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SWF Storm 5-13-05

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“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, JJOHNNYYY “BAARRAACUUDDA” DAAANGERRROUUUSS!” exclaims Funyon.


The lights dim, and a sultry female voice breathes the name of the SWF’s resident super-spy. “After The Flesh” by My Life With The Thrill Kill Cult begins to thump through the crowds. Smoke fills the stage as tons of strobes cut through it and Johnny Dangerous walks out onto center stage.


“Johnny Dangerous is going to join us for commentary on this first match of the evening, where Manson & Griffon take on Martin Hunt and Danny Dagda!” yells Pete.


The fans roar in approval for Johnny, drowning out a small chorus of boos given by some rowdy Australians. Johnny glides down the ramp. He high fives a few fans during his long walk to the ring. Displayed proudly across his waist is his World Tag Team Title belt.


“That belt around his waist has been under much discussion lately. No one knows for sure who is next in line to take on Wild & Dangerous. For the first time in a long time, this division is red hot,” says Riley.


Dangerous enters the ring and quickly mounts a turnbuckle nearby. He throws his hands up in to the air. Flashbulbs go off, as the fans rejoice at The Barracuda’s presence. He climbs down off the turnbuckle, and walks over to the nearby announcer’s table. Pete and King move over, and make room for the Champion. Johnny slaps hands with a fan behind the announcers. Dangerous takes off his belt and places it onto the table. He then sits down.


“It is a pleasure to have you sitting with us tonight, Johnny,” says Pete.


“It’s a pleasure to get a night off, Pete,” answers back Johnny.


“So Johnny, What do think about this team of Arch Griffon and Manson?” asks King, cutting to the chase.




Dangerous is cut off, as “A Country Boy Can Survive” kicks up on the PA system. Out walks Danny Dagda and Martin Hunt, to the sound of indifference. Hunt and Dagda yell at the crowd, trying to get a reaction from the fans. A few people tell them that they suck, and that is all.


“The following is a tag team contest, and it is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, at a combined weight of 493 pounds, MARRTIN “BIIIGG COUNTRY” HUNTT, and DANNYYY DDAGDAA!”


The two men quickly make their way down to the ring. Both of the men carry weapons to the ring. Hunt brings a baseball bat, as Dagda brings a steel chair. Danny can’t help himself, and the big man air guitars on the chair. Hunt just keeps walking to the ring, forgetting about his tag team partner. Dagda rushes forward to keep up with his partner.


“These two are not the most cohesive team. This is for sure,” says Pete. “As a matter of fact these men are not cohesive in the slightest. They have not made a real impact, but they hope to tonight.”


“I don’t see this match lasting long, myself. I have been watching Griffon and Manson, and they have both size and chemistry on their side. They watch each others backs. Meanwhile, both Hunt and Dagda haven’t been legitimate since the Reagan administration, where I’m sure they were the bullies on the playground,” Johnny jokes.


“But Johnny, we aren’t big men, but have tasted the sweet taste of success. Size doesn’t matter too much, does it?” asks King.


“True, mentality is important too, along with quickness. Manson and Griffon both have keen wits about them, and they work well together. They aren’t sloths, either,” says Johnny.


The house lights dim as Arch Enemy's "We Will Rise" hits, complete with red strobes pulsing and flashing in time with the music as fog seeps onto the stage, when just as the lyrics begin...




A burst of pyro explodes from the stage and Manson emerges, immediately throwing up the horns to a massive pop from the fans. Arch Griffon silently follows behind him, and both head down to the ring, determined and focused on the task at hand. Manson carries a bull rope along with him, whilst Griffon walks into battle only with his mitts.


“And their opponents! Weighing in at a combined weight of 542 pounds, MMAANNSONN AND GGRRRIIFONN!” yells Funyon.


“With all due respect, Johnny, here comes the hottest team in the SWF! They came up on the short end of the stick earlier this week on Smarkdown, but they have not lost a straight up tag team match yet!” says LDP.


“They are an impressive, duo,” says Johnny.


“These two are focused, and they had better be. There are the easy favorites in this match, but this is Friday the 13th, and odder things have happened to people than losing to a frat boy, and some guy from New Jersey,” says King.


“True, King. Meanwhile, the two men do not have a weapon between them. Griffon is walking into this battle without a weapon other than himself,” observes King.


Manson rolls in under the bottom rope with Griffon sliding in after, and both immediately go to their corner for the start of the match. Senior Referee Mathew Kivell stands in the middle of the ring and with no reason to check for weapons, he calls for the bell.




“And we’re off!” exclaims Pete. The four men quickly converge on each other. Manson and Hunt face off, and so does Dagda and Griffon. Manson waits to counter Hunt. Big Country tries to take Manson’s head off with homerun swing from his bat, but The Raging Bull ducks underneath the swing of the bat. The bigger man then reaches out and grabs a hold of Hunt’s head. He charges forward, and trips up Hunt. Manson snaps his opponent down to the mat with a quick STO!




The Sydney fans howl in approval. Meanwhile, Dagda takes a wild swing with his chair. Arch is able to dodge this attack, and pushes Danny into a nearby corner. Griffon then goes to work, pummeling Dagda’s face with right hands. Danny drops the chair. Back in the middle of the ring, Manson starts to stomp away at Martin. Hunt just holds the back of his aching head as The Raging Bull drives stomps into his bread basket. In the corner, Griffon starts to stomp away at Dagda, getting almost no resistance from the stunned man. After Dagda falls to the seat of his pants, Griffon leans forward with a knee and starts to strangle Dagda against the bottom turnbuckle.


“The strategy of both men not using weapons to start this match is paying off gentlemen,” says Pete.


“Their strategy is sound. When your tank if full, you have good reaction time, making it hard for your attackers to hit you with knockout strikes. Meanwhile, you can use their momentum against them with quick, high impact moves, like we saw with Manson hitting that great STO,” says Johnny.


King is tongue tied.


“What’s the matter, King? Are you afraid that Johnny may take your job some day?” Pete asks King. The Suicide King just grumbles.


Kivell stands by the side of the ring, most likely having a brilliant day dream. In the corner, Griffon finally lays off of Dagda for a moment. He helps Danny back to his feet, but only gets a thumb in the eye for his troubles. Griffon is dazed, and Dagda comes forward with a haymaker of a right hand. The punch lands and Griffon retreats. Danny throws another punch, but Griffon dodges it. The momentum causes Dagda to do a 180 degree turn, showing his back to Griffon. The hulking man quickly puts on a rear waistlock, and picks the big man off of the mat, spins him around and drives him to the mat on his stomach. Griffon wraps his left hand around Dagda’s right hand, and picks up his head. Archie comes with a vicious swipe from his right hand, slamming in to Dagda’s temple and cheek.


“Usually illegal, those hooks to the back of the head are legal tonight,” says Pete.


“Johnny, what is a better quality? Archie’s amateur wrestling skills, or your martial art skills?” King asks Johnny.


“I can’t judge on that right now. I would have to take him on one on one to find out,” says Johnny.


Meanwhile, Manson drags Martin back to his feet. Martin gets a palm thrust right in the face, which dazes him once more. Manson quickly grabs Hunt by the back of the head, and races to the far ropes. Without much of a problem, Manson throws his opponent over the top rope. Hunt tumbles down to the floor with a crash! The fans cheer at Hunt’s misery. Back now in the middle of the ring, Griffon drags Dagda back to his feet, and calls Manson over. The Raging Bull and Griffon team up, get Danny into position, and throw him down with a double snap suplex! Griffon rises back to his feet, as Manson goes for the pinfall with a simple horizontal press. Kivell breaks out of his day dream, and approaches the pinfall attempt.










“And Dagda is able to kick out of that nice double snap suplex by Manson and Griffon,” says King. “They both should have gone for the cover,” says King. “I agree,” says Johnny.


On the outside, Martin Hunt slowly scrambles to his feet. He looks to get back into the ring. Meanwhile, Griffon is watching him. Hunt stands on the outside, and wobbles to and fro. Archie sees this, and backs up into the near by ropes. He then charges off of them, and straight at Big Country. The Sydney fans get ready.


“OHHHHHHHH,” the sound rises into a crescendo.


Griffon leaps over the top rope, and flies directly into Hunt on the outside. Both men tumble to the floor! Griffon hits the Bloodlust Plancha!


“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” repeats the raucous fans.


“The chants are well justified by the fans, as Arch Griffon has just taken flight,” says Pete.


“I’ve seen that move before. He has the grace of a cruiserweight at some times. Men his size should not be able to do that,” says Johnny.


“That move will be the end of him someday,” prophesizes King.


With both Griffon and Hunt down on the outside, Manson attempts to put the finishing touches on Danny Dagda. Manson hauls the big man to his feet, and swoops behind him. The Raging Bull slowly grabs Dagda’s arms, and then pulls them back in a double chicken wing. Before Manson can lift Danny up for his Tiger Suplex, Danny kicks back his leg, and it lands into the groin of Manson. The smaller man lets go of Dagda, and drops to a knee. Danny falls forward, right next to his bat that fell out of his hands earlier. The Sydney crowd hisses and boos Danny.


“A cheap shot from Dagda turns the tide in this match, says Pete. “A cheap shot? Everything is legal in that ring!” yells King.


Dagda reaches the baseball bat, and grips it tightly. Manson, meanwhile, climbs back to his feet, he hands holding his midsection, trying to ward off his pain. Manson approaches Dagda once. Danny hides the bat behind his body. Manson doesn’t see the bat, and reaches down with one hand to pick up Danny. The much larger man surges upwards, and brings the bat with him. The end of the bat collides with The Raging Bull’s jaw! A mixture of saliva and sweat come flying off of Griffon’s tag team partner. Manson falls flat on his back. He bounces off of his back and back down again. Dagda meanwhile, throws the bat out of the ring, and lies in the middle of the ring.


“Dagda cold cocks Manson with that aluminum baseball bat! If he can just make the cover, this match it over!” yells Pete.


“Now why do you suppose he threw that bat out of the ring?” asks King.


“He must want to keep it out of Manson’s hands,” says Pete.


Dangerous stays quiet at the desk, intently watching the action before him. Dagda now starts to crawl over to Manson’s prone form. Agonizingly slow, he crawls. Finally, he reaches Manson’s limp body, and throws in arm over Manson’s chest. Kivell quickly gets down to the mat.












“And the durable Manson kicks out!” yells Pete. “Manson just kicked out after taking a baseball bat to the head. Will the same thing happen after he tastes a Dangerous Drop, Johnny?” asks King. “No,” says Johnny, firmly.


Back on the outside of the ring, Griffon rises to his feet. A look of panic spreads across his face after he looks into the ring. Archie quickly drags Hunt to his feet. Griffon then grabs Hunt by the back of the head, and points him towards the nearby ring post. Arch throws Martin forward. Hunt slams head first off of the post, and falls to the mat! Back inside of the ring, Manson still lies, though he is slowly coming to. A small trickle of blood runs out of his mouth and down his chin. Dagda slowly rises, and gets to his feet. He has his back turned to Griffon, as Archie enters the ring. Dagda reaches down to pick up Manson, Griffon creeps up behind him.


“Look out, Dagda!” yells King.




Danny falls into the ropes and bounces back into the middle after Griffon hits him with a Superkick right into the back of the head! With Dagda down on the mat, Griffon looks over to Manson, who slowly recuperates. As The Raging Bull pulls himself up to his feet, Dagda gets back to his feet, with assistance by Arch Griffon. Griffon keeps the big man at bay. Archibald grabs Danny around the left wrist, and pulls him towards a granite-like right arm. Griffon floors him to the mat with a short armed clothesline! Griffon holds onto the arm, and drags the man from New Jersey back to his feet. Griffon takes a look over to Manson, who is still climbing to his feet. Griffon comes forward with another short armed clothesline, this one more devastating than the first.


“And big Archibald waits for Manson to get back to his feet buy pummeling Dagda with Griffon’s Grasp,” says Pete. “That decision is debatable,” says Johnny. It’s a good idea to try to win the match with your partner. On the other hand, sometimes you need to step up and lead your team to victory.”


Griffon gets Dagda back to his feet once more. He takes a look over to Manson, and then delivers another clothesline. The crowd counts along with the clothesline, as Griffon is handing them out like welfare checks.




Manson is on his hands and knees.




Manson climbs to one knee.




Each clothesline makes it harder for Griffon to pick up the big Dagda. Manson gets to his feet, but is still wobbly.




Manson finally gets his composure back. He looks to Griffon. Arch notices his partner is now back into the fold, and slowly drags Danny back to his feet again. Manson strolls over to the near by corner, and climbs up the turnbuckles. He sits on the top rope, as Griffon gets beside the wobbly Dagda. Archie picks Dagda up, and places him in position for a backbreaker.


“We’ve seen this before,” says Pete.


The crowd is aroused, as Manson prepares to take flight. Griffon picks up the heavy man, and then quickly drops him down onto his knee with a backbreaker. Manson jumps off the second rope just as Arch starts to drop Danny. Arch and Manson make their attacks at exactly the same. Dagda’s grabs his throat in anguish, as Manson crushes it with a legdrop!


“It looks like its curtains for Dagda,” says Pete.


“Now where in the world did his tag team partner go?” asks King.


On the outside of the ring, Hunt has pulled himself back to his feet. He creeps over to the steel stairs, where next to them, inside the ring, sits a steel chair from earlier. Meanwhile, Griffon and Manson look down at the down and out Dagda. Suddenly, Martin re-enters the ring wielding a steel chair. He takes aim at Griffon, and he raises the chair high over his head. Before he can swing down at Griffon, the big man goes low on Big Country, and grabs him around the legs. Hunt, still holding onto the chair, is raised into the air by Griffon. The Raging Bull quickly gets into position and leaps in the air. He grabs Hunt by the neck, and comes down with him. Manson & Griffon hit a Dudley Devastation Device on Hunt, and use his own chair against him, as Martin’s skulls cracks right into the chair! The fans pop like monkeys on speed.


“Pancake into Manson’s Consequences!” yells Pete. “That it is a devastating move!”


“Stick a fork in them!” yells Riley.


After the shock wears off from being dropped on his face, and on to a steel chair, Hunt lies flat in the middle of the ring. Manson and Griffon both put on a cover. They kneel into the chest of Martin Hunt. The duo looks straight at Johnny Dangerous, who stares right back at them. Mathew Kivell quickly slides into position.












“Your winners of the match…Manson & Griffon!” bellows Funyon.


“We Will Rise” kicks up on the PA system, as the packed Sydney Opera House cheers for Manson and Griffon as they both rise. Kivell quickly raises their hands in victory. The two then set their sights on Dangerous, who watches on from the announcer’s table.


“It looks like you and Wildchild have competition, Johnny,” says Pete.


“Indeed, Pete. Indeed,” says one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions.


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“I’m here with the World Cruiserweight Champion,” says Ben Hardy, “the Wildchild! And Wildchild, last week, on Smarkdown, Scott Pretzler interfered in your match with Landon Maddix, and was heard later as saying that you were ducking from him when it comes to granting him a rematch. How do you respond to that?”


“Scott Pretzler is a legend in his own mind,” replies Wildchild. “He’s so full of it, it defies belief! Pretzler, I beat you one-on-one, an’ you can’t handle dat! You already got your rematch… an’ I beat you again! As far as I’m concerned, you’re back at de bottom of de heap! You’re gon’ have t’work your way back up de ladder t’get another shot at me! An’ as far as what you did last week, rest assured dat de next time I get my hands on you, you’re gon’ t’regret doing dat t’me, you can count on dat!”


“Well, Pete, you heard it here first!” says Hardy. “Let’s send it back to…”


“Just a minute, sunshine!”


Wildchild and Hardy turn around to find themselves face-to-face with the World Heavyweight Champion.


“What do you want?” growls Wildchild.


“I’m here on behalf of Revolution Zero to ask you to re-consider granting Scott Pretzler a rematch for the World Cruiserweight Title,” says Toxxic. “I mean, there might be a lot of cruisers in the SWF, but none of those guys deserve a title shot as much as Scott does.”




“Think about what you’re saying,” says Toxxic. “You don’t want to come to a hasty decision.”


“Fine!” snaps Wildchild. “I’ll t’ink about it… Okay… I’ve thought about it: No! Not only no, but Hell No!”


“Don’t make a decision that you’ll regret later,” warns Toxxic. “You wouldn’t want the consequences of your choice tonight to come back to bite you!”


Wildchild’s eyes narrow into slits. “Are you threatening me?” He asks, hackles raised.


“Calm down, sunshine,” replies Toxxic, raising his hands in a placating manner. “Just giving you some friendly advice, that’s all. Trying to save you a little aggravation.”


“Well, let me tell you somet’ing, Toxxic,” says Wildchild, “I don’ need none of your advice, so save it! I’ll fight who dey tell me t’fight, an I won’ back down from anybody! But, if you t’ink I’m gon’ do Pretzler any favors, den both of you gots another t’ink comin’!”


Toxxic shakes his head in disgust. “Have it your way, ‘champ.’ Just don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” Wildchild and Hardy stare at Toxxic as he walks away, Hardy in confusion, and Wildchild in anger…


As we:


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Fade in…


“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Funyons bellows, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a thirty minute time limit!”
















The SmarkTron explodes to life 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.


“Comin up in the world…


Don't trust nobody—gotta look over your shoulder constantly!"


As the opening lyrics from Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill, slightly altered of course, blare over the PA system and as the self proclaimed franchise makes his way through the curtain the crowd raises its’ cheering to a new level! The lights come back up and Francis nods his head to the beat, ice blue Oakley’s reflecting the multi-colored explosion of lights. Mak steps forward tilting his shades down on the bridge of his nose, before looking left and then right…


“I remember the days…


When I was a young kid grownin’ up…


Lookin’ in the mirror dreamin’ about blowin’ up!”













A burst of fireworks erupt from the set, flying up into the cool Australian night. The land down under seems to make it all the more magnificent.


“Making his way to the ring—from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and weighing in tonight at two hundred and forty pounds!” Funyon says, “He is one the true “FRANCHISE”… MAK FRAAAAAAAAAAAANCISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”


The Franchise’s trench coat billows behind him as he comes down the walkway, sliding under the bottom rope and popping to his feet, a serious smirk across his face as he thrusts both fists into the air, walking around with a swagger that only the Franchise can. Hopping up onto the nearest turnbuckle, Mak looks on as waves of flashes go off around him.


“Mak Francis has been on a bit of a losing streak, but a win over Spike Jenkins could throw him right back into the title mix.” Pete says, looking at the face of the Franchise. “He looks a little lost right now—out of sorts, if you will, not clean shaven for the first time I’ve ever seen.”


“Are you turning into Riley, Pete?” King questions. “Next you’ll say he’s ruggedly handsome. And to counterpoint your earlier statement, that’s like saying a win over you meant something at some point, Pete.”


“Well a win over Spike did and still does mean something.” LDP adds taking in Francis bedraggled appearance, as he hops down from the corner. “Their series was for a shot at Toxxic at Battleground. And boy was that series something!”


“It was something alright, if the dirt sheets have anything to say about it… and that’s a shoot brotha’.”


Suddenly, every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl...


“And his OPPONENT!” says Funyon, as the crowd begins to cheer once again!








The crashing guitars of Lamb of God’s “Black Label” send a bolt through the crowd. The drumming sends a jolt throughout the arena, as the pace of the intro begins to pick up. Finally…




The high-pitched scream of Randy Blythe breaks through the speakers as the bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. Spike stumbles out dryly from behind the entrance curtain, the black hood of his cut-off sweatshirt covering his face, with only a few strands of hair being visible. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X”, symbolizing his Straight Edge life style. Spike rises to his feet and begins to make his way down the isle towards the ring.


”From Hollywood, California and weighing in tonight at Two hundred and twenty-five pounds! He is… “HOLLYWOOD”… SPIKE JEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNKINNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!”


Spike rolls underneath the bottom rope, until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee, resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet and peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. His blue eyes are as cold as ice; he needs this win if he’s ever going to get a shot at Toxxic…


Mak strokes his unshaven face. Holly’s serious tonight. But what makes that different from the last time he beat him in the number one contenders’ series.


Mak’s answer is nothing.


Spike’s answer is everything.


*Ding! Ding! Ding!*


“There’s the bell!” King shouts, as Billy Chioda signals for the bell, waving his hand three times. Chioda loops around the scene on the periphery, as Mak and Spike turn the circle, looking for an opening and finding none, crash together in a collar and elbow tie-up! The Franchise prepares to shift into a time tested side headlock and takedown, but Spike Jenkins is one step ahead. Lacing his arm with his opponents, Spike flings Francis to the floor with an arm-drag! Spike stands up and backs away, as Mak looks up from his seat on the ground in mild amusement. The serious expression on Jenkins faces is shrugged of by Mak, as he raises an eyebrow and then gets back up to his feet.


“Nice arm drag there by Jenkins.” Pete notes, as Mak pats his shoulder and signals for another collar and elbow tie-up. “Looks like these two are going to tie-up again.”


Hollywood accepts and they grapple once more. Mak pushes forward trying to assert himself this time instead of going for a takedown – but the results are the same, as Spike drags him down to the mat again! Francis pops up to his feet in a hurry and marches forward, only for Jenkins to pull the rug from under him, with a hand leg sweep! Spike leaps on top of Mak and Chioda quickly drops to the mat to make the count…





TW—No, only a quick one count. “Spike isn’t messing around here, King.” Pete says, as Spike haplessly slides off Mak in shock, while Francis pushes out of the lateral press by arching up onto his shoulders and finally supporting all his weight on his neck! “He needs this win badly after that tough loss to Danny Williams in his return match and he’s proving that right here by immediately going for the pin.”


Francis immediately gets to his knees and swats at Spike’s legs, sending him back down to the canvas, back first. Mak looks to fall into a pin…


“Mak ain’t messing around either, Pete.” King says, as on the ground, Spike turns to his belly to avoid a pin fall situation, but Mak who is already on top of Jenkins, wraps his arms about Spike’s torso and then slaps him across the back of the head!




“Complete disrespect…” Pete mumbles, as Mak continues to dominate in the back mount, standing over his Jenkins. Mak rears back and-




-smashes his forearm across the bridge of Hollywood’s nose in a cross-face! “See!” King exalts. “Cross-faces are about as serious as it gets, Pete!” Mak measures his opponent yet again and sends his left arm rifling down-




-crashing into Spike’s jaw with another brutal forearm blow! The Franchise’s right arm is not far behind-




-with a third, unbelievably stiff cross-face!! This one is so snug, even the crowd has to acknowledge…




Francis stands over Hollywood, following him as he crawls towards the ropes for a break. Mak lands a clubbing forearm to the back of Spike, who pushes himself up to a knee and grabs for the ropes, pulling himself into the corner. Chioda does his job and steps in, but Mak just sidesteps him and any warnings he may be giving. Making his way to the corner, the Franchise suddenly jerks back, his chest stinging from the impact of Spike’s hand, in a shotei! Spike looks to follow up after getting some space…


…But Mak lands a toe kick to the stomach, and then grabbing the ropes, he stomps away with a sidekick… and another… and another! Effectively winding his opponent before answering back—


*Smack!* “WHOOOOOOOO!”


Nailing Spike with a knife-edge chop! The crowd begins to rally behind the Franchise with “WHOOO’S!” as he once again—


*Smack!* “WHOOOOOOOO!”


—Plasters the former Revolution zero member with another hard knife-edge chop! Mak quickly pulls his arm back again—


*Smack!* “WHOOOOOOOO!”


—Hitting a third scintillating knife-edge chop!! Spike shudders from the impact and Francis backs Jenkins out of the corner and into the ropes, sending him off in an Irish whip. “Irish whip—no, reversal, Jenkins puts on the breaks!” Pete says, calling the action, as Spike stops on a dime and twists Mak around, kicking him in the gut. Then he loops his arm around the throat of Francis, looking to sit out and hit a side shoulder jawbreaker—nope, Mak counters with rapid fire back elbows stunning Hollywood and stopping him dead in his tracks, only to grab his arm and dive backwards towards the mat in a Single arm DDT!


“Spike proving his ‘Minor threat’ is just that—a very minor threat!” King adds gleefully, as Hollywood clutches at his right arm. Spike grimaces into the mat, as Mak sits up, a smirk coming across his features as he points to his head, tapping his temple three times.


LDP shakes his head at the bad joke, but gives it credence. “Since that opening pressure from Spike, Mak Francis has flipped the script at ever turn. Spike’s minor threat turned into a major one for himself.”


Spike, not one to stay down for long, rises to a knee, wiggling his fingers to get the feeling back in his arm. Mak stands and does what he does best – follows up – grabbing Spike by the arm and twisting it overhead in an arm wringer! Spike winces slightly, trying to gain wrist control with his other hand, but Mak yanks down on the arm sending a fresh wave of pain and stopping any thoughts of countering in their tracks. The Franchise swings Spike down in an amateur arm drag takedown and steps over attempting to bar the left arm, but Spike rolls into his body alleviating the pressure.


Now without any added torque on his arm, Spike pushes himself up to a knee and leans in looking to elbow his way out of the Franchise’s grasp. Hollywood scores an elbow to the gut with his right arm and nearly gets to his vertical base on Francis, but Mak flips the script again, turning into Jenkins, then regaining wrist control of his left hand by applying a top wristlock and wrenching down on it, stepping behind Spike with his right foot in a takedown attempt…


“Overhand wristlock by the Franchise and he has really picked up the aggressiveness ever since Spike went for that early pin fall.” Pete notes again, hammering it home as Spike begins to bend backwards at the waist under Mak’s pressure, arching down and down… and down, until his head actually touches the mat!!




The crowd cheers in appreciation of that display by Jenkins, while Chioda and even Mak look on somewhat perplexed. He didn’t know Spike could do that. Hell, he doubts Spike even knew he could do that!


“What balance shown by Jenkins, King!” Pete exclaims, as Spike slowly begins to rise off the mat and back to his vertical base. “—and what strength as well!” LDP adds as Mak’s arms and Spike’s body begin to shake under the pressure. Finally in a last burst of power, Spike comes face to face with the Franchise and starts pushing him down to the mat!


“What is going on here?” King asks, as Spike continues to make Mak bend over backwards. “When did Spike join Major League Baseball and how can I get the steroids he’s on?”


“I bet you he got them from Mark.” King quips, getting a solid dig in on his hated rival, as Mak arches down, down, down… until his own head hits the mat! The crowd gets ready to let loose another respectful response…


…But Hollywood back trips Francis sending him to the canvas on his BUTT! Spike dives on top of Mak again, going for a lateral press, as Chioda hits the mat to make the count…





TW—No, only a quick one count once again! Francis neck bridges again, pushing Hollywood up out of the pin, but this time Spike is ready and stands up, takes one step away and kicks the everloving crap out of Francis’ rib-cage!!


“What a soccer kick by Hollywood!” Pete says, as Mak tumbles out of his bridge and clutches his side. “I guess they call it football out of the USA for a reason, huh King!”


“Yeah, it’s because they’re morons.”


Mak rolls on the canvas and escapes the ring to by himself some time, letting loose a loogie onto the floor. Pacing inside the ring Spike tries to get around Chioda who backs him up to the center of the ring.


“Mak taking a tasty cake break on the outside, irony of ironies since he’s from Philadelphia—home of that particular tasty treat.” Pete notes, while Jenkins waits on the inside. Francis still holding his side walks it off on the outside, as Chioda tries to get him back in the ring.


“And you wonder why you weight two hundred and eighty pounds-” King questions Pete, as Spike gets a look in his eyes and takes off dashing towards the ropes...


“-What’s he up too?” King says, as Mak turns around and sees Hollywood preparing to dive to the ground in a baseball slide-




-And misses as Mak slides into the ring to the right of him! Spike slides out of the ring, trying to regain his balance as Mak takes a few steps back and runs forward attempting his own baseball slide…



…which Spike sidesteps…



…But it doesn’t matter, as Mak, under control laces his legs around Holly’s neck and continues to slide, snapping Jenkins down to the canvas in a head-scissors takedown from the apron to the floor!!


“Ho-ly Shit!”


“Ho-ly Shit!”


“Ho-ly Shit!”


A small chant breaks out, the first row of the crowd rising from their seats to pound the barricade and wave their hands in time with the chant, while Spike lies on the outside and Mak gets up to his feet. Vigilant Bill Chioda does his job and begins the count…




“That was quite the move!” Pete shouts, as Mak bends down and picks up Spike. “I’d even go so far as to call it great, King, although knowing your dislike of Francis I hesitate to do so.”




“You’re right—it wasn’t great.” King chimes in, as Mak drags Spike toward the steel steps-







-and rams his head into the steel. “Actually, it was superior! That’s Tom Flesher’s baseball slide head-scissors you just saw and I’m sure nothing could piss off Spike more.”


In the ring, Chioda admonishes Francis, who looks up at him and rolls his eyes, once again just shrugging him off! “Francis has gotten himself right back into control with that big head-scissors-” Pete says, as Mak lines Spike up for an Irish whip into the steel post-









-but it gets reversed! Spike plants his feet and sends Mak hurtling towards the steel, which he hits shoulder first with a loud thump!!


“Mak just took a ride into the STEEL!” King adds, his hate of Francis winning out for the moment.




Mak holds himself up on the pole, as Spike rolls into the ring, breaking Chioda’s count. Chioda sighs in relief, but Spike quickly rolls back outside the ring, luckily only to grab Mak by the head and toss him under the bottom rope. “Mak was in full control, but it’s so easy for the tide to turn on the outside, King.”


“That’s why I loved it.” King responds. “I could cheat like there was no tomorrow!”


“It’s not like that’s any different from what went on inside the ring during your matches…”


Back inside, Spike spies Mak clutching at his right arm and nods his head. Grabbing the Franchise by the arm, Spike hauls him up to his feet and bends the limb over his shoulder slamming it down in an over the shoulder arm-breaker! “Spike has found a target!” Pete notes. “That shoulder was weakened by Toxxic at the PPV and later done in by Ejiro, with both men gaining back to back submissions on Francis—something that had never happened before in his more than three year career, given how rarely he does submit.”


“And it took Spike how long to figure that out… he’s an idiot.”


Jenkins pulls Mak’s right arm over his shoulder once again causing Mak to cry out. Spike continues on his assault and smoothly spins, then stops dead in his tracks, only to grab Francis’ arm and dive backwards towards the mat in a Single arm DDT!


“Spike Jenkins is upset and it shows. He’s going after Mak’s arm like he was Tom Flesher!”


Sitting up from the canvas Spike let’s out a ‘Who’s Superior’ clearly pissed that his opponent did a move Flesher is famous for. Picking Mak up, he grabs him and with no regard for his opponent tosses him shoulder first into the steel post!




Francis cringes in pain, his arm having gone through the ringer, as Spike drags him from between the buckles and places him in the corner. Then quickly wraps his arm in the cables, wrenching it at an odd angle.


“And he’s still working that arm. Spike is actually doing the right thing for a change!” King says, as Spike releases Mak’s arm from the ropes – but not without a kick for good measure and sends him away in a cross-corner whip—no! The Franchise grits his teeth, showing some of that amazing heart he’s known for and reverses sending Spike spiraling into the turnbuckle pads! The straight-edger hits the corner back first and stumbles out, clearly dazed, as Mak rebounds off the near ropes behind him, clutching his right arm to his side, but still looking for a bulldog-



-and Spike turns around, grabbing Francis by the waist, lifting him up, turning 270 degrees and depositing him down on the top with a snap! Mak nearly ricochets to the mat, but Spike glides in behind him as he turns and loops his arm underneath Mak neck, before falling to his knees in a side shoulder jawbreaker!!


“The Minor Threat!” Pete shouts, as Mak snaps down to the canvas. “He looked for it earlier in the match, but this time the threat is real!”


Spike crawls on his knees into a cover, hooking the leg, as Chioda hits the mat to make the count…















THR—No! Mak kicks out at two! “First two count of the match is for Hollywood, who is now in the drivers seat, King.”


“It’s Spike… you know he’ll mess it up.” King adds, as Holly stands and shoots Chioda a look, thinking that could have been a three. In the center of the ring, Mak pushes himself off the canvas, with his good arm, as Spike breaks off his staring contest with the ref. Hollywood backs up into the ropes, as the Franchise gets to his feet and recoils off them gaining momentum for a running elbow to Mak…




…who suddenly turns and grasps him about the waist! The whole arena pauses , as Mak takes a step forward, more like a little hop and he pops his hips sending Spike FLYING overhead, with a release belly-to-belly suplex on his bad arm!!!


“What a display of leverage by Mak!” Pete shouts, as Francis sits on the mat, shaking out his right arm. “We’ve seen him throw suplexes on one leg but never with one arm! He has to be smarting after that one, King?”


“Actually, that was all leverage, Pete.” King states to clear it up for the home audience. “He popped his hips and got Spike over, but it wasn’t like he dead-lifted him! Call me when he pulls that off on a bum arm!”


Mak gets up off the mat still shaking out his arm and cuts off a rising Spike with a running knee to the side of the head! Mak continues to shake out his right arm, getting a knee brace assisted face rake and then the Franchise pushes him into the ropes and sends him away with an Irish whip. Mind still focused on the pain in his face Spike can do nothing, but return to the Franchise, who raises his left knee into the air, blasting Jenkins with a straight shot under the chin! The crowd gasps at the sound of solid contact, as Hollywood drops like a stone to the mat!















THR-No! Only a two count for the Franchise! Mak gets up and drags Holly with him, then tosses Spike into the ropes face first and belts him in the kidney with a forearm! Jenkins stumbles back into the ropes on wobbly legs, but somehow uses the momentum to spin and lunge forward, blasting Mak in the face with an elbow!!


“Francis going for that Kidney punch into a side Russian leg sweep. A staple combo of his, but Spike still has a lot of fight left in him!”


Mak pivots blinking in pain, as he turns back around, but Spike blasts him with another forearm blow!! Francis fires back with a punch of his own but his right arm is aching him and he has nothing behind his punches. "Now we know why Mak has been using kicks and his knees. He has nothing behind his punches after the arm work of Spike!" Pete notes, as Mak stumbles back when Spike catches him on the chin with a shotei to the jaw and then whips him away, sending him overhead on his return with a back body drop! Mak attempts to get to his feet as quickly as he can and walks right into a Spike running forearm strike and another forearm, before Jenkins whips him away and on his return blasts him with a running elbow!!!




"Spike is feeling it! He's a house-a-fire!"


"Where's a fire hydrant when you need it?" King asks, as Spike stands pumping his fist into the air. He has the momentum and he can end this now. Pulling down his elbow pad, Spike signals for a lariat, but Mak ducks and gets underneath, dropping to his knees in a shoulder jawbreaker and then spinning into a hot shot, completing the“That’s Franchisable” combo!! With Spike on the ground Mak bounces off the far ropes and struts back towards his opponent, nailing him with a fist drop and completing “The Truth Hurts” as well!


"The Truth Hurts and apparently Mak Francis thinks this match is over!" Pete says, as Mak signals for the Franchise Tag.


"Very clever Pete." King deadpans, as Mak stands. "How many hours in the mirror did it take you to come up with that one?"


The one true Franchise lifts Spike up pushing through the pain in his arm, but whether it's fatigue, his right arm or a combination of both, Mak can’t get his opponent all the way up. Holly's feet leave the floor but they go right back down again as Mak grunts in pain, and the Straight edger isn’t one to give his challenger a second chance. Spike fires off a left hand to the ribs… then another… then another… and as Mak’s grips weakens Spike hooks his legs around the Franchise’s and rolls backwards into a small package! Chioda surprised takes a second to fall and make the count...


"Small package! Spike counters the Franchise Tag!"






















NO! No says Chioda raising two fingers, waving off the pin. "So close!" Pete exclaims as Mak gets out of the inside cradle! Francis pops up to his feet and Spike slowly rises to a knee-




-but Francis explodes forward and blasts Hollywood with a Yakuza kick!!! "Now that's the reason Flesher oft avoided that thing!" King says, as Mak knowing he needs to hit something big, reaches his left arm around the body of Jenkins and clasps it with his right hand, breathing heavily for a second, he lets loose a primary grunt and hoists Spike over in a arch, nearly dead-lifting the Hollywood superstar in a high and tight Gut-wrench suplex that drops Spike on the back of his neck!!!




"I guess he did have enough in the tank to hit a suplex that wasn't just leverage." King says, as Mak looks to the top rope. The Frogsplash always follows the Gut-wrench and he wants to get the win with style. Mak shuffles over to the ropes and the crowd begins to cheer. Mak is suddenly upset as he turns and realizes the cheers aren't for him but Spike who is attempting to get up off the canvas. His plans for a frogsplash ended, Mak comes back towards Holly and grabs him from behind, helping him to his feet...


"German suplex! He's going to put him down for good and then hit Brotherly Love!" King shouts, but Spike blocks the attempted hurl with a leg lace and then spins swinging his arm out in the cruiser-killing-deadly-and-death-inducing Lariat!!!!


"Both men are down!" Pete calls, as Chioda starts the ten count!








"The first man up has a definite advantage!"









"You don't say Pete!"









"Mak's up!" King shouts.


"Spike's up!" Pete shouts.





And they are both up at the same time!! Spike stumbles over to Mak and swings his arm out for a second LARIAT, but Francis ducks and goes for a German. Francis' arm is killing him, but Mak shakes off the pain, holding his grip like a pitbull, as he pops his hips in a—




“German suplex by the Franchise, but he’s not letting go! He's going for Rolling Germans!!!” Mak pulls Spike to his feet but can't hit the next German, so he releases the hold. "Man he must be hurting if he can't hit the Germans!" Pete says as Spike holds his neck and swings at Mak, who ducks underneath!




"There's the second one! Can he hit the third?" Spike slowly gets to his feet and Francis doesn’t surrender on hitting his final suplex, and agilely loops behind Spike again! Jenkins struggles to hold on, as Francis fights to break his grip! Spike fires off back elbows again, as Mak succeeds in pull him away allowing Mak pops his hips in—




—A third and final German suplex!! Francis falls into a cover and Chioda hits the mat beginning the count...



















"NO! NO! TWO!" Chioda shouts raising two fingers in the air, as Mak can only shake his head. He was sure that the rolling Germans, even broken up could put Spike down. That look in his eyes at the beginning of the match must have actually meant something. Suddenly Mak knows what he must do. End this with the one thing he can't kick out of. Lifting Spike up with his one good arm he signals for the Franchise Tag!!!


“He was barely able to hit those German suplexes and now—with a hurt arm, Mak Francis is going for the match ender!”


Mak slaps on a front facelock, his right arm shaking in pain…





He cradles the leg with his left and locks his hands together…




”Will he get him up?” Pete queries, as the crowd sits with baited breath, some waiting to cheer, but most ready to boo Francis if he can hoist Spike up…




And with a pained grunt, middling between a snarl and a shout of agony, lifts Spike Jenkins into the air!!!


“HE GOT HIM UP!” King screams, as Mak pauses for a second, his arm quaking under the pressure of maintaining the cradle… before kicking his legs out, jumping into the air and simply sending Hollywood’s head careening into the canvas with the cranium crushing FRANCHISE TAG!









Spike’s body goes limp for a second, as Mak sits up from the canvas, breathing hard and raises an eyebrow to the very mixed reaction, the boos clearly over shadowing the cheers. An exhausted Mak falls back first into a cover, leaning over Spike as Billy Chioda drops to the mat and the crowd counts, it’s ingrained in there system to hope for a kick out…










But hope all they want.


“It’s over, Pete!”














Nobody kicks out of the Franchise Tag.


“Nobody kicks out of THAT!”












And so far nobody has…


















…until now!!!!!!!




“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” Pete bellows, his voice booming as he leans back in his seat, lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and looks up at the Sydney night sky.


“NO, I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” King screams, pounding his fists on the announce table.



Mak can’t believe it either.



The Franchise stares up at the dark Aussie sky and suddenly sits up. He needs to get this win. And he’ll do anything to get it. Standing up with his bum arm cradling his side, Mak grabs Spike by the hair and lifts him to his feet. Dragging Spike to the corner the announcers go quiet as he places Jenkins on the top rope. He’s going to finish this now. Nobody should kick out of the Franchise Tag. He’ll just have to make the Tag hurt a little more. Climbing up after his opponent slowly, Mak has trouble getting past the second rope…



He’s stalled out.


Dug as deep as he could.


But apparently Spike Jenkins has not.




Reaching down, he steps over the arms of Mak Francis and wraps his arms about his waist. With a glassy expression and sweat dripping down his face, Spike lifts…





And takes the plunge-
























The crowd goes nuts as Spike hits the SECOND ROPE RATINGS CRASH!!! The announcers stay silent, as Jenkins slowly crawls over to Mak and rolls him over, falling on top in a pin. Chioda counts…






















They used to say nobody kicks out of the Franchise Tag.


“Nobody kicks out of THAT!”











Now they say nobodies kicking out of that.



*Ding! Ding! Ding!*




Funyon’s exclaimation is drowned out by the eruption of the crowd. On the mat Spike Jenkins sits, knowing that he's finally gotten one up on Mak Francis, clean. And all it took was kicking out of a move that had never been kicked out of before-


"What a match folks." Pete says, smiling. "It took a lot. A whole lot. Asecond rope Ratings Crash and kicking out of the Franchise Tag... but Spike Jenkins has won this match and is on the road back to fighting Toxxic!"


-Spike took the Franchise Tag and now he could lay claim to being this federations Franchise.



And in the ring Mak Francis can only look up at the night sky and wonder how he kicked out.

Edited by Ace309

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As we return from commercial, we're in Martial Law's locker room. Despite the MLers being off the card for tonight, Megan Skye has travelled with the rest of the SWF cru' and is sat in her locker room reading the latest edition of Vogue. Or...whatever it is women like her read. I dunno, I'm a guy. Honest. Considering...she seems pretty relaxed. At least, until the door swings open and Todd Cortez walks into the room. Megan glances up momentarily, only to glance back down at her magazine again.


"Expecting someone else, were we?" groans Cortez, lumping his bags onto the floor.


"You didn't talk to him then?"


"I tried. But I had to get on the flight I did, otherwise I wouldn't have got here in time. So I told him we'd speak again on Wednesday...he's flying over to Japan as we speak."


Megan sighs from behind her mag.


"What the hell are we gonna do?"


"I don't kno..."


"Megan, we can't keep on like this." sighs Cortez, finally causing Megan to put down the magazine and sit bolt upright. "He's a wreck. If it wasn't for Pretzler, he would have lost again on Monday. We're losing match after match, he's on one hell of a losing streak again...we're doing so badly that we're not even BOOKED tonight. We're right out of the Tag Title picture. And you know exactly why. It's been like this ever since..."


"I know, I KNOW!"


Looking down, Megan holds her head in her hands.


"You've got to tel..."


Cortez is cut off in mid sentence though, as Megan has started sobbing away. Groaning, Cortez places an arm around Megan's shoulder, clearly wondering why he bothered taking such a long haul flight on such short notice, for such little reason. Eventually, Megan manages to stop sobbing long enough to turn to Cortez, a tear rolling down her cheek as she leans i...



...suddenly, Cortez stands up as quickly as he possibly can. Reaching into his pocket, Cortez pulls out his cellphone and tosses it onto the seat next to Megan.


"Call him."

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We return from the commercial break to see Longdogger Pete and Suicide King at the ringside broadcast table, a large bottle sitting in front of them.


King: “It’s about damn time Flesher provided us with free alcohol for these shows.”


King reaches for the bottle, but Pete slaps his hand before he can grab it.


King: “OW! What the hell was that for?”


Pete: “That alcohol’s not for us. It’s for the competitors in our next contest.”


King: “Wouldn’t drinking too much alcohol prove to inhibit your ability in the ring?”


Pete: “I think that’s the point of this next contest. Lil’ Buck and Jay Hawke will face each other in the ring, and they will alternate doing shots from this bottle of Hot Damn! 100 proof cinnamon-flavored alcohol every minute until a winner is declared.”


King: “Those have to be the stupidest damn rules I’ve ever heard of. Can’t they just hit each other over the head with the bottle or something?”


Pete: “On Storm, that’s quite possible. Let’s go up to the ring…”


King: “Question.”


Pete: “Yes?”


King: “There’s going to be a coin flip to determine who drinks first, right?”


Pete: “Right.”


King: “So how do we determine who calls it?”


Pete just shakes his head in disbelief, although deep down he knows it’s a valid question.


Pete: “Let’s get to Funyon’s introductions.”


Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following non-title contest on Storm is Russell Crowe’s Favorite Match, and it is scheduled for one fall. A coin will be flipped at the beginning of the match. Whoever loses this coin toss will take a shot of Hot Damn! 100 proof cinnamon flavored alcohol at the one minute mark. The winner of the coin toss will take a shot of Hot Damn! at the two minute mark. They will alternate shots until a pinfall occurs.”


King: “We already knew that, Funyon. Get on with it! It’s only a two hour show.”


Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” comes on the PA as the lights dim.


Funyon: “Introducing first … from the Hall of Fame City in Cleveland, Ohio … weighing in tonight at 215 pounds … he is the current SWF International Champion … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”


A lone spotlight shines down on the SWF’s resident teacher, who makes his way to the ring as the crowd chants a familiar chant:








The chants don’t faze our International Champion, who enters the ring and removes his sequined purple and black robe, revealing the beautiful International Championship belt. He then removes his belt and looks at it, kissing it before handing it to referee Scott Ryder.


Funyon: “His opponent…”


The music fades from Pink Floyd into Crime Mob’s “Knuck if you Buck”.


Funyon: “Hailing from Lanett, Alabama … weighing in at 270 pounds … LILLLLLLLLLLLLL’ BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!


Lil’ Buck walks into the arena, pimp cup held high as the crowd cheers, not because they particularly like Buck and his gangsta lifestyle, but mostly because they just hate Jay Hawke. He walks to the ring, brushing dirt off his old school Bo Jackson jersey.


Pete: “As Buck makes his way to the ring…”


King: “…I want to ask if we can at least take the booze home if they don’t finish it off.”


Pete: “You can do what you like.”


King: “Cinnamon schnapps. No whiskey? No tequila?”


As Buck enters the ring and the music dies down, referee Scott Ryder calls both men in for the coin toss. Funyon holds the microphone for Ryder so his instructions can be audible.


Ryder: “OK, gentlemen. This side is heads and represents Jay Hawke. This side is tails and represents Lil’ Buck. Any questions?”


Hawke: “I have one. How long did you go to school to learn what a coin was?”


Ryder: “Four years.”


Hawke: “Um…no, never mind.”


Scott Ryder then tosses the coin into the air and it falls to the mat. It bounces….bounces again…and lands…


Ryder: “Heads it is. Jay Hawke has won the toss and will be the second to drink.”


King: “Chalk that up as a sentence you’ll never have to hear again.”


As ring attendants move the alcohol and shot glasses to a table next to the ring, the two combatants make their way to their corners. But as Funyon makes his way out of the ring, Jay Hawke grabs the microphone from Funyon.


Hawke: “You know something?”






Hawke: “Unlike our World Heavyweight Champion, I’m not opposed to having a drink once in a while, but this supposed to be a wrestling match, not an episode of Cheers Down Under! But if I must compete in this atrocity, can’t we at least get a fine Australian beer…”






Hawke: “…like Foster’s?”



The crowd boos vehemently, as drinking Foster’s is roughly the equivalent of drinking piss water in Australia. Hawke smiles though, as getting the crowd angry was his only real goal.






The bell signals the start of the match, and a clock conveniently counts down the time remaining until the first shot of alcohol is taken. The two competitors lock up collar-and-elbow, but Buck uses his significant strength advantage to throw Hawke down hard to the mat. Hawke hops to one knee and begins to think about a new approach. But to buy himself some time, he locks up with Buck again, only for Buck to toss him to the mat again.


Pete: “Who would you give the advantage to in this one? Hawke for winning the coin toss?”


King: “Actually, I give the advantage to Buck with his size. Unless he’s gone all day without food, it’s going to take a lot longer for the alcohol to affect him.”


Into another lockup, and this time Jay Hawke quickly slips behind him with a hammerlock. Buck lasts maybe two seconds in the hold before he levels Jay in the face with a hard elbow that nearly breaks his cheek. Hawke staggers backwards, rubbing his cheek with his hands, and Buck knocks him down with a hard clothesline. Buck wastes no time covering in an attempt to end the match without drinking:






Kickout. Buck locks Jay Hawke into a front facelock and grinds down on it, bringing forearms down to Hawke’s back until…




Buck maintains the hold, but he grabs the shot glass from the ring attendant and downs it. It clearly burns going down, as he releases the hold to clutch at his throat. That gives Jay the opening to dive down and lift an arm to his opponent’s nether regions.




Pete: “The low blow from Jay Hawke, and that’s going to be the danger of these one minute intervals!”


King: “Not only does it leave your opponent an opening, but if you’re in control it completely kills your momentum!”


With Buck still on the mat reeling from the low blow, Hawke decides to do whatever he can to keep his larger opponent grounded. After stomping Buck’s groin, he grabs hold of Buck’s foot and slowly drags him to the corner. Hawke slides out of the ring, pulls Buck a few inches, and rams his knee into the steel ringpost.






And again.






And again.






King: “There’s a smart man there!”


Pete: “He’s taking advantage of the lack of rules here on Storm!”


King: “And on top of that, he’s keeping Buck grounded for when it’s Jay’s turn to drink!”


Jay Hawke slides back in the ring and stomps at Buck’s knee until…





Jay Hawke heads over to the appropriate corner and does his shot, cringing at the taste of cinnamon. Couldn’t they at least have gone with peppermint schnapps instead? A quick shake of the head, and Jay runs over to the corner and drops a leg across the prone body of Lil’ Buck.


Pete: “Each man has taken a shot of Hot Damn!, and thus far neither man seems to be affected by the alcohol.”


King: “Give it ten minutes. Drinking it as fast as they are is going to do an infinite amount of damage before long.”


Buck begins to pull himself to his feet, but Jay is waiting for him, taking his larger opponent down with a swinging neck breaker before Buck can even get his balance. Jay covers, hooking the left leg for leverage:









Kickout. Jay Hawke takes a deep breath, possibly out of frustration but possibly from the alcohol. He grabs hold of Buck’s leg and drops a knee into the thigh, hoping to charley horse it up. He keeps the knee planted there and pulls back on the toe, hoping the awkward positioning might bring him a submission victory. It doesn’t, but it does make it hard for Buck to defend himself against…






Scott Ryder brings the next shot over to Lil’ Buck, who drinks it despite having his leg twisted into an awkward position.


Pete: “When does the alcohol being to take effect, King?”


King: “Normally it would be hard to say, but figure it’s easier to get sick if you drink with a headache. The way you bang around in there when you’re wrestling, combined with the alcohol…well, I hope we’ve got a cleaning crew on standby before we get those last two matches in.”


Hawke loosens his grip on the hold, as he has something else in mind altogether. He spins around, apparently to hook a figure-four leglock, but Buck brings his free leg to Hawke’s chest and pushes forward, sending the International Champion crashing hard into the corner. Buck drags himself to his feet and pulls himself forward, stumbling a tiny bit as he gets to the corner.


King: “I think those first two shots are starting to get to Lil’ Buck.”


Buck still has most of his bearings about him though, and he manages to hit Jay Hawke in the back of the head with a series of hard elbowsmashes. Buck then grabs Jay Hawke by the waist and takes him out of the corner and onto the mat with a belly-to-belly suplex. Buck takes a deep breath but covers:









Kickout. Buck immediately grabs a hold of Jay Hawke’s leg and locks in a leg scissors, and just as he clamps it on…






It’s Jay Hawke’s turn to do a shot, and he reluctantly takes it from Scott Ryder and downs it. Judging from the look on his face, it apparently doesn’t go down as smoothly while you’re in pain from a leg scissors.


Pete: “As Buck keeps a hold of that leg, Jay has now taken his second shot, and I think both men are feeling the effects of that alcohol.”


King: “Hey, this stuff is 50% alcohol. It doesn’t take much to feel it, even when you’re over 200 pounds.”


Jay Hawke leans back and tries to gather his thoughts, unaware that his shoulders have fallen to the canvas:









THR…shoulder up.


Pete: “Buck almost caught the International Champion napping there. That could have been a huge win.”


Jay Hawke rolls over onto this side, which is enough to get him into the ropes. Buck releases the hold even though he doesn’t technically have to break. He keeps hold of the leg long enough to drag Hawke to the center of the ring, then turns Hawke over, hanging onto the leg while leaning back.


Pete: “Half Boston crab firmly applied!”


King: “Buck is very wisely trying to keep the advantage here by taking Hawke’s speed away from him.”


Buck sits back on the hold just a little bit further, but he becomes dismayed to hear…






He has to take one hand off of the hold in order to grab the shot glass for shot number 3, and Hawke is quick to free his leg and crawl to the ropes as Buck swallows the cinnamony goodness. Jay rolls to the outside, and Buck follows him to the floor. Buck begins chasing Jay Hawke around the ring.


King: “What the hell is this, ring around the rosey? Something use a chair or something!”


Buck continues to chase Jay around the ring, when we see Jay stop at the far side of the ring and Buck tumble forward into the corner. We can’t tell from the camera angle whether Hawke tripped Buck or if Buck tripped on his own, but either way Buck holds his head from the combination of the schnapps and the steel.


Pete: “What happened? Can we get a replay?”


As Jay Hawke rolls into the ring, we see a replay from the reverse angle, showing Buck trip over his own two feet as Hawke ducked out of the way.


King: “Hahaha! I always knew this guy was clumsy as an ox!”


Pete: “The guy’s had three shots of booze!”


King: “Fine, make excuses for him!”


Jay Hawke sees Buck getting to his feet and grabs the top rope, presumably ready to go for the pescadoe. But just as he’s set to leap…





Scott Ryder immediately steps in front of Hawke as a ring attendant hands him a shot. Hawke stares at the referee as he downs the shot, and Buck reenters the ring as Ryder takes the glass.


King: “You know, I was about to say these rules are kind of a buzz kill, but really, it’s kinda hard to kill a buzz when you’re doing a shot every two minutes.”


With Buck still down, Jay Hawke drops a leg across the back of his head. He then rolls out to the apron and waits for Buck to get to his feet. Buck does, and Jay leaps onto the top rope…









But slips and lands face-first onto the canvas!


Pete: “The alcohol is definitely affecting the International Champion at this point!”


King: “And Buck’s size seems to be the difference right now, as he seems a lot fresher than Hawke!”


Buck doesn’t even wait for Hawke to try to get to his feet, as he drops down and pounds at the back of his head with a series of elbows. Buck pulls the International Champion to his feet, whips him in the ropes, then catches him coming in with a crushing double-ax handle chop that snaps The Dean’s head back as he falls to the canvas. Buck goes for the cover but neglects to hook the leg:









Kickout. As Hawke struggles to get to his feet, Buck runs off the ropes and takes Hawke right back down to the mat with a lariat.





Lil’ Buck, clearly frustrated since he has the momentum, downs another shot of the sweet, sweet liquor. The downtime hasn’t done Hawke any favors though, and Buck hooks his fallen challenger into a pump handle, then takes him over the top with a suplex.


Pete: “Pump It Up Suplex, and I don’t know how much more of this Jay Hawke can take!”


King: “I don’t know if he can take another shot.”


Pete: “Of alcohol or Buck’s offense?”


King: “Both!”


Sensing he has the match well in hand, Buck grabs Jay Hawke and drives his knee into the midsection. Hawke’s bent over, so Buck hooks the arms, clearly going to for the kill right here.


Pete: “He’s going for the Buck-Wild Ride!”


King: “It’s over if he hits it!”


He doesn’t hit it, though, as Hawke is able to flail his legs and land behind Lil’ Buck. He dropkicks Buck in the knee to get him kneeling, then to the back of the head to get him flat on his face.


King: “A tremendous counter by The Dean of Wrestling there, but look at him struggling here. He’s clearly dizzy from the alcohol.”


Jay Hawke is alert enough to know he’s got Buck in a good position for a camel clutch. He tries to set it up, but stops, looking confused as if he doesn’t know remember how to lock in the hold.


Pete: “It’s true, King.”


King: “What is?”


Pete: “Alcohol really does kill brain cells.”


Knowing he’s wasted too much time to do much with the hold now, Jay Hawke begins to leave the ring.





He is forced to stop while still on the apron, and he grabs a shot glass, closes his eyes in preparation, then downs the shot as fast as he can, coughing as he swallows. He then sees a large object coming at him out of the corner of his eye, and turns to see what it is. He figures out that it’s Lil’ Buck, but just a split-second too late.












Buck got low just as he got there, leveling Jay Hawke with the Chin Check and sending him off the apron and into the guardrail on the outside.


Pete: “What a shot with that forearm uppercut to the chin! Did you see that, King?”


King: “Jay had something in mind before he had to take his shot, and before he could execute whatever that was, Buck might have just knocked the champion out right there!”


Buck tries to step through the ropes to follow, but slips on the apron, catching himself just enough to roll to the floor rather than fall to the floor.


King: “All we need is somebody’s wife to leave him and we can write a country song based on this match.”


Buck grabs Jay Hawke by the back of his head, pulling him to his feet. Buck gets low again for another chin check, but Hawke instinctively lifts a knee into Buck’s face before falling to one knee. Hawke shakes his head as a closeup shows his eyes to be glassy, but Hawke finds a way to get to his feet and head to the timekeeper’s area.





Buck’s in bad shape following the knee, and he actually needs help from the referee to take the shot of Hot Damn! Meanwhile, Jay has grabbed a weapon off the timekeeper’s table.


Pete: “What has he grabbed, King?”


King: “I can’t tell. Maybe it’s the hammer for the bell.”


Jay Hawke swings the weapon and connects, jumping up in the air and celebrating…






…before realizing that absolutely nothing happened. Maybe it’s his choice of weapons.


King: “No effect? What did he use?”


Pete: “That’s…”


Pete and King: “Funyon’s wallet!”


King: “That explains it! Funyon’s wallet has been empty for years!”


Jay Hawke can only think of the words of the late Graham Chapman: “Run away!” He tries to do so, but he’s only getting a couple of steps at a time before falling to the ground. Jay Hawke’s only salvation is Buck, afraid of the same fate, is taking his dear sweet time in pursuit.


Pete: “Buck giving chase but not gaining much ground!”


King: “I haven’t seen a match be this much of a Clusterfuck since…well, Clusterfuck. Although Calvinball II was pretty close.”


Jay Hawke rolls into the ring, and Buck appears to be on his way in, but he stops when he sees a fat woman in the front row.


Buck: “How you doin’, biatch?”




The referee hands Hawke a shot, which Hawke tries to wave off. Ryder threatens disqualification, and Hawke, clearly in agony at this point, takes the shot in one gulp. Meanwhile, Buck makes a play for the woman in the front row, who ain’t feelin’ it.


Buck: “Come on, don’t be hatin’. You gotsta be on the sizz-erp to not wanna be with Buck.”


King: “The alcohol’s gone completely to Buck’s senses. He’s hitting on a fat ugly chick.”


Pete: “Are you sure that’s not his normal type?”


King: “He’s a gangsta, not a baker, so I doubt fat chicks are his normal thing.”


Hawke closes his eyes, apparently trying to regain his vision, and he sees Buck distracted by the woman at ringside. Hawke then stumbles over to the apron and leaps, catching Buck with a flying ax handle to the back of the neck that sends him tumbling into the barricade. The fat girl applauds, and Hawke sees her and says “I could never be that drunk.” The fans within earshot go “Oooooooooooooo!” as the fat woman gives him the look of death.


King: “Now I’m wondering who is in better shape here.”


Hawke struggles to roll his larger opponent into the ring. Hawke then begins to climb to the top rope, but his balance is so shaken that it’s taking him much longer than it normally would.


Pete: “By the time Hawke makes it to the top rope, it will be time for Clusterfuck ‘06.”


King: “Oh, funny Pete.”





It’s Buck’s turn to take a shot, and he takes an extra second to stare at the glass before doing his sixth shot of the schnapps. He turns around just as Hawke finally leaps off the ropes, and Buck jumps up with an arm extended out of instinct, catching his opponent with a clothesline.




Buck shakes his head to clear the cobwebs, then sees Hawke lying nearly motionless on the mat. Buck picks Jay Hawke up and places him onto his left shoulder.


Pete: “Buck could be going for the airplane spin power slam here!”


King: “Can Hawke survive that move?”


Lil’ Buck indeed goes into the airplane spin portion of the move.





Buck gets six full revolutions in and gets ready to deposit his opponent to the mat, but the alcohol had doubled the dizziness he’d normally take from the move. He staggers to the left, staggers to the right, and falls.




With Hawke landing on top of him.

















Pete: “It’s over!”


King: “And Buck essentially beat himself there! He went for the airplane spin power slam, and he made himself so dizzy that Hawke fell on top of him!”


Funyon: “The time of the fall, 11 minutes 45 seconds… the winner of the match… JAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAAAAAWWWWWWWWWKE!”


Both men begin to get to their feet, and both men begin to cough…and hack…


King: “Uh oh…”


…and ring attendants quickly reach underneath the ring, pulling out buckets as both wrestlers appear close to vomiting. We immediately cut to the broadcast booth since nobody wants to see that.


Pete: “A tremendous matchup here on Storm, as Jay Hawke pulls off the victory.”


King: “But both men are sick right now…”


We hear the sound of somebody vomiting. It doesn’t matter who.


King: “…and thank God somebody thought enough to make sure we have buckets ready for this eventuality.”


Pete: “Well, regardless of how each man feels right now, Jay Hawke picks up the victory in this first-ever match.”


King: “And I feel it’s pretty safe to say this is the last time this match will ever be done.”


Pete: “More from Sydney after this commercial break!”

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Back in Martial Law's dressing room, which they have despite the fact they're not even on the show, Megan Skye seems to have finally picked up Todd Cortez's cellphone. And funnily enough, we've returned JUST as she's about to use it. Convenient, no? Dialing the number, Megan takes a deep sigh as she leans back into the armchair she's sitting in.






Megan holds the phone away from her ear a little, wondering if Cortez has a hearing problem.


"Hi...Landon? It's Megan here. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing..."








"The fu..."




The voice on the other end of the phone is a lot clearer now. Not least because it's English. But also, because the music has died down a little, as Landon has presumably stepped outside of wherever he is.


"Who the hell was that?" asks Megan curiously.


"Just some chick. I assume she's Japanese, but her accent's pretty weird, so I could be wrong."


"Where's all that music coming from? Is...is that Copacabana?"


"Yeah. I landed early, so I thought I'd stop off at a bar. Guess what...they've got karaoke here!"


"Karaoke in Japan...who'd have thought it. Liste...have you been drinking?"


"Yes, 'MOM'. Is that a problem? What's with all the questions anyway?"


"No...no, no reason. I just wanted to see how you were, that's all. I spoke to Todd and he said you were flying over to Japan, so I thought I'd call."


"Oh. Well, I'm fine. So, I'm gonna go back in and..."


"No...Landon. To be honest, there's something we need to talk about. I know these past few weeks have been awkward, since...since after Battleground and what...what happened. But, there's something I need to tell you that might make things a little bette..."


On the other end of the phone, Landon laughs.


"What is it?"


"Did you know you can get beer from vending machines here?"


"...that's...lovely. But Landon, seriously, once I tell you this, hopefully you can get back on tra..."


"Don't worry about all that, Megs. I did some thinking on the flight, seeing as the in-flight movie stunk to high heaven. Some crap with that Kelly Clarkson chick...I dunno what, but it left me with less will to live than I thought possible. So I went through everything and, well, I've come up with a solution to get me back on track. I know what's been missing these past few weeks. And I know why I'm slumping. I've lost my focus."


"I know, but babe, if you'll just..."


"It wasn't just because of what happened between us."


"Yes it..."


"I've been in a rut ever since I stopped going after Toxxic. I mean, that was the whole reason for Martial Law in the first place. To go after Toxxic and the World Title. My neck's feeling good again and quite frankly, I need the challenge back in my life. I need to get back into the World Title hunt. I need...to go after Toxxic again."


Megan sighs and runs her hand through her hair, frustrated. But then she seems to look almost relieved.


"So...you think this could help you?"


"Sure. I mean, I've done it before. There's no reason why I can't do it again. I went through 18 guys to get the title shot at From The Fire, but screwed myself over by losing my focus. That won't happen this time though. No. I'm ready. Besides, it's not we're ever going to get a Tag Title shot, now that Wild and Dangerous are monopolising them.."


"Well, if you're sure about it, then you know I'll be right behind you all the way."


"Well...better than you being underneath me again."


Megan hangs her head.


"Listen, I'll talk to you more when you and Todd get over here. They're calling me up, so I gotta go..."


"Landon, wait!"






"You're gonna have to hurry up. You don't know how many people there are wanting to do Bonnie Tyler..."



"...it's...nothing. You go."


"Alright. Enjoy the fligh..."


Megan cuts Landon off mid-sentence though by ending the call. Looking off into the distance, Megan sighs and tosses the cellphone aside onto the sofa. As she does, Todd Cortez appears in camera shot having come from the bathroom.




Megan shakes her head.


"You're going to have to tell him sooner or later. It's not really something you can keep hidden..."


"I know." Megan sighs. "I've just...got to find the right time."

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“Folks, we’ve had a tremendous night of action here on Storm,” says Longdogger Pete, “and we’re just about ready for our main event, as Wildchild will put the World Cruiserweight Title on the line against Insane Luchador!”


“It’s about time that he put it up against somebody,” quips the Suicide King, “seeing as how he keeps ducking Scott Pretzler!”


“What do you mean, ducking Scott Pretzler,” asks an incredulous Pete. “Pretzler got his rematch at Battleground, and lost! How many rematches does this guy think he’s entitled to?”


“For crying out loud, MacDougal,” spits King, “don’t be so damned literal; all I mean by that is that he and Wildchild are clearly the class of the Cruiserweight Division, and by all rights, Pretzler should get another shot at the belt before anyone else does!”


“What a crock!” spits LDP. “Look, King, Pretzler was the champ… he lost. He got a one-on-one rematch against the guy that beat him… and he lost again! ‘By all rights,’ he should have to go all the way back to the bottom of the rankings; there are a lot of great cruiserweights that should get a title shot before he gets second rematch!”


“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffs King! “Pretzler got his Quote-Unquote ‘rematch,’ but he got he had to do it in a ladder match, which everyone knows is Wildchild’s specialty! He didn’t have time to prepare! He was caught off-guard, and that’s why he deserves a second chance!”


“King,” says Pete, “you can’t be serious! It was Pretzler who practically insisted on a ladder match; he instigated the whole thing by sneaking up on Wildchild and hitting him with a ladder two weeks before Battleground!”


“I should have known you’d say something like that,” mutters King.


“Looking past Scott Pretzler for just a moment,” continues Pete, “Insane Luchador has proven himself to be every bit the worthy contender; he’s one of the top cruiserweight stars in the SWF, and although he’s never set his sights on the World Cruiserweight Title before, he’s the kind of guy who’s more than capable of picking up a big win! There’s no question, though, that he’s going to have his hands full tonight; how do you see the match going, King?”


“Well,” replies King, “as much as it pains me to have to say this, I expect Wildchild to pull out the win. Just as I said the last time these two faced each other, Wildchild’s simply the better wrestler; not only can he dominate Rickmen in a battle of aerial tactics, but he’s more than capable at matching Rickmen in the hardcore style, as evidenced by his record-setting Hardcore Title reign… and, keep in mind, Drain-Clogger, that Insane Luchador has never beaten Wildchild; throughout their careers both in the JL and the SWF, Wildchild has, in terms of wins a losses, utterly dominated Rickmen!”


“You make a good point there, King,” agrees Pete. “When you’re in the ring against an opponent that you’ve faced multiple times, and you know that you have what it takes to beat him, that tends to give you a lot of confidence! IL has the tools to beat Wildchild, but he’s definitely going to have to bring his A-game, and maybe even hope for a little luck!”


“Well, he picked the wrong day to hope for some good luck, MacDougal,” jokes King. “It’s Friday the thirteenth!”


“By golly, you’re right,” says Pete. “The bane of superstitious people everywhere! Let’s just hope that something unusual doesn’t happen tonight, as we send it to the ring… take it away, Funyon!”




The sound of the timekeeper’s bell calls everyone’s attention to the center of the ring, where SWF Ring Announcer Funyon stands, waiting patiently for his cue. Upon receiving word through his headphone to begin the introductions, he raises his trusty microphone to his lips and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time… for the MAIN EVENT!”





The walls of the Sydney Opera House resonate with the grinding guitar riffs of Alice in Chains’ “Man in the Box.” Pillars of red and black pyro rocket towards the ceiling as Insane Luchador steps out from behind the curtain, waving his hands overhead before sprinting down the aisle.


“The following contest,” continues Funyon, as IL arrives at the ring, and slides underneath the bottom rope, “scheduled for one fall, is for the SWF World Cruiserweight Championship! Currently in the ring at this time… the challenger! From Easton, Pennsylvania, weighing two hundred one pounds, here is the reigning SWF Hardcore Champion… the In-SANE… LUUUUUCHADOR!” Rickman holds his hands above his head, milking the crowd as his music fades out.


“Well, IL looks ready for this contest,” notes Pete, “but whether or not that’s going to be enough to come away with the win tonight remains to be seen!” With that, the Opera House turns dark, leading to a surprisingly mixed reaction as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play:















“And his opponent,” shouts Funyon, “from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, and the reigning… AND DEFENDING… SWF World Cruiserweight Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild jogs down to the ring, not waiting for his spotlight to try and keep up with him, and somersaults between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. He rolls to his feet and looks out into the crow, which greets him with cheering, and… a smattering of boos?


“Whoa!” shouts Pete. “A very uncharacteristic reception for the Wildchild! I wonder what’s afoot here?”


“Well,” replies King, “You know, there is a precedent in this business for wrestlers that are beloved in most of the world to be hated in certain parts of the world, and vice versa.”


“So?” asks Pete.


“So,” replies King, “Evidently Wildchild, for whatever reason, is not as well-liked in Australia as he is in other parts of the world!”


“Well, Wildchild has had a few unsavory run-in’s with several superstars of Australian origin over the years,” notes Pete, as the lights come back on in the Opera House, “but Wildchild’s one of the more popular wrestlers in the SWF today! I just can’t believe that could possibly play a factor!”


“Well, obviously the Australians are very protected about their native sons! It’s kind of like when Va’aiga was still in the SWF; he was hated in Australia, too!”


“Va’aiga was hated everywhere,” snaps LDP in response. “I honestly don’t think that being in Australia really had that much to do with it! Va’aiga would have been booed in New Zealand, if we’d actually gone there; that’s how hated he was!” Wildchild removes the World Cruiserweight Title as his music fades out, and surrenders it to referee Ronald “Red” Herrington. Herrington shows the belt to Rickmen before holding it aloft for all to see, as Funyon leaves the ring. He then delivers the belt to Funyon outside the ring before motioning to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:




“Bell’s gone!” shouts LDP. “It’s time to get down to bid’ness!” Wildchild and IL approach each other to lock up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, only for IL to surprise Wildchild with a stiff right punch to the ribs! Wildchild lowers his left hand instinctively to his ribs, leaving his face exposed to IL’s attack!










The Luchador hammers Wildchild with a series of hard right hands, forcing the Cruiserweight Champion back into the corner! He backs away without protest when Red Herrington orders a clean break, but when he goes to punch Wildchild again, the Bahama Bomber blocks it with a left forearm…




… And drills IL between the eyes with a quick right jab of his own!






Wildchild forces Insane Luchador back towards the center of the ring with his own rapid-fire punches, before grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him back into the corner he just came from, the force of the whip spinning Wildchild’s body back around towards the center of the ring! The Human Hurricane leaps into the air and flips backwards as IL staggers out of the corner…





… Blasting him in the chest with a backflip kick that knocks him back into the corner! Wildchild scrambles to his feet and runs towards the opposite corner before quickly spinning back around and charging towards the Luchador. He explodes off the canvas, twisting in midair to deliver his patented Blue Crush splash, only for IL to duck out of the corner to safety… but instead of crashing into the turnbuckles, the Tropical Tumbler uses the ropes to catch himself, and climbs up to the top turnbuckle, waiting patiently for Rickmen to get back to his feet before leaping back off, flipping forwards and extending his feet…




… As he plants them into IL’s chest with a shooting-star missile dropkick! Wildchild scrambles atop IL’s body and applies a cover…
















… But IL kicks out easily at two! Wildchild pulls IL to his feet, only for the Luchador to drive the air out of his lungs with a rising uppercut to the midsection! IL tilts Wildchild’s chin upwards and pastes him with a right jab! Wildchild’s head snaps from side-to-side as Rickmen follows it with a left hook! Then another jab! IL winds up to deliver his spinning backfist, but Wildchild ducks underneath it, and IL over-rotates until his back is facing the Cruiserweight Champion, who wraps both arms around Insane Luchador’s waist and pulls him backwards into a rolling cradle!











… But IL kicks out at two, pushing Wildchild into the ropes with his legs, and rolling to his feet as the Caribbean Cruiser bounces off the ropes…






… To surprise him with a spear! IL pulls himself to his knees, breathing heavily as Wildchild clutches his midsection in pain!


“Nice spear by Insane Luchador to turn the tables,” notes Pete. “King, you can’t help but notice that he’s gotten off to a better start than in previous matches!”


“Well, obviously Insane Luchador’s going to try to make this as much like a brawl as possible,” says King, “which is probably the smartest thing that he can do; he doesn’t want to allow Wildchild to go the ropes too often, because it’s going to be a short night if that happens. If he wants to beat Wildchild, he’s going to have to bait him into trying to trade punches with him, and probably even take it outside the ring. You know, even though Wildchild did indeed have a record-setting Hardcore title reign, he was never really comfortable taking the fight to the outside; the Luchador might want to consider trying to draw Wildchild out of the ring, and roughing him up out there.


“Well, it is Storm,” concedes Pete, “which is generally considered to be the show where anything goes, so it might be a good idea!” IL pulls Wildchild to his feet and backs him into the corner, smashing him in the face with a few more punches to soften him up before whipping him across the ring. Wildchild slams into the opposite corner, but lowers his shoulder as IL charges after him, lifting him over the top rope, only for Rickmen to grab onto the top rope and steer himself onto the apron. Wildchild spins around and tries to knock IL off the apron, but the Luchador blocks with his left hand, blasting the Cruiserweight Champion with a stiff jab to the face to knock him backwards. Before Wildchild can recover, IL leaps onto the top rope and springs into the ring, landing on the Champion’s shoulders and locking his legs around Wildchild’s back as he arches backwards…






… Ripping Wildchild through the air with a springboard rana that sends him sliding out of the ring! IL runs to the ropes as Wildchild pulls himself to his feet out on the floor, diving feet-first towards the edge of the ring before the Bahama Bomber can regain his bearings…






… And nails him with a baseball slide that knocks him backwards, over the ring barricade and into the crowd!


“Nice flurry of offense by Insane Luchador!” praises LDP. “I think he caught Wildchild off-guard!”


“Definitely,” agrees King. “Wildchild came into this match expecting to try and counter the Luchador’s brawling, and the Luchador’s surprised him with some high-flying of his own!” IL scrambles to his feet and climbs to the top turnbuckle, waiting for Wildchild to get back to his feet before diving off the turnbuckle to the outside…






… Sailing over the ring barricade as he levels Wildchild with a flying clothesline!








“Big time diving clothesline by the challenger!” shouts Pete. “He’s got to keep it going, though!”


“Positively,” agrees King. “He can’t afford to let up on Wildchild; say what you want to about Clown-boy, but he’s not going to give up the World Cruiserweight Title without one hell of a fight!” Insane Luchador climbs over the barricade to return to the ringside area, and then pulls Wildchild back over the barricade as well. He pulls him to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the arena floor and into the barricade! IL follows him in, bending down to grab a length of speaker wire off the floor, and wrapping it around Wildchild’s throat, choking him out with it!


“Insane Luchadore choking Wildchild on the outside!” shouts LDP. “And King, this is what we said he had to do earlier; turn this into a brawl, and keep Wildchild from hitting those ropes!”


“That’s right,” agrees King. “You keep Wildchild outside the ring, then he’s not able to use his speed as effectively as he likes; he can’t use those ropes to increase his velocity, which means that it’s a little easier to see him coming!”


“Absolutely,” adds Pete. “Outside the ring, Wildchild has to telegraph his moves a lot more than he does in the ring, which obviously decreases the effectiveness of his offense!”


Plus, as I’ve said before,” continues King, “without the ropes the only move in Wildchild’s arsenal that you really have to worry about is that sidekick, because it’s the only one of his moves that doesn’t require some kind of setup!” IL finally relinquishes his choke and walks towards the ring, reaching underneath the apron to grab a folded steel chair! He holds it aloft for the crowd, who voice their approval:




“He’s got a chair!” shouts Pete. “Luchador may be trying to end this match right now!” IL stalks back towards Wildchild, slowly raising the chair as he prepares to bash Wildchild’s skull in…






… But the Bahama Bomber explodes off the barricade, whipping his leg through the air as he somersaults forward, and striking the flat of the chair with a rolling Koppou Kick that sends it smashing into IL’s face!


“Koppou Kick!” exclaims Pete. “Wildchild with a desperation move, and now Insane Luchador’s attempt to introduce a chair to the action have definitely backfired!” Wildchild uses the ring apron to pull himself to his feet, and then grabs IL by the back of the head, picking him up off the arena floor and rolling him underneath the bottom rope. Wildchild grabs onto the bottom rope and pulls himself into the ring, somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes, and then rolls immediately to his feet, running in place as he waits for IL to get back to his feet. As soon as Rickmen reaches one knee, Wildchild takes off running, bouncing off the ropes once… twice… and then exploding off the canvas, twisting in midair as he raises his arm towards IL’s face…





… Knocking him to the canvas with a flying back elbow! Wildchild immediately gets back to his feet, bouncing off the ropes once more before leveling the Luchador with a second flying back elbow! As Wildchild pops to his feet a third time, he looks out into the crowd and spins his hands above his head in the sign for his patented Pinball attack, a gesture that once again receives a mixed reaction!


“I just can’t believe that these great fans would want to boo Wildchild,” says Pete. “But right now, he’s going for that Pinball attack, and with the punishment that IL is taking right now, it could be the beginning of the end for him!” Wildchild once again runs in place as he waits for the Luchador to stand back up, before racing towards the ropes. He leaps onto the top rope, and then curls into a ball as he springs off, rocketing back towards the center of the ring…






… Where he blasts Insane Luchador in the chest with the Pinball! Wildchild rolls to his feet and immediately leaps back off the canvas, flipping backwards through the air…




… And crashing into IL with a standing moonsault! The Human Hurricane then pops back to his feet and hops over the Luchador, leaping onto the second rope and flipping backwards as he springs back into the ring…






… Coming down on Rickmen with a picture-perfect quebrada! The Tropical Tumbler pops back to his feet and hops over IL yet again, this time leaping onto the top rope before flipping backwards into the ring…






… Landing on Wildchild with a springboard moonsault!


“Tremendous offense by the World Cruiserweight Champion!” exclaims LDP. “And that’s exactly what IL was trying to avoid, King!”


“Positively,” agrees King. “When Wildchild builds up a full head of steam, he’s virtually unstoppable!”


“Not only that,” adds Pete, “but Wildchild is very fluid coming off those ropes; you talk about mat technicians that are able to chain together a series of moves, but nobody in professional wrestling is able to chain together aerial moves as fluidly as Wildchild!” Wildchild hooks the Alan’s leg and goes for the cover:


















“Two count only,” says Pete, as IL gets the shoulder up. “A brilliant flurry of offense by the Wildchild, but he’s going to need a little more if he wants to… wait a minute; what’s going on out there?”


Pete’s attention, as it turns out, has been diverted by the appearance of Toxxic at ringside. The World Heavyweight Champion is greeted mostly by boos as he walks deliberately down the aisle.


“It’s Toxxic!” shouts Pete.


“The World Heavyweight Champion,” echoes King.


“But what’s he doing down here?”


“Whatever he wants, Toilet-Clogger!” snaps King. “Hey, it’s not your place to question Toxxic; if he wants to observe the match up close and personal, why not?” Wildchild climbs to the top turnbuckle to deliver one of his trademarks flying attacks, and measures IL as he starts to get back to his feet, only to notice Toxxic strolling down the aisle.


“Look at this!” cries Pete, as Wildchild hops down from the turnbuckle. “Wildchild notices Toxxic outside the ring, and stops in mid-move! He’s totally disrupted the match, King!” Wildchild stands at the edge of the ring, screaming at Toxxic to leave the ringside area…






… Which gives the Luchador just enough recovery time to sneak up behind Wildchild and send him flying out of the ring with a dropkick! IL rolls onto his back to catch his breath while Wildchild tries to recover outside the ring.


“Insane Luchador taking advantage of Toxxic’s distraction to create some separation with a dropkick,” says LDP. “Utterly despicable on the part of Toxxic!”


“Why?” asks King. “Toxxic hasn’t done anything; look, all he’s doing right now is talking to Wildchild.”


“He shouldn’t even be at ringside, King,” counters LDP. “Toxxic’s over there giving verbal static to the Wildchild, having already disrupted the flow of the match, and he’s not even supposed to be here!” IL rolls underneath the bottom rope to exit to the arena floor, keeping an eye on Toxxic as he reaches underneath the ring to pull out a table!




“Luchador with a table!” shouts King. “If he can put Wildchild through it, that just might be enough for him to soften him up for that Evenflow DDT!”


“Perhaps,” replies Pete, as IL leans the table up against the ring barricade, “but the Luchador has to keep an eye on Toxxic as well, King; referee Red Herrington should order him to go backstage!”


“Why?” King asks defensively.


“It should be obvious, even to someone with selective vision like you, King,” snipes Pete. “Toxxic is a distraction to both men, simply because his intentions are unclear; I mean, obviously Wildchild knows that Toxxic has it in for him, but IL can’t really be sure that Toxxic doesn’t want a piece of him, too!” IL pulls Wildchild to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the arena floor into the table!






… But the Bahama Bomber reverses the whip attempt, sending IL crashing into the table instead! Wildchild drops to his knees, still trying to recover from his earlier spill, and Toxxic continues to verbally berate him.


“I don’t know what Toxxic’s game plan is,” says LDP, “but I don’t see where he can possibly think that antagonizing Wildchild is a good idea!”


“It’s a great idea!” quips King. “We should see more of it; in fact, I propose that Storm be officially designated ‘Antagonize Wildchild Day!’ That’d be terrific!” Wildchild returns Toxxic’s verbal barbs in kind, shouting at him as he makes his way over to IL. The Cruiserweight Champion pulls IL to his feet and rolls him underneath the bottom rope back into the ring.


“Wildchild putting his opponent back into the ring, where he likes the match to be, so he can use those ropes,” notes LDP. Wildchild somersaults back into the ring and rolls to his feet, running in place as he waits for IL to stand up. He suddenly takes off running, picking up speed as he hits the ropes, and leaps off the canvas, whipping his leg sharply through the air…






… As he levels Insane Luchador with his patented leg lariat! Wildchild runs back to the ropes as IL stumbles back to his feet and knocks him down with a second leg lariat!


“Wildchild scoring with two big leg lariats!” shouts LDP. “He’s softening that neck up for the Wild Ride!”


“Well, if he gets it,” says King, “the Luchador will have to go back to the drawing board!” Wildchild races towards the edge of the ring, but as he prepares to bounce off the ropes, Toxxic hooks his ankle from outside the ring! Furious, the Bahama Bomber hops out of the ring and gives chase!


“Toxxic wasn’t satisfied with just watching the match from outside,” says Pete, as Wildchild runs up the ramp after Toxxic. “He decided to get physically involved, and Wildchild’s finally had enough!” The Bahama Bomber follows Toxxic up the ramp…




When suddenly, Scott Pretzler runs out from backstage, and demolishes Wildchild with a sickening lariat!


“It was an ambush!” cries LDP. “It was all part of a master plan by Revolution Zero! Toxxic lured Wildchild right into a sneak attack by Scott Pretzler!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet, leading him by the hair towards the ring barricade…




… And slams him face first into the hard rubber surface! Pretzler grabs a nearby portable light fixture…




… And smashes it into Wildchild’s back!



“This is terrible!” moans Pete. “Somebody needs to put a stop to this! Scott Pretzler is affecting the outcome of this match!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a standing headscissors, locking his arms around Wildchild’s waist and pulling him up into piledriver position, and Toxxic pushes down on both of his feet…






… As they pound Wildchild’s head into the solid steel ramp with a spike piledriver!


“Spike Piledriver!” screams Pete. “Revolution Zero just knocked Wildchild unconscious with a spike piledriver! There’s no way that Wildchild’s going to be able to get up from that!” Pretzler bends down over the motionless Bahama Bomber, screaming about how nobody says no to him, before walking backstage, along with the World Heavyweight Champion.


“I can’t believe this!” cries Pete. “Wildchild’s Cruiserweight Title reign is going to come to an end, at the hands of a jealous rival, who wasn’t even involved in the match!”


“Not if the Luchador can’t get him back to the ring,” King points out. Just because there are no rules on Storm, doesn’t mean that falls count anywhere! He’s going to have to get him in the ring if he wants to beat him!” Luchador pulls himself to his feet and, seeing that Wildchild is lying up on the ring apron, exits the ring and stumbles up the ramp to get him.


“Luchador’s got Wildchild in his sights,” notes Pete. “If he can hurry up and get him to the ring, this one’s over!” IL drags Wildchild back down to the ring, rolling him underneath the bottom rope, and sliding in after him. Wearily, he collapses atop Wildchild and even hooks the leg as Red Herrington drops down to count the pin:



















“He kicked out!” screams LDP. “Wildchild kicked out!”


“I can’t believe it!” says King. “I can’t believe that he was able to kick out after that spike piledriver!”


“Well, King, that’s a long stretch of real estate from the SmarkTron down to the ring,” explains Pete. “Perhaps if he hadn’t still been injured from that table shot, he’d have made it down and back in time!”


“And, of course, if this had been a Falls Count Anywhere match, it would already be over,” adds King. “Now we’ll see if the Luchador has what it takes to finish the job that Pretzler started on him!” IL pulls Wildchild back to his feet, cupping his chin as he measures him, and then blasting him with a hard right hand, that sends him staggering backwards!





A second right hand doubles Wildchild over, followed by a third, which drops him to one knee!






IL continues to pound Wildchild until he’s down on both knees. He then runs to the ropes, leaping into the air as he bounces off…






… And smashing Wildchild in the face with a running dropkick! Rickmen rolls to his feet and leaps into the air, driving a kneedrop into Wildchild’s face as he comes down!


“Legacy of Brutality!” shouts Pete, as IL applies a cover. “And that should do it!”
















“Oh, that was so close!” cries LDP. “King, I don’t know where Wildchild keeps finding this energy from!”


“Well, obviously Wildchild wants to hold on to the Cruiserweight Title,” notes King. “The Luchador is going to have to knock this kid out, because he’s not going to stop fighting while he still has the means to resist, and he’s not going to allow himself to submit with that belt on the line!” IL pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the corner hard. He turns around and climbs to the top turnbuckle as the Bahama Bomber staggers out of the opposite corner and leaps off the top turnbuckle, extending his body as he crashes into Wildchild with a breathtaking flying cross-body, but Wildchild rolls through, pulling IL into a cradle as Herrington drops down to count:















“No!” cries Pete. “Only two! Where is Wildchild getting it from, King?”


“I don’t know,” replies King, “but you have to give Wildchild credit for having the presence of mind to counter that move; you’d think that he’d be too badly hurt to be worrying about that much!” IL beats Wildchild to his feet and stuns him with an elbow smash! He pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a front facelock, giving the sign for the Evenflow!


“It looks like he’s going for the Evenflow!” shouts Pete. “If he hits that, we’ve got a new champion! But, before IL can drop back into the Evenflow, Wildchild locks both hands around his waist and, in a desperation move, lifts him up, arching backwards as he drops him down into a Northern Lights Suplex!















“Nice power kickout by the Luchador” notes King, “and he’s show a nice degree of resilience in his own right!” Wildchild and Insane Luchador exchange punches as they fight their way back to their feet, with IL finally taking control after a series of stiff right hands. He grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him across the ring, only for Wildchild to reverse it. But Rickmen reverses a second time, and sends Wildchild back in the direction he started from…






… Where he runs right into referee Red Herrington, sandwiching him between Wildchild’s body and the turnbuckles, and knocking him unconscious!


“Oh no!” shouts LDP. “We’ve got no ref! For the second time in as many weeks, we’ve got no referee!” IL pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the ropes, raising his arm to deliver a clothesline as he rebounds, but the Bahama Bomber ducks underneath the clothesline and kicks IL in the midsection as he turns around! He then leaps into the air, extending his leg as he comes crashing down atop IL’s neck…






… And drives Insane Luchador face-first into the canvas with his patented Caribbean Cutter!


“Cutter!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild scrambles back up to his feet. He looks out into the crowd and gives the sign for the Wild Ride!


“This could be it,” shouts King, as Wildchild pulls IL to his feet and doubles him over. He locks both arms inside Rickmen’s and rotates around, positioning himself underneath IL before he lifts him up! Wildchild looks out into the crowd before kicking his legs out from underneath him…








“Wild Ride!” shouts Pete. “Wildchild hit Insane Luchador with the Wild Ride! And nobody ever gets up from that!”


“Nobody gets up,” agrees King, “but there’s no referee to count him down! Lookit, Herrington’s still out of it!”


“Somebody do something about this!” pleads LDP, as Wildchild tries in vain to cover his opponent. “I mean, Insane Luchador is done: one… two… three… Come on, this match would be over if we had a referee!” Wildchild gets to his feet and walks over to the referee, but Toxxic runs back to the ring, leaping onto the apron to get Wildchild’s attention! The Bahama Bomber decides that he’s had enough, however, and races over to the edge of the ring, blasting Toxxic in the face with a lightning-fast right hand before he can react, and then leaping onto the middle turnbuckle, springing off it immediately and nailing the World Heavyweight Champion with a springboard dropkick that sends him flying outside the ring! Wildchild pulls himself to his feet and walks over to the edge of the ring, spewing obscenities at Toxxic as he leans over the top rope…






… When suddenly, Scott Pretzler sneaks in from behind, armed with a steel chair, and smashes Wildchild in the back of the head!


“Not again!” growls Pete. “Haven’t these two done enough damage tonight?



“Apparently not,” replies King, as Pretzler drops the chair to the mat and pulls Wildchild backwards into an inverted front facelock. It looks like Pretzler is going for the Tildebang Driver!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild off of the canvas and lifts him to a ninety-degree angle, before dropping him down as he sits out…








“Tildebang onto the chair!” shouts King. “Wildchild’s out cold!”


“Somebody get security out here,” demands a furious LDP. “These two have changed the outcome of this match!” Pretzler drags Insane Luchador’s lifeless carcass over to Wildchild and lays him atop the Cruiserweight Champion before he slides out of the ring and helps Toxxic to his feet, the two men looking in the ring at Wildchild and laughing as they make their way up the ramp.


“Those two make me sick!” spits Pete venomously. “I simply cannot believe that they could do such a thing! They couldn’t have things their way, so they decide to take matters into their own hands?” And, unfortunately for Wildchild, with him being in the worst possible predicament, the referee chose that exact time to wake up.


“If the ref gets up, Wildchild’s covered!” warns King. Herrington looks up and, noticing IL covering Wildchild, crawls over to make the count.


“He sees it!” shrieks LDP.






“Aw, no,” cries Pete. “Not like this!”
















A mixture of cheers and boos echoes throughout the Sydney Opera House as “Man in the Box” begins to play once more. Herrington crawls over to the edge of the ring and receives the World Cruiserweight Title from Funyon.


“This is horrible!” cries LDP. “A complete and utter miscarriage of justice!” Herrington stumbles over to the still unconscious Andrew Rickman and lays the title across his chest, clumsily raising his arm in victory.


“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “here is your winner! And… NEEEEEW… SWF World Cruiserweight Champion… the IN-SANE LUUUUUCHADOR!”


“History made here in the Sydney Opera House on SWF Storm!” says Pete. “We have a new World Cruiserweight Champion by the name of Insane Luchador, but I don’t like the way it happened, King!”


“Well, you know,” says King, “things do happen inside that ring, and although you could question the way it went down, it is Storm after all, and there are no rules, so there really isn’t anything that the referee could have done, even if he had been awake to see it!”


“Well, there’s no question that this has created a major shakeup in the Cruiserweight Division,” says Pete, “and we’ll have to see how it plays out in the weeks to come! Take nothing away from Insane Luchador; I’m sure that he’ll be a tremendous champion, but I’m still not happy about the way it went down! We’ll have to see how Wildchild responds on Lockdown… Until then, he’s the Suicide King, and I’m the Doggah! We’ll see you next week!”


The camera takes us to a shot of Revolution Zero walking back up the ramp, grinning as the SmarkTron displays an unconscious and defeated Wildchild…



As we:


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In other news, the Martial Law love-plot thickens, and Wildchild/Pretzler quietly fades away... NOT~!

Edited by Ace309

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