the tables may turn, as it's Maddix the challenger, Dangerous the champion."

 

"Well, Maddix and Dangerous exchanged the ICTV Title three times, so you wouldn't bet against this version of the belt changing tonight."

 

Maddix begins some last minute preperations in the ring...

 

 

“JOHNNY DANGEROUS!”

 

...as suddenly, the lights dim, and a sultry female voice breathes the name of the SWF’s resident secret agent. “After The Flesh” by My Life With The Thrill Kill Cult begins to thump through the crowd as smoke fills the stage, strobes go crazy...and Johnny Dangerous emerges through the smoke. Leaving his Tag Title belt around his waist, Johnny removes his International Title belt from over his shoulder and raises it in the air, to cheers from the crowd and a piercing glare from Maddix. Smiling from ear to ear, Dangerous walks down the aisle and tries to win back some fans by tagging hands, just as Maddix did earlier.

 

"And his opponent...from Las Vegas, Nevada! Weighing in at two hundred and seventeen pounds. He is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions... and the reigning and defending SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION... "THE BARRACUDA"... JJOOOOOOHHHHHHNNYYYYYY! DDAAAAAAAAANNGGEEEEEEERRRRRROOOOOUUUUSSSSSSSSS!!!!!"

 

"Johnny Dangerous has been under the microscope in recent weeks, for his recent...behaviour, conduct...his recent mindset in the ring. But tonight, he seems to be getting a good reaction here in San Antonio regardless."

 

"Oh yeah, these sheep'll love Dangerous right up until the moment he finally ditches them."

 

"King!"

 

"Well, it's true."

 

Dangerous climbs to the apron and enters the ring nervously, keeping one eye on the less than trustworthy opposition he has. But Maddix keeps his distance. Removing his two titles, Dangerous passes them both to referee Soapdish, Maddix eyeing both belts up with a look of green, green jealousy from across the ring. Dangerous spots it and smirks over at Maddix, while Soapdish removes the belts...

 

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

...and calls for the bell. Both Maddix and Dangerous remain in their corners and exchange heated glances, as Soapdish motions for them to kick things off. Instead of starting the match off though, Johnny turns out to the crowd and climbs to the middle rope to pose for the fans.

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

Johnny leaps down and smirks over at Maddix...who smirks back, before testing his own crowd support.

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!"

 

With mocking applause, Dangerous sneers at his opponent...before again, posing for his fans.

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"This isn't a beauty pageant, but it looks like one at the moment."

 

"Beauty? I sure hope your wife isn't watching."

 

As Dangerous smiles at getting the better of the crowd support, Maddix turns to the outside and motions for Megan to come and help him. Hopping to the apron, one smile from Megan...

 

 

"YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

...gives Maddix the victory.

 

"CHEAP HEAT!" cries King.

 

Much happier now, Maddix pats Megan on the back as she goes back to the outside, before turning to Dangerous and encouraging him to bring it on.

 

"Back in my day, we didn't need blonde bimbos to get heat." growls Pete. "These kids today disgust me."

 

"Thank you, Muzz."

 

"Guh?"

 

"Maybe now we'll get this match started, properly."

 

Advancing out of the corner, Johnny calls in Maddix and finally, the two men lock up in the centre of the ring. After a little jostling and a little jinking, the champion begins to get traction and pushes Maddix back towards the turnbuckles. Maddix digs his feet defiantly, but Dangerous uses his strength to keep forcing the challenger backwards until he's pressed against the corner. Referee Soapdish instantly calls for a clean break, which Dangerous cautiously gives...but Maddix instantly snatches him back into another collar and elbow. Caught by surprise, Johnny ends up being pushed back to the centre of the ring, before gaining his bearings and pushing back. Heading back for the same corner, Maddix twists the lock-up to the right and backs Dangerous against the ropes, only for The Barracuda to twist Maddix in response. Johnny forces Maddix up against the ropes, as Soapdish again calls for a clean break. Again, Johnny is cautious to give it...but this time, Dangerous swings out while breaking...

 

 

 

...but Maddix just weaves underneath a roundhouse kick attempt, scrambling to the safety of the centre of the ring.

 

"Wow, Maddix dodged a bullet there." gasps King. "If Dangerous connected there, this match would be over already.

 

As Maddix cracks his neck to the side, Johnny informs him how close he came to knockout city. Shaking it off, Maddix circles the ring, meeting Dangerous in the centre and locking up again. Johnny slides behind into a waistlock, lifting Maddix off his feet and spinning him facefirst to the canvas. Not wanting to get caught on the mat, Landon slides off his front and to his ass before pushing up back onto his feet, waistlock still applied. Reaching behind, Maddix finds no escape. He finds no escape reaching up and over either. And before he can think of another route, Maddix is again taken to the mat with the waistlock. Dangerous slides over top this time, latching on a front facelock. Maddix spins out of it though, leaping to his feet as Dangerous does the same, and we are at a stalemate!

 

"YEEEEEAAAAAA..."

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

Until Dangerous palmstrikes his opponent to the canvas that is! Quickly, the champ drops down into a cover...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

Maddix kicks out, but Johnny grabs him into a side headlock straight away. Dictating the early pace, Dangerous hangs onto the side headlock and tries to keep Maddix down. The challenger fights to his knees before Dangerous cranks up on the hold again. Maddix gets to one knee, as Dangerous turns his back to referee Soapdish, sneakily popping Maddix with a right hand before Soapdish can get around to spot it.

 

"And there again, the...'questionable' tactics from Johnny Dangerous." points out Pete.

 

"Hey, it's smart wrestling Pete." King counters. "Whever you think it's questionable or not doesn't make the slightest difference."

 

As Soapdish sees Maddix clutching his temple, the look of innocence from Dangerous is enough for him to not bother with any questions. Instead, he backs away, as Dangerous spins to the side with a side headlock takedown, leaning his weight onto Maddix...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

Only a one count, but Dangerous is still in pole position.

 

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EE!"

 

The crowd are split down the middle seemingly, as Maddix turns Dangerous onto his shoulders...for little more than a second, before Dangerous kicks back into the headlock. However, Maddix reaches a foot back to cause a break...a break which Dangerous gives, only to pull Maddix up by the hair and re-apply the headlock.

 

"A simple headlock utilised by Johnny here, which may not seem like a very effective move nowadays. But Johnny is wasting no motion here." calls Pete.

 

"He's not just throwing on a headlock for the sake of throwing on a headlock like some kids do nowadays. He's wearing Maddix down, keeping him at arm's length, preventing him from picking up any momentum or speed."

 

"And you know as well as I do King, this is a sure fire way to get a cauliflower ear or two."

 

"For sure."

 

Clinging onto the headlock, Johnny turns away from Soapdish and hits another disguised right hand. Maddix drops to one knee from the shot, but soon fights back up and pushes Johnny into the ropes. Back shoots the International Champion, barging through Landon with a big shoulder block. Up staggers Maddix, into another side headlock...

 

 

...but Maddix blocks the takedown by clinging onto Johnny's standing leg, taking him off his feet. In a tangle on the mat, Dangerous and Maddix end up locked together, forcing Soapdish to step in and prise the two apart. An action neither Dangerous or Maddix want, losing their cools and swinging wildly on the canvas as Soapdish pulls Maddix off of the grounded champion. Maddix is held back by Soapdish as Dangerous charges in, but Soapdish stands between the two men and prevents the match from spiralling out of control.

 

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EE!"

 

As both men retreat a little, Soapdish finally lets them go again. Both seem to have calmed down now as instead of going hell for leather, they again lock up...and again, Dangerous goes back to the trusty side headlock. Maddix quickly pushes him off into the ropes and waits for Johnny to charge back, dropping down at the last second. Johnny vaults over, landing behind Maddix and waiting for him to get back up...

 

 

...but Maddix ducks a backfist...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOOO!"

 

...and lights up Johnny with a chop!

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOOO!"

 

...and a second. Dangerous's top doesn't do him any favours, what with it being so tight, the chops leaving him open for an irish whip...no, reversed by Dangerous. Scooping under Maddix, Johnny lifts. Landon floats over behind Johnny and quickly applies a waistlock, only for Johnny to reach back and re-apply the headlock YET again. This time though, Maddix is expecting the hold and reacts quickly in dropping Johnny back with a back suplex!

 

"He had him scouted that time!" cries Pete, as Maddix makes a quick pin...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

But Johnny makes with the quick kickout.

 

"Certainly, Johnny has a gameplan to wear down Maddix and keep him controlled with the headlock." Pete notes. "But if you go to the well too often, eventually, you'll run out of water...metaphorically."

 

As Johnny climbs to his feet, Maddix quickly hits the ropes, charging at Johnny with reckless abandon. Swinging wildly, Dangerous hits nothing but thin air as Maddix ducks under a clothesline attempt, waiting for Johnny to turn...before LAMPING him with a forearm strike! Johnny reels away from the force, clutching his jaw as Maddix hits a second, third and then fourth forearm. Dazed, Johnny flails at Maddix with a palmstrike attempt. However, Maddix ducks again, catching Johnny turning and spiking him with a Hurri-Lanrana!

 

"And there's why Johnny didn't want Maddix to use his speed!"

 

Skidding out of the ring, Johnny looks a little dis-orientated as he climbs from the ringside mats and clumbsily falls into the apron. As he does, Maddix charges with a baseball slide that sends Johnny stumbling back away from the ring. Johnny turns around slowly, as Maddix clutches onto the top rope and slingshots out towards Dangerous with a traditional plancha...

 

 

 

...WITH AN UN-TRADITIONAL LANDING ON THE ARENA FLOOR!!!!

 

"OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"Johnny moved!" Pete gasps, as Maddix rolls on the floor in agony, his right leg having folded underneath his body on landing. "And that could turn the tide of this match."

 

"It sure could, because Maddix may have hurt his knee badly."

 

Johnny rolls back into the ring and leans into the corner to catch his breath again, as meanwhile, Soapdish peers over the ropes. Megan is around to check on her man's condition, as Soapdish is encouraged to start his count by the International Champion.

 

 

"ONE!"

 

 

"TWO!"

 

"Johnny would be more than happy to take a countout victory here."

 

 

"THREE!"

 

 

"FOUR!"

 

Megan pleads with Soapdish to stop his count, but Maddix is trying to pull himself up behind her. A grimace of sheer pain fills Maddix's face as he pushes onto his good left leg, before discovering he can't put any weight on the right and collapsing again.

 

"FIVE!"

 

Megan's pleas fall on deaf ears meanwhile.

 

 

"SIX!"

 

 

"SEVEN!"

 

Pushing onto his left leg again, Maddix leans into the apron to hold himself up...and a little helping push from Megan gets Maddix back in the ring before Soapdish can reach eight.

 

"How's that for questionable tactics?" King asks Pete slyly.

 

"Well, nobody ever accused Megan and Maddix of being all sugar and spice."

 

Quick as a flash, Dangerous is over to the injured opponent, dragging him away from the ropes and lining up the leg for a hard stomp. Maddix wails in agony, trying to drag himself away as Johnny stomps down on the knee again...again...and again, causing Maddix some extreme discomfort. Reaching down, Johnny grabs the leg with a wry smile, punting the inside of the knee. Johnny then wraps his legs around Maddix's with a twist, dropping to his knees and WRENCHING Maddix's knee into a very awkward angle.

 

"Johnny, with no second thoughts on what to do here." King points out. "One thing about him, he's focused."

 

Johnny stays on his knees, twisting up further on Maddix's knee, which is enough for Soapdish to drop down and check for a submission. Shouts of 'NO' can be heard from Maddix in between his crying out in pain. So Johnny tightens the hold a little more.

 

 

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EE!"

 

Again, the start of support for the challenger fires the champion's fans into life, as Dangerous gives another twist. The agonised challenger slumps backwards, teeth gritted in pain...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TW...

 

...remembering where he is, Maddix shoots a shoulder up. As he does, Johnny reaches and grabs Maddix's left leg, easing up on his hold and turning Maddix onto his front. The Barracuda turns with him, locking Maddix's right leg under his left knee and locking that back into a modified figure four leglock of sorts. Coming to his feet, Dangerous re-adjusts his opponent's legs again and pulls up, heaving Maddix's body up into a Texas Cloverleaf!

 

"An appropriate move, here in San Antonio!" cheers Pete, to groans from his broadcast colleauge.

 

Stepping back to fold up Maddix some more, Dangerous lifts the legs again, elevating Maddix into a more painful position. Megan is over into Maddix's eyeline to encourage her man on, but her encouragement does little to ease his pain. Still, the challenger refuses to quit though. So Dangerous tries to speed the process up by standing on Maddix's head, a tactic Soapdish likes so little that he begins a 5 count on Dangerous, getting to four before Johnny angrily breaks the hold to berate the official.

 

"Now, what was that for?"

 

"You can't stand on your opponent's head, King."

 

"Why the hell not? When the hell did that stupid rule start getting enforced?"

 

"I don't know...maybe we can chalk it up to referee's discretion."

 

As Dangerous ends his arguement with the referee, he grabs Maddix by the hair and hauls him to his feet. Still unable to put any pressure on his right leg, Maddix limps towards the centre of the ring where Dangerous drags him, getting scooped and slammed. Johnny then reaches down, locking up the legs for another Cloverleaf. Megan encourages her man to fight the hold, which is exactly what he does, grabbing Johnny by the shirt and pounding him with right hands. Eventually, Johnny stumbles backwards, allowing Maddix to limp gingerly to his feet...

 

 

 

...but Johnny nails a dropkick, pin-point to the knee. Maddix is sent soaring off his feet as Dangerous remains seated, smiling wryly at his opponent's discomfort. Meanwhile, Landon rolls around in agony beside him, Soapdish checking on his condition. Getting to his feet, Dangerous pushes away Soapdish and starts to stomp away ruthlessly on the right knee again. Crawling away, Maddix seeks the safety of the ropes...and then, when Dangerous continues his attack in the ropes, Maddix slides to the outside. But still, Johnny doesn't let up, following out to the floor. Landon continues to scurry as best possible away from the International champion, but Johnny is hot on his heels. Pulling Maddix up, Johnny turns his opponent towards the steel barricade and SLAMS his head into the steel!

 

"Dangerous, looking ruthless on the attack here." admires King.

 

A pained expression forms on Landon's face as he slumps into the barricade. Johnny pulls him off though, getting into a brief arguement with one staunch Maddix fan wielding a "JOHNNY MILD" sign, before irish whipping Maddix...

 

 

...NO, reversed...

 

 

 

*CRAAAAAASSHH!!*

 

 

...AND DANGEROUS DISLODGES THE STEEL STEPS HIP-FIRST!!

 

"What a crucial counter that may have been!" gasps Pete. "Dangerous had things going his way, but a last gasp, desperate reversal has turned the tide."

 

"It has, but what exactly can Maddix do with only one good leg?" King questions back.

 

Stumbling away and now limping a little himself, Dangerous rolls back into the ring. Now on the up, Maddix follows after Johnny quickly, pulling himself up on the ropes and grabbing the champion. An irish whip sends Johnny into the ropes and back, into a BAAAAACK~! body drop from Maddix!! Johnny gets to his feet quickly, but Maddix meets him with a back elbow. Down goes the champ, but again he pops back up, this time coming with a clothesline...but Landon ducks under, cradling Johnny into a schoolboy...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Kicking out, Dangerous rolls to his feet and goes for the knee again, picking the leg and leaving Maddix standing on just his left. Maddix hops for a second or two before firing off an enziguri. Having it scouted, Johnny ducks...but Landon lands safely on his hands and foot, arching back his standing leg. Johnny flicks it away though, before applying an anklelock on the right leg!!

 

"Caught him!"

 

"Johnny, applying an anklelock submission here." shouts Pete. "But Maddix rolls through!!"

 

As Landon rolls through, The Operative rolls through in his own right, to his feet. Maddix is slow to his feet obviously, which gives Dangerous time to measure the knee and kick it from under the challenger! Howling again as he crumples to the canvas, Maddix is in clear pain again. Dangerous doesn't let up however, dragging Maddix right back up and snaps him over with a quick suplex. Floating over, Dangerous then goes back to the knee, placing a knee onto Landon's, one leg under the foot...and dropping, bending up the knee violently. Maddix is left to curse away by Dangerous, strolling across the ring to fire up the crowd.

 

"YEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

 

Dangerous' fans cheer wildly, while Maddix's hurl some abuse the International Champion's way. Soaking up the positives rather than the negatives, Johnny turns back to Maddix, who is again using the ropes to pull himself up. Johnny strolls over, kicking Landon in the back of the knee. The challenger wobbles but stays up, despite a second kick to the knee. Johnny scowls at the persistance of his opponent, turning him around and irish whipping Maddix...but the challenger gets little more than a few feet before his right leg gives out on him and he collapses.

 

"Man, Maddix can't put any weight on that knee at the moment." groans Pete, sounding worried. "He may have done some serious damage to that knee. You see it in football, where seemingly innocuous falls can tear ligaments...and Maddix's fall certainly wasn't innocuous."

 

With a sigh, Dangerous pulls up Maddix from the mat again and pushes him back into the corner. Maddix is wide open for Dangerous, who hits a quick flurry of jabs that daze Landon, leaving him unable to defend himself against Johnny grabbing his knee. Lacing the leg over the middle rope, Johnny backs up...and kicks the knee with authority! And again! A third time! A fourth! Soapdish finally has to intervene and push Johnny back. As he does so meanwhile, Megan has seen enough and hops to the apron, handing Maddix something sneakily before walking across the apron.

 

"What the hell is she doing?" growls King.

 

"Desperate times call for desperate measures it seems."

 

Megan catches both Johnny and Soapdish's attentions, both going over to argue with her. Soapdish tries to get Megan down from the apron as Johnny gets into a slanging match with the Martial Law valet, heated words being exchanged...before Johnny flips Megan off!!

 

"WOOOOAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"

 

Some of the crowd seem very surprised by Johnny's actions, as he turns back to Maddix and measures another kick to the propped knee of the challenger...

 

 

 

*pphff*

 

"YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

...AND GETS A FACEFUL OF MYSTERIOUS WHITE POWDER~!

 

 

"THE IMMORTAL WHITE POWDER!!"

 

Dangerous wheels away clawing at his eyes, as Maddix eases his leg off of the ropes and pushes up to the middle rope for the Crash Landon...but he can't support his weight properly and eases back down, cursing to himself. Maddix limps away towards Dangerous instead, sweeping away some airborne powder before grabbing Johnny under the arm and sweeping him to the mat with an STO! The back of Johnny's head bounces off the mat, as Maddix limps up and eyes up the turnbuckles. Again he thinks better of it though, trying to shake off the pain in his knee and then trying to walk it off a little.

 

"This is ridiculous, Pete." groans King. "Again...AGAIN...Maddix has to cheat to get himself out of a corner, instead of fighting like a man!"

 

Up gets Dangerous, possibly with a little double vision (or lack of vision) as he staggers off to Maddix's left. Megan is back at ringside by now, the powder having cleared enough for referee Soapdish not to be suspcious. As Johnny blindly fumbles around for his opponent, Maddix can measure him and connect with a big forearm! Maddix follows with a second...and a third.

 

"These forearms, not hurting Maddix's knee at all." Pete points out. "Maddix is going to have to pick and choose with his offense, because one mistake could let the champion right back in."

 

Maddix nails a couple more forearms, before whipping Dangerous into the corner. Thinking about charging in after the champion, the leg of the challenger sways his opinion to caution and he instead limps in with a clubbing clothesline. Still Johnny's vision is suspect as he wildly swings and misses Maddix while staggering out of the corner, allowing Maddix to hook on an inverted front facelock, whipping around and driving Johnny down with the Landon Eye!! The crowd pop, as Maddix eases on top of Johnny for the cover...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

"Johnny Dangerous' head, bouncing off the mat for the second time in the last minute or so...but he's still okay to kick out there."

 

"Well, Johnny hasn't taken a lot of real punishment so far."

 

Maddix limps up and tries out the middle rope again, easing onto a seated position on the top turnbuckle before trying to stand up. A shooting pain fires up his leg again though, causing him to grimace...and lose his concentration long enough for Johnny to smash his skull with a palmstrike!! Maddix wobbles backwards but avoids falling to the floor. Meanwhile, Johnny rubs the back of his head briefly, before climbing to the middle rope.

 

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EE!"

 

The champion and challenger are both perched precariously now, Johnny firing in right hands to Maddix. But his sore eyes cause him to stop and tend to them, allowing Maddix to hit a quick forearm. Johnny hooks the top rope to avoid falling to the mat. A second forearm catches him by surprise though, causing Johnny to take a hard fall to the mat!!

 

"Oh...his head bounced off the mat like a rubber ball again!" cries Pete.

 

This time, the International Champion looks seriously dis-orientated as he climbs to his feet and walks slowly over...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

...into a stinging open-hander from Maddix. The shot stops Dangerous right in his tracks, allowing Maddix to lock on a front facelock and ease up onto his good left leg. A little wobble worries Megan, but Maddix gains his balance and springs off the good leg...

 

 

 

...and NAILS a Tornado DDT!!

 

"And again, Dangerous, head-first!"

 

The champ is left staring vacantly up at the lights as Maddix crawls over, dropping on top for the cover...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHOULDER UP!!

 

"OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

Megan clutches her hands to her head despairingly, clearly believing her man had the International Championship in the bag. 'Her man' doesn't dwell on the dissappointment though, climbing to his feet and backing into the corner...

 

 

*STOMP!*

 

"Wait a minute...he's tuning up the band here." says the confused Pete in a...confused voice.

 

 

*STOMP!*

 

 

"This may not be too clever of an idea."

 

 

*STOMP!*

 

"What do you expect from this kid, physcology?" sneers King.

 

Slowly Johnny reaches his feet, using the ropes to assist him.

 

*STOMP!*

 

His eyes still sting like crazy and judging from the glazed over look in his eyes, his equilibrium is knocked off centre.

 

*STOMP!*

 

But he's up...

*STOMP!*

*STOMP!*

 

Finally Maddix limps out of the corner...

 

 

 

 

...Johnny ducks...

 

 

 

...but Maddix doesn't shoot out the leg, instead spiking Johnny on his head with a DDT!!

 

"Sweet Cuca...DDT!?!"

 

"He faked Dangerous out!" cries King. "He didn't even attempt the Superkick, because he knew he'd end up hurting himself, so he instead hits a DDT. And I must say, I'm shocked that he was smart enough to do it!"

 

As Johnny slumps onto his back, the challenger slumps on top and hooks a leg as best possible in his awkward position, Soapdish diving over...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHOULDER UP AGAIN!!

 

A mixed reaction goes up as this time, it's Maddix who throws his hands skywards in despair.

 

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EE!"

 

The fans are still split down the middle, as Landon drags Johnny to his feet, hitting a forearm. And a second. Despite being dis-orientated, Johnny shrugs the strikes off though, sweeping a swift kick across the back of Landon's knee, which buckles underneath the challenger and causes him to fall into more agony.

 

"There's the advantage of working a bodypart though, Pete. If you work the bodypart, if you get in trouble you leave yourself an escape route."

 

"And Johnny just escaped there, because he was on the backfoot from Maddix then."

 

Johnny takes the opportunity to shake some cobwebs before turning to the outside and sneering down at Megan Skye, who cusses back at the International Champion. Johnny shrugs it off, going back after Landon, wrapping around his leg and looking for a figure four leglock. But Landon plants his left foot into Johnny's ass, pushing him off and causing him to land throat-first across the middle rope!!

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHH..."

 

The crowd begin to cheer, anticipating a 605. But Maddix has other ideas as he scrambles back up, pulling Johnny off of the ropes and hitting as much of a back suplex as his right knee will allow.

 

 

"NOW...I'M GOIN' UP!" yells Landon, pointing to the corner as the Maddix fans cheer their man on.

 

"This kid needs to learn some self control." King sighs. "He's going to cost himself the match and the title here if he's not careful."

 

Regardless, Maddix climbs to the apron and begins to scale the turnbuckles. Clearly his knee is prohibiting his climb, but Maddix grits his teeth through the pain and perserveres on up the buckles and towards the top rope. Reaching the top, Landon looks down at the still stationary Barracuda and afford himself time to get set on the top...before eeeasing himself slowly to a standing position on the top rope. Pain is still etched on Maddix's face, but he fights through it and begins to fall from the top...

 

 

 

 

...BUT MISSES A SWANDIVE HEADBUTT!!

 

"The risk didn't pay off!!" groans Pete.

 

Hitting hard chest and face first, Maddix also jolts his knee on landing and is in a bad way. Johnny is back up quickly and grabs Maddix off of the canvas, picking him up to his feet and latching on a front facelock. Over goes the arm, as Dangerous arches back...and nails a vertical suplex! But Johnny doesn't stop there, rolling through and pulling up Maddix again.

 

"ONE!"

 

"And now, Johnny's looking for those triple verticals here!"

 

The challenger is limp as Johnny hauls him up, having to hold him on his one leg to prevent him falling back to the canvas...before snapping off a second suplex!

 

 

"TWO!"

 

Rolling through again, Johnny picks Maddix from the mat for a third and lifts him over...

 

 

 

...but Maddix floats over, landing on Johnny's back and applying the Land Of No...

 

 

 

NO, Dangerous pushes Maddix off. The challenger lands on his feet but jolts the knee slightly, cussing as he holds his knee. Meanwhile, Dangerous hops forward a couple of inches, before somersaulting backwards...

 

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

 

...and catches La Cucaracha upside the head with a Backflip kick!!

 

"Fantastic athleticism from The Barracuda!" cries Pete. "Maddix may have been KOed there."

 

"At the very least, he's been knocked for a loop, which'll buy Johnny some time."

 

Indeed, Maddix is knocked loopy, facedown on the mat and looking out of his head. Dangerous is up meanwhile, running a thumb slowly across his throat symbolically before hauling Maddix off of the canvas and stepping behind...

 

 

 

...twisting him around...

 

 

 

 

 

"MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII SLLLAAAAAAAAMMM!!"

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

 

 

...CONNECTS!!

 

"YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"The MI Slam...that has GOT to be it here!!"

 

Maddix lands folded on his head and neck, Johnny thinking momentarily about going back to the knee before deciding the MI Slam itself will be enough and making the cover...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEE!!

 

"YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"

 

 

"HE GOT HI..."

 

"NO, NO...FOOT ON THE ROPES!!"

 

King is eagle-eyed, more eagle-eyed than most of the fans apparantly, as he spots Maddix's foot draped over the bottom rope. The fans and Johnny Dangerous himself are already celebrating, but Soapdish has spotted the foot and does his best to attone for his error, calling off the fall frantically.

 

"Nicky Soapdish is saying no here, King."

 

"Of COURSE he is Drain-Clogger. There's a foot on the ropes. It's just a shame he didn't spot it before getting everyone's hopes up!"

 

Soapdish stops Johnny's celebrations in midflow now, telling him what happened. Dangerous doesn't look best pleased, to say the least, and starts to verbally cut Soapdish apart while gesticulating furiously. As he does meanwhile, Megan is screaming at Landon to get back up.

 

 

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EE!"

 

"We've got controversy here. There was a three count, but Soapdish has called it off..."

 

Dangerous tries his best to argue his point, but Soapdish isn't budging. Still, Johnny continues to press his case though, turning his attention away from Landon Maddix, who is wearily sliding up behind Johnny and pulling him down into a schoolboy roll-up...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

KICKOUT AGAIN BY JOHNNY!!

 

"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

Shocked, Johnny rolls back to his feet and catches Landon with a quick kick to the head. And a second...third...fourth, fifth, sixth...Johnny is going crazy now, stomping down on Maddix repeatedly with his fuse completely burnt out!! Soapdish rushes over and pulls Johnny off of the helpless challenger, but The Barracuda pushes the referee away and pulls Maddix to his feet like a sack of potatoes...with no care at all.

 

"Dangerous has lost it here...and he's calling for the end again."

 

Hooking Maddix from the side again, the International Champion yells something inaudible out to the crowd before lifting and spinning...but Maddix rotates off of Johnny's back, sliding behind...

 

 

"AARRGH!"

 

...but he lands awkwardly on his knee again!! Maddix yells out in pain as Johnny quickly whips around, taking the chance to boot Maddix in the gut before turning back to back...and locking his arms under La Cucaracha's.

 

"Uh-oh..."

 

"Johnny Dangerous is setting up...for his tag team partner's finisher, The Wild Ride!!"

 

"And this finished off Maddix a couple of weeks ago. Will it have the same success for Johnny!?!"

 

Johnny smiles as he turns underneath Maddix and lifts up, hovering Maddix over the canvas. But Landon tilts his weight a little...and tilts it a little more...before tipping up and over Johnny, pulling him back by a waistlock and into a roll-up...

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

"HE CAUGHT HIM BY SURPRISE!!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR...

 

 

NO, ONLY TWO!!

 

 

"Man, that was close!"

 

"Bah, you're not going to win a major match with a roll-up nowadays."

 

As Johnny pushes Maddix off, the challenger is sent collapsing into the ring ropes. Untangling himself, Maddix shakes off some pain in his knee, while Johnny charges him, missing Maddix...and clotheslining himself across the top rope!! The ropes spring him back and Johnny staggers around, arms flailing, one of which Maddix ducks under before snatching Johnny's head and falling back with the Complete Shot!!

 

"YYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

Johnny's head bounces off the mat again, bringing some confidence into Megan's expression. But rather than go for the pin, Maddix rolls over onto Johnny and reaches up for the head, hooking an arm under the champion's jaw and pulling back...INTO THE LAND OF NOD!!

 

 

"YYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

 

"LAND OF NOD!!" cries Pete, right on cue. "This has finished off some of the best...but will it finish off Johnny!?!"

 

The crowd are on their feet as Maddix sits back with the hold, ignoring the shooting pains that sweep up and down his leg, instead concentrating on the International Title which is now within his metaphorical grip! Johnny meanwhile flails frantically, trying to tell Soapdish he doesn't want to quit, despite the fact that probably, he really would.

 

"TAP!"

"DON'T! TAP!"

"TAP!"

""DON'T! TAP!"

"TAP!"

""DON'T! TAP!"

 

Johnny is hanging on for now, balling up one of his hands into a fist and cramming it into his mouth to take the mind off of the pain in his neck. The crowd are still split down the middle meanwhile, some encouraging Johnny to hang on, some pleading for him to give it up. Whever Johnny can focus on the crowd with the pain swirling through his head is doubtful though.

 

"This move has won Maddix the World Championship! It won him the 2005 Clusterfuck! And now, it looks like it may win him the SWF International Championship!" yells Pete, trying to make himself heard over the San Antonio faithful.

 

 

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

"MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

MAD - DIX!"

"JOHN - EE!"

 

Now, Johnny is fighting the hold, pushing up onto his hands and knees. Due to the pain in his right leg, Maddix is unable to apply the hold one hundred percent as he would like without popping anything essential out of place. Which is allowing Johnny to try and turn into the inverted front facelock, looking for an escape.

 

 

Maddix is hanging on though, shaking his head defiantly...

 

 

 

...as Johnny's hand hovers above the canvas...

 

 

"TAP!"

"DON'T! TAP!"

"TAP!"

""DON'T! TAP!"

 

 

...BUT HE DOESN'T TAP...

 

 

 

 

...and tries to turn into Maddix's body again. Maddix seems to lack the power to keep Dangerous grounded as The Barracuda is now on one knee, leverage now on his side more.

 

"Johnny is not giving up! He's fighting to the very last, in the hope of retaining his International Title belt..."

 

Megan keeps the encouragement for Landon going, despite the face Dangerous is now almost face to face with Landon. Shock is evident on the challenger's part as he tries to twist Johnny back but can't seem to do so, the pain in his leg still too much...

 

 

 

 

...AS JOHNNY TURNS IN...

 

 

 

"YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH..."

 

 

...but as the inverted front facelock is broken, Maddix snatches on a regular front facelock. Johnny stops for a moment and tries to plan out his next move, but in that time, Landon is able to force Johnny onto his ass before sitting in, locking on a bodyscissors and popping the crowd like cherry bombs~!

 

"What the..."

 

"That's...that's the Wet Cement! Tom Flesher's old move, the Wet Cement!"

 

"...WHAT THE HELL!?! WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING!?!" wails King.

 

The crowd are going wild, as Maddix sits back and starts to rock slowly, forward and back, as if inching a cork out of a champagne bottle.

 

"And THIS is a move that Maddix can use, without worrying about his leg!" notices Pete.

 

"This is SACRILIDGE!"

 

"Calm down King..."

 

"Calm down!?! CALM DOWN!?! THIS IS HORRIBLE!! SOMEBODY MAKE HIM BREAK THE DAMN HOLD!!!"

 

Soapdish (somehow) doesn't hear King wild ravings and is right in with Johnny, checking if he wants to give up, the champion's head bent into an agonising position with no escape in sight.

 

"TAP!"

"DON'T! TAP!"

"TAP!"

""DON'T! TAP!"

 

 

Johnny hangs on though, even though the hold is becoming more and more effective with every passing second.

 

 

"TAP!"

"DON'T! TAP!"

"TAP!"

""DON'T! TAP!"

 

 

His head now confidently nodding to the positive, Maddix has a beaming smile on his face as he falls back once more, an agonised howl eminating from where Johnny's head now lies.

 

"How much more can Johnny Dangerous take? His neck has to be on breaking point here..."

 

"...it can't end like this. Please, it can't end like this!"

 

 

Johnny arms are flailing again, the pain getting to him as he tries for some sort of escape...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...but can't find one...

 

 

 

 

 

 

*SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP!*

 

 

"YYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

 

 

 

...AND TAPS OUT ON THE SIDE OF MADDIX'S BODY!!!

 

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

"HE GAVE IT UP!" cries Pete. "Johnny could hang on no longer, and we have a NEW International Champion!"

 

"This is horrible."

 

Maddix releases the hold as soon as the bell sounds, clutching his hands to his face in delight as Megan scrambles into the ring behind him and jumps on top with a congratulatory hug. Most of the crowd are now cheering, the split between them forgotten now the match is over, instead showing their appreciation.

 

"Your winner of this match...and NEEEEEEWWW... S W F INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIIIIIOOOOONN... LANDON! LA CUCARACHA! MMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIIXXXXXXXXX!!!!!"

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

Another resounding cheer goes up as referee Soapdish retrieves the International Title belt, dropping it into the waiting arms of La Cucaracha. Maddix clutches it to his chest as he sits up, Megan helping him limp to his feet and supporting his weight while he raises the belt to the skies. Smiles all round fill Martial law faces, as down the aisle jogs Todd Cortez to join the celebration. A congratulatory embrace from Todd to Maddix is applauded by Megan, before Todd raises Landon arm in the air. Meanwhile, Dangerous is up on his knees, watching this from a few feet away.

 

"Landon Maddix...your new International Champion, and it was courtesy of the move used by the man he retired, Tom Flesher."

 

"Which disgusts me." spits King. "I'd rather he hit him with a tyre iron than sully the name of a great man like Tom Flesher in the way he did. Tom has to be spitting feathers right now! If he bothered to watch this match at all."

 

"You're so bitter, you could pass for a lemon right now, King."

 

"Ooh, very good. Shut the hell up."

 

The smiling Maddix limps over to the camera and gives a resounding "Thanks Tom!" before turning back around, shrugging at Johnny's dissappointed face and dangling Johnny's former gold in his face. Maddix quickly turns away then, to celebrate with Megan...as meanwhile, Cortez sees the look on Johnny's face and seems to soften a little.

 

"JOHN - EEE!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

"JOHN - EEE!"

 

As the crowd chant the valiant loser's name, Cortez walks over to Johnny...extending a hand and helping him to his feet. Applause goes up for the gentlemanly act, as Cortez makes sure Johnny is okay...

 

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

 

...BEFORE JOHNNY KOs HIM WITH A JOHNNY KICK!!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"Ha ha! That's what being a nice-guy gets ya, Todd!" crows King.

 

"What the hell was that!?!"

 

Wheeling around, Maddix limps after Johnny, but the former champion is already scrambling from the ring and walking up the ramp with a wry smirk masking his dissappointment. Megan is quickly over to check on Todd, while Maddix turns to Johnny in the rampway and points a finger towards him.

 

"What unsporting conduct by Johnny Dangerous! I, quite frankly, would expect better from him!"

 

"Well, I don't know about that, but one thing is for sure Pete. This issue between Wild and Dangerous and Martial Law is FAR from over."

 

Maddix raises his newly one belt in the air towards Johnny, who growls back as he retreats, as we..

 

 

--FADE OUT--

[Chuck Woolery 0]

The frenzied buzz of conversation still fills the arena after the fantastic conclusion to the International Championship match, but it kicks into a higher gear as the lights dim once again. A few scattered cheers are heard; then the Smarktron flashes up an image of a handsome black man in ice-blue Oakleys, smiling smugly at the camera. Letters flash up at the bottom for the benefit of those who haven’t been paying attention for the past four months…

 

‘THE FRANCHISE’ MAK FRANCIS

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

After a few seconds Francis’ visage is replaced by that of a pale-skinned white youth with spiky black hair, glowering out at the crowd through thick black eyeliner. An easily recognisable title belt is slung over his right shoulder, and he pats it with black-painted nails.

 

‘THE STRAIGHT-EDGE SENSATION’ TOXXIC

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

An image of the belt Toxxic carries suddenly obscures both men before receding back to rest equidistant between the two.

 

SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH

 

“What an evening we’ve had so far, but the best could be yet to come!” Longdogger Pete shouts, voice slightly hoarse from the night’s exertions but still as eager as ever. “Tonight we see the first one-on-one clash between two icons of the SWF in 2005, the ever-present Toxxic and the highly-skilled Mak Francis, as they wrestle for the biggest prize in this bid‘ness! Make no mistake, this is going to be remembered for a long time!”

 

“For once I agree with you, Hot-Dogger,” the laconic tones of the Suicide King cut in as the cameras switch to show the dynamic duo at their announce desk. “Toxxic is already the only world champion to retain on Pay-Per-View since Tom Flesher’s second run at the end of 2003 - now can he go one better and equal Tom by successfully defending the belt on two consecutive Pay-Per-Views? If anyone can do it, Toxxic can… but at the same time,” the Gambling Man acknowledges, “if anyone can take it from him it’s probably Mak Francis.”

 

“Do I sense a hint of respect for the Franchise there, King?” Pete probes. Suicide King snorts airily.

 

“Come on, he cheats but the crowd still love him. That strikes a certain chord with me.”

 

“But-”

 

“-don’t mention Landon Maddix,” King warns his broadcast partner. “Maddix has ruined the name of cheaters in this business. Ruined it!”

 

Before LDP can reply to the Heartbreaker’s vehement claim the house lights shut off as the wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena. The light tones ring out across the Alamodome before a hard beat done by violins suddenly strikes up, slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“So do you wanna’ be a Franchise…

 

And live large…

 

A big house…

 

five cars…”

 

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

 

“The rent charge…

 

Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody…

 

Gotta’ look over your shoulder constantly!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

The opening lyrics from the Franchise’s customised version of Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill blare over the PA system, and the Texas crowd are going wild! A few more seconds pass as the bass thuds out across the arena, but then a trenchcoated figure 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 growin’ up…

 

Lookin’ in the mirror dreamin’ about blowin’ up!”

 

*FWISH-BOOM!*

 

*FWISH-BOOM!*

 

*FWISH-BOOM!*

 

*FWIIIIIIIIIISH-BOOOOOOOOOOM!*

 

Multiple short bursts of green pyrotechnics erupt from either side of the self-proclaimed Franchise, who readjusts his shades with a smirk before slowly strolling down the entrance ramp with his trenchcoat billowing behind him. Several fans reach out to slap hands with Mak and the challenger obliges, but then catches sight of a lone ‘TOXXIC ROCKS!’ sign in the front row and proceeds to rip it from its owner’s grasp, then tear it in two as the rest of the crowd cheer.

 

“Y’know, I don’t know whether to like that or not,” King muses as Francis jogs up the ring steps. “I mean, I agree with the sign he just tore up… but then again, he has just ruined one kid’s night. I suppose there is hope after all!”

 

Once on the apron Mak cockily wipes his feet whilst giving a salute to the crowd, then enters through the middle ropes. He walks past referee Matthew Kivell and shrugs off his coat which he hands over the ropes to the timekeeper, then climbs to the second buckle and poses with both fists in the air as the flashbulbs go off by the hundred!

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“Just listen to the support here for Mak Francis!” Longdogger Pete exclaims. “King, can you imagine what it’ll be like if he manages to defeat Toxxic tonight? I doubt we’ll have any ears left!”

 

“Sorry?” King asks, pulling an earplug out and wincing as the dreaded rap music reaches his eardrums.

 

Matthew Kivell proceeds to check over the Franchise’s ring gear to make sure there are no hidden weapons and that the knee brace is securely attached… and as he does so the Smarktron abruptly whites out and the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire crashes out over the Alamodome. The Smarktron quickly fades down to black and jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan:

 

‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’

 

The Smarktron changes to show a black-haired head that raises to stare out at the crowd with steel-grey eyes, then moves on to showing half-second clips of the Straight-Edge Sensation’s more notable matches; the infamous Glass Jawbreaker against Aecas, the All-Show Brawl with Insane Luchador and the Caffeine Bomb on Kibagami, before cutting to Toxxic taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome as four blasts of red pyro climb the entrance ramp, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the-

 

*BAM-BAM-BAM-bap-BOOOM!!*

 

-final, stagewide eruption that signals the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! For a few moments all that can be seen by the crowd is the reddish-white glare of pyro afterimage, but then an easily-recognisable shape appears through the smoke left by the explosions… a shape with the SWF World Title draped over one shoulder.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

Toxxic doesn’t even bother looking at the crowd that surrounds him; instead the Straight-Edge Sensation appears fully focused on Mak Francis as he stares down at the ring, then cracks his neck from side-to-side and breaks into a sprint, tearing down the entrance ramp and sliding in under the bottom rope before popping back up to his feet in front of the surprised Matty Kivell. Toxxic advances to the centre of the ring, eyes locking with Francis’, then throws his arms wide, palms flat, as the first verse comes in to send another jet of red pyro shooting skywards from each ring post!

 

*bap-bap*

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

‘I never thought this could be me

I guess you never do until it’s happening to you

Like all the fun turned into shame

And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’

 

‘Rookie’ dies away as Toxxic hands the belt over to Matthew Kivell and strips his customised England soccer shirt off before throwing it out to the front row, where two heavily-eyeliner girls fight over it whilst pretending not to. Meanwhile Funyon comes forward from the corner where he has been waiting and raises the microphone.

 

“FUN-YON!”

 

“FUN-YON!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the veteran ring announcer begins, “the following contest is tonight’s main event and is scheduled for one fall for the SWF WORLD… HEAVYWEIGHT… CHAMPIONSHIP~!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Introducing first, to my left,” Funyon continues, “the challenger, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; he weighs in tonight at 240lbs, ‘The Franchise’, MAAAAAAAK… FRAAAAAAAN-CIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSS!!”

 

“FUCK HIM UP FRAN-CIS, FUCK HIM UP!”

 

“FUCK HIM UP FRAN-CIS, FUCK HIM UP!”

 

Mak raises one hand in acknowledgement of his supporters, but his dark eyes never shift from Toxxic’s pale ones as Funyon clears his throat again.

 

“And his opponent, from Nottingham, England,” Funyon booms. “He is the leader of Revolution Zero and weighs in tonight at 218lbs; he is the reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion… the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’, TOXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

Kivell holds the World Title up and displays it to all four corners of the Alabamodome (if a dome has corners) before handing it over to the timekeeper and beginning to explain the rules of the match to Mak and Toxxic. Neither man seems to be paying much attention but each nods tersely as Kivell finishes, so the SWF’s head referee backs away and signals for the bell…

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

Mak slaps his arms to get the circulation flowing a little more freely, then beckons Toxxic in for a lock-up. Perhaps surprisingly the straight-edger obliges and the two men lunge into a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but almost as soon as contact is made Toxxic simply drops backwards and takes Mak over with a snap arm drag. Francis rolls through but Toxxic is quicker and jumps the Franchise while he is still on one knee, then begins hammering right hands into Mak’s temple. Francis regains a vertical base and tries to cover up but Toxxic steps up his assault by unleashing a European uppercut that staggers the Franchise back into the ropes, then grabs Mak’s arm and Irish whips Francis across the ring… but Mak reverses the momentum, and it is Toxxic who hits the far ropes!

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

The Straight-Edge Sensation rebounds and Mak drops down to the canvas, causing Toxxic to hurdle him. The Franchise then pops back up to his feet and catches the returning Brit with a hiptoss, but Toxxic flips right through the move and lands on his feet! Mak instantly lowers his shoulder and hits Toxxic with a double-leg takedown to ground him, but the World Champion reacts instinctively by turning over onto his front to avoid a pinning predicament. Francis then proceeds to ‘ride’ the straight-edger, spinning around on him before slapping him in the back of the head several times and regaining his feet, then throwing out a salute to the crowd!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“-and Mak Francis leaving Toxxic in no doubt as to who is the better mat technician!” Longdogger Pete shouts. However, Toxxic is in no mood to be mocked and he rolls over onto his back, then as Mak turns back to him he kips up explosively before leaving his feet again-

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

-to land a vicious enzuigiri in the back of the Franchise’s neck! Mak topples forwards and Toxxic straddles his back, but instead of a humiliating ‘ride’ the Straight-Edge Sensation opts for simply firing off a few more punches to the back of Francis’ skull!

 

“Ha!” King laughs as Toxxic waits for Kivell’s count to reach ‘Four’ before clambering off his opponent, “that’ll teach him! I tell you Drain-Clogger, Mak needs to remember who he’s in the ring with here!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

If Mak’s memory had been playing up the chants of the crowd should jog it; however, the massed derision that is being launched in the general direction of the Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t help the Franchise locate his opponent as he pushes himself back up to his feet. In fact, it isn’t until Toxxic flashes overhead and snares Mak with a headscissors on the way past that the challenger finally works it out, and by that time it’s too late!

 

“Toxxic’s already using his agility to his advantage,” King points out as the Brit pops back to his feet following the springboard move that he launched from the ring apron, “and if Mak is still in a mindset for the striking-based attack of Spike Jenkins he’s going to have to shift his brain up a few gears!”

 

Francis grabs the ropes and hauls himself back up, but he still isn’t quick enough to outmanoeuvre the Straight-Edge Sensation as Toxxic takes a couple of quick steps forward before launching a dropkick that catches Mak in the chest and sends the Franchise tumbling backwards out of the ring between the top and middle ropes. Matty Kivell tries to restrain Toxxic but the World Champion shakes him off, then as Mak rises back to his feet again the Brit sprints across the ring, bounces off the ropes and returns to go sailing out to the floor with a tope con hilo that crushes the Franchise beneath him!

 

“HO-LY SHIT!”

 

“HO-LY SHIT!”

 

“Toxxic is going for an all-out assault from the get-go here,” LDP exclaims in amazement as the World Champion staggers upright, “and Mak has yet to really get in the game! Of course, if Toxxic can gain a big enough advantage at the beginning of the match then he might be able to prevent the Franchise from ever gaining much momentum…”

 

“Well, he has to keep the pace high,” King asserts as Toxxic grabs Mak by the head and hauls him up. “If this slows down into a tactical mat game then Mak will come out on top.”

 

That’s the last thing on Toxxic’s mind at the moment however, as the World Champion takes a firm hold on Francis’ wrist and then hauls with all his might, Irish whipping the challenger into the handy steel guardrail!

 

*CRASH!*

 

Mak slumps forward clutching his back as Kivell yells at Toxxic to bring his opponent back into the ring, but the straight-edger ignores his fellow countryman and brings Mak back to his feet again, then Irish whips him into the ring steps!

 

*SMASH!*

 

The Franchise flips head-over-heels as he hits at thigh-height and lands hard on the blue protective padding around the ring, while Kivell despairs of reasoning with the World Champion and finally starts making his count. Toxxic looks up at him for a moment, then begins to rearrange the ring steps. Francis starts to push himself up, pain clearly showing on his face, but as he turns to draw a bead on his attacker Toxxic runs forward and up the repositioned ring steps, then vaults off the top to fly through the air and wraps his legs around Mak’s head to take him down again with a hurricanrana!

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“Mak needs to get back into the ring as soon as possible,” Pete asserts in a tone of some worry. “Toxxic is a former Hardcore Champion, and well used to improvising attacks around the ring area; if Francis is going to have a chance of taking the belt, he needs to ground his opponent as soon as possible in an environment where he can actually win the title!”

 

As Pete is talking Toxxic realises that Kivell’s count is rising and the Straight-Edge Sensation rolls back into the ring to break it. However a count-out victory is not an option as Mak is already struggling up again, so Toxxic rolls straight back out and grabs his opponent, then-

 

*CLUNK!*

 

-rams him headfirst into the steel ringpost! Kivell immediately begins berating the World Champion but Toxxic simply rolls Francis into the ring under the bottom rope, then looks up and spreads his hands innocently as if to say ‘look, I did what you wanted me to!’.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Kivell throws up his hands in disgust as Toxxic follows the battered Mak Francis in under the ropes, then fires a right hand into the Franchise’s face as Mak struggles up to his knees. With Mak somewhat dazed Toxxic latches onto his right arm again and applies a top wristlock, then pushes the Franchise down to the mat whilst barring the arm with his own. Kivell drops down to check, but although slightly disorientated Francis retains enough ring awareness to make sure that his shoulders do not go down.

 

“It appears that Toxxic is satisfied with his opening assault and is now trying to weaken Mak’s right arm with a more mat-based approach,” Longdogger Pete notes as Toxxic tries to increase the pressure on the Franchise’s trapped limb. “I have to say that although Toxxic has become a much better mat wrestler of late, I can’t help thinking this is a bit foolish…”

 

…Pete should be a fortune-teller or something, because with the cessation of blows to the head something of Mak’s awareness returns and the Franchise begins to explore ways of getting out of the hold he finds himself in. His attempts to dislodge Toxxic with his left hand don’t work, so Francis brings his legs into play instead and wraps them around Toxxic’s head. The straight-edger’s own hands instinctively go up to try and block this new attack and Mak simply pulls the Brit off him and down, trapping the champion in a headscissors.

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Francis does his best to increase the pressure on Toxxic’s head, knowing that his best chance to let the throbbing in his skull (and arm, and back) abate is to keep the Straight-Edge Sensation in one place for a while. However, Toxxic is nothing if not persistent and the Brit begins to bounce from side to side, trying to work his way out of the hold. Mak holds on, but then Toxxic performs a headstand in front of him. Francis raises his hands to block any attempt to bridge over into a pin, but instead Toxxic ‘pops’ backwards up to his feet and breaks Francis’ grip, then immediately smashes a basement dropkick into Mak’s face!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

With Mak on his back again Toxxic jumps on top of the challenger, looking to apply a headlock, but before he can get it cinched in Mak grabs him around the waist and rolls sideways to bring Toxxic’s shoulders into contact with the mat!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-however, Toxxic pops out moments later and rises back to his feet… but not quickly enough to avoid a Mak Francis shoulder into the gut! With his opponent momentarily winded Francis rises back to a vertical base, then hammers a right hand into Toxxic’s kidney area before dropping backwards with a Russian Legsweep!

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Mak grins somewhat painfully at the crowd for a moment, but the Franchise isn’t ready to ‘go’ quite yet as he still wants a chance to recuperate. Toxxic is on the mat and Mak wants to make sure he stays there for a little while, so he pulls Toxxic’s right leg up and crosses it over the left at the knee, then traps it there with his own left leg. Meanwhile the Franchise brings his opponent up into a sitting position and applies a ¾ nelson on Toxxic’s right arm to lock in a modified abdominal stretch on the high-flying World Champion!

 

“Mak Francis has Toxxic all tied up with nowhere to go!” Pete exclaims as Toxxic’s face twists up in pain. “Not only has he got his upper body bent like a pretzel, but he has Toxxic’s legs trapped as well!”

 

“At the moment Mak is wrestling this match the only way he can,” King replies seriously. “If he wants to have a hope of beating Toxxic he has to keep the risks he takes to a minimum, and that means keeping Toxxic on the mat and not moving; don’t forget, Toxxic’s at his most dangerous when he can use your own momentum against you.”

 

Matthew Kivell squats down in front of Toxxic, trying to determine whether the Straight-Edge Sensation wants to give it up. Toxxic is evidently in severe pain but still has enough energy to tell Kivell exactly where he can stick his submission; however the World Champion doesn’t seem to have any way of breaking Mak’s hold as the Franchise continues to torque the submission. Kivell asks again, Toxxic swears at him again… and suddenly Mak shifts his grip and rolls backwards, taking the startled straight-edger over into a crucifix pin!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Toxxic kicks out just as Kivell’s hand hits the mat for a second time, but Mak grabs the Brit’s head and traps his opponent in a front facelock. Toxxic tries to get out one way, then the other but Francis holds on as he makes his way up to his feet… then drops backwards, spiking the Straight-Edge Sensation with a DDT!

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“Now Mak Francis really is dictating the pace of this match,” Pete calls, “…and he’s going for the single-leg crab!”

 

Indeed he is, as Mak neglects to follow up on his ‘stun’ move, instead returning to Toxxic’s back and ribs by hauling on the champion’s right leg and bending his body underneath him. However, Toxxic can see the ropes not that far in front of him and begins to crawl, using both black-nailed hands and his free leg to push himself along as quickly as possible.

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Mak tries to prevent his opponent’s progress but Toxxic has no intention of going into traction following the match, and after some twenty seconds of struggle the champion manages to wrap one hand around the bottom rope. Kivell calls for Francis to break the hold, which Mak does with surprising alacrity… only to turn around and grab Toxxic by the waist as the Brit is still down on the mat, then hoist him up and backwards to take the Straight-Edge Sensation over with a hard wheelbarrow suplex!

 

*BANG!*

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“He was still in the ropes!” King shouts in outrage as Francis maintains his rear waistlock and brings Toxxic back up to his feet. “You can’t do this, Francis! Kivell, stop hi-”

 

*BANG!*

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“German!” Pete shouts, interrupting his commentary partner. “Mak’s got two Germans off now, is he going for a third…?”

 

…but no, as the Franchise rearranges his hands around Toxxic’s head and arms, before bridging sharply backwards and spiking the defending champion on his head with the Million-Dollar Plex!

 

*BANG!!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The crowd rises to its feet as Mak Francis sits back up on the mat and throws them a salute, then shuffles over to where Toxxic has come to rest and hooks his opponent’s leg!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHH-

-but Toxxic fires a shoulder off the mat to keep the title, at least for the time being! Mak sits back, waiting to see what his opponent does, and Toxxic rolls onto his front to prevent a second pin… but that merely allows Mak to straddle his back and apply a double chickenwing!

 

“Bittersweet!” Pete shouts as the Alamodome suddenly seems to erupt, “Mak Francis is going for the Bittersweet, but is he too near the ropes?”

 

Toxxic certainly hopes so as the Brit thrashes with all his might, trying not only to dislodge his unwelcome passenger but also bring his feet into contact with the ropes. Mak does his best to pin the straight-edger down but Toxxic has too much left in the tank, and his efforts finally allow him to hook the toe of one boot over the bottom rope and force Kivell to make Mak break. The Franchise is much more reluctant this time but the official insists, and when Francis seems to be going straight back to his opponent Kivell interposes himself and begins lecturing Mak on the finer points of ring etiquette, allowing Toxxic to crawl to a corner where he tries to catch his breath and stop his head from ringing.

 

“The Franchise has Toxxic on the ropes,” Pete unintentionally puns, “but can he capitalise?”

 

“God, I hope not…” King mutters.

 

“But you’ve got to admit King,” Pete postulates, “that Mak Francis is doing well! Toxxic’s strategy always works around avoiding his opponent’s big moves, and Mak’s hit him with three devastating suplexes!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

The crowd are well and truly behind Mak now, and the Philadelphian brushes past Kivell to fire a stomp into Toxxic’s ribcage. The referee protests, so Francis raises his boot and scrapes it across Toxxic’s face instead!

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Matthew Kivell isn’t particularly happy with that either, so Mak apologises… then uses his metal knee brace on the Straight-Edge Sensation’s features!

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Mak grins at the crowd support, then sets off at a strut for the far ropes before rebounding at a greater speed, heading directly for Toxxic’s face with a running bootscrape… but Toxxic rolls out of the way at the last moment and takes the Franchise over with a schoolboy pin!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mak kicks out, but before he can do much more than get to his knees Toxxic grabs him in a front facelock and spins himself sideways, nailing the challenger with a snap swinging neckbreaker!

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Mak grabs the back of his neck in pain as Toxxic tries to shake off the cobwebs, but the champion knows that he hasn’t got the luxury of time. Before Mak can regain his composure Toxxic clamps on a Tiger neck chancery, then pulls the Franchise up to his feet and twists around before sitting out in another neckbreaker that also jolts Mak’s shoulder in its socket. This time Mak is not only clutching his neck but massaging his right arm, and as Toxxic struggles to stop his head from swimming that right arm suddenly seems to grow a target symbol. If Mak can’t use the arm, he can’t throw anymore of those blasted suplexes…

 

“That’s just an example of how quick Toxxic is, Brain-Fogger,” King claims. “One miscalculation by Francis, and he’s back on top!”

 

“Perhaps,” Longdogger replies, “but Mak has hit Toxxic with some big bombs; can the World Champion really regain his momentum?”

 

The Straight-Edge Sensation grabs Francis’ right arm at the wrist and hauls the Franchise up to his feet but then drops and corkscrews himself through the air, further wrenching the arm in its socket and also driving Mak’s face back into the canvas.

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

Toxxic is still moving a bit slower than usual thanks to the blows to the head and back, but he is able to keep his grip on Francis’ arm and this allows him to maintain some sort of control over his opponent. Mak isn’t ready to give up the match yet though and he seems to be preparing for some sort of counter, but Toxxic isn’t going to allow that and he fires off a European uppercut to the arm, causing Mak to yell out in pain! The success of this strategy encourages Toxxic to let fly with another one before the World Champion decides to take things a step further, and drags Francis towards the turnbuckles. Mak tries to resist but his arm is starting to give him some serious problems and he can’t pull it away, so Toxxic runs straight up the buckles before flying back out across the ring and crushing the limb beneath an armbreaker legdrop!

 

*BANG!*

 

Francis yells out in pain again as Toxxic lands (the champion wincing as the shock travels up his spine) but the Straight-Edge Sensation is determined not to let Mak back into the match and doesn’t release his grasp on the Franchise’s wrist. Gritting his teeth, Toxxic pushes himself back up to his feet (leaning on Mak’s arm to do it), then hauls Francis up after him. The Brit fires off one more European uppercut to the trapped arm, then drags Mak to the turnbuckles again. This time Toxxic takes a little more time as he walks up the buckles, the pain in Mak’s twisted limb giving him the time he needs, then takes a couple of steps along the top rope before he leaps off to land astride Francis’ shoulders and finally snaps backwards to spike Mak with a reverse hurricanrana!

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

It takes Toxxic a moment to regain his bearings, but when he does he instantly piles into a cover atop the stunned Franchise and Kivell drops to make the count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHH-

-but Mak kicks out, and the Alamodome breathes again! Toxxic just shrugs and shuffles around on the mat into a position where he can hook Mak into a reverse headlock, then starts to rise back to his feet. The Franchise isn’t providing any help and it takes Toxxic a couple of seconds to more or less deadlift Francis up before dropping to one knee and driving the other into the back of Mak’s neck. Francis spasms as his vertebrae are compressed but Toxxic isn’t finished yet as he hauls Mak back up once more, then drops backwards and drills the challenger with a reverse DDT to complete the Detoxx combo.

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

The chants seem to wash over the Straight-Edge Sensation as, with his confidence rising and the aches in his head and back slowly starting to fade, he plans his next move. Mak is down in roughly the centre of the ring, and with his attempts at mat wrestling largely having failed it seems logical for Toxxic to go back to what he knows best…

 

“The World Champion is going up top!” Longdogger Pete shouts as Toxxic approaches the turnbuckle, then casts a look back at Mak to make sure he can reach him. “Now would be a really good time to move, Mak…”

 

…but Mak Francis’ sense of timing is not that good, as Toxxic vaults to the top rope and then springs backwards, twisting in the air to face his opponent drive a fist into his forehead upon landing! Before the ring has even stopped shaking Toxxic is back up and running to the same buckle, although this time he climbs to the top in a more normal fashion (having nearly lost his footing last time when his head swum at the last moment). The second fist drop is just as accurate as the first, but Toxxic isn’t done as he returns to the top rope one more time, takes a second to flip two fingers at the jeering crowd and then springs off into the air once more to land the third instalment of the fistdrop trio on Mak Francis!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Toxxic shakes his fist out - Mak has a hard skull, after all - but he has no intention of letting up his attack now he has the Franchise in trouble. The Straight-Edge Sensation neglects to go for the pin, instead heading to a different turnbuckle and beginning to climb before twirling his fingers over his head in the universal symbol for ‘high risk’…

 

“Mak, you shouldn’t have been drinking all that scotch with Flesher last night,” King chuckles, “because you’re about to get a very nasty Hangover!”

 

Sure enough, Toxxic somersaults forward off the top rope with his leg outstretched, and lands it square across the throat of Mak Francis! This time Toxxic does go for the cover, hooking Mak’s leg and stacking as much of the Franchise’s 240lbs onto his own shoulders as he can…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

-but Mak Francis still kicks out!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Toxxic looks a little less pleased this time, unhappy with Mak’s continued resilience, but the World Champion rolls Mak over onto his front and applies a double underhook then starts to bring Francis up into a vertical head scissors. However, Mak Francis has no desire to taste a Toxxic Shock Syndrome and the challenger bunches his legs under him, then forces upwards with all his might and back bodydrops his way out of the predicament!

 

*BANG!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Now it’s Toxxic’s turn to cry out in pain as he lands on his back, but Mak doesn’t follow up immediately; instead the challenger bends double and sucks in air, trying to clear his head from the beating it has been taking. Mak isn’t unaware though, as he is watching Toxxic from the corner of his eye and as the straight-edger begins to push himself up again Mak straightens up, massaging his right arm as he does so, then suddenly springs forward and nearly takes Toxxic’s head off with a Yakuza kick!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Mak falls into the pin and instinctively reaches to hook Toxxic’s leg with his right arm, but the limb gives out on him…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHH-

-and Toxxic kicks out! Mak curses but grabs his opponent with his left hand and brings the Brit back up to his feet, then - after a momentary pause as he goes against his instincts - wraps his left arm across Toxxic’s chest and drops to his knees with a shoulder jawbreaker. Before Toxxic can topple backwards to the canvas Mak wraps both arms around his waist and hoists up. The lift gives him a bit more trouble that usual but his right arm holds up, and he drapes the Straight-Edge Sensation over the top rope with a hot shot to complete the That’s Franchisable combination! Toxxic staggers back and Mak reaches up with his left arm to drag the champion over with a schoolboy pin…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

…and Mak grabs the waist of Toxxic’s pants!

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

-but Toxxic just squirms a shoulder off the canvas! The World Champion doesn’t even have time to protest to referee Matthew Kivell, as Francis immediately pokes him in the eye!

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Kivell isn’t happy about Mak’s low tactics, but although illegal they are certainly effective as any thoughts Toxxic may have had about fighting back were stopped in their tracks. Francis applies a front facelock, seemingly both to give him a chance to plan his next move and also to get Kivell off his back by using a legitimate hold… but Toxxic grabs Mak’s right arm and manages to break the Franchise’s grip, then twists out to apply another armwringer to the hurt limb! The crowd start booing as their favourite seems to be disadvantaged again, but Mak reaches out with his left hand to grab a handful of Toxxic’s spiky hair and drags him down to the mat by it!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The crowd are cheering every move Francis makes, legal or not, but Kivell is going ballistic at him. Mak shakes his arm out and tells the referee in no uncertain terms to get off his case - then drops his left knee, metal brace and all, onto Toxxic’s forehead!

 

“This is absolutely outrageous!” Suicide King shouts. “Mak is ignoring all the rules, all the codes of sportsmanship-”

 

“-and you’re a fine one to talk!” Pete fires back. “I think this might be a sign of frustration from Mak Francis, but he’s going to have to be careful that he doesn’t get disqualified like he did against Sacred!”

 

Matthew Kivell is giving Mak Francis a very stern talking to, but the Franchise chooses to ignore the SWF’s head official and instead pulls Toxxic up, then slips behind his opponent and applies a double chickenwing! Some of the fans in the Alamodome start to rise to their feet, anticipating a Tiger suplex that will surely lead into the Bittersweet… but as Mak tries to lift his right arm can’t take it, and he has to abort his attempt! Toxxic isn’t going to give his opponent time for a second try, and he first stamps on Mak’s right foot-

 

*BANG!*

 

-then uses his left foot to kick at Mak’s weaker knee! The pain causes Francis to lessen his grip somewhat, and Toxxic manages to twist out then fires off with a

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

…the straight-edger steps back, flips the British v-sign at his opponent and whirls around for the discus clothesline…

 

…but Mak takes him down into a Fujiwara armbar!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The din in the arena is close to deafening, but the crowd switch it up another notch as they see what Mak Francis does next; the Franchise is evidently displeased at Toxxic’s attack on his weak knee and he transitions the Fujiwara into a back-mounted double chickenwing, then bridges forward into the Bittersweet!

 

“YOU GOTTA TAP!”

 

“YOU GOTTA TAP!”

 

Toxxic thrashes around wildly but Mak already has the hold applied and he can’t reach the ropes with his legs.

 

“YOU GOTTA TAP!”

 

“YOU GOTTA TAP!”

 

Desperately, Toxxic starts to force his body forward and leans even more weight on his head, trying to get in a position to slip out of the bridge, but the pain seems too great and he slumps back down!

 

“Come on, Toxxic!” King yells, half out of his seat. “Quick! Before it’s too late!”

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

The Straight-Edge Sensation grits his teeth and tries again, taking his own weight on the top of his head as he tries to lessen the torque of Francis’ arms. The pain is excruciating, but Mak hasn’t done quite enough damage to Toxxic’s neck to make it impossible…

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

…and Toxxic manages to roll through, causing Mak to collapse as his bridge disappears! The Franchise doesn’t release his grasp and tries to roll Toxxic onto his front again, but now the Brit can shuffle across the mat and wrap his legs around the bottom rope in order to gain a title-saving ropebreak!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Stay on him, Mak!” Longdogger Pete yells, “you almost had him!”

 

“Unprofessional bias-” King begins to make an accusation.

 

“-unprofessional bias my ass!” LDP snaps back. “You cheer for the limey in the eyeliner, I’ll cheer for the guy the fans wanna see!”

 

One thing the fans definitely didn’t want to see was Mak Francis break his hold, but Kivell was insistent and the Franchise doesn’t want to be disqualified now. However, the moment the referee subsides Mak is back on Toxxic, grabbing the World Champion with a rear waistlock and hauling him up to his feet - not without a wince of pain as his right arm takes the strain - then hoists him up and overhead with his patented release German suplex, the ‘Filthy’ German…

 

*whump*

 

…but Mak’s right arm isn’t up to the task and he doesn’t get everything on it. Instead of a hurl it’s more of a gentle toss, and Toxxic flips through the move to land on his feet.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Mak turns around, shaking his arm out and hoping to see a crumpled straight-edger on the canvas, but instead he is greeted by a flying soccer tackle that crunches right into his left kneecap! The pain is instant and excruciating and Francis goes down, clutching his wounded leg while Toxxic scrambles back to his feet. The Straight-Edge Sensation can remember what paid off last time, and as Mak rolls onto his back with his leg in his hands Toxxic heads for the nearest turnbuckle and climbs as fast as he can. His neck and upper back are still burning from the Bittersweet, but his legs are good to go and Toxxic somersaults off the top rope-

 

*THUMP!*

 

-and lands all 218lbs of himself feet-first in Mak’s chest! The breath is blasted from the Franchise and Toxxic hops off him, then runs for the far ropes and returns at a greater velocity before somersaulting forwards again, this time landing on Francis with a running flipping senton! The momentum of the move carries Toxxic up to his feet, and he pauses for a moment to get his bearings before backflipping to hit a standing moonsault!

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“Ha!” King shouts as Toxxic pushes himself back to his feet and Mak clutches his chest, “let’s see you throw some suplexes with a bad arm and bad ribs!”

 

All that jumping and flipping seems to have taken its toll on the Straight-Edge Sensation; Toxxic is slightly wobbly as he heads for the turnbuckles once more, his head still not quite straight from the Yakuza kick and Million-Dollar Plex it suffered earlier. Regardless, Toxxic begins to climb again and as he reaches the top rope he spins his fingers again… backwards.

 

“Uh-oh, you know what this means,” Longdogger Pete says tensely as the Alamodome begins to stand despite itself, excited at the prospect of one of the most electrifying moves in the SWF today, “it’s time for the INGLOOORRRRRIIIIIIOOOOUUUUSSSSSSS…”

 

Toxxic takes a deep breath, bends almost double for extra momentum and then leaps forward, backflipping through the air as he goes…

 

*BANG!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“…AND MAK MOVES!” LDP finishes in exultation as Francis rolls out of the way of the Shooting Star Legdrop at the last moment. “Toxxic took too long getting to the top, and Mak moves out of the way! That landing can’t have helped Toxxic’s spine, and he doesn’t even have the payoff of hitting Francis to compensate for it!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Sure enough, Toxxic is writing on the canvas as his back gives him messages that he really doesn’t want to be receiving. Mak Francis on the other hand is still sucking in air and trying to clear his head…

 

…and his gaze has just latched onto the wounded World Champion.

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

The expression on Mak’s face could almost be described as a snarl. Certainly, Mrs. Francis wouldn’t like to see her baby boy now as he staggers to his feet and raises one hand in the air.

 

“COME ON!” Mak roars, firing up the crowd but all his intent fixed on the straight-edger in front of him. When Toxxic shows no sign of obliging Mak moves in and grabs his opponent, then hauls Toxxic up to a vertical base and places him in a front facelock… then hooks the leg with his left arm…

 

“Franchise Tag coming up!” Pete yells. “It’s all over!”

 

…but as Mak tries to lift Toxxic up the full effect of those recent impacts become clear; whether it’s his ribs, his right arm or a combination of both, Mak can’t get his opponent all the way up. Toxxic’s feet leave the floor but they go right back down again as Mak grunts in pain, and the Straight-Edge Sensation isn’t one to give his challenger a second chance. Toxxic fires off a left hand to the ribs… then another… then another… and as Mak’s grips weakens Toxxic hooks his legs around the Franchise’s and rolls backwards into a small package!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

Toxxic looks over at Kivell disbelievingly but the referee remains adamant, and that moment of inattention costs Toxxic as Mak scrambles up to his knees and fires off a left hand that catches the champion off-guard! Francis grabs Toxxic by the hair and hauls him up, then rears back with his left hand and hits a knife-edge chop-

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOOOOO!”

 

-then another!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOOOOO!”

 

Toxxic staggers back but the blows don’t have quite the impact they would if coming from Mak’s stronger right arm, so the Franchise changes tactics and leaps into the air to send his foot into the back of Toxxic’s skull…

 

[i[*CRUNCH!*[/i]

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Enzuigiri!” Pete shouts over the crowd reaction as Francis lands on his front and winces in pain from the jolt to his ribs, then scrambles into the cover and hooks the far leg with his left arm…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

 

“NO!” Suicide King shouts as the Alamo dome erupts… and Kivell agrees with the Gambling Man, raising a damning two fingers to the distraught Mak Francis!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

“THAT WAS THREE!”

 

…but Matthew Kivell isn’t head official of the SWF for nothing, and when he raises two fingers on a count he means two fingers! Francis seems both horrified and furious, but he refrains from taking his anger out on the referee and instead turns back to the semi-conscious World Champion. This time Toxxic offers little resistance as Mak pulls him up, and this time the setup for the Franchise Tag is the other way around! Francis wraps his left arm around Toxxic’s head and uses his right to form the cradle, locking his hands to try and minimise the strain, then steels himself for severe pain in his ribs and lifts…

 

…and Toxxic leaves the ground…

 

…and goes vertical…

 

…and Mak’s right arm gives out, allowing Toxxic to slip down behind the challenger moments before Francis can complete the Franchise Tag and surely put the match away! The dazed Brit nevertheless reacts on instinct and wraps both hands around Mak’s forehead from behind, looking to set up the Underkill, but Mak’s hands flash up and he grips both wrists before twisting around and crossing Toxxic’s arms over in the process! The Straight-Edge Sensation reacts immediately by kicking Mak’s left hand away, then slips behind the Franchise to apply a hammerlock to his opponent’s weakened right arm. Mak grunts in pain, but his alarm increases exponentially as Toxxic reaches forward with his left arm and applies a Dragon Sleeper, then starts trying to lock in the Repeat To Fade!

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Mak knows that he doesn’t want to risk being caught in the submission that made Danny Williams pass out, so he reacts in the best way he knows how and fires off one, two, three left hands to Toxxic’s ribs. The pain in his ribs is combining with the pain in the straight-edger’s back and his grip loosens, but to really make sure Mak reaches up and rakes his opponent’s eyes with his fingers!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Toxxic finally releases his hold and staggers back, dark tears streaming down his face as his eyes water and his eyeliner runs, and Mak Francis looks around at the crowd.

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

He’s feeling it.

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

A boot to the midsection doubles Toxxic over, not to mention adds just a little more pain to those ribs.

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

Mak leans forward and wraps both his arms around Toxxic’s waits. His right arm is killing him, but he should be able to get one more lift out of it… and one more should be all he needs.

 

*BANG!*

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

“Gutwrench suplex!” Longdogger Pete cries as the Franchise, with a shout that is half-pain, half-exultation, dumps Toxxic over onto his back. “Do you know what this means, King?”

 

“If I didn’t, I’m sure you’d tell me anyway,” Suicide King grumbles, but it’s reflexive; the Gambling Man seems to have given up hope on his chosen wrestler as the odds start to stack up against him.

 

“LET’S GO FRAN-CIS!”

 

‘The Franchise’ Mak Francis walks - no, struts - to the turnbuckles and begins to climb. His ascent is not as fast as Toxxic’s have been, what with the lack of a right arm to pull himself up with and the ache in his ribs, but he gets there nonetheless.

 

The top rope.

 

“For the first time in eighteen months, Mak Francis is going to fly in the SWF!” Pete shouts. “It’s time for some BROTHERLY LOVE!!”

 

Mak takes a deep breath - this is going to hurt, but not as much as it will hurt Toxxic - and launches himself off into space. His arms and legs pump, making the motions of the frog splash as he goes, and he descends towards victory, towards glory, towards the World Title…

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

…towards Toxxic’s knees.

 

“YES!!” King roars in delight as Mak bounces off his opponent’s raised legs, desperately coughing for air and with the pain in his ribcage writ large on his face. “He took one risk too many! That’s it, it’s over!”

 

Kivell raises his hands, ready to begin administering a double count, but Toxxic is moving. The World Champion crawls towards the wheezing Francis and grabs his legs, then locks Mak’s right boot into the crook of his left knee and traps it there with his own legs.

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

Mak knows what’s coming, but he simply doesn’t have enough air in his lungs to make his body move and fight Toxxic off. All he can do is weakly wave his right arm as the Straight-Edge Sensation threads his left arm underneath it and applies the ¾ nelson facelock.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“-and now the Regal Stretch,” King says in a satisfied tone of voice. “Mak Francis is tied up good; I just wonder whether he’ll have the common courtesy to tap and acknowledge the better man, or hang on to pass out in some futile gesture of defiance?”

 

Toxxic wrenches back on his hold as Mak alternately gasps for air and groans in pain, but although Francis’ free left hand scrabbles desperately at the canvas there is no way he can get enough traction to drag 450lbs to the ropes.

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

Kivell drops down in front of Mak to check on him, but the challenger shakes his head as far as he is able. Toxxic grits his teeth and pulls, determined to get the submission…

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

…and Mak Francis doesn’t give up.

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

…and Mak Francis doesn’t give up.

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

…and Mak Francis doesn’t give up.

 

 

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

 

 

 

…and Mak Francis…

 

 

 

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

 

 

 

…doesn’t give up.

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

“I don’t believe it!” Longdogger Pete says in amazement. “Mak Francis has been in the Regal Stretch for what, a minute now? And he’s still holding on, he’s still fighting!”

 

“It’s pointless Mak, give it up!” King shouts. But no matter how true the Gambling Man’s words may seem to be, Mak Francis wouldn’t listen even if he could hear them. Toxxic, hauling on his facelock for all he’s worth, slowly starts to realise that something isn’t right here.

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

And still, Mak Francis doesn’t give up.

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

Toxxic risks breaking his concentration for a moment and looks around. They are more or less in the centre of the ring. He has a small margin for error. He needs to make Francis either submit or pass out soon, before the effort of holding this unnatural position after such a gruelling match causes him to cramp up and let go accidentally. So he takes a risk.

 

He releases Mak’s legs.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The crowd thinks that Mak has broken the hold himself and Francis starts scrabbling immediately, searching for the purchase that will get him to the nearest ropes and the safety that they promise, but it is false hope. Before he has managed to get two inches Toxxic has straddled his back with the ¾ nelson facelock still applied, and sat down right behind Mak’s shoulderblades.

 

“Arrggghhh!”

 

“Back-mounted ¾ nelson facelock?” Pete queries in horror as Toxxic leans back, using his repositioned feet to push against the canvas. “He’s not just attacking the head, neck and right arm now, Mak’s ribs must be in agony!”

 

Kivell is still there asking the question, and now Mak knows for sure there is no escape.

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

And Mak Francis…

 

 

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

 

 

…gives up.

 

*TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!*

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ rings out across the Alamodome, and Toxxic releases his grip and wearily rolls away as Mak folds into something roughly approaching a foetal position, clutching his ribs with his one good arm. Matthew Kivell reaches down and raises Toxxic’s right hand in victory as the straight-edger uses his left to wipe away the remnants of his eyeliner.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner and STILL~ SWF WORLD… HEAVYWEIGHT… CHAMPION…” Funyon booms over the crowd noise, “the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!”

 

Toxxic grabs the title belt that is returned to him by Kivell and staggers up to his feet, clutching at the ropes for support. His gaze rests for a moment on Mak Francis, still down in the middle of the ring, but the straight-edger’s face remains impassive, if exhausted. Then he slumps down to the canvas - not without another wince - and rolls under the ropes.

 

“What a match,” Pete says simply as Kivell checks on Mak Francis and the Franchise assures him that he’s OK. “Both men gave it their all, but Toxxic came out on top. Did those few shows off since his defence against Todd Cortez mean he was better rested? Was Mak Francis still in the mindset of facing Spike Jenkins after their three recent matches? We may never know, but I remain sure that on another day the Franchise could have taken this!”

 

“Oh, he could have done,” Suicide King agrees with his commentary partner, “but not today. You see Pete, Toxxic might not be the best mat wrestler or the best brawler, or even the most spectacular high-flyer… but he is the best competitor in the SWF today at taking advantage of any mistakes his opponent makes, and that is why he’s World Champion. The other thing was that Mak was looking to set up Toxxic for his big moves, but he never once tried to go to the legs and neutralise Toxxic’s own offence. Toxxic went for Mak’s arm and ribs, and was working an offence and a defence!”

 

“And…?” Pete asks in a tone that implies he knows what’s coming next.

 

“…and Toxxic’s just better,” King finishes with a smug grin. Meanwhile, the World Champion in question has reached the top of the entrance ramp and pauses to catch his breath, then looks back out at the Alamodome.

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

There’s really only one answer to that. Slowly, the Straight-Edge Sensation raises the World Title high in the air again.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Mak Francis is standing in the ring now, although he’s still clearly in some pain. Toxxic’s eyes fix on his opponent, and it for this reason that he doesn’t see the black-clad shape approach him from behind.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“That’s- what’s Johnny Dangerous doing here?” Pete gasps, but the Secret Agent wastes no time in making his intentions clear as he ducks his head under Toxxic’s arm, takes a good grip with both hands and lifts…

 

*BANG!!*

 

“MI SLAM ON THE STEEL RAMP!” Pete yells at the top of his lungs as the Alamo dome explodes into a frenzy! “But why!? Why is Johnny here!?”

 

“I don’t care, but get him out of here!” King bellows in response.

 

Johnny Dangerous reaches down and plucks the SWF World Title from Toxxic’s limp grasp, then straightens up and holds it high. The Barracuda looks down towards the ring… and there, leaning on the ropes, is an exhausted Mak Francis. And the look in the eyes of the Franchise is not a pleasant one.

 

“I don’t think Mak Francis is pleased at Johnny making free with the belt that he’s just fought so hard for!” Pete speculates as the two wrestlers lock eyes. “It’s one thing to wrestle your heart out for it and fail, and quite another to assault the champion from behind after an exhausting match!”

 

Johnny smiles down at Mak Francis, then ostentatiously dusts the belt off and replaces it over Toxxic’s chest. The crowd noise is mixed - quite a lot of Texans are cheering for the Barracuda, but there are scattered pockets who don’t like seeing a champion, even one as despised as Toxxic, get jumped from behind after putting on a great show.

 

“Fans, we’re out of time,” Longdogger Pete shouts over the din, “but you can bet that this controversy will continue! Join us on Friday for STOOOORRRRRMMMMMMM!”

 

The last image the camera shows is Johnny Dangerous standing over the fallen figure of Toxxic at the top of the ramp while Mak Francis can only look on from the ring.

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT