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SWF Lockdown, June 1, 2005!

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“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the National Anthem.”


Funyon stands in the center of the ring, joined by the SWF’s favorite anthropomorphic ferret. Ebony clears her throat, and Funyon follows suit, his thin tenor and her meaty baritone competing as the song begins.


Ebony and Ivory

Live together in perfect harmony

Side by side on my piano keyboard

Oh Lord, why don't we ?

We all know that people are the same

wherever you go

There's good and bad in everyone

We learn to live, we learn to give each other

What we need to survive

Together alive

Ebony and Ivory

Live together in perfect harmony

Side by side on my piano keyboard

Oh Lord, why don't we ?

Ebony, Ivory, living in perfect harmony

Ebony, Ivory, ooh

We all know that people are the same

wherever you go

There's good and bad in everyone

We learn to live, we learn to give each other

What we need to survive

Together alive

Ebony and Ivory

Live together in perfect harmony

Side by side on my piano keyboard

Oh Lord, why don't we ?

Side by side on my piano keyboard

Oh Lord, why don't we ?

Ebony, Ivory, living in perfect harmony

Ebony, Ivory, living in perfect harmony

Ebony, Ivory, living in perfect harmony...


The South African crowd applauds wildly as Funyon and Ebony’s duet rings through the crowd. With that, the card fades in.

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The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...



(8:00 PM EST; 5:00 PM PST. Check local listings.)






The Main Event - Wildchild vs. Scott Pretzler - Submission Match


--> Best of 3 series! Best of 3 series!


*marks out*


Round 1 takes place on Pretzler's turf - a submission match. Has Wildchild bitten off a little more than he can chew? Or a LOT more than he can chew? Or can he actually chew all of it without any problems (remember, 100 times before swallowing)? To find out, WATCH LOCKDOWN~!


Rules: First man to score a submission over his opponent wins.




Toxxic vs. "The Urban Legend" Todd Cortez ©


--> Martial Law? Dead? Say it ain't so! Revolution Zero seems to think so, but I'd be willing to bet that Todd Cortez has something else to say about the matter. But talk is cheap, and lies are expensive, my wallet's fat and so is my head... hit and run, and then I... er...


Anyway, Toxxic reminded us all of Martial Law's original purpose - let's see if Cortez can make good on it.


Rules: Standard singles match.




Johnny Dangerous vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix © VI


--> *cues up "Duel of the Fates"*


Martial Law took Wild and Dangerous's Tag Team Titles, and just last week Landon Maddix beat Wildchild one on one. Johnny feels he's above Maddix, but La Cucaracha has made it very clear he intends to take down the other half of W&D.


Rules: FIGHT TO THE DEATH! THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE! ... Standard Singles Match.




Jay Hawke vs. Bryan Rodgers


--> Jay Hawke's probably got a rematch clause for the International Title in his contract (what, you think I read the contracts?), but Arch Griffon's plane crashed on a desert island and we're not in any real hurry to find him, so tonight, Hawke will take out his anger "The Maniac" Bryan Rodgers. May the best man win!


Rules: Standard Singles Match.




Opening Bout - Hardcore Title Match

Manson © vs. Insane Luchadore


--> Hooray for rematch clauses! No stringing people up on crosses or people with gats or beaches or shizzles for rizzles - this is going to be a good old fashioned Hardcore match.


Rules: NONE! And falls count anywhere.

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No opening pyro tonight, as the camera come up and focus on Funyon, in the center of the ring. A wide shot gives a nice view of the filled to capacity arena. Tonight there’s no need for pyro because they’re opening with a bang!


“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Funyon starts, “please welcome… MAK FRANCIS!”
















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 crowds reaction becomes louder, but no less split as it elevates 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 around the stage, while 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 paces about the squared circle with a swagger that only the Franchise can.




Slowly the crowd calms down, still split as Mak pulls his hands down, circling the ring once more and going over to a ring attendant. Francis gets a mike and looks out at his audience, bringing it to his lips.

Then suddenly, Francis stops. He looks out at the crowd, and just shakes his head. Slowly bringing the mike back up, the Franchise starts to speak, once again…


“Yo, I can’t believe this!” Mak begins, a chuckle escaping his throat as he continues to shake his head. “I mean, I honestly cannot believe this. This has to be the first time in the HISTORY of the SWF that someone has left me speechless and wondering.”


“Wondering what’s going through their head,” Mak adds, still somewhat bemused, “but I think I’ve figured it out.”


“Danny Williams, you underestimated me, didn’t you?”


“You didn’t think that I’d come out here and tell it like it is, did you?” Francis says, pointing at the entrance. “The match should have been signed. I thought it was okayed, but when I check the card; all I see is no me and no you. Why aren’t we having this match, Danny? Is it because you know… deep down, that I’m better than you? That I’ll do exactly what I said I will. I’ll bet that’s it and it makes you scared.”


“I remember a time when Danny Williams said he would take on all comers. That he would fight anyone, anyplace, at any time! But here I sit, a man without a match.”


“Somebody give me a match!” Mak shouts, seemingly imploring members of the audience to fight him in Williams’ stead, as his hand sweeps over them. “Because apparently, Danny Williams won’t.”




The crowd chants on but Mak doesn’t let it phase him.


“Are you trying to big time me, Danny?”




“I’m the Franchise!” Francis yells, incredulous. “I don’t get big timed! Least of all by a punk ass bitch, who I made my bones beating from pillar to post in his own supposed match!”




“I want my match, right here and right now, Danny.”


A pause.


“Come on, Danny-boy!” Mak says in a patronizing voice. “I thought roids only shrunk your balls not cut them-”


Suddenly, the familiar bass line of In Flame’s “Jester’s Dance” bounces it’s way out of the loud speakers. The crowd, quite simply, goes fuckin’ nuts, as Danny Williams makes his way down the ramp, not giving the song much time to play. Receiving another mike from a ring attendant, Danny enters the ring.




“I don’t know why the match wasn’t booked for this show, but I’ve never backed down from a challenge in my entire career.” Williams says, looking Mak directly in the eyes, seeing right through his Oakly shades.


But Mak is far from impressed.


“For all of your posing in ring, Danny, you’re nothing but a poser. You may act like you want this match, but we know the truth—and it’s that if you get into a ring with me again, you’re history.”


“I’m already in a ring with you, Mak.” Danny says a small smile coming across his features.


Mak drops a blantant f-bomb telling him in some not so nice words, what he thinks about being upstaged.


“You seem very much caught up in history, kid.” Danny expounds. “Well I got some history for you. It involves me being a three time World Heavyweight champion and you being a loud mouth punk that has squandered, not one, but two opportunities at the belt.”




“I have a solution for your lack of a match. I see me standing here, I see you standing there, so all we need is a referee and for you to shut your mouth and wrestle!”


“So now you wanna’ wrestle.”


“Yeah I wanna’ wrestle.”


The two men sit in the ring squaring off, while Pete and King comment on the scene.


“Let’s get a ref out here and solve this, Pete.”


“Well hopefully we will.”


Mak and Danny stand nearly nose to nose, trading words, as Lockdown goes to commercial break and we fade…

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Fade in…


Longdogger Pete’s voice comes across the airwaves, as the camera focuses on the booth. “After the shows opening conflict, senior referee Mark Hebner was sent from the back and ran down—now this match is official.”


“We swear this time.” King chimes in, making light of the situation. “I had a word with our booking committee and if they ever go against my wishes again, they’re libel to get the boot… especially that Joseph Peters kid.”


Hebner stands center ring, having finished checking Francis for illegal objects. At Francis’ suggestion, Williams is checked as well. Danny just rolls his eyes at this. At this the crowd begins to chant…




“These two were really heated up, but they seem to have calmed down.” Pete adds, waiting for the match to start. “Hopefully we’ll see another classic scientific contest between these two grapplers.”


“The way Mak was talking, all I’m expecting is Danny Williams getting dropped on his head!” King says, the chants dying away, as Hebner asks for the bell…




*Ding! Ding! Ding!*


The hulking frame of Danny Williams stands in his corner, while Mak Francis leans back in his. Both men tentatively step out of their corners and slowly move in a circle, gauging each other, their eyes never leaving one another. The conflict just moments ago adding to the tension, as the crowd waits with baited breath.


“It had been two years—two long years since these two men were in a ring against one another.” Pete begins, as Mak raises his right hand wiggling his fingers. “Now this rivalry has been re-sparked by some inflammatory comments and a challenge being laid down. And as he said before the commercial break, Danny Williams is not one to back down from a challenge."


Williams quirks an eyebrow and raises his own hand slowly inching forward, wondering why Mak would challenge him to a test of strength. He must know he'll lose... "Both men are being very deliberate and cautious because they know one mistake can cost them the match.” Pete adds, as Mak readjusts his stance and slides closer, causing Williams to do the same. Danny slowly pushes his hand forward, wiggling it, as Francis' fingertips extend slowly. Danny's hand moves back and forth, as if indecisive and they almost touch…


…Suddenly, Williams yanks his hand back! Danny slides back and moves away shaking his head emphatically once, as if to tell Mak he’s not falling for his own trick.


“Danny shies away from the test of strength and you can tell he thinks something was fishy." Williams brushes a few strands of hair out of his eyes and faces the Franchise who has a ghost of a smirk on his features. "He's clearly holding the strength advantage, but he heard Mak's comments about breaking his arm and he remembers the beginning of their Ironman match.”


“Who doesn’t?” Pete queries, as Danny locks eyes with Mak again, searching. The earlier expression is now gone in favor of a hard gaze. “Who doesn’t remember that epic Ironman, King?”


“I certainly do and so do both competitors, apparently.” King comments, as Danny nods his head and pats his shoulders, beckoning Francis into a tie-up. "Williams' arm must still be tingling from last week and he definitely doesn’t want to tap out a minute in like Mak did there. This is first fall to a finish and he can’t afford to take stupid risks like he's so apt too normally.”


Methodically circling each other once again, they crash together in a collar and elbow tie-up! Mak leans forward, but Danny responds with a powerful grunt and moves him backward. While being pushed back, step by step, Francis falls to a knee attempting to gain any kind of leverage he can, but he is unable to nullify Williams brute force and is shoved into the corner. Hebner slides in between the two rivals and slowly separates them, patting each man on the arm in the hopes of a clean break... and he gets one! Danny backs away to center ring, while Francis shakes out his right wrist, a frown evident across his features.


"No posing from Danny this time, King." Pete notes as Hebner, pleased with himself, waves them back together and steps aside. "He's taking this challenge of his manhood very seriously."


"Don't worry, Pete." King says, waving a hand dismissively. "The crowd whore in him won't allow that to last for long."


The Franchise steps out of the corner and lets out a grunt, as they grapple for position yet again. Francis pushed with all he has, but Williams uses his aggressiveness against him and slides into a side headlock. Mak shouts again, his voice muffled by the arms of his opponent, as the Franchise pries at Danny’s grip and drags him back to the near ropes, pushing Williams forward... who goes nowhere, pulling Mak center ring by re-grabbing the headlock and putting on the brakes! Dropping to a knee, Williams leverages a surprised Mak flipping him over almost instantaneously in a takedown! Hebner drops to the mat and checks the shoulder...




No! Mak quickly raises the right side of his body while Williams holds onto the headlock. Mak slides on the mat, trying to get into a better position, while Hebner carefully inspects the scene – Mak fires his legs up in a head-scissors attempt, but Danny is far too much of a veteran and keeps his head forward. Williams controls and grinds in the hold, as Mak flashes his hand up and grabs a clump of Danny’s hair, yanking him back. Hebner shouts at Mak to release and Francis does so, quickly following up by flashing his legs up and gaining a grounded head-scissors!


"Mak grabbing a handful of hair to get the job done, when he couldn't counter out of that headlock." Pete notes while the Franchise snorts, as Hebner admonishes him -- but his eyes open in shock, as Williams quickly kips-up out of it. "But Danny easily escapes with a kip-up."


Both men scramble to their feet as quickly as they can, knowing the first person up will have the advantage, but they stand at the exact same time! Mak, looking to prove that his he is still the superior athlete, sprints forward and gets flung to the canvas in an arm-drag! Popping up to a knee, Francis rushes ahead again and is sent spiraling back down to the canvas once more! Mak flies back up to his feet and takes a marching step forward -- only to pull back and let out a frustrated yell, as Williams stands in position for a third deep arm-drag.


"Francis getting beat to the punch on those arm-drags... and he ain't too happy about it!" King states, as Mak paces back towards the ropes. Danny raises a fist into the air to a loud cheer, causing the Franchise to kick at the bottom rope. "In fact, I'd say he's a little pissed off."


Back to the center of the ring they go coming together in a tie-up. Danny once again overpowers Mak, backing him into the corner, but just as his back touches the turnbuckle pad, Mak flips the grapple, placing Williams’ back in the crook. Hebner slides in between the two rivals and slowly attempts to break them clean, once again – but this time an agitated Mak fires a forearm to his opponents face…


…To which Danny answers back with a stiff elbow smash!




Mak stumbles backward from the blow and Williams follows it up with-






-two more strikes from the point of his elbow! The Franchise backpedals; seeking refuge from the assault, but Danny stays on top of him, sending him away in an Irish whip. Mak hits the ropes and rebounds back, charging toward Danny who swings out another elbow–nope! Francis slides in between Williams’ legs and pops up behind him, locking his hands around his waist!


“German Suplex!” is the call from King, as Mak goes to lift him overhead, but Danny swings one sharp elbow backwards and breaks his grip!




“No, counter!” Pete shouts, as Danny loops around behind the Franchise. “Now he’s gonna’ suplex him!”


Mak’s jaw hurts, but he not nearly stunned enough to get dropped on his head. He swings back-








-using three back elbows to break Williams’ pit-bull like grip! Mak takes off for the far ropes and ricochets off them raising his leg for a high kick on a stunned Williams…


“Yakuza kick—caught!” Pete says, as Mak hops on one foot, trying to maintain his balance. Suddenly, Danny drops his leg and spins. “Rolling Elbow?!” He adds, while Danny twirls—nope, Mak pushes him in the back, causing the former three time champ to sail into the ropes. The Franchise leaps into the air flinging his legs out in as close to a textbook dropkick as he’s thrown in a while, but Danny holds onto the cables, stopping his momentum! Mak hits the mat back first, but quickly scrambles to his feet, rushing blindly at Williams – who sidesteps and grabbing him by his head and tights tosses Francis over the top rope!


“Hey look at that!” King points out, smiling at the scene. “Mak’s coming right back!”


Danny turns and walks back to the center of the ring – but Francis has grabbed onto the tope rope and hangs by one hand with his legs swaying underneath him. Lacing his other arm around the cable, Mak smirks and then pulls himself back up and over the ropes! Landing safely on the canvas, the Franchise charges Williams again – only for Danny to turn around, sidestep yet again, grabbing Mak by his head and tights to toss him right back out the way he came! This time Francis tumbles to the outside between the second and third ropes, landing with a dull thud!


“Mak skinning the cat back in—in a great display of athleticisms, but Danny just tosses him right back out on his ear.” Pete says, while the Franchise attempts to regain his head. “These two just traded some unbelievably quick counters, dodging some huge bombs in the process. It seems easy for them to turn the speed up a notch, much like in their Ironman match.”


“And that’s a problem for Williams. He’s getting sucked into a quicker contest and that can be nothing but bad for only his third match back.” King adds, as back inside the ring, Danny Williams is doing just the opposite of Mak – losing his mind!


“What’s Williams up to…” King mumbles, as he runs back to the far ropes. Williams bounces off them and comes sprinting back, catching a last look at Hebner waving his arms ‘no’ and Francis as he plunges through the ropes cracking Mak with an Elbow Suicida!!




The front row rises to its feet in appreciation, as Williams lands on his feet like a cat! The Franchise on the other hand continues to fall back, right into the barricade, which halts his momentum with a painful thud!




Hebner shouts, starting his count, while Mak leans back on the barricade, getting patted on the back from one of the few front row fans rooting for him.






Hebner continues, as walking over to the Franchise, Danny grabs him and elevates his opponent overhead, dropping him face first across the barricade! Mak’s head snaps back and he clutches at his forehead before falling back to the ground.






“A huge elbow suicida and press slam onto the barricade from Danny Williams, who is in full control! He seems to be more than up to the challenge you just brought up, King. ” Pete notes, while Williams rolls inside the ring to break the count. Meanwhile, Mak has fought to his feet and grabs the ring apron, pulling himself up. Grabbing the ropes, Francis pulls himself back to his feet, trying to catch his breath when suddenly Williams grabs a front facelock and lifts Mak up by the waistband… holding him in the air and walking back to the center of the ring! One, two, three, four, five seconds pass before Danny arches back, completing the suplex and tossing him back inside the ring… the hard way!


“See, Pete!” King comments, just as Danny sits up, flexing a bicep to a pop from the crowd. “I told you the muscle bound moron couldn’t hold out for long and all taunting Mak Francis does is make him more likely to show you up.”


Danny doesn’t bother with a cover, weighing the amount of effort it would take Mak to kick out against hitting his next move. Rising, Williams grabs Mak by the head and lifts him into a standing head-scissors! Next the three time World champ pumps a fist into the air, causing the crowd to react…




…Wrapping his arms around Francis’ gut, Williams puffs out a gust of air and whips Mak into the air on his shoulders… as the Franchise sits at the apex of Danny’s Powerbomb, he seemingly wakes up, desperately landing forearm strikes to the face of his captor! “Counter! Mak fighting back with forearms!” King calls, while Danny stumbles backward under the weight and attack. Continuing his assault, Francis pounds away on a teetering Danny Williams, not realizing until the last second what’s happening, when Williams falls back hanging him like a shirt, neck first across the top rope! Mak’s head once again whips back, but this time he stays on his feet, holding his throat while he backpedals. Danny takes a step back and rebounds forward-




-blasting him in the face with a running elbow, sending Mak to his back!!


“Shotgun Elbow!” Pete calls, as Williams drops onto Mak; Hebner moving in to make the count…“What a strike from the master of the elbow smash!”















TH—No! Mak kicks out of the pin, breaking the count. “First two count of the match on that strike and Williams has been wrestling like a man with something to prove.” Pete notes, as looking around the ring, Danny stands up backpedaling into the ropes, rushing ahead and whipping his right leg around as he drops an elbow to the Franchise sternum! “Corkscrew elbow—shades of the Great Muta, from Danny Williams!”


”He shouldn’t keep hitting these flashy moves, Pete…” King says, as Williams runs back to the ropes, getting a full head of steam, before quickly dropping another corkscrew elbow. “He’s wasting energy and taunting Mak, just to get a pop from the crowd. I mean seriously; an elbow suicida this early? But who am I to say anything—I’m only a first ballot hall of famer! In fact, he should keep it up since I want him to lose.”


“Williams has had no problems with the Franchise so far tonight, King.” Pete rebuts, as Danny rebounds of the ropes again. “And he seems to have found a nice pace. Dealing with all of his opponents counters—which are a huge part of his game plan—much like he did two shows ago.”


Williams stops over Francis, delaying for only a second and then drops a third and final elbow – this one to the Franchise’s face – floating into a cover! Hebner falls to the mat and counts…


“Here’s a cover!” Pete adds, while Danny leans on his opponent…














THR—No! “Two and a half, for Williams.” Pete says, as the Franchise kicks out again. “He’s starting to put the pressure on Mak, making him kick out of these pin falls.” In the ring, Danny stands back up and walks over to the right hand corner, while the Franchise sits up rubbing his face. Danny slides through the ropes quickly, hoping outside then scaling the turnbuckles with practiced ease…


“Danny going to the high risk district!” Pete bellows, as Mak gets to a knee and then his feet, stumbling away from Williams slightly… and then turning around. Danny spots the Franchise turning and taking a second to check his balance lunges off the top in a diving elbow…




…only for his eyes to go wide as he eats two boots directly to the mush!




The entire crowd can’t help but react, as Francis lands a textbook dropkick to the face of Danny Williams, sending him to the canvas landing badly on the back of his neck from the whiplash!! Some of the scattered Franchise fans in attendance start up a chant in appreciation…




“Wow, what a picture perfect dropkick by the Franchise, Pete! I didn’t know he could get that high anymore.” King says, as Mak stands tall, shaking out the cobwebs. “And see, all Mak needed was that one choice counter and now, he’s got control of this match-up.”


Danny rubs at his face, as he sits up on the mat and pushes himself to his feet. Behind him, the Franchise loops in and grasps him about the waist, arching back and releasing Williams at the apex so that he soars back to the canvas, landing on the back of his neck in a release German suplex! Danny flops onto his belly like a mackerel after the Franchise’s follow-up attack!


“Now that was a Filthy German™ suplex!” King says, as Mak drops onto the back of his opponent, grabbing a rear gut-wrench. Seemingly awakened by the weight on his back, Danny struggles on the mat, while Mak falls back and rides Williams as he struggles to break Francis’ grip. Williams finally settles down, breathing a little bit harder after trying to sit-out, as Mak squeezes his mid-section. Trying to think his way out of the hold, Williams pries at the hands of the Franchise, but Francis uses the rear gut-wrench, by rolling to his side, to place the three time champs shoulders and neck on the mat in a pin! Hebner drops to count…




TWO—No! Only a quick one count for the Franchise, as Danny slides off his shoulders, forcing Mak onto his back. “Mak riding Danny with that rear gut-wrench trying to steal his wind. An effective strategy and by using the quick pins, Williams is forced to use up more energy.” Pete notes, as Francis keeps his left shoulder up while he pulls in, tightening his hold on his opponent. “Mak getting that one counter has complete changed the complexion of this match. He has definitely changed his strategy from two shows ago, making Williams work in this hold much like he had to when breaking the surfboard. And showing just what a ring general the kid can be, no matter how cocky he acts on the surface.” Danny tries once again to get break Francis’ grip, but Mak ducks to the other side and rolls Williams onto his shoulders once again! Hebner already weaving in and out to check the Franchise’s shoulders begins the count again…






TH—No! Danny rolls back out of the quick pin. On the mat, Mak smirks. “See, I told you Danny-boy made a mistake.” King says. “He’s wearing Williams down and soon, he won’t have anything left in the tank!”


“I guess Francis would know, since he went through the same struggle to get his wind during his own return.” Pete adds, as huffing somewhat, Danny digs his left elbow into Mak’s rib-cage and then drives it home. “And even in the match two shows ago, as I said earlier—although he took a short cut rather than fight his way out clean, unlike Danny right now!” Pete adds, getting excited as Williams flings his elbow down. Then again. Then again, breathing through his mouth as he pounds on Mak’s ribs in response!


“Here we go…” Pete eagerly calls, ready for the comeback as Danny scores one more elbow to the gut, getting a little separation…




…Danny hits one more strike, finally free of the gut-wrench and then looks to run to the far ropes for some momentum – but Mak reaches out ensnaring some tendrils of hair and yanks him back ducking to the side, capturing him about the waist… taking that little hop and popping his hips, heaving Williams overhead in a Railgun suplex, from which he falls unceremoniously back down to the canvas! Francis pops to his feet, rubbing his side slightly and raises his eyebrow, smirk ever present. Too this, the crowd reacts as one would expect most of them…










And then suddenly, a lone fan shouts out…




And the rest of the Franchise fans in attendance shout out a cheer for Mak…




But it’s quickly canceled out by the rest of the crowd. Williams arches on the canvas, his back and rib-cage tingling, as Francis falls into a cover, forearm digging into Danny’s face.


“Cover off that beautiful suplex!” King adds, while Hebner counts…














THR—No! Danny forces a shoulder up off the canvas rolling to his side. “Mak takes ANOTHER short-cut and only gets two, with that Railgun suplex.” LDP says upset as Francis sits down on the mat and loops his legs around Danny’s mid-section. “Short-cut or not, it got the job done!” King counters, as Williams sits in the body-scissors. Hebner weaves in and out, checking the hold, as Danny attempts to squirm on the mat into a better position – but the Franchise grabs a clump of hair and pulls, causing Williams to let out a shout! The senior referee immediately steps in, warning Francis, who lets go with a smirk. Danny sucks in air like a Hoover; once again trying to turn in the hold – but the Franchise grabs Williams’ dark locks once again! Hebner steps in again, admonishing Mak more sternly, but Francis just releases his hold having retaken the advantage. Then suddenly, Mak drives the side of his forearm into the bridge of Danny’s nose. Another hard strike finds the mark and then Francis grinds his forearm across Williams face, blatantly in front of Hebner! “Come on Hebner—do something!” Pete shouts, as Mak shakes his head and calmly relents. “Danny Williams needs to find some way to break this hold or he’ll get cheap shot to death!”


“Don’t worry, Pete.” King responds. “Danny may have a Deathwish, but the only way he’s going six feet under is by way of Franchise Tag.”


But where there’s a Williams, there’s a way! Suddenly, puffing out quick breaths, Danny grabs both of Francis’ legs and begins to pull…






…his stomach rising and falling with effort, Danny’s eyes squint up, as he attempts to separate Mak’s legs! The crowd has already cottoned on; giving Danny everything they have, while he fights to break the body-scissors! Mak’s hand flies to Danny’s hair, but Hebner slaps it away earning a cold look from Mak. Francis’ legs shake, just like Danny’s arms, as they battle in a test of wills! “Come on Mak—fight!” King yells, as Williams… wheezes… slowly… detaching his opponents’ limbs, disengaging the hold! With each grunt they disconnect more and more, until…




…Danny breaks FREE!! The crowd explodes, shouting their approval as Williams turns into a mount, his left hand trying to pin down Mak’s right arm! They all shout, like a mob wanting blood…




“…This could be trouble…” King comments, as a panting Danny Williams brings his elbow back-




-and PLASTERS Mak with an elbow smash!! Williams lets out short gasps, as he rains down on Francis with elbow blows, getting through his half guard!!














Mak finally gets Williams off him somewhat, pushing him off balance with his right hand, but Danny stays on him, landing another barrage of elbows, sending Francis fumbling into the ropes as he attempts to rise!!


“Danny with an unbelievable flurry of elbows, King!” Pete says, his voice betraying his partisanship clearly for the first time in this match. “He’s cooking now!” Backing Mak into the ropes, Danny flings the Franchise away in an Irish whip. Mak rebounds, as Williams collects himself and marches forward for another of his patented elbow, when Francis leaps into the air, colliding with his forearm straight into Danny’s forehead!! Both men fall to the mat, spent from the sprint they just went through…


“Both men are down!” Pete shouts, while Hebner begins his standing ten count…




No movement.




The crowd begins to rise to their feet, as both competitors still lay on the mat. Hebner checks both and continues on.




The audience joins Hebner’s count, sensing tingling that this could be the turning point. If Danny Williams is going to take control this is the time to do it. LDP explains the importance of the moment. “First man up has the definite advantage-”




“-And that man will be Mak Francis!” King interrupts, as on the mat, Mak Francis blinks, staring up into the lights. The Franchise hears the deafening roar of the crowd, as they count along and it snaps him back to reality. He’s got a match to win.








Mak tucks his knees into his belly and explodes upward, landing on his feet in a kip-up!!




The crowd is once again split, more against than in favor of, but the Franchise has made it to his feet. Stumbling as he goes Mak begins to walk over towards Danny Williams-




-only to see Williams spring up to his feet as well, in his own kip-up!!! Mak looks mystified, eyes wide as saucers, as he meanders to a stop. Williams, on the other hand shows no such surprise, grabbing Francis by the arm and sweeping out his legs in a back trip!! The crowd pops, as he engrained them to so long ago, when he drops down to the canvas, scissoring Mak’s arm!


“Jujigata-ME!” LDP screams, his voice increase in volume as Danny attempts to pull back! “CROSS ARM-BREAKER BY DANNY WILLIAMS!”




Immediately the chants come forth and Mak immediately locks his hands together, remembering that old pain as flashes of the Ironman come back to him. His left arm quickly begins to sting, as the chants rage on, begging, pleading for him to tap! Hebner on the mat, asking him the same question, over and over. But Mak Francis is not a rookie anymore. Mak Francis will not surrender to this hold again! In the few seconds it took for pain to register, the Franchise already has a counter. Finding his base, Francis leverages up and over, stacking Danny on his back and then finally to his shoulders in a pin!!


“COUNTER!” Suicide King…counters, as Hebner begins the count…













“He’s got him!”







“No! NO! TWO!” Hebner shouts thrusting two fingers into the air, as Danny explodes from under Mak, releasing the cross arm-breaker. “So close!” King announces, as Mak regains his balance. Pushing himself to his feet, this time it is Danny who is caught by surprise, as the Franchise leaps into the air, twisting acrobatically and pulling him down to the canvas in a Flying Jujigate-me!!!


“DEAR LORD!” LDP can’t believe it, as the words come flying from his mouth. “FLYING CROSS ARM-BREAKER BY MAK!”




This time Mak’s fans chant, remembering last week how close he came to ending the match with this brutal submission! “Danny Williams had better tap or he won’t have an arm to elbow with!” King exclaims, as Mak wrenches down, trying with all his might to break Williams’ grip! “Remember Pete, Mak said he’d break Williams’ arm!” Danny strains under the pressure, his grip faltering as he hears Mak’s words ringing in his ears. Slowly… Danny’s arm is extended! The rest of the crowd quickly overshadows the Franchise’s fans and plead for Williams to do something.


“He’s gonna break his arm!” Pete screams, as Mak falls back repeatedly snapping Williams’ left arm with the feared judo hold! The pain that Williams felt just two short weeks ago comes rushing through his arm in a flood. It was enough to make him submit two years ago, but Danny defeated that demon two weeks ago. Williams let out a cry of pain, his arm holding out against hyper-extension. Fighting through the pain, Danny like the Franchise before him finds his base, and leverages Mak over, stacking him on his back and then finally to his shoulders in a pin!!


“COUNTER!” Pete counters to King counter. “He’s got the same pin!” LDP adds, as Hebner begins the count, this time the crowd counting along…

























“No! NO! TWO!” Hebner shouts thrusting two fingers into the air, as Mak explodes from under Danny this time!! “I can’t believe he didn’t get him!” Pete shouts, while parts of the crowd chant “bullshit!” and “that was three!” and Williams springs to his feet not questioning the call at all, cradling his left arm – but he rushing forward all the same, plastering a just rising Mak with a running back elbow!! The adrenaline flowing, Danny shakes out his arm and catches the stunned and stumbling Francis-






-with two more elbows! Backing Mak into the ropes, Danny sends Mak away in a whip – but the Franchise grabs a hold of his left arm, tugging on the still weakened limb! Danny cringes and that’s all that Mak needs, pulling him in close and compacting Danny’s chin onto his own shoulder… then lifting Williams and spinning, stumbling backward, but dropping him head first onto the top turnbuckle!


“Now that’s Franchisable!” King gloats, as Danny’s head snaps back, he takes a step forward and then falls into the corner! Francis shakes his head, quickly regaining himself and then he toes Danny across the face, dragging his boot over his opponent grill.


“And Boot scrapes?!” King notes pleased, as Mak stands in the corner and shielding the refs view, lands a mini punt to Williams’ balls!! “You can tell this match is extra personal, Pete! Mak has gone from wanting to kick his ass—to wanting to kick his ass and embarrass him!”


“And he’ll take ever short cut in the book to do it…”


Truer words were never uttered as Francis gives a salute to Danny and marches back to the ropes, gaining a full head of steam to kick him in the face!! Mak toes Williams one more time and then picks the glassy eyed three time champ, up to his feet in the corner. Mak rears back-




-and slaps the taste out of Danny’s mouth, before grabbing him for a corner whip! The Franchise flings Williams away – but digging down deep, Danny reverses sending Francis into the corner back first with some added oomph. Falling to a knee and cradling his left arm, Danny rises, shakes out the offending limb again and rushes forward – only for Mak to duck low and elevate him overtop…


…but Williams flashes his left arm out, balancing himself on his bad limb. He cringes and Mak turns, readying for a forearm and in that second Danny Williams sucks it up and fires one off as well-




-BLASTING each other with strikes! Williams falls to the apron holding on by sheer willpower and Mak turns, bumbling away and to a knee!! The crowd cheers Danny on as he pulls himself up, while Francis stands and turns around-




-getting nearly beheaded as Danny slingshots from the outside in with a flying elbow!!! The Franchise tumbles onto his belly much like Danny did earlier in the match, but this after much more wear and tear. Williams falls to his left face down, breathing hard as if he’s in need of an oxygen bar.


“My god what an elbow!” Pete proclaims, shaking his head and looking at the action. “That was just vicious!”


“Even I have to admit that was a sick elbow…” King comments in response to LDP.


“So, both men are DOWN AGAIN!” Pete yells, as Hebner checks both men to see if they’re still alive. Getting small responses from both, he pumps a fist in the air and starts his count. This time the crowd needs no prompting, very much into the match, while they count along…




No way anyone’s moving.












Danny Williams blinks, staring up into the lights.




Dully, he can hear the crowd chanting for him to rise loudly over the few chants breaking out for Mak. Groaning he lifts his face from the canvas and locks eyes with Francis who has just sat up. “Listen to this crowd, King!” Pete chimes in under the roar of the crowd…




Both men struggle to push themselves to their feet. The first man up having the definite advantage. Pete doesn’t even need to say it for the viewing audience at home.




Danny makes a knee!


But Mak makes it up!!




Hebner claps his hands together, as Mak falls forward swinging wildly and as he does so Danny ducks – loops underneath and behind, grabbing a waistlock and then arching back and stacking Francis on his shoulder in a picture perfect bridge!! His left arm shakes under the pressure but his will is stronger than that! Hebner hits the mat and counts… the crowd too shocked to count along…














“He’s got him, King!”









THREE—NO! Mak thrusts a shoulder in the air and rolls out of the bridge! “No! He kicked out!” King exclaims, as Danny collapses to the canvas. Williams pushes through though and crawls to the ropes, using them to pull himself to his feet. Hanging on to the ropes as he walks, Williams spots Francis push himself up onto his hands and knees – then falling back down. Climbing through the ropes and slowly making his way up top, Danny Williams prepares to fly! Hebner waves his hands in the air, as the Franchise slowly pushes himself up…


“Danny’s going back to the high risk district…” Pete says, remembering his earlier attempt. “Will he hit a big elbow here?”


Mak stands his head wobbling, as he slowly turns around and Danny takes flight-


“This is a mistake!” King shouts…








-but the back elbow strikes flush, popping Francis in the jaw and sending him back down to the canvas! Williams lands on the mat and slowly crawls, hooking the leg as he gets the pin, Hebner dropping to count and the crowd counting along…






























“NO!” Hebner bellows, as Francis shoots his shoulder off the canvas one more time. “Two count!” The crowd groans, thinking Danny had the win there, as Williams looks to Hebner, his eyes asking the question he won’t. He refuses to let up though. Standing and grabbing the battle worn Francis by the hair, Williams yanks him to his knees. The crowd cheers even louder if possible, as Danny sticks Mak into a head-scissors!


“It’s all or nothing with Danny Williams!”


He bends at the knees, but the Franchise sandbags, falling back to his knees to by time. “Mak doing whatever he can to buy time.” Pete says, but Danny will not accept this. Pulling Mak back up to his feet, with a battle weary grunt, taking quick short breaths while his left arm becomes numb to the pain. He must get him up…




And he does-






-Just to send him back down!! Francis crashes into the canvas and Danny stacks him onto his shoulders, holding him down while Hebner counts…





































“TWO! TWO!” Hebner yells, as Mak squeaks free!! “Bullshit!” chants rain down, as Williams looks to the lights hoping to find answers there. Finding none, He looks wearily to the referee, but even he has nothing to say. Francis sits on his belly, breathing shallow, as Danny rises to his feet and stumbles into the corner, grabbing the ropes for support. The announcers talk about the scene.


“Danny Williams is looking for someway, anyway, to beat Mak Francis, Pete.”


“Don’t forget, Danny still has the move that defeated him two weeks ago.” LDP states watching as Francis crawls towards the ropes and Williams tries to find his wind in the corner. “The Axe Bomber is quickly becoming one of the sure things in this business!”


“And the Franchise Tag wasn’t?!”


“…Good point.”


Mak pulls himself up to his feet and into the opposite corner. Danny rushes forward for an elbow, so that he can pull Francis out of the corner and nail Mak with his spinning finisher, but the Franchise gets a foot up! Danny stumbles back, but regains himself taking a giant step forward-




-into a Mak Yakuza kick! Williams spins around, his head swimming, as Francis loops behind and ducks low… arching back in a-




-German suplex! Mak rolls through, tired but not finished as Williams connects with a back elbow! Another one stuns Mak, but the Franchise pushes through and dumps Danny-




-with ANOTHER German suplex! “Another German! Rolling Germans, Pete!” King crows, as Pete looks on at the three time champ. “Danny still fighting!” He claims and this is true as the Franchise pulls them both back to their feet, Williams head hanging near knocked out, fires off a back elbow… but tonight Danny Williams is getting planted in the mat. Mak arches back one last time slamming Danny on his shoulders-




-in the third and final, German suplex! Mak collapses next to him, but a smirk comes across his features, as he senses his time is now. Fighting to a knee, the waves of boos overwhelming the cheers gives Francis a sudden jolt. He’s going to put Danny down JUST like he did during the Ironman… pulling Danny to his feet, Mak laces an arm under Williams’ and hefts him up. Grabbing his other arm and securing it across his neck, Francis takes a deep breath and wrenches back-




-rolling Williams neck back onto the canvas, hitting the Cobra clutch suplex!!!!


The smirk is in full effect.


Pushing himself up, Mak toes at the head of his opponent who sits, cradling his neck and breathing hard. The Franchise lifts him one last time…



Mak slaps on a front facelock…





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



Mak pauses for a second, maintaining the cradle and turning to face the hard camera, so he can smirk… before kicking his legs out, jumping into the air and simply sending Williams’ head careening into the canvas with the cranium crushing FRANCHISE TAG!









“Point proven!” King says, as Danny’s body goes limp for a second, while 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 Danny as Hebner drops to the mat and the crowd counts, praying for a kick-out…


If Spike can do it… maybe Danny can…



“That’s it, Pete!” King says. “One Franchise Tag is all he needs!”


It’s a battle of wills…






Mak will says Danny should stay down.









Danny’s will says Danny should get up.













And apparently Danny’s will is stronger.





“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. “ANOTHER ONE KICKED OUT?!”


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


Mak can’t believe it either.


"I didn't think it could possibly happen again, but Mak Francis has hit his finishing maneuver—that no-one had kicked out of previous to three weeks ago and yet this match continues!"


Francis looks to Hebner, who reaffirms. Mak still cannot believe it. On the mat, Danny Williams sits, after kicking out of his move and Mak can’t let that slide. Mounting Williams, Francis begins to pound on the three time champ. Hebner moves in and pulls Mak off, but Francis attempts a backhand to get him off scaring him away. Now up the Franchise slides under the ropes and comes over to Funyon, pushing him from his chair and bringing it in ring.


Hebner grabs at the chair, hoping to stop this assault before it gets any wilder than it has. The crowd cheers Hebner’s diligences, as he struggles with Francis in a tug of war over the chair. Pushing himself up to a knee, Danny Williams look out into the crowd willing him to get to back to his feet, while Mak is involved with the referee. But with a final shove Hebner falls to the canvas, his head cracking into the steel chair in a glancing blow. Tired, angry and frustrated, Francis bangs the chair loudly against the mat once.


“You know how you said this match will be continuing…” King says, as tired and sweaty, Williams staggers to his feet, seemingly driven to rise by the clang of metal against the mat. “I’m going to go out on a limb and disagree with that.”



Danny turns, his vision blurred but clearing…




Mak turns, the chair swung down in a three quarters arc…




And then their eyes lock…








The world suddenly becomes quite fuzzy once again, as Williams slumps from the impact of chair against skull and crumples slowly to canvas, his head lolling to one side, as he goes. Mak smirks as he drops the chair, seemingly in his own little world, while the crowd rips into him with another wave of boos.


“A vile, vile, chair shot from Mak Francis!” Pete hollers over the crowds’ negative response. “What Mak, you couldn’t beat him with the Franchise Tag so now you have to do this?!”


“Yes, he does!” King crows. “And I don’t think he’s done! He still has a point to prove!”


“And Danny’s been busted open.” Pete notes, as blood leaks from the forehead of the former three time champion. Mak just absorbs the booing, as Williams never say die spirit allows him to lift his head off the mat – only for Francis to toe him back down. “This is just sick. What happened to this kid, to make him do something like this?”


“We all saw what he did to Sacred and everybody knew that Mak Francis wasn’t in the best of mindsets after Spike kicked out of the finisher that NOBODY kicks out of.” King explains. “And then Danny Williams kicks out too. This was bound to happen—if he’d only just stayed down…”


But Danny doesn’t stay down.


“You’re blaming him for trying to win the match, King?”




Because Williams will not stay down, pushing himself up under shaky arms, while Mak continues to toe him back down. Finally, the Franchise grabs a struggling to rise Danny by the hair, puts him in a side headlock and rains down on his cut forehead with piston like right hands, blood splattering with each blow.
















“Come on, Mak—stop this!”












“It’s only continuing because Williams won’t stay down, Pete.”




Eyes glazing over, Danny wobbles in the hands of the Franchise, trying to blink the mix of blood and sweat out of his eyes. Smirking, Francis lifts Williams up and turns back to back with him, right arm grasped around his neck. Danny looks up at the lights, blood trickling into his hair, while the Franchise turns towards the camera.


“Hey, he’s not going for the Tag?” King questions, while Mak gazes straight ahead, almost glaring into the hard camera, as he raises his pinky, ring and middle finger. Slowly, his left hand rises becoming the shape of the “triple threat” and his eyes betray nothing but a cold hard look, as the audience continues to boo. Then a smirk. “This is new…” Pete wonders, as fluid like water, Mak suddenly bends at the waist and yanks…




“Oh no.”


Francis lands on his ass, cushioning the fall for himself and as he does, Mak flips Danny Williams forward… and straight down.




The impact is muffled by the torrent of boos, which suddenly stop and turn into astonished gasps, after the crowd watches Mak leverage Danny over his shoulder from the Rude Awakening position. The unprotected piledriver drops the three time World champion directly on the back of his head and he cascades onto his belly.


“Holy shit.”


“Pete, that was…”


This time Danny stays down.


“Yeah, that move was… something else.”


“Something else doesn’t quite cover it…”


A puddle of blood forms on the mat underneath the face of Danny Williams. Mak grabs Danny by the arm and flips him onto his back,


“Kick out of that, you son of a bitch!”


Mak smirks, saying his piece before lying across Williams’ belly and casually hooking the leg. Letting out a short laugh, Francis raises his hand and bangs it on the canvas…
















The members of the audience are shocked back to reality at the sound of the bell. Funyon, who had been standing since Mak stole his chair, looks to senior referee Mark Hebner, who shakes off the cobwebs and waves his hand again, getting the time keeper to ring the bell…


*Ding! Ding! Ding!*


Francis rolls off of Williams and raises his left hand in the air, then brings it back down, poised in the “triple threat”. The crowd reacts as expected…




“The winner of this match,” Funyon announces, not even having to confer with the ref, before making the call, “by disqualification… DANNY WILLLLLLLLLIAMMMMMMSSSSSSS!”


“Danny Williams may have won this match, but I don’t think he feels like a winner right now, Pete…”


“Wow, just wow…” LDP mummers, as he looks on at the scene. “Can we get someone out here?”


There is no heroic reaction or cheers of joy from the crowd tonight. Some still sit shocked, while others refuse to turn on their beloved favorite Franchise. But most react. They react only with a now expected and welcome sound. For tonight they boar witness to a descent into darkness. A voyage into a watery abyss with blood flowing like cash…


Down the path of a fallen hero.

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Lockdown returns from South Africa in the Wanderer’s Cricket Stadium that buzzes with an electric atmosphere.


“Welcome back to Lockdown. Off the heels of a huge Storm off of P-Diddy’s private island we are in South Africa. The world tour continues to heat up as does our card- with the main event being the first of three series between Scott Pretzler and Wildchild in a submission,” LDP says.


“But for our opening bout we hopefully get to see more brutal carnage in hopes to see a decapitation,” King laughs.


“That’s right Manson defends his HGC Championship against IL. Luchador’s looking for redemption here from his loss at Storm,” LDP cries out.


“It’s all an exercise in futility. Don’t you remember how he got manhandled?” King shoots back.


“Man in the Box” immediately kicks up and the fans go crazy. Insane Luchador wastes no time as he comes stomping out and down the aisle before his cued pyrotechnics even goes off.


“Oh he’s pissed, I’m trembling,” King sarcastically says.


“Introducing from Easton, Pennsylvania- weighing in at 201 pounds… your SWF Cruiserweight Champion- IIIINNNSSSAAAAANNNEEE LLLUUUCCCHHHHHAADOOR!”


“He is well-known for being the underdog,” LDP defends. “He’s an ideal Hardcore Gamers’ Champion.”


“But, really, is that saying much?” King asks.


Insane Luchador rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. He stands in middle of the ring and patiently waits for his opponent.


“Andrew Rickmen is here to fight and he’s here to win. Both of these men are tough and have streaks of sadistic tendencies, it could get ugly quick.”


“It could take away two dead weights in the federation,” King replies.


“Our Cruiserweight Champion is dead weight?” LDP asks with a raised eyebrow.


“Spike’s been our champ. Tom’s used it as a coaster… I’d say it’s a nice title to keep the under card quiet,” King says to a round of jeers.


The lights slowly dim and red light begin to flash in sync with the building music.


“Remember what happened when the French tried to keep the bourgeoisie quiet?” LDP snaps.


“I don’t speak gibberish,” King shrugs the history lesson off.


Mastodon’s “Crusher Destroyer” begins to kick off in full gear as the fans roar in approval. Manson emerges from backstage with the metal horns thrown high and HGC title proudly slung over one of his shoulders while the other hand wields his bull rope.


“Next, from Denver, Colorado… weighing in at 240 pounds… he is your HGC Champion- MMMMAAANNNNSSSOOOOONNNN!” Funyon introduces.


Manson stalks down the ring and seems apathetic to the bloodthirsty Insane Luchador in center of the ring.


“Manson often tags with Arch Griffon but this is a great way to kick off a new singles run,” LDP says.


Insane Luchador holds up a wrist showing the scars from the barbed-wire crucifixion he suffered on Storm with a furious look on his face. Manson just laughs at the Luchador as he hoists up his bull rope as if asking if Luchador remembered it.


“These two definitely have a potential grudge after an exceptionally brutal ‘Hate Me Now’ match on Storm,” LDP reminds.


Luchador breaks into a smirk and walks to the ring ropes, hopping down to the outside.


“This is stupidity on Luchador’s part because Manson is a superior brawler. Plus Manson holds his signature bull rope,” King says.


“True, Manson has size but Luchador has the reach… both are skilled brawlers. I’m more concerned about Luchador will unravel due to emotions and make mistakes,” LDP says.


“Like this mistake,” King says.




The fans begin to cheer as Insane Luchador rapidly walks up the entrance ramp while Manson walks down to meet him. The two meet at center of the entrance ramp where Insane Luchador rifles off a jab.




Manson’s head snaps back as he slides the belt off his shoulder and drops the bull rope then lets his hands free. He collides with his strikes until Luchador catches him with a counter punch. He grabs at Manson but instead the Champion pins his arms underneath his armpits. He smacks Luchador in the head with a forehead and keeps Luchador on his feet just to hit another. He lets go and his opponent falls to one knee while Manson bends over to grab his bull rope. The former HGC Champion, Insane Luchador, comes launching up with an uppercut that sends his opponent reeling back. He follows up with his fists raised and firing off basic boxing punches to stun his opponent.


“Come on this is wrestling, not a high school fight,” King protests.


“Close but there’s no headlock with hooks to the kidneys,” LDP jokes.


Luchador sends a knee to Manson’s gut and snags the front headlock. The powerful HGC Champion begins to push Luchador forward while trying to wrap his arms around his opponent’s torso. But Luchador rains down an elbow and uses his free arm to launch off a hook to his foe’s kidneys.


“…Okay, now it’s a brawl,” LDP declares.


Manson finally wraps his arms around Luchador and hoists him off the ground before turning towards the guardrail. He takes a step forward and smacks Luchador’s back against it and frees himself from the headlock.


“Think either of these guys have a definite plan?” LDP asks.


“Only if beating the living hell out of each other counts…” King shrugs.


He sends a back-handed slap to Luchador in disrespect and grabs him by the head- smashing his forehead against the opposing steel barricade with a sickening thud. Luchador crumbles down as Manson grunts in satisfaction and gets his bull rope. He quickly creates a short lasso and ducks down, tying in one of Luchador’s ankles. He then turns himself around and pulls IL down the entrance by the bull rope.


“Manson humiliating Insane Luchador with that bull rope,” LDP says.


“You’d think Manson was from Texas not Colorado with those lasso skills,” King muses.


He drags Luchador down to ringside and takes a turn towards the steel steps. Manson reaches down with one hand and stands Luchador up. He quickly dodges a jab and then yanks the bull rope- sending Luchador smacking back first into the steel steps.


“Creative use of that bull rope,” King admits.


Manson raises the metal horns into the air as Luchador sits up and reaches for his bounded ankle. He quickly frees himself and rolls backward to escape his opponent. Manson drops the rope and he takes a huge step forward-




“Luchador just threw those steel steps right into Manson,” LDP says.


The steel steps fall in front of Manson who stumbles backward and Luchador uses his agility. He hops onto the steel steps and uses it as a launch as he throws a dropkick right into Manson’s face!


“IL uses those steps to hit a huge dropkick practically into Manson’s face!” LDP proclaims.


Manson collapses and Luchador rolls to his feet. He wastes no time and lifts the ring apron. Manson flops over to his stomach and gets to one knee. The challenger stalks over to an SWF employee comfortable in a steel chair. The SWF employee knows the routine and dives out of the chair as Luchador snatches the steel chair. He folds it up and turns around to confront his opponent.


“I smell some retribution,” LDP gleefully says.


The Hardcore Gamers’ Champion surprises Insane Luchador as he throws a kick to his opponent’s gut. He then rips the chair away from IL and raises it into the air then quickly knocks him across the back. Luchador collapses to all fours and Manson sends a kick to his shoulder. Andrew tries to roll away but Manson drops the chair and grabs him by the arm. He tugs him up and gets in a standing headscissors position and wraps his arms around Luchador’s waist.


“He could be trying for a quick powerbomb!”


He hoists Luchador into the air but he wraps his legs tightly around his opponent’s neck. Manson strains and he lets go of his opponent’s waist. He dangles down and Manson improvises as he falls over to his knees and that sends Luchador down into the chair.


“Manson escapes the attempted hurricarana reversal,” LDP says.


He flops over Insane Luchador and hooks the leg in high hopes,




Luchador throws up his shoulder. Manson leans back on his knees and then turns to the ring apron. He rolls away while his opponent begins to dig underneath the ring. He rummages for a weapon as Luchador reaches out and grabs the chair. He uses it for stability as he begins to bring himself to his feet while Manson continues his search. He towers above Manson with a smirk on his face.


“Luchador could really cause some damage here,” LDP says.



Manson suddenly whirls around and smashes a light tube over Luchador’s shin! He drops the chair as Manson pulls out a horde of light tubes. Luchador sends a stomp to Manson’s back and swoops down, grabbing two light tubes. He then retreats into the ring as the Hardcore Gamers Champion grabs a bundle and rolls them into the ring before he snatches one for himself. He cautiously slides in but is met with a charge by Luchador. He rolls away as the light tube smacks against the canvas and shatters. The Cruiserweight Champion grunts and leaps back as the crouched Manson swings a light tube at his stomach. He quickly stands to his feet and swings at Luchador again. This time Luchador catches the tip of the light tube and sends a knee into the light tube to cause it to break.


“A good move to save him,” LDP says.


The two look over to the light tubes near the ring’s edge and both make a dive for it. Insane Luchador and Manson both land right next to the light tubes as the two begin to brawl on the canvas. Manson grabs his opponent by the back of the head and smacks it against the canvas. He then snatches a light tube and rolls to his feet. Luchador scrambles before getting his own light tube. He rolls to the side and then to his feet but Manson ambushes him. He swings the light tube bringing it straight down towards Rickmen’s head. He leaps back and the light tube wheezes by. The challenger quickly leaps out and nails a kick to Manson’s chest as he reels back. He tries to recover his balance but Luchador lunges out with the swing!


“Luchador’s going to connect!” LDP cries out.


The light tube collides and shatters against Manson’s chest. He lurches forward and Luchador tears the other light tube out of his hand. He smacks it over Manson’s back as he is doubled over.


“IL just got a huge advantage right there,” LDP says.


“Yeah but he needed assistance of light tube,” King points out.


Insane Luchador quickly takes advantage. He sends a knee crashing right into Manson’s face as he’s flattened to the canvas. But the pugnacious Manson flops over to his side. He sees his opponent already attempting to get up as he moves towards the remaining light tubes. He swoops down and scoops them up while smirking. He turns around and walks right towards Manson and lays the light tubes out.


“Luchador seems to have a plan,” LDP says.


“It will backfire,” King says.


He bends over and grabs a handful of Manson’s wild hair before tugging him to his feet. He glances behind him with the light tubes laid out as he locks in a front facelock. He grabs a handful of his faded blue jeans. He goes for the lift but Manson grapevines his leg around Luchador’s. He fights his leg free and begins to lift him into the air but Manson shakes his legs and uses his weight to land back on his feet. Manson then grabs a handful of his opponent’s khaki cargoes then lifts him into the air.


“Manson could have Luchador in an awful spot!” LDP proclaims.


Manson spins around and goes for the drop. But Luchador slips away and lands on his feet behind his opponent. He wraps his arms around Manson in a waistlock and begins to push him forward towards the ropes. But the HGC Champion throws an elbow back and breaks free from Luchador’s hold. He jukes around and gets behind his opponent and locks in his own waistlock. With ease he arches back and throws the Insane Luchador back and right through the light tubes on the canvas! Each one shatters as shrapnel of glass are flung everywhere as Luchador audibly groans.


“I don’t hear any maniacal laughter,” King smirks.


“Manson’s got the bridge,” LDP points out.


Cheers and jeers come pouring in as the count begins-










Luchador breaks the bridge to Manson’s frustration and flops over to his side, exposing his back with his shirt ripped in places and blood trickling. Luchador remains limp after breaking the pin and Manson rolls to the outside.


“No! Finish him off!” King demands. “Much as I like to see IL beat, and I do, this could be a costly mistake.”


He stands up on the outside and gets to one knee, lifting up the ring apron. It isn’t long before he pulls out a familiar item- the Luchador’s light tube sword dubbed Excalibur.


“Actually that’s a smart move because that’s one thing you don’t want the Insane Luchador to have,” LDP says.


Manson carefully slides that into the ring as he continues his hunt. He then has to back away as he exposed a large steel ladder to the delight of the fans. He stands up and slides that into the ring but still feels like something’s missing. He reaches underneath the ring and pulls out a table to the fans’ roar. He slides that into the ring and gets back in himself.


“Triumvirate of pain right there,” King smirks.


“That doesn’t work as well,” LDP laughs.


“Why not?”


“It refers to alliances, not items… but there were three,” LDP says.


“How the hell do you know all this?” King demands.


“I’m an SWF historian… don’t you think I have a lot of free time?”


Insane Luchador rolls towards center of the ring while trying to gain his bearings. He sees the ladder, table, and his Excalibur in the ring as he blinks in confusion- only to be brought to reality with a stomp to his back. He winces and Manson swoops down, picking him up. Luchador throws back an elbow in defense but Manson is barely fazed but it as he jukes in front of Luchador and whips him into the ropes. He runs and bounces into the opposite ones as the two look to be on a collision course. As they two approach each other Insane Luchador looks to take flight and Manson reacts. Luchador leaps out for the Crossbody but Manson expects it and catches him right in his arms. He drops down to one knee and delivers a rib breaker to his opponent. He then stands up as Luchador scrambles to his feet. The second the challenger stands up he gets smacked right back down with a roundhouse kick. Manson darts over and grabs the huge ladder with a fierce look in his eyes. He holds it out horizontally and patiently waits for Luchador to pick himself up.


“Manson has that ladder and he’s ready to use it,” LDP says.


Insane Luchador wobbly stands up and Manson earns his nickname of Stampede- surging forward with the ladder. But the wily Cruiserweight Champion drops down and catches Manson with a drop toehold. He drops down and smacks against the ladder as Luchador slides on the mat towards Manson. He grabs the back of his head and brings it up before smacking it against the ladder. Manson flops over to his back on the ladder only to see Insane Luchador in the air and descending upon him. He rolls away as Luchador lands back first onto the ladder with a bounce from the momentum. The blood pumps from his back as he stands to his feet in pain. For the first time the two collide in a grapple.


“Finally some wrestling,” King says.


Insane Luchador tries to use his four-inch height advantage and lock in the front facelock but he’s blocked by a knee to his gut. He hardly flinches from it and pushes Manson back but his opponent responds. He begins to push back as the two circles around in a stalemate of a grapple. The stand in front of the downed ladder and finally Manson gains an advantage. He overpowers the Luchador and uses another knee that IL responds to. He then locks in a front facelock but pins an arm down as he wraps it around Luchador’s torso-


“Manson’s going for the Northern Lights Suplex,” LDP says.


Manson arches back and smacks the Luchador against the ladder with a thud. Luchador rolls away but is tenacious and pushes himself to his feet. Manson lunges out for his opponent but gets a kick to the jaw. He reels back and Luchador leaps out- wrapping an arm around Manson then using the momentum to swing around. He nails the tornado DDT and Manson is plastered against the canvas.


“This could turn the tide if Luchador plays his cards right,” LDP says.


Insane Luchador looks around and then bolts towards the weapons stash. He snatches the table and walks towards the ladder where he sets up the table parallel to the ladder. He then grabs the ladder and calmly sets it up while he sees Manson getting up from the corner of his eyes. He sprints over and grabs his Excalibur and begins to turn around only to see Manson charging. Luchador smirks and he makes his move- smacking his opponent with a low blow kick!


“Oh! Uncharacteristic of Insane Luchador but it is probably revenge for the one he suffered on Storm,” LDP cries out.


A small wave of jeers come in as Luchador disregards them- hitting Manson with an elbow to the back of his head. He stumbles while doubled over and Insane Luchador brings the Excalibur high above his head-


“He’s going to swing!” King exclaims.


“He’s swinging for a homerun too!”


“That was awful,” King speedily adds.


“I know,” LDP replies in suspense.


Insane Luchador brings his famed weapon down and it explodes against the back of Manson’s neck and his upper back. He falls to all fours as Luchador is pelted with glass shards. Luchador begins to laugh as he drops the stub of his Excalibur and grabs Manson by the neck. He tugs him to his feet and locks in a headlock before quickly dropping down onto the glass remains with the Evenflow DDT!


“Jesus! Luchador just nailed his finisher out of nowhere!” LDP cries out.


“Damn it!” King shouts.


Manson flops over but Luchador doesn’t go for the pin. Instead he grabs a handful of black, tangled hair and stands him up. Manson throws feeble shots at Luchador but he just takes them with a laugh.


“Call the mental ward,” King sighs.


Insane Luchador walks over Manson towards the table but stops. He sends a knee to Manson’s face that smacks his nose. Blood droplets are already seen falling onto the canvas like raindrops and it just fuels Luchador’s pleasure.


“It’s a defensive strategy… Manson has caused that spark of rage and he was definitely getting the best of Luchador. IL isn’t going for a pin until he’s damn sure some collateral damage on Manson has been done,” LDP analyzes.


“Just admit the guy is god damn crazy,” King says.


“That too,” LDP admits.


He brings an elbow right into Manson’s battered head before rolling him onto the table. Jeers and cheers alike can be heard as each fan loyally supports their favorite.


“Yeesh, apparently nobody playing Switzerland in here tonight,” King says to the fans’ decisive backing.


“Hey! That historical reference made sense!”


“Shut up.”


Insane Luchador walks over to the far side of the ladder and swiftly scales up it. He maintains balance all the way up to the very last rung where he looks down on Manson.


“What’s he going to hit? Moonsault? Maybe the Frog Splash?” LDP predicts.


Insane Luchador, however, does something very odd. Everybody goes silent as the Insane Luchador grabs the top of the ladder and hops into the air- barely tugging the ladder up also. He smirks and repeats the same procedure before letting himself fall down a few rungs- throwing his weight towards the table-


“What the hell is this kid doing?” King asks.


The ladder begins to sway towards falling as Luchador hops it into the air a last time, falling down towards the middle rung. The ladder topples over and Luchador rides it all the way down- crashing onto Manson! Manson is sandwiched between the table and the ladder as Luchador smacks against the ladder and rolls off. The table crunches underneath the impact as everybody stares in shock of the unique move-




“Insane Luchador just rode that ladder down and smashed Manson and himself!” LDP cries out.


Insane Luchador flops over to the canvas and uses his arms to push himself towards the wreck that is the ladder, table, and Hardcore Gamers Champion. A wheezed, stifled laugh can still be heard as Luchador shoves away the ladder, lets out a huge cough, and lays on top of Manson. He hooks the leg for insurance-




“Rickmen with the pin!” LDP cries out.







“Not another Luchador reign!” King groans.










The fans all burst into cheers as “Man in the Box” begins and Luchador can barely even flop off of Manson.


“Insane Luchador has recaptured his HGC Championship after an even battle until IL got creative. I highly doubt this will be the last time these two collide in the ring however,” LDP summarizes.




TWO! TIME! TWO! TIME! The crowd chants in reference to Luchador’s recapture.


EMTs come out for safety precautions as Luchador rolls off of Manson and the now former HGC Champion stares up at the house lights. He glances around in confusion as it all pieces together.



“Don’t go away because there’s still much more action, up next!” LDP promises.

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Pete: “Welcome back to the show…”


King: “…and welcome back to the sheer hell of working with this guy every week.”


Pete: “We’re ready for our second match of the evening. Jay Hawke, fresh off his loss of the International Championship to Arch Griffon on Storm, takes on a man who has shown a lot of promise over the past few weeks, Bryan Rodgers.”


King: “Now why the hell isn’t Jay Hawke getting his rematch with Griffon here? I know he’s got that rematch clause in his contract.”


Pete: “I can only assume we’re waiting for pay-per-view.”


King: “I hope Hawke gets a chance to say what he was telling me backstage about that deal.”


Pete: “Obviously he isn’t happy, and he needs a victory over Rodgers here to get back his momentum. But Rodgers has shown a lot of promise thus far.”


King: “Oh, I’m sure Rodgers is a future SWF title holder. But he wants to use Jay Hawke as a stepping stone? Not likely!”


Pete: “Let’s go up to Funyon for the introductions.”


Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 15-minute time limit.”


The familiar strains of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” come on the PA as the lights dim.


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


A spotlight shines on Jay Hawke as he emerges from the curtain -- stationed firmly in front of the elevator at the top of the space needle -- and he heads to the ring wearing his trademark black and purple robe. As the crowd gets into its familiar chant…






…Jay Hawke slowly turns his head toward the crowd and sneers at the people who love to hate him. Hawke heads to the ring, taking off his robe and folding it before handing it to the ring attendant. He then turns toward the aisle, staring at the entryway with an ice cold stare.


Funyon: “His opponent…”


#The world is a vampire,


Pockets of fans pop, having heard of Bryan Rodger’s work.


#Sent to drai-ai-ain


A modestly built man appears at the entrance way. He pulls something out of his pocket and sticks it in his mouth. It’s a Marlboro. Another pocket produces a zippo, he lights up.


#Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames

#And what do I get, for my pain


He takes a long drag, and starts heading towards the ring, slapping hands with the occasional fan as he saunters to the ring.


#Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game

#Even though I know-I suppose I'll show

#All my cool and cold-like old job


He climbs up the ring steps, and wipes his Nazi-stompin’ combat boots off before stepping through the ropes.



#Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage

#Then someone will say what is lost can never be saved

#Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage


Funyon: “From Richmond, Virginia … weighing in at 237 pounds … ‘Maniac’ Bryan Rodgers!”


Bryan heads from corner to corner, smoking the rest of his cigarette, and motioning to the crowd, pulling out his infamous “Too Much Evil for One Hand” pinky to the lips taunt that went out of style four years ago.


#Now I'm naked, nothing but an animal

#But can you fake it, for just one more show

#And what do you want, I want to change

#And what have you got

#When you feel the same

#Even though I know-I suppose I'll show


He snuffs his cig out on the ring post, and checks his wrist taping.


#All my cool and cold-like old job

#Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage

#Then someone will say what is lost can never be saved

#Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage


The music dies out as Scott Ryder calls for the bell.




King: “About damn time the match got started. That ring entrance only took about 45 minutes.”


Jay Hawke moves in to lock up, but Bryan Rodgers holds up one finger as if to say “Wait a minute”. Jay Hawke stops, and Bryan Rodgers begins stretching near the ropes, ballerina style. Jay Hawke looks over at Scott Ryder as if to say “What the hell is this?” Ryder only shrugs his shoulders as the crowd gets a good chuckle.


King: “Oh, what is this?”


Pete: “You of all people should know the basic fundamentals behind stretching before the match.”


King: “Yeah, but you do it in the locker room before the match. You don’t do it out here after the bell’s already rung.”


The calisthenics complete, Bryan Rodgers nods to his opponent. Relieved, Jay Hawke moves in for the opening tieup, but Rodgers takes a step back. He comes up throwing some mock slaps toward Jay Hawke’s face, the last of which taps Hawke lightly. The crowd chuckles at the shenanigans, but Hawke is not amused. He immediately returns the slap, but his actually has some force behind it.









Bryan Rodgers holds his face, crying to the referee, “He hitted me! Make him stop!” Scott Ryder tells him that getting hit is the entire point, while Jay Hawke just throws his hands up in frustration.


King: “Come on Rodgers, it’s only a two hour show!”


Pete: “I doubt Jay Hawke’s going to deal with too many of these tactics, King.”


Bryan Rodgers finally stops arguing with Ryder, and Jay Hawke looks over and goes “Can we just wrestle already?” Rodgers nods, and we finally get a lockup. Hawke tries to push Rodgers backwards, but Rodgers breaks the lockup and smacks Jay Hawke in the nose. Rodgers then skips around the ring as Hawke kicks the bottom rope in anger. He screams at the referee, only for Scott Ryder to say “It was an open hand, what do you want me to do about it?”


Pete: “And the strategy of Rodgers appears to be to anger Jay Hawke and throw him off his game.”


King: “I think it’s working. And since this man is already angry over losing the International Title on Storm, you know he can’t be too happy right now.”


Jay Hawke shakes his head, then asks for a test of strength, holding his right arm up. Rodgers then puts up his right arm, which is actually on Jay’s left. Jay lifts the left arm, and Rodgers counters by lifting the left arm. Hawke then starts to put the right arm up, and when Rodgers does the same, Jay Hawke charges, nearly decapitating his opponent with a stiff lariat.






King: “There you go! That’s one way to stop the fooling around!”


Jay Hawke quickly drops a leg across his opponent’s chest, then goes into the immediate cover:












Pete: “A kickout by Bryan Rodgers, who is actually a tremendous wrestler once he stops the clowning. But who wants him to stop the clowning?”


King: “I do. Keep the clowning to guys like Janus who only show up for special appearances anyway.”


Jay Hawke locks his hands around Bryan Rodgers’ throat, choking him out. Scott Ryder counts in an attempt to force the break:











Jay Hawke, glaring angrily at the referee, releases the chokehold. He picks Rodgers up by the head and locks in a front facelock. Before he can apply any pressure, Rodgers grabs Jay Hawke around the waist and lifts him, tossing him over his shoulder and onto the canvas.


Pete: “Rodgers counters into that release Northern Lights suplex, and he quickly goes for the cover!”











King: “What was he thinking? You’re not going to pin Jay Hawke with one simple throw!”


Jay Hawke is quickly to his feet, but Bryan Rodgers takes him down with a lightning fast arm drag takedown. Hawke is up again, and again the arm drag takes him down. Hawke is up again, and Rodgers goes for another arm drag, but Hawke hooks the arm, bending it backwards. Rodgers screams in legitimate pain for the first time in the contest, and Hawke spins him around, grabbing the arm into a DDT-like position and falling with all his weight on the shoulder.


Pete: “Single-arm DDT, and I think that hurt Rodgers!”


King: “I think it did, too! Considering he’s screaming and holding his shoulder, I’d say that’s a good indicator that he’s hurt!”


Seeing Bryan Rodgers clutching at his shoulder, Jay Hawke manages a smirk for the first time in the contest. The Dean of Wrestling then grabs Rodgers’ wrist, then drops a leg across the left arm. Rodgers screams, but Hawke doesn’t release the arm, instead opting to bend it and drape his other leg over top of the forearm.


Pete: “Short arm scissors by Jay Hawke!”


King: “And this is the kind of thing Jay Hawke needs to do! All the pressure is on the arm and shoulder of Bryan Rodgers, and that Wing Span seems to be more effective when he’s been able to work the arm beforehand!”


Jay Hawke tries to tighten the pressure on the hold, and Rodgers begins kicking both legs up and down in an attempt to gain enough momentum to get out of it. The leg flailing is enough to maneuver his way to the ropes, and the Maniac is able to get his feet over the bottom rope to force the break. Hawke hangs onto the hold until referee Ryder counts to four, then releases.


King: “Smart move by Jay Hawke there! Rodgers makes his way to the ropes, but Hawke hangs on until the last possible moment!”


Jay Hawke then grabs Rodgers by the wrist and drags him to the center of the ring. Hawke is down again, this time scissoring Rodgers’ arm while yanking back on the wrist. Rodgers tries to lock his hands together, but Hawke yanks back to completely lock in the hold.


Pete: “Cross arm breaker! And he’s got it firmly applied here!”


King: “Rodgers is quite adept at the mixed martial arts when he so chooses, but now it’s Hawke using them to do damage to the arm and shoulder!”


Rodgers once again flails his legs, attempting to crawl to the ropes. He does eventually reach the ropes, again forcing Hawke to release the hold as the referee reaches the count of four. Jay Hawke lets Rodgers gets to his feet, then quickly slips behind him and locks in a hammerlock. Instead of completely tightening the hold, he pushes Rodgers forward, sending the shoulder into the top turnbuckle.


Pete: “Hawke sending Rodgers into the corner shoulder first, and this could be only moments away from being over.”


Hawke again puts Rodgers’ arm behind him, and again he sends the shoulder of his opponent into the turnbuckle.


King: “And the more he works on the shoulder, the easier it’s going to be to get the submission off of the Wing Span.”


Again Hawke locks in a hammerlock, but this time the turnbuckle smash fails, as Rodgers drops to his knees. The momentum sends Jay Hawke face first into the turnbuckle.


Pete: “And it backfired!”


King: “Not the face! Anything but his face!”


Hawke shakes his head and turns toward his opponent, who’s right there waiting to catch The Dean with a spinning back kick to the face. Hawke staggers back into the corner, and Rodgers back up a few steps. Gaining momentum, the Maniac runs forward, knocking Hawke down with a koppo kick.


Funyon: “Five minutes have gone by, ten minutes remain in the contest.”


The announcement of the time remaining does nothing to slow Rodgers down. He grabs Hawke by the back of the head and turns him around, ramming Hawke’s face into the top turnbuckle. And again. And again as the crowd starts counting along:











King: “Go ahead and congratulate yourselves! You can count to ten without taking off your shoes!”


Hawke staggers about five feet to his left, his back leaning against the ring ropes. Rodgers runs off the other side and rebounds, hitting a clothesline that sends both wrestlers tumbling over the top rope and to the arena floor.


Pete: “What a clothesline by Bryan Rodgers! This kid is something else!”


King: “Notice he used the right arm for that clothesline, but he’s still shaking the left arm in an attempt to get the circulation back! Hawke didn’t do much to that arm, but what he did was enough to weaken the so-called Maniac!”




With Rodgers on his feet and Hawke still groggy from the clothesline and fall, Rodgers takes his arm and spins it in the air, clearly signaling for the DDT. He locks in the front facelock, but Hawke quickly slides away from it. He only gets away momentarily, as Rodgers clotheslines him, driving him back into the ringpost.




With Hawke seemingly on the ropes, Rodgers cocks his left arm and charges for a left-handed lariat. However, Hawke side steps at the last possible moment, and Rodgers’ arm crashes against the ringpost!




Sensing the end is near, Hawke quickly grabs a hold of Rodgers and rolls him into the ring. He slides in under the bottom rope after him, breaking the referee’s ten count at eight.


Pete: “Both men are back into the ring, but Rodgers is feeling the effect of flesh on steel from that ringpost!”


Jay Hawke begins to drive his knee repeatedly into Rodgers’ shoulder.


King: “And if he’s not careful, he’s going to feel the effect of the Wing Span stretching the arm and neck.”


Jay Hawke picks up his wounded opponent as if to body slam him, but instead he takes two steps forward and drops Rodgers’ left shoulder onto Hawke’s left knee. Rodgers lets out a blood-curdling scream as The Dean hangs on, gets to his feet, and drives him shoulder-first onto the knee again. This time he casually drops him to the mat and covers, hooking the leg for leverage:











Pete: “And you can tell Hawke’s getting frustrated. A couple of shoulder breakers, and obviously the pain is intense, but Rodgers just won’t give in!”


King: “He’s either a tough son of a gun, or he’s a stupid man. I’m thinking the latter!”


Jay Hawke pulls Rodgers to his feet and levels him with a couple of stiff forearm smashes that back Rodgers into the ropes. He whips Rodgers over to the other side and extends his arm for a clothesline. Rodgers ducks the clothesline and rebounds off the other side of ropes, then leaps vertically into the air to take the Dean down, following it up with a series of lightning fast punches.


Pete: “Oral fixation!”


King: “Hey, what you do in your bedroom is of no consequence to me, MacDougal!”


Pete: “That’s the name of that Thesz press.”


King: “Oh.”


The Maniac is quickly to his feet, and he’s quickly back down with a snap elbow drop. To his feet, and another snap elbow drop. To his feet yet again, and again he’s down for the elbow drop, but this time Hawke rolls out of the way.


Pete: “Jay Hawke gets out of the way of that third flash elbow!”


King: “And that’s Rodgers’ healthy arm! How can he win this one without at least one healthy arm?”


Both men are to their feet, but Hawke is up a split second sooner, so he’s able to take the Maniac down with a quick swinging neck breaker. With Rodgers struggling to get to his feet, Jay Hawke climbs up to the second turnbuckle. Rodgers gains his footing, but he turns around just in time to see the flying Hawke flip forward in midair and take him down with a neck breaker.


Pete: “The blockbuster, and Hawke is in complete control of this one!”


King: “And look at the Dean! He’s starting to slip behind Rodgers here!”


Pete: “This could be the Wing Span!”


King: “Could be?”


Just as Bryan Rodgers makes his way to his feet, the Dean of Professional Wrestling is quickly on the move. He quickly hooks the arm into the chicken wing and uses the other arm to lock in the crossface.


King: “Here it is, Pete! Jay Hawke’s going to end this one right now!”


Bryan Rodgers spins, trying to keep Hawke from locking the hands together. Hawke releases the crossface long enough to get three or four solid shots to the shoulder, and this time he’s able to get the hands locked on the crossface chickenwing.


Pete: “Bryan Rodgers is trying to fight it off, but Hawke’s just about got the hold locked on!”


As Jay Hawke tries to scissor the free arm, Rodgers keeps it bent, trying to prevent the rest of the Wing Span from being applied. He tries to throw elbows, hoping to at least charley horse the leg up as Hawke leaves it exposed during the scissors attempt. However, he leaves his arm just open enough for Hawke to use his legs to scissor it.


King: “He got it!”


Pete: “The Wing Span is firmly applied, and not too many men have been able to find a counter for this one!”


King: “If Rodgers can get enough momentum to fall backwards with it, he might be able to break the hold and do damage to Jay at the same time!”


The crowd senses that too, as they begin to raise the decibel level in an attempt to rally Rodgers against Hawke. Rodgers tries to make his move, but he grimaces in pain as Hawke tightens the grip on the left shoulder. Rodgers immediately drops to his knees.


King: “That should do it! I’ve never seen anybody break this when Hawke’s locked it in on the mat!”


The crowd continues to rally behind Bryan Rodgers, who seems to be gaining a second wind. Still grimacing in pain, he begins to make a move to regain his footing. He plants the left foot and tries to push himself up…






…but he quickly falls back down to the mat.






King: “He’s fading, Pete!”


Pete: “But Rodgers is fighting, King! He’s trying everything he can to hang on here!”


Rodgers continues to shake his head “no” as Scott Ryder asks if he wants to submit, but the head shaking is becoming slower and less adamant. He again falls forward, this time face first onto the mat as Hawke tightens the pressure. The veins on Hawke’s forehead look about ready to burst as Rodgers shakes his head “no”, then falls limp. Scott Ryder asks Rodgers if he wants to submit, but gets no response. He lifts the arm…



…it falls.




He lifts it again.




….it falls.




He lifts it again…




…it falls.



Scott Ryder immediately says “That’s it” and calls for the bell.







King: “He got him!”


Pete: “Just barely.”


King: “But he still got him!”


Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, in 9 minutes 45 seconds, your winner of this contest … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWKE!”


Jay Hawke maintains the hold, and Scott Ryder begins counting. Hawke finally releases the hold about half a count before the decision would have been reversed and raises his arms in celebration.


Pete: “Jay Hawke picks up the win here, but give credit to Bryan Rodgers for refusing to submit.”


King: “He might not have quit, Pete, but he messed with Jay Hawke at the wrong time.”


Jay Hawke asks for the microphone, which is immediately handed to him by Funyon.


Pete: “Wait a second. Hawke’s got the mic.”


King: “We couldn’t figure that out by looking at the monitor.”


Hawke: “Arch Griffon! I know you’re not in the building right now, but I know you’re watching! What you just saw is exactly what’s going to happen to you when I get my rematch for the International Championship! You’re going to be lying face down in your own sweat! The only difference is I’ll be walking out with my title back!”


Pete: “Confident, isn’t he?”


King: “Hush.”


Hawke: “You and me, Arch. One more time. You got the best of me when the rulebook was thrown out the window. But next time I’m going to teach you a wrestling lesson you’ll never forget, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!”


Jay Hawke tosses the mic down to the mat and leaves the ring, making the “I want the belt” pantomime to the boos of the crowd.


Pete: “This man is obsessed with regaining that International Championship, King.”


King: “Hey, by all rights, Griffon should never have gotten a second shot at that title. And I can guarantee you that Hawke only needs one shot to regain his rightful place as International Champion.”


Pete: “Time will tell, but we still have plenty of exciting action coming your way tonight! Don’t go away!”

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“Where is he?”


Tom Flesher stands up at his desk, pounding his hands on it. The headset-wearing arena technician before him trembles.


“I don’t know, Mr. Flesher,” he says. “… and isn’t Mr. Peters…?”


“Joe’s not here right now. I am. And I am asking you where Todd Cortez is. Do you understand that?”




“It’s a yes-or-no question.” Flesher glares.




Flesher scowls and rolls his wrist, signaling for the tech to get on with it.


“Mr. Cortez was held up at his airport. He was trying to come in through New Delhi and his passport was…”


“Get out of my office.”




“Get out of my office.” Flesher points toward the door curtly, and the arena tech scurries out. “And have someone call Toxxic!” he shouts after him.


“What the hell did I do to deserve this?” he murmurs, as he picks up his crossword puzzle.

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‘Megalomaniac’ hits in full stride, pounding out from the speakers into every inch of the stadium, and of course, the fans roar in delight! Lights suddenly turn back on in the arena as a stream of rockets fire off from the sides of the stage and explode overhead, revealing Landon Maddix standing at the top of the ramp with both arms held out to his side!




Bathing in all the glorious cheers from the South African fans, Landon stands idly for a moment—his arms still stretched out to his sides—before finally turning back to the curtains and beckoning the luscious, mouth-watering, bone popping Megan Skye out to join him. Her cheer is just as marvelous as her client’s, (though the level of testosterone in those cheers being noticeably more present than with Maddix’s) and together they stroll down the ramp.


Wow!” exclaims King, while wiping the drool from the side of his mouth, “Megan Skye is packing so much heat a roll in the hay with her would be a definite fire hazard!”


“Oh, will you stop it,” scolds Pete. “Besides, the real hazard is the match we are about to see—Johnny Dangerous versus Landon Maddix for what has got to be at least the sixth time!”


“Hence the title of Johnny Dangerous versus Landon Maddix six, Drain-Clogger,” King smugly replies. “Anyway, these two are certainly no strangers to one another and by now they should know each others moves like the back of their hands. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit to see this match go for a full hour!”


“I don’t know about that, King, but what I do know is that Landon had some strong words for the Barracuda,” Pete says. “Landon has promised to defeat Johnny just as he has on numerous occasions and just as he defeated Wildchild on Storm!”


“That boy’s writing a check with his mouth that his ass can’t cash!” spits King, “you know I have no love for Wild and Dangerous but I have even less for Maddix and one of the major reasons is that mouth! Wildchild has beaten Landon time and time again, but the second that little cockroach through some sand in the eyes of Wildchild and beat him his gums were flappin’ ninety miles an hour! Now he thinks he’ll waltz in here and beat Johnny after barely squeaking in one win out of four matches in the past few months… how do you stand behind this arrogant trash, McDougal?”


“He’s just a kid, King; give him a break.”


Having stripped his signature cheat to win t-shirt off and tossed it into the stands, Landon enters the ring, climbs the turnbuckle, and pumps his fist to the fans as Funyon introduces him.


“Introducing first in the following match scheduled for one fall with a fifteen minute time limit,” says Funyon. “From Huron, South Dakota, and weighing in at two hundred and twenty pounds, he is one half of the reigning SWF Tag Team Champions… LAAAANDOOON ‘LA CUCARACHA’ MAAADIIIIIIX!!”




“And his opponent...”




A deep, sultry voice whispers the name of the secret agent just before “After the Flesh” kicks up from the speakers! Cheers can be heard all over, but not to the same extent as they were for Landon, “-and Johnny’s message about taking matters into his own hands must have really dampened the crowd support for the Barracuda,” notes Pete. “They’re not as rabid for him as they once were.”


“Who needs them anyway?” questions King. “If they want to loose support for him because he’s tired of getting passed up for World Title shots then they never were his fans to begin with!”


“I think it might be the manner in which he’s trying to voice his opinions,” Pete suggests. “It just comes off more as Dangerous whining about not getting a shot than what I’m used to hearing from him.”


“I think he’s just tired of not getting his dues – he’s more than earned his shot, but people like Ejiro Fasaki and Lil’ Buck keep getting pushed in front of him. Top that off with Maddix trying to discredit the Barracuda and I’m sure he’s just about to snap!”


Johnny heads out from backstage and calmly heads towards the ring. He keeps his eye firmly fixed on his opponent for the evening who just stands there, in the center of the ring, smirking like the little egotistical bastard that he is before rapping his pointing finger against the gold plate of the Tag Team Championship belt around his waist… and Johnny just stares blankly, waiting to get his introduction…


“From Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at two hundred and seventeen pounds… JOHNNY ‘THE BAAARRAAACUDAAAAAA’ DAAAAAANGEROUUS!!”


…And then Johnny slides into the ring. He removes his coat as Maddix hands the Tag Team belt off to referee Ronald ‘Red’ Herrington, the official for this bout, and the noise inside the Wanderer’s Cricket Stadium begins to swell from these eager fans. Herrington hands the belt off to a ringside assistant then signals for the bell…




…and the two competitors immediately move into a slow, calculating circle of one another.


“Like mentioned before, these two are no strangers to each other,” says Pete. “They’ve seen everything the other has to offer and then some – they both know what to expect from their opponent.”


“Which makes this circling rather odd,” notes King. “They always start their matches off this way and the results are always the same. You think we’d see them trying to start off with a surprising attack to throw the other off their game from the get go.”


Finally, Johnny stops circling Maddix and lets a sly smile crawl onto his face before extending his hand for a shake.


“Well, there’s something we don’t see to often from these two,” says Pete, “good sportsmanship!”


Landon just stares at the hand, half expecting some kind of a ploy, but the Barracuda stays motionless with his hand extended, patiently waiting for Maddix to accept. It takes a little urging from the crowd before he will, but finally Landon steps forward, extends his hand…







…and walks right into an uppercut from Dangerous!


“What was the meaning of that!?” shouts Pete as the Cockroach is rocked on his heels and the crowd roars in disbelief. “Johnny just completely sucker punched Landon!”


“Which is exactly what he needed to do,” the King replies. Johnny quickly chases after Landon and pulls his arm away from his chin before blasting him square in the face with a right hook to send the Cockroach scurrying to the ropes! Pulling Maddix off the ropes, Johnny sends him barreling across the ring with an Irish whip then prepares himself for Maddix’s return trip, readying up a lariat, but Landon spots it a mile away and easily ducks under the Barracuda’s swinging arm and continues towards the opposite side of the ring. However, Dangerous isn’t just going to stand idly and wait for his opponent to come back to him and takes off for the ropes himself, bouncing back from them just as Maddix does the same from his end! They rush towards one another at full speed and…




…Both men get taken down by lariats, “-and apparently they each had they same idea on that one,” says Pete as Landon and Johnny hit the mat side by side. “Unfortunately, they pretty much cancelled one another out!”


Rushing to get back onto their feet, Landon and Johnny pop back up and quickly get on the defensive, expecting the other to try and rush an attack. It never comes though – neither man will give up their supposed defensive edged to try an attack that may or may not work, and instead they stand their staring at one another with all their hatred slowly surfacing.


“I tell you what, McDougal,” says King. “At the rate this is going it might be time for Smarkdown before this match is decided.”


“I don’t think it’ll go that far,” replies Pete. “True they know each other very well but that doesn’t mean they won’t fall to the same attack again.”


Once more, after finally dropping their respective defensive stances, the two move into a slow paced circle as the crowd crackles and buzzes with anticipation of these two coming to a second round of blows. Like before the Barracuda stops mid-circle of his opponent and offers up a handshake with a wiry smile. This time Landon isn’t falling for it and offers up a middle finger in reply while still moving in a circle, and getting a sizable cheer for the notion as Johnny flashes his devilish grin.


“The Barracuda is absolutely deluded if he thinks Maddix will fall for the same trick twice!”


“I don’t think he was expecting him to go for it,” replies King. “It was more of a ‘rubbing the sand in the eyes’ notion.”


“Are you going to bring that up forever now? I mean come on; it was a hardcore match and to top that off Landon had to have his hair washed by the salon five times!”


“Any man that stops off in a salon needs their head thoroughly examined,” says King. Johnny steps one foot forward as if he were about to rejoin his opponent on this epic circle and then suddenly explodes towards Maddix, hoping to catch him off guard! Maddix immediately braces himself and ducks under a left hand that whizzes over his head just barely, then goes behind as he grabs Johnny’s wrist and reaches for his far hip to take the Barracuda to the mat with a wrist pull to a reach around!


“Shades of Tom Flesher!” exclaims Pete, “it looks like Johnny wasn’t the only one preparing himself with some new maneuvers!”


“But unlike the Superior One, Landon has no knowledge of what to do with his opponent once he has him down in a precarious position like this,” adds King. “Watching ‘Better Than You: the best of Tom Flesher’--which is now available from selected retailers at the suggested price of $24.99--may have taught him that one but it takes a real mat technician to follow up on it.”


Knowing all to well of the dangers of leaving himself down in this position, the Barracuda scrambles to get up on his hands and knees and then hits a powerful hip-heist to toss Maddix off of him! Johnny quickly floats over, completely reversing the situation while wrapping his arms around Landon’s waist from behind and pulling him up to his feet…




…and then pulling Maddix off his feet and sending him overhead with a German suplex, slamming the Cockroach neck-and-shoulders first into the mat!




“An excellent reversal by the Barracuda and now he’s got a cover!” shouts Pete as Johnny applies a lateral press for:






And nothing more as Maddix quickly powers out then rushes to get back to a vertical base, more emotionally hurt than physically, but if the Barracuda has his way it’ll all be physical soon enough! Johnny steps in and grabs Maddix by his arm before stepping forward to whip the Tag Team Champion across the ring, but Landon digs his feet into the canvas and reverses, sending Dangerous barreling across the ring instead! Johnny hits the ropes and springs back towards the Champion…




…and Landon dives for the Secret Agent, leveling him with a flying forearm smash! Cheers rain down from all corners of the stadium, but Maddix hasn’t the time to play to them right now. He knows he has to make every opportunity count and he quickly dives onto Dangerous, covering him for:









NO! Johnny kicks out before it even gets to the second count and rolls up to his feet with Maddix closing in on him, looking to connect with a second forearm! Dangerous swiftly raises his own forearm up to block the blow then hammers the Cockroach in the face with a blatantly closed fist to send him falling into the ropes! Herrington admonishes the Barracuda for the closed fist, but right now Johnny doesn’t even care. He shoves past the referee and snatches Landon by his hair then catches him in the face with a series of knee lifts!







“There’s that little streak of viciousness surfacing again,” reports LDP. “Johnny’s been on the verge of cracking constantly for months now and every time he starts getting on the losing end of the stick it comes out!”


“He isn’t on the losing end of the stick right now though,” counters King. “In fact, he’s far from it. Could it be that this extra violent course of action is simply Johnny trying to surprise Landon—get the edge on him with something unexpected?”


“Possibly so, or maybe violence is what Johnny was referring to when he said he was going to step up the pace and take matters into his own hands,” Pete adds as a final knee lift to the face sends Maddix sprawling to the mat! Johnny dives in for the cover and Herrington slides in to count for:












NO! Landon shoves the Barracuda off of him and rolls onto his hands and knees, trying desperately to get back up, but Johnny comes in from behind and locks the Cockroach into a camel clutch!


“Johnny’s just trying everything that he can possibly work in to catch Maddix with,” says Pete. “So far I have to say his plan is a pretty sound one as he’s throwing all kinds of curves at Landon tonight.”


“About time you noticed and quit singing the praises of that cheating bastard Landon,” mutters King. Wailing in pain from the camel clutch is about all Landon can offer up at first, but he’s not too far from the ropes and knows that if he can get an extra inch closer he’ll have those nylon ropes in his hand! Megan thumps the mat with the palm of her hand over and over, while shouting all the encouragement she possibly can at her man before finally turning towards the crowd and clapping her hands together high over head!


“That’s right, Megan!” shouts King, “bounce those sweet, tender, juicy ti-”




“What the f(Bleep!)k was that for, McDougal!?” shouts King, grabbing the back of his head.


“This is a wrestling show not a Carl’s Jr. Commercial, King,” Pete reminds his announcing partner. “I’m just trying to keep his away from the wrath of PTC!”


Back inside the ring, Landon waves the referee away when he asks if Maddix will submit and instead tries to reach out for the ropes…






“HE’S GOT IT!” exclaims Pete as Maddix finally grabs hold of the ropes forcing the break. Though reluctant, Johnny lets go of the hold on his opponent. If there is one thing he doesn’t want to do it’s hand over a win to Landon by disqualification. He steps over towards Maddix, who tries once more to regain his footing, even with his throbbing neck, and stands up right and stands right into another punch to the face by Johnny!




“Hey!” shouts Herrington as he swoops in and admonishes the Barracuda for using a closed fist, but Johnny just brushes past him as Landon stumbles across the ring and falls into the corner. He turns around just in time to catch sight of Dangerous charging in for an avalanche—Landon’s eyes widening to the size of saucers--and Maddix quickly darts out of the way as Johnny leaps towards him, once again proving that speed is on his side tonight! Johnny, like a bumbling fool, goes headfirst into the top of the turnbuckle!




His head bounces off the post like a well aired basketball and the Secret Agent goes stumbling backwards, completely stunned out of his mind and falls to the mat, holding his head. Herrington drops to his knees to check on the Barracuda, and of course, Landon’s eyes light up at the distraction. He looks at the same turnbuckle pad that Johnny just smashed his head into and when a smile darts across his face you could almost see a light bulb go off over his head, and then he quickly moves closer towards the corner.


“What in the blue blazes is that damn Cockroach up to now?” questions King, easing up in his chair to get a better look, but the only view he gets is Maddix’s back turned towards him with Landon glancing over his shoulder towards the referee every few seconds. “Is he untying the turnbuckle padding?”


“I’m not quite sure,” replies Pete, “my view is blocked.”


However, Johnny realizes that Maddix is up to no good when he glances up towards him. He pushes the referee back away and crawls up to his feet and races in on Landon from behind…




…and clubs the Cockroach in the back with a double axe handle, putting a stop to any of Landon’s little ideas. Johnny reaches around his Challenger’s waist from behind, locks his fingers together, then hauls Maddix off his feet with a German suplex and sends him crashing neck-and-shoulders first!




“Ha!” snickers King, “so much for Landon’s bright little idea!”


Instead of simply moving in for a cover on his opponent, Johnny pops up to his feet and takes a hard look into the corner. A nod reaffirms his suspicion of Maddix’s deviousness, but two can definitely play this game! Johnny takes a step back towards the referee and drapes his arm over Herrington’s shoulder, pulling him in close while politely explaining something not quite audible and pointing towards the corner post where the two strings of the turnbuckle padding are dangling loose. Nodding in agreement, the referee heads to the corner post and starts to examine the padding as the Barracuda quietly slips away, smiling menacingly.


“Oh come on,” grumbles Pete as the turnbuckle seems to have taken the referee’s undivided attention, “that’s about the oldest trick in the book!”


“There wouldn’t be any need for Herrington to have to fix it if Landon hadn’t untied it in the first place!” snaps King. “Besides, I think it’s rather novel of the Barracuda to be putting safety first in this match – unlike Landon he’s starting to become a real stand up guy.”


Heading back across the ring, Johnny reaches Maddix just as he is up to his hands and knees by way of the ropes and drives his knee into the back of Landon’s skulls, sending him into the bottom rope. Johnny puts his boot against the back of Landon’s head while grabbing onto the top rope then starts chocking the Cockroach against the bottom rope – all the Barracuda’s weight supported on his boot!


“This is the kind of actions I was hoping we didn’t see,” fumes Pete.


“Oh, for the love of God, Toilet-Clogger,” grumbles King. “I didn’t see you getting onto your soapbox when Landon was trying to untie the turnbuckle padding.”


“Maybe he was trying to tie it back down?”


“And maybe pigs are about to fly out of my ass!”


Once again, Pete concedes the losing argument, but it’s exactly when all of Megan’s shouting towards the Barracuda pull Herrington’s attention away from the turnbuckle, and back towards the actual in ring action! He quickly shouts at Johnny, but the Barracuda has already released his footing on Landon as Maddix slumps forward on his knees, gagging while clenching his neck with both hands. The referee admonishes Johnny for the suspected offense but Dangerous innocently throws his arms up… and then gets ROLLED UP as Landon crawls in from behind and tries to take advantage of Johnny with a classic schoolboy!










…and Landon gets his feet up on the ropes, putting some added leverage into his already surprising reversal of fortunes on the Secret Agent!



























THREEEEE – NOO!!! Not half a second from coming away with the victory, Maddix is caught by the referee and he immediately stops his count and reprimands the Cockroach! The crowd roars in cheers, and laughter, but even after being caught red handed Maddix denies the ‘allegation’!


“About time someone caught that little cheat,” says King. “I can’t say I’ve seen too often when he was actually spoiled from cheating his way to victory.”


Both men jump back to their feet, but Landon, going back to his earlier speed strategy gets the jump on the Barracuda and meets him with a drop kick, sending him tumbling back into the mat! This time Johnny isn’t as quick to get back up to his feet and Landon makes sure he stays down, rushing in towards his opponent, jumping up, and…




…landing with a double stomp on the Barracuda’s back!




Landon rolls his shaken foe over onto his back and then applies a lateral press for a cover!





































“Johnny manages to kick out once again,” notes Pete, “but those kick outs are coming with notable less authority than before – Landon’s game plan is starting to come together.”


“What game plan? All we’ve seen so far is Johnny using some surprising offensive maneuvers while Landon just rolls with the punches!”


Landon jumps back to his feet and with his opponent still lying on his back he tries to

stomp his foot into the Barracuda’s chest, but Johnny quickly rolls out of the way and up to his feet…




…and smacks the Champion in the mouth with a back hand, sending a stream of spit flying out of the side of Landon’s mouth to a big “OOOOOOOOOH!” from the crowd! Johnny grabs his opponent by the arm and tries to whip him across the ring, but Maddix quickly digs his heels into the mat and reverses the whip, sending Dangerous for the ride instead! Landon pauses for a beat and watches Johnny hit the ropes and rebound, then rushes in for a clothesline…




…But Dangerous ducks under the attempt. He pops up behind Maddix and reaches back, grabbing around Landon’s head to nail a quick reach-behind neck breaker!




Almost instinctively, a hand shoots to Landon’s neck as he groans angrily and tries to get back up to his feet to avoid a second attack. It doesn’t take much to realize that the Barracuda has definitely hit a sore spot –- one that has yet to fully heal -- and Johnny takes note of Landon’s plight with a devilish smile, getting a mixed reaction from the South African crowd as he gets back to a vertical base himself.


“This match is starting to pick back up once more,” Pete excitedly says. “This time it looks like Johnny’s heading back to reminding Landon of past defeats – Johnny won the ICTV Championship off Landon this way!”


“You got that right,” agrees King. “Ever since Toxxic nailed Landon through the mat at From the Fire his opponents have looked towards re-aggravating the Cockroach’s neck. It worked for Johnny previously so he might be looking to win here the exact same way--more of a psychological slap to the face.”


Johnny rushes in after Maddix, looking to lock up with his Challenger, but Maddix will have none of it! He knows not to let this man in too close at this stage of the match, and he ducks out of the way before taking off across the ring, picking up some serious steam before hitting the ropes and springing back towards Johnny…




…and Landon runs straight into a stiff shoulder block! Once more the Cockroach finds himself staring up at the ceiling – this time with Johnny diving on top of him for the cover.





























NO! Landon kicks out and starts to push up to his hands and knees. He tries to make it to his feet but before he can the Barracuda pops up to his feet, swings his elbow out, and then drops the point of his elbow into the back of Landon’s neck, eliciting a whelp from Maddix’s lips. Johnny pops back up to his feet once more, grabs Maddix by his hair to pull him half way up, and then drives that elbow back into the Cockroach’s neck again!




“Oh!” Pete winces at the hits, “the Barracuda is really exposing Landon’s neck now – he saw that the first hit obviously struck a bad nerve along with that camel clutch, and now he’s focusing his attack on it!”


“Smart move if you ask me,” adds King. “Hell, something we take as such a common move, like a German suplex, could really have some damaging effects on Maddix with the shape that neck is in. Landon would be wise to keep Johnny at arms length as much as possible!”


Once more Johnny pulls Landon up, but this time he leaves the Cockroach’s neck be. Opting to let that aggravation in Landon’s neck slowly tick away at him instead, and whips Maddix across the ring! Landon hits the ropes and rebounds towards his foe as Johnny swings his arm out, looking for a lariat, but the speedier Maddix ducks right under Dangerous’ arm! He stops and pops up directly behind the Barracuda and when Johnny spins back around to reacquire his opponent…





…Landon blasts Dangerous directly in the mouth with a quick super kick!


“SWEET CUCA MUSIC~!” exclaims Longdogger Pete, “and out of absolutely nowhere!” Johnny staggers back from the brain-jarring kick, stunned out of his mind and as he backs towards the ropes Landon quickly shifts his game plan to formulate for this new outcome; making a quick break for the ropes, “-and there goes that quick thinking mind of Landon Maddix!” shouts Pete, as Landon hops up to the middle rope and springs off, “He sees his opening and doesn’t even play around! He’s going straight to the last act!”


Landon leaps right for the dazed Secret Agent, snaring him by the head and…




“NO! Johnny shoves Maddix off of him and sends Landon to the mat alone!” shouts King as the Cockroach slams back-first into the mat. “He took a gamble and thought he could catch Johnny by surprise with that move but the Barracuda knew how to counter it!”


Johnny rushes towards Maddix, who staggers to his feet just in time to catch sight of the Barracuda’s charge. Haste on his side, Landon ducks down and grabs Dangerous by his waist to flip him overhead and over the top rope!




…But Johnny lands safely on the outside apron! Unaware of his opponent’s real position and thinking that he landed face first on the thinly-padded concrete floor, Maddix stumbles a step away from the ropes before stopping as he hears Megan crying out with her warnings, but alas it’s too late. The second he realizes what she’s saying Johnny leaps to the top rope directly behind the Cockroach, and vaults off, flipping himself over Maddix and unfolding as he snatches Landon by his head and…




“STUNNER~!” exclaims Pete, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Stunner executed quite like that before and it may be the surprising, unexpected move Johnny needs to finish this match off!”


“Let’s hope,” adds King, eagerly watching as Johnny rolls on top of ‘La Cucaracha’ and applies a lateral press for:







































“He got him!” exclaims King, “by God I knew Landon’s ass couldn’t cash that check his mouth wrote!”


“Don’t be so excited just yet,” replies Pete. “This only makes the score in singles matches between Johnny and Landon and dead even three to three.”


“Well let’s add every single type of match these two have had and the score will be like fifteen to three in the Barracuda’s favor,” says King. “Hopefully this will finally put a staple on Maddix’s lips.”


“I wouldn’t count on that.”


Inside the ring, Herrington helps Johnny up to his feet then raises his hand out in victory as Funyon makes the obvious announcement.




Johnny’s music pounds from pillar to post in the stadium and the fans cheer sporadically. However, the Barracuda’s interest isn’t on the fans but on the title belt draped across Maddix’s chest—the World Tag Team Championship belt. Johnny steps towards his opponent and takes the belt off his chest—the belt that was his for so very long—and stares blankly at it while running his finger across the gold plate.


“It wasn’t too long ago that you never saw this man without that exact same belt in his hands right now,” notes Pete. “But…Oh wait! Maddix is getting back on his feet!”


Sure enough, Landon is back up, through still reeling from the tremendous aftershocks of the stunner he ate. He’s in no condition to take his nemesis on right now, so all he can do is watch the Barracuda screw with HIS Tag Team Championship. Finally, Johnny tosses the belt back towards Maddix and he fumbles to catch it before securing it right at face level…


















“OH MY GOD!” cries Pete, “what is the meaning of this! The match is long over! This is totally uncalled for!”


“Serves that son of a bitch right for running his mouth!” snaps King, “you don’t take somebody’s prized possession and then try to run them into the ground with your mouth! Landon’s loss here tonight and now this—everything is just coming back on him and you can’t blame anybody but Maddix for it!”


As blood begins to trickle and ooze from Landon’s forehead, Megan can only watch in horror. On the other hand, Johnny can only smile and nod in satisfaction as he stares down at Landon…











As We:


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“I don’t f**king believe this,” Flesher fumes. The camera is tight on him, and it slowly pulls back to show a livid Jet standing behind Toxxic, who appears to be staring into space. “What happened?”


“I don’t know,” Jet says, practically screeching. “We were at a club last night, and…”


“He’s not hung over.”


“He’s straight-edge,” spits Jet. “You know that by now.”


“Statement of fact, Jet,” Flesher says boredly. “Who was watching his drink?”


“Well, I…”


“You dance, Jet. I’ve seen you. Allison has seen you. I’ve seen you and Allison.” Flesher pauses, then shakes his head out. “Point is, if you were in charge of his drink…”


“What the f**k is that?” asks Toxxic out of the blue.




“That little green bugger,” he says. “Can’t you see it? It’s p**sing on your leg, Taamo.” Toxxic bursts into cackling laughter.


“Jesus,” Flesher murmurs. “Alright, I’ve got to go talk to the gorilla,” he sighs.


With that, Flesher turns on his heel, off to relay a message via the road agent in charge for the evening. As he leaves, Toxxic shouts after him…


“Are you going to let that goblin get away with that, Sunshine?”

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“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “we are sorry to announce that due to a misunderstanding in passport control, Todd Cortez is unable to appear tonight.”


He handles the inevitable hail of boos, pausing before continuing, “There will be no replacement match. Toxxic is, unfortunately, otherwise indisposed. Please take a moment and hope for his quick recovery.”


“The last time this happened, it was vasocongestion,” says King.


“It’s possible,” says Pete, “that Toxxic’s drink may have been… spiked?”

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“It is now time for our main event!” Longdogger Pete announces with great enthusiasm. “In the first match of their Best of Three series, Scott Pretzler and the Wildchild will go one-on-one in a submission match. King, do I even need to get into the history these two have?”


“You certainly don’t,” answers the color commentator. “And besides, we’re on a tight schedule. Now, Pretzler obviously made a smart move by taking the initiative and naming the stipulation on this match tonight – but did Wildchild make a mistake by accepting?”


“Wildchild is one of the toughest competitors in the SWF today,” Pete responds. “And it should be noted that he has beaten Pretzler in every singles encounter the two have had together.”


“Nonetheless, I can’t help but think this might end up as a Best of Two, if you know what I mean.”


“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” thunders Funyon, immediately silencing the commentary. “The following contest is a SUBMISSION MATCH! In this match, the first person to force his opponent to submit will be declared THE WINNER!”


The Seattle Symphony’s stirring rendition of Beethoven’s Ninth begins to play, sending the audience into a frenzy of booing and jeering.


“Introducing first, from Toronto, Ontario, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… SCOTT PRRREEETZZZLEEERRR!”


Pretzler emerges onto the stage, head held high, looking down upon the audience with nothing short of disgust. He pauses for a moment and places his hands on his hips while he surveys the arena, then proceeds down the ramp, up the steps, and into the ring. He watches the entryway intently.


“And his opponent…”





“Charming,” King mutters, as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” blasts across the arena, drawing a heated applause.


“From the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds… WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”


As the Bahama Bomber bursts through the curtain, he executes a graceful back handspring and spins around to face the ring. He runs down the aisle, slapping hands with the fans on both sides, and slides under the bottom rope and into the ring.






He stands in one corner and stares across at Pretzler. Both men’s muscles are tense, and they wait impatiently for referee Red Herrington to signal the start of the match. Pretzler crouches and holds his arms out, ready to seize his opponent on contact and keep him out of the air, while Wildchild hops energetically from side to side.




Without hesitating, Pretzler darts forward and attempts a tackle, but Wildchild is too quick, rolling out of the way and to his feet at Pretzler’s right. Pretzler reacts quickly by kicking him in the shin and placing him in a front headlock. He goes for an over-the-hip takedown, but the speedy Bahaman flips out of it and lands on his feet, then takes Pretzler over with a snapmare. Pretzler spins to face him and shoots for his waist – Wildchild hops back, but Pretzler is able to adjust and tackles him by the legs. Wildchild falls into a seated position and Pretzler shifts behind him into a rear waistlock, then drags him to his feet and attempts a belly-to-back throw. Wildchild elbows him in the face hard enough to force him to break the hold and allow the high-flyer to duck behind him and apply a waistlock of his own. He then attempts a face-first takedown, but Pretzler plants his feet and pries the hold apart with his hands. As soon as Wildchild’s grip is broken, Pretzler grabs his arm and hiptosses him – reversed into an armdrag in mid-throw!


“Wildchild has clearly been working on his wrestling in preparation for this match,” Pete notes with approval.


“Yeah,” King says, “too bad his submission skills still exist in the same alternate reality as JJ Johnson’s public speaking ability and Tom Flesher’s neck.”


Pretzler stands and faces Wildchild. For a moment, neither man moves, but there be no show of respect on this night. Wildchild runs forward and hurls himself at Pretzler with a dropkick, sending him into the corner, and follows it up with a lightning leg lariat that nearly carries him over the top rope! Pretzler stumbles and falls to his knees. His opponent briefly incapacitated, Wildchild is faced with the first opportunity to apply a submission hold. He pauses, then drops to the mat and applies a Fujiwara armbar.




Though he hesitates only briefly, it gives Pretzler enough of an opening to flip onto his back, leaving his opponent standing above him and holding the arm only loosely. He kicks up at Wildchild, causing him to release it. Still lying on his back, he catches the Bahaman’s left ankle between his own feet and turns to the side, bringing him down to the mat in a drop toehold. Rolling up to his knees, he maintains the hold while leaning across his opponent’s back to apply a grounded facelock.


“Pretzler is wasting no time in putting the hurt on Wildchild,” King says with satisfaction.


Wildchild whips an elbow back, hoping to catch his adversary in the face and sever the STF. It does not connect, but another, more forceful attempt does. Pretzler’s grip slips and Wildchild elbows him a third time, then turns over and places both feet against his chest. He kicks with all of his strength, sending Pretzler flying back toward the ropes. He kips up and performs a front handspring toward the Critic, twisting around as he lands and catching him with a cross-body block!





Pretzler is sandwiched beneath him on the mat. He hits a knee drop to Pretzler’s arm and transitions into a seated armbar – but Pretzler sits up and leans into him, forcing him to curl up on his back. This position renders him immobile, so he releases the leg scissors and stands, keeping his hands locked around the wrist of the Ontarian. He tries to twist it into an arm wringer, but Pretzler is too strong and reverses it. With Wildchild’s arm firmly in his grasp, Pretzler moves behind his back and pulls the arm into a hammerlock. He reaches through it and wraps his arms around the face of the fan favorite, trapping him in a crossface chickenwing.


“The difference here,” King explains, “is that Pretzler has a clear strategy and is sticking to it. Wildchild really seems to be experimenting, and it’s getting him nowhere.”


“Obviously, Pretzler is a more experienced submission wrestler. But the odds have been against Wildchild in the past, and he always pulls through spectacularly.”


Pretzler’s hands clasp together, signaling that the hold is locked in. He drags the thrashing Wildchild away from the ropes and into the center of the ring. Although the move is applied tightly, he is unable to control the rest of Wildchild’s body, which trembles with energy. As he increases the pressure on the Bahaman’s neck, Wildchild reaches up and tries to break the crossface using his free hand. Pretzler’s grip will not falter. He then tries to walk forward in the direction of the turnbuckle – Pretzler fights it by renewing his efforts to carry him back to the middle of the ring. This gives Wildchild the chance he needs: with Pretzler’s momentum already pulling them back, he pushes off from the canvas and throws his body backward. Pretzler loses his balance and Wildchild lands with a thud on top of him.




The impact drives the air from his lungs and breaks the hold immediately. Wildchild rolls off Pretzler before the Canadian can recover and hits a sliding dropkick to the side of his head. Pretzler throws up his hands instinctively to protect him from further attack, and Wildchild completes the combination with a rib-rattling senton splash. He rolls out of the ring and bends over the announce table to collect himself.


“The momentum is building!” says Pete. “This is exactly what Pretzler doesn’t want.”


Wildchild looks down at his recovering opponent. Clearly, targeting the arm has been an ineffective strategy and will not lead him to victory. If I can wear down his neck… Having shaken out the cobwebs, Pretzler turns to face the ring - and Wildchild pulls back on the ropes and slingshots over them, landing on his shoulders and taking him down with a hurracanrana!




The crowd goes wild, awed by Wildchild’s athleticism. As Pretzler lies prone on the floor, Wildchild scrambles on top of him and lays in a series of jabs.








Before Pretzler can defend himself, Wildchild steps back and rolls into the ring. Pretzler stands near the steps, and Wildchild springs to the second turnbuckle. Pretzler backs up with alarm, hoping to catch whatever move comes flying at him, but the Wild One backflips off the turnbuckle and lands crisply on his feet in the ring. Still wary, Pretzler circles to the other side before stepping onto the apron. As he does so, Wildchild runs at him and performs a front handspring against the ropes. His feet whip toward Pretzler’s face at warp speed!




Scott Pretzler crumples and falls to the floor. Wildchild flips back to his feet and jumps high into the air, flinging his arms up to appeal to the crowd. Their support is unanimous.





Not willing to wait for his opponent to recover, Wildchild slides out of the ring again, hauls Pretzler to his feet, and rolls him back in. He hops onto the apron and executes a flip over the top rope, rotating again on the way down. The slingshot 450 Splash connects!


“Good grief,” Pete gasps. “I’m exhausted just watching this!”


Pretzler is exhausted as well, and in a normal match this would the ideal time for a pin attempt. But as Wildchild lies on his opponent’s chest, catching his breath, there is no three-count to be made. He rolls Pretzler over and climbs onto his back. Locks on a camel clutch. Pretzler automatically pushes up onto his elbows, momentarily relieving the pain in his neck. He reaches up tentatively and slaps at the face above him, but Wildchild is unfazed and reclines so he is out of reach. Next, he grabs his opponent’s wrist and tugs at it. Due to Wildchild’s unfamiliarity with the maneuver, Pretzler is able to use his superior strength to break the grip, and as soon as this happens he crawls forward as fast as he can and hugs the ropes. Wildchild moves in to reapply the hold, but Pretzler has already managed to stand and halts his advance with a hard back kick to the stomach. He then whirls around to face him while at the same time whipping his arm outward and catching him with a lariat.




His pent-up rage gives the strike added power and Wildchild is thrown off his feet. Though he’s still tired from the Bahama Bomber’s recent offensive flurry, Pretzler finds his fire returning as the path to victory is opened. He stands over his temporarily downed opponent and begins battering his face with stiff elbow strikes. Wildchild flips to his stomach in order to protect himself, but Pretzler rams an elbow into the back of his neck and slides into a crossface.


“Shades of the World Champion,” Pete comments, “although he obviously hasn’t mastered the hold like Ejiro has.”


“Ejiro Fasaki?” asks King. “You mean the man Pretzler defeated six weeks ago? I gotcha.”


Pretzler leans into the hold as far as Wildchild’s neck will stretch, causing him to howl in pain. His free arm is angled toward the center of the ring and neither of his legs is close enough to the ropes for a break. He twists from side to side, agitating his neck even more. Pretzler grits his teeth. His eyes blaze. Wildchild braces his right forearm against the mat.





He has no intention of tapping. Risking further damage to his neck, he pushing up with his right forearm so his body is elevated and kicks off with his legs, propelling himself over Pretzler’s chest and onto the other side of him. Pretzler attempts to adjust, but as Wildchild reaches out with his right arm…


…he finds the ropes! Pretzler has somehow managed to keep his arms locked around Wildchild’s head, but he now has no choice but to release it. He hesitates. The referee shouts at him. Frustrated, he Wildchild’s head go and instead grabs him around the waist, forcibly extracting him from the safety of the ropes. Both men are now crouching. Pretzler has a rear waistlock clamped on. He lifts Wildchild overhead and falls back, taking him down with a low-angle German suplex. There is no need for a bridge – he simply allows his opponent’s shoulder blades to collide with the mat and then releases him. Wildchild bounces onto his stomach and clutches his neck protectively. Grabbing his right wrist for added leverage, Pretzler closes his legs into a grounded headscissors. Wildchild kicks and flails, shoving at his assailant’s shins with the palm of his left hand. Pretzler crosses his ankles to make the hold airtight. As the seconds pass, the audience starts to chant.





Pretzler grins; this is a sign that he is in control of the match. Wildchild struggles to escape. He tries to push against Pretzler and flip over him, but the Critic’s legs are locked too tightly around his neck for this to work. He can almost turn his body outward so he is facing Pretzler’s legs – the wristlock, however, makes this impossible.


“It appears as though Pretzler is using this hold to wear down his opponent’s neck rather than go straight for the submission,” says Pete. “Certainly a smart strategy.”


“More than that, by slowing down the pace of the match he’s able to keep Wildchild from gaining the upper hand, since his arsenal consists almost entirely of aerial attacks.”


Gradually, Wildchild is able to shift his legs so they are coiled beneath his upper body. Steadying himself with his free hand, he flings them out and drives his knees into the side of Pretzler’s leg. He does it again. And again. This time he strikes especially hard and manages to rip his other hand free. He turns ninety degrees so he is facing Pretzler’s legs and performs a headstand, then brings his knees down again. With his hands, he pries the headscissors apart. He stands groggily and hits a shin kick to Pretzler’s face, following it up with a flipping neck snap.




Pretzler rolls over and rises to his feet. Wildchild charges him and fires off a leg lariat!




He rolls Pretzler over and goes for another camel clutch, but Pretzler tackles him by the legs. Flopping onto his back, he curls and kips up – in a way - so his legs form a reverse headscissors. He spins sideways and Pretzler is sent tumbling to the mat beside him. He drops a speedy elbow onto Pretzler, then another, and another after that. After hitting five of them, he retreats into the corner and shakes out the kinks in his neck. His energy is returning. Pretzler stands up and Wildchild comes flying at him with a forearm attack… which Pretzler counters into an armbar takedown!




As Wildchild hits the ground, Pretzler stuffs the arm between his legs and reaches over with the hopes of clamping on another crossface, but Wildchild punches him away with the other hand and rises to his knees. He uses his scissored arm for assistance to bodyslam Pretzler and heads to the top rope, looking for a moonsault. As he reaches the second rope, Pretzler heads up after him. Pretzler with an elbow! He slaps on a rear waistlock and hits a HUGE release German suplex off the second rope…


…but Wildchild lands on his feet! Pretzler realizes this right away and scrambles to a vertical base. At this moment, Wildchild aims an explosive superkick at the back of his neck. He collides with the turnbuckle and twitches spasmodically. When he staggers away from it, Wildchild jumps to the second rope and hits a springboard backflip kick!


“Incredible!” orgasms Pete. “Wildchild is doing an outstanding job of adapting his regular offense to this type of match.”


“How? He always tries to break Pretzler’s neck.”


“And that’s exactly what he needs to do tonight.”


Pretzler is still for a moment. Then his whole body stiffens up. He topples forward and lands flat as sheet of plywood.


“Looks like Pretzler has been taking Flopping lessons from the master himself,” King notes with admiration. “Flesher’s influenced this kid in more ways than we thought.”


Wildchild stands over him. He straddles his back – this time, though, he takes Pretzler’s arms and drapes them over his own knees. He locks his hands in front of Pretzler’s face and pulls back. Pretzler finds himself trapped once more in the camel clutch! His feet beat against the mat as he struggles to free himself. His neck burns.


“This could be it!”


No. Pretzler will not be beaten at his own game. He slides his left leg out to the side and uses his arm to pull Wildchild’s right out from under him. The Bahama Bomber slips and Pretzler pushes off, rolling over Wildchild’s body and compressing it beneath him. He extracts himself from the hold, pulls Wildchild to his feet, and hits a hard dropkick to his lower back.




Wildchild takes two awkward steps forward and slumps against the corner post. Pretzler makes a fist and pounds it into his cupped left hand, signaling for the Tildebang Driver. He moves in, reaches over, and applies a rear facelock. He carries Wildchild back to the middle of the ring and braces an arm against his back. He heaves. Wildchild is carried up and over Pretzler until he reaches a vertical angle…




…and continues to rotate, landing on his feet behind Pretzler. A look of confused horror registers on the Ontarian’s face before a punch to the kidney replaces it with an expression of pain. Wildchild’s arm is already hooked into a rear facelock of his own – but this time he muscles Pretzler into a Dragon Sleeper.


“What a turn of events!” Pete cries.


He clasps his hands together and puts as much torque as he can on his opponent’s vulnerable neck. At the same time, his upper arm constricts Pretzler’s throat and prevents oxygen from reaching his brain. Pretzler squirms beneath the pressure. A sharp needle of pain shoots down his spine.




Not this way… too humiliating… never submitted before…




His hands reach back and claw at Wildchild’s face. Wildchild pulls his head back, trying to get out of reach, and Pretzler grabs a fistful of dreadlocks. He yanks at them.




Shouldn’t have to do that… However, one tug was all Pretzler needed. As Wildchild’s focus slips, Pretzler stands and loops both arms around his head. He drops to his knees and hauls his weight forward, carrying his adversary into a snapmare. Wildchild rolls to his feet as the hold is broken and Pretzler elbows him again before seizing his right wrist. He reaches back and hooks an arm around Wildchild’s neck. He drops to the mat.




For the moment, the arm-wrench neckbreaker drives the fight out of Wildchild – but only for the moment. Pretzler keeps his hold on the wrist as he turns around, using it to pull the arm diagonally across Wildchild’s chest – he is looking for the Snowflake Clutch. He reaches for the other arm, but as soon as the Caribbean Cruiserweight realizes what is about to happen he jerks his arm away and curls around to face Pretzler. Pretzler knees him in the face and drops behind him, bracing the knee against his upper back as he forcefully jerks the left arm across the right.


“If he locks this move in,” Pete says with a shudder, “Wildchild will be as good as beaten.”


Wildchild still struggles, though. He uses his arm power to pull himself up to his feet and ducks out of the straitjacket, straightening out his arms and bringing himself face-to-face with Pretzler.




Pretzler has other plans. Booting Wildchild in the gut, he swoops around behind him and brings the arms back into a cross position. Planting his right foot firmly against the mat, he reaches out with his left and trips his adversary. Wildchild’s face smacks the canvas as he lands. With the crossface halo still applied, Pretzler steps over him and straddles his back. All appears lost…


…but Wildchild simply will not quit! He crawls forward on his knees before Pretzler can put his full weight down, kicking so wildly that he throws the Canadian off balance and causes both men to topple onto their sides.





Amazingly, Pretzler still keeps the crossface halo on, resulting almost in a sideways Snowflake Clutch. Wildchild continues kicking, and is now close enough to the ropes to wrap his legs around them.


“Let go!” orders Herrington, and Pretzler reluctantly untangles himself.


Wildchild wriggles free and slides immediately out of the ring. Pretzler is still out for blood. He gets up and is about to follow his prey – when Wildchild sweeps an arm under the bottom rope and trips him! Pretzler is down. Wildchild climbs onto the apron. He waits.


Pretzler stands.


He pulls back on the top rope and propels himself upward. Landing with both feet, he springs off and soars over the ring. His arms spread out as he prepares to lock a midair front facelock on Pretzler…



…who catches him square in gut with a dropkick!





“Jesus in a jumpsuit!” Pete screams.


Upon landing, Wildchild bounces a good six inches off the mat. Pretzler scrambles over and shoves the islander’s body into a seated position, then pulls both of his arms into an ‘X’ across his chest. He steps over Wildchild’s front and turns him so he rolls onto his stomach, then straddles his back. He leans back.


“Aaaaaagh!” Wildchild lets out a primal howl as he is stretched in the Snowflake Clutch, now irreversibly locked in.


Pretzler tugs with all of his might. His face is contorted into a grimace. Sweat pours down his forehead.


“Do you submit?” Herrington asks.


“No!” sputters Wildchild.



His neck feels as though it is splintering. Every fiber of his being cries out for relief. But he must not give in.



“Do you submit?”




He can almost hear the bones beginning to crack. His legs slap against the mat as he writhes, but the canvas slips away helplessly beneath him. No escape.



“Do you submit?”








As his victory is made official, Pretzler finally releases Wildchild from the deadly submission. He sags to the mat, his chest rising and falling rapidly, then stands up and allows the referee to raise his arm into the air. Before exiting the ring, he looks at the fallen figure of his opponent, holding his head in pain. He considers offering a handshake, but decides against it. There will be time for respect later.


Two to go.

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