SWF Smarkdown, 6-6-05

[Chuck Woolery 0]

Earlier today…

 

“Is Mr. Flesher in?”

 

Scott Pretzler stands in front of the desk, manned as always by the attractive blonde secretary. Dressed in a sharp navy-blue suit that seems to channel his ring attire – classic and conservative – Pretzler quietly slips her the business card that bears the confirmation of his appointment.

 

“Just a moment, Mr. Pretzel.”

 

“Pretzler.”

 

“Oh,” giggles the nameless and clueless secretary, “you’re lucky I was even that close. Mr. Flesher’s always calling you ‘Pocky.’”

 

Pretzler raises an eyebrow. He decides not to question her, though, as she knocks on the door.

 

“Mr. Flesher, there’s a Mr. Pretzler here to see you.”

 

“Send him in,” comes the reply from behind the door. “Tell him to watch out for Allison.”

 

“I don’t want to know,” sighs Scott.

 

“Shake it,” Flesher says, the sound muffled behind the door. “Harder!”

 

“Ugh,” Pretzler grunts, disgustedly.

 

He opens the door, only to see Allison Onita, Flesher’s personal assistant, furiously agitating a silver martini shaker.

 

She sits next to Flesher, and Pretzler is thus able to take the seat directly opposite the Smarkdown commissioner. “Mr. Flesher,” he says, “it’s a pleasure to see you.”

 

“Mr. Pretzler, the feeling is more than mutual.” Flesher adjusts the two martini glasses in front of him, each garnished with a cocktail onion. “Care to join me? Bombay Sapphire gibsons, up.”

 

“Dry?”

 

“As a Johnny Dangerous promo.”

 

Pretzler smirks. “Of course I’ll take one.”

 

As he watches Allison pour out the two drinks, it occurs to Scott that this meeting is markedly different from the first time he met with the man he had watched as he was working up through the indy circuit. When he opened Ring of Respect shows, Flesher was the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, and their first meeting reinforced that dynamic. Flesher had treated him as a total afterthought then; now, Allison was pouring the two of them matching signature drinks.

 

What’s more, Flesher had requested the meeting.

 

As Allison finishes the pour, Flesher and Pretzler each take a glass. Flesher smirks and says, “Cheers,” before gently clinking his glass against Pretzler’s. Each man sips from his glass, and Pretzler’s demeanor softens slightly.

 

“So, Mr. Flesher… may I ask…?”

 

“Scott, you and I both know how I feel about your ringwork… and you and I also know how I feel about Wildchild. The problem is that, damn it, Dominic is a model employee. I’d love to be able to hold him down and forget about him forever – that spot-monkey style, the inability to work the mic at all – but he’s just so well-behaved, and for some reason the fans seem to like watching his flip-floppery.”

 

Pretzler nods. “I believe I coined the phrase to describe – ”

 

“No need for stroking, Scott. I’m familiar with your workrate reports. You and I are on the same page about Mr. LeCroix. I just want you to know that, while I value him as a commodity, a catalyst for ticket sales, I value you as an athlete and a student of the sport.”

 

“Well, thank you,” says Pretzler with a small smile.

 

“I’m serious, Scott. I’m very, very pleased with the way you’ve developed over the past few months, especially considering that Ring of Respect’s style is so radically different from ours. I was a fan of your work, but I didn’t think you’d adjust so easily to wrestling with our more diverse roster. When you get used to fighting strongstylists, sometimes you get complacent, and a guy like Wildchild can gum up the works. I’m impressed with your versatility.”

 

Pretzler simply smirks and continues sipping his gibson.

 

“Now, let’s make this clear right off the bat. You’re not going to receive any special treatment from the referees. I don’t want any confusion on that matter,” Flesher says, quite seriously. “This is a sport, and I’m not going to interfere with that at all. However, be assured that this office, unofficially, is pulling for you.”

 

Flesher extends his hand and rises. Pretzler smiles, shakes his hand, and stands as well. He starts to back away, sensing that the meeting is complete. Flesher, looking thoughtful, raises an eyebrow. He starts to speak, and then bites his tongue and simply says, “Good luck tonight, Scott.”

 

Pretzler nods and starts for the door.

 

“Oh, and Scott?” Flesher says, apparently deciding to say something after all. “I consider you a go-to man. If for whatever reason I needed to rely on you, I feel comfortable doing so. Are you okay with that.”

 

Slightly confused, Pretzler nods. “Of course, Mr. Flesher. Why?”

 

“No reason, Scott. No reason at all.”

[Chuck Woolery 0]

“We have a hell of a card tonight in Cairo, I say we get right to it.”

 

LDP lets his feelings be known as “A Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams Jr plays. The fans start to boo as the hated southern frat boy Martin “Big Country” Hunt makes his way down to the ring. Along the way he brags about his fraternity letters and verbally abuses those in the front row. He even goes on to steal a fans beverage and gulps it down right in front of him as if challenging the fan to do something.

 

“Yeah he’s a big man, please.”

 

“Hey he was just a little thirsty.”

 

King answers to LDP’s sarcastic comment. Before reaching the ring the country boy dusts off his boots. Upon entering the ring Martin Hunt taunts the crowd and even Funyon the ring announcer who goes on to announce the first competitor.

 

“In the ring hailing from Boone, North Carolina…Martin “Big Country” Hunt!!!

 

The announcement is met with jeers and comments that would not be suitable for your common controversial late night talk show.

 

Martin continues to make fun of the 75,750 in attendance as the lights dim in the stadium and the words…

 

“I’m Born…”

 

 

“I’m Alive…”

 

 

“I Breathe…”

 

Appear on the Smarktron and alternate randomly. Suddenly “Vitamin” by Incubus blares and out walks a mysterious rookie dressed in Khaki shorts and a black shirt. On the black shirt is a red “Z”…and the Zorro comparisons could already be starting. The fans though “pop” for the youngster who runs down to the ring and slides under the ropes and glides a little way across the ring as Funyon makes another announcement.

 

“In the ring hailing from Elkhart, Indiana…Zyon!!!”

 

The fans cheer as the chorus of “Vitamin” plays…

 

You stare at me like I'm a vitamin.

On the surface you hate,

but you know you need me.

I'll come dressed as any pill you deem fit.

Whatever helps you swallow truth all the more easily.

 

The one known as Zyon pumps the crowd up a little bit by performing a minor head bang followed by him raising his arms into the air to cheers from the crowd. The lights in the stadium turn back on, as the match is about to be underway.

 

“King, I’ve heard a little bit about this Zyon and I guess he likes to take to the high risk district.”

 

“Oh great another spot monkey.”

 

LDP explains while King ponders. The fans are still pumped as the ref signals for the bell…

 

 

Ding, Ding, Ding!!!!

 

Zyon quickly rushes out of his corner as Martin Hunt steps up and both men go into your standard lock up position. Zyon though quickly breaks it with a right forearm following that up with a kick to the gut and the attempt at an arm drag that is successful.

 

“The rookie coming out strong.”

 

LDP appreciates as Martin is already up and a little ticked he just got showed up a little there. Zyon charges again, but this time “Big Country” is ready and goes for a BIG boot, but Zyon is to quick and slides under his opponent. Zyon then pops up and goes for a backdrop, but Martin elbows his way out and then turns with a wild discus clothesline that misses by a good mile. After ducking the on coming shot Zyon leaps into the air for a dropkick, but Martin just swats him to the ground. Hunt then gives Zyon no time to get to his feet by driving his elbow into the back of his head…

 

CRUNCH!!!

 

Zyon clutches his head as Martin grabs the new comer up and goes to deliver a scoop slam, but the energetic youth slides down Martin’s back and then leaps on to his shoulders and performs a stunning victory roll…

 

ONE…

 

Quick kickout.

 

“No cheap victories here.”

 

King basically taunts the rookie as both men rise to their feet. Zyon goes for a forearm, but Martin ducks and powers the lightweight down with a backdrop. Once again Zyon clutches the back of his head as Martin arrogantly taunts the crowd.

 

“BOOO!!”

 

The crowd explodes in unison. “Big Country” then slowly lifts Zyon from the mat and then whips him into the ropes ONLY to be surprised with Zyon springboarding off the middle rope and twisting in the air and goes for a cross body, but the stronger Hunt catches the youth and in one motion drops him HARD with a fall away slam. The slam’s power causes Zyon to roll under the ropes and all the way to the outside.

 

“Well that looked painful.”

 

“Well duh…”

 

LDP and King let their feelings known on the move as Martin gets on the ring apron and taunts Zyon. Zyon slowly gets to his feet and does not allow Martin to dive on to him by punching him in the gut. Zyon then GOES OUT OF HIS MIND and attempts a hurricarana on Martin Hunt who is doubling over. The crowd goes insane until they realize that Martin was able to keep his balance and Zyon found himself upside down in the clutches of “Big Country” who then powers Zyon up into a powerbomb position and looks to commit murder by powerbombing him down to the floor from the apron, but Zyon grabs the top rope.

 

“Zyon gripping the rope like his life depends on it.”

 

“Well Pete I’d say it does.”

 

Both LDP and King make good observations as Zyon places an elbow right between the eyes of Martin as the fans are on the edge of their seats for some huge spot. Martins grip on the youth loosens and Zyon maneuvers himself over the ropes and into the ring and even is able to drop Hunt across the top rope with a guillotine.

 

“Oh boy Martin is the one teetering now.”

 

LDP notes as Zyon places rights and lefts across the face of Martin who continues to hold on to the top rope. Martins grip on his right hand though loosens and lets go. Zyon sees this and wines up and goes for an elbow smash, but Martin is able to beat Zyon to the punch with a stunning right hand. Martin then grabs Zyon who pushes Martin away and then grabs the top rope himself!!

 

“What is he…OH MY GOD!!!”

 

King basically freaks out, as are the fans. The reason for the minor pandemonium…Zyon used the top rope to launch himself over “Big Country” and take him down to the floor with a modified neckbreaker. Both men are down as the ref starts the count…

 

One

 

Two

 

Three

 

Four

 

Zyon is to his feet and grabs Martin up and rolls him back inside the ring obviously not wanting the match to finish in count out. “Big Country” though hurries to his feet and shows the rookie the error of his ways by downing him with a knee to the gut. Martin clutches the back of his head showing the effects of the previous huge move. Zyon is on the ground clutching his gut as the menacing Martin Hunt lifts Zyon up and goes to whip him into the ropes, but Zyon counters the whip into one of his own and goes for a hip toss…that Hunt blocks and then goes for a clothesline that has to be illegal in at least five countries…good thing it misses. Zyon finds himself behind Martin and goes for a Russian leg sweep, but Martin counters with a surprising side slam.

 

“Great counter, show the rookie how it’s done.”

 

“Yes that was King.”

 

Martin stays on the offensive and lifts Zyon up and drives him to the mat with a Russian leg sweep of his own as he continues to focus on the back of his opponent’s head. Hunt then picks Zyon up and locks him in a double under hook and lifts him up into the air and pauses… which gives Zyon adequate time to force himself back on to his feet and counter with a back drop. Zyon uses this minor opening to grab his opponent up and lifts him up into a fall away slam position, but instead of falling backward Zyon pushes his knee forward and drops Martin gut first across it driving the air out of his opponent. Zyon then quickly runs forward and springboards off the middle rope and performs a dazzling “Half Moon” moonsault…that connects on to the knees of Martin Hunt.

 

“One step forward, two steps back.”

 

King comments as Zyon clutches his ribs as the southerner rises to his feet and forces Zyon back to his. Then out of complete anger Martin throws Zyon shoulder between the middle rope and top rope causing impact on to the steel post.

 

“Booo!!”

 

The crowd boos as Martin gets a smile across his face as he puts his hands into a certain position as the crowd gets negatively excited since they know what could be coming.

 

“Oh no Martin seems to be ready to lock on the Black Out”

 

LDP says as Zyon slowly pulls himself from the post as fans in the front row try to warn him, but their warnings fall on deaf ears as the rookie staggers back into the deadly arms of Martin “Big Country” Hunt…

 

“Yes!”

 

King expresses as Zyon struggles desperately while Martin continues to pressure him with the “Black Out.” Zyon’s arms are just a few feet too short to reach the ropes as Zyon starts to become weary and his actions go into slow motion. “Big Country” is feeling the victory, but the fans still believe…

 

“Let’s Go Zyon”

 

The chant breaks out for the relatively unknown rookie who inches closer to the ropes, but they are still too far way, but then the rookie shows flashes of a veteran and with one last gasp of defense leaps into the air and kicks off the turnbuckle causing him and Martin Hunt to fall backward. Zyon now has Martin Hunt in that historic pin as the crowd is on their feet and counting along…

 

ONE!!!!

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

“He’s got him!!!”

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

 

 

 

NO!!!

 

Somehow Martin Hunt cheats history as he kicks out of the pin attempt that was caused by his own finisher. Martin quickly goes back to the offensive, but finds himself on the defensive as Zyon who is on his feet charges and dives into the air and clotheslines Martin down to the mat. Zyon stretches that right shoulder out a bit cause of the damage from the steel post earlier. Zyon then waits for Hunt to reach is feet and then explodes on to him with a couple lightning fast forearms followed by whipping him into the ropes and placing him in what looks to be a hip toss, but then as Martin is vertical Zyon slips his arm behind his neck and performs what is known as the “Disconnect.”

 

“Whoa!!”

 

LDP lets out as Zyon goes for the cover.

 

 

ONE!!

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

Kick out!!

 

 

“Oh man that was too close.”

 

King says as Zyon lifts his opponent up and goes for a side suplex, but Martin counters with his roughneck style by just elbowing the crap out of Zyon’s back. Martin then grabs Zyon by his right injured shoulder and forces him into his own shoulder causing Zyon to cringe in pain as he grips the hurt shoulder. Martin then whips Zyon into the ropes and places a BIG boot into the shoulder of Zyon who goes down to the mat clutching the hurt shoulder.

 

“King it seems Martin has found a weakness.”

 

“Yes and he better exploit the hell out of it.”

 

LDP starts and King finishes. Martin seems to have heard King as leaps into the air and brings down both knees into the shoulder of Zyon. The fans only watch as Martin begins to get a grip on how much he is in control at this point. Zyon rises to his feet only to be forced back into the turnbuckle by a couple closed fists from “Big Country.” The crazy southerner then grabs the youth by his right arm as he slowly exits to the outside apron. Everybody in attendance seems to know what is coming next…including Zyon. Before Martin can do anything damaging Zyon pulls his arm away from Martin and then grabs him by the head and forces him into the top turnbuckle…

 

Again…

 

 

 

Again…

 

 

 

And again…

 

Finally Martin falls off the apron and to the floor landing on his feet though. Zyon shows fire though by not taking the chance to stretch his shoulder out, but instead runs against the opposite ropes and then sprints toward the ropes where Martin is waiting and then leaps over the top rope performing a flip in mid air to the amazement of the crowd. Too bad though Martin wasn’t too amazed as he uses his strength advantage and catches Zyon on his shoulder and then throws Zyon shoulder first into the STEEL POST…

 

“OUCH!!!”

 

A few fans in the front row seem to share the same sentiments as Zyon at this point whose face is just grimacing in pain as he clutches his shoulder. Martin shows that he isn’t completely insane by lifting Zyon up and rolling him back into the ring. Martin then hurries into the ring and lifts the battered Zyon up and scoops him over his shoulder and looks to be going for a shoulder breaker.

 

“Martin is looking to hurt this new comer.”

 

LDP shows his concern, but Zyon shows some fight by sliding down the back of Martin Hunt and turning him around in the process. Kick to the gut and Zyon seems to be ready to hit Martin with “Final Hour” cradle piledriver, but Zyon quickly finds out that he can’t lift his opponent up cause of the weakness in his shoulder…

 

Shit…

 

That is exactly what Zyon and 99.9% of the audience is thinking as Martin counters easily by lifting Zyon up by his legs and then snapping him forward causing the back of Zyon’s head to bounce off the mat causing possible whiplash. The fans are stunned since the counter really took a lot out of them as well as it did Zyon who seemed to have the match all, but won.

 

“This is bad…”

 

“Pete, you know it matters what perspective you are speaking on.”

 

The announcers…well announce as Martin lifts Zyon from the mat the same way you scrape road kill from the highway. “Big Country” then Irish whips the glossy eyed youth into the ropes and comes at him with a “100% Proof” flying knee to the shoulder of the rookie. Martin goes for the cover after taunting the crowd a little bit.

 

ONE!!

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

“Kick Out!!” The fans yell in unison.

 

 

 

THREE!!!!

 

 

 

 

NO!!!!

 

Zyon kicks out with about a blink of an eye remaining before the three as the fans along with the fallen youth are back in the match. Martin shows signs of anger by cursing out the ref and those sitting at home can clearly hear “That was a fucking slow count.”

 

“That language is not appropriate.”

 

“Oh they can’t understand it anyway.”

 

LDP just shakes his head as Martin lifts Zyon up…

 

SMACK!!!

 

The sound of a European uppercut performed by the rookie echoes across the stadium causing the fans to starting cheering again. Hunt staggers backward as Zyon grabs Martin and places his left foot across Martin’s right and forces him down to the mat with a precise reverse Russian leg sweep known as the “Decline.” Zyon gets to his feet and calmly waits for the shocked Martin Hunt to get back to his feet.

 

“Zy~On”

 

A chant rains out as Martin gets to his feet. Zyon runs toward the turnbuckle closest to his opponent and skips up them via leaping to the second and then to the third. The high flyer has his back to his opponent, but not for long as he dives off with his patted corkscrew body attack…that misses!!

 

“Zyon misses what he calls the “No Regard.”

 

“Way to keep us up to date on your spot machines there Pete.

 

Zyon clutches his back as Martin sees an opening he ABSOLUTELY HAS TO TAKE! “Big Country” lifts Zyon up and places him back into a shoulder breaker position and this time he performs it causing pain to come across the crowd’s emotional faces. Zyon grunts in agony, as Martin looks pleased with himself. Martin then wants to show everyone he can fly as well by going to the top rope.

 

“Now the Donkey Punch is real man’s high risk move.”

 

King announces, as that is exactly what Martin is getting ready for. But before he brings the death from above “Big Country” shoots off his attitude at a couple fans in the first three rows…who can only smile after seeing Martin crotched across the top rope as Zyon was able to get to his feet.

 

“What!!”

 

King yells as Zyon maneuvers Martin in an angle and then lifts him off the turnbuckle and uses every bit of strength he has to simply HOLD not LIFT Martin in the air. Zyon then spikes Martin down with the “Final Hour!!!!!”

 

“Oh no…”

 

King mutters as the “spot monkey” uses this last opportunity to climb to the top rope. Zyon then with the crowd fully behind him leaps off the ropes like a phoenix rising from the ashes and comes down on “Big Country” with the “Final Flash” swanton bomb.

 

“YEAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH”

 

The crowd cheers as Zyon goes for the cover…

 

ONE!!!

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

“He did it!!!”

 

 

LDP announces as “Vitamin” plays across the stadium…

 

“Your winner…ZYON~!!”

 

Zyon’s theme continues to play as the crowd cheers for what could be a new fan favorite. Zyon raises his arms in victory before exiting the ring and walking down the aisle knowing he just won a hard fought contest in his first match in the SWF.

 

 

Not a bad start…not bad at all.

[Chuck Woolery 0]

Deep inside the Cairo International Stadium...

 

“You know,” Toxxic says. “I’ve never really liked you. But,” the Brit continues before taking a sip of his refreshing Cherry Coke®, “I’m sure the feeling is a mutual one, so that don't really matter.”

 

“I think it pretty much goes without saying,” Johnny Dangerous agrees with an overbearing sarcastic tone as a lopsided grin crawls onto the Straight-Edged Sensation’s face. So many times before the Barracuda would have sooner slapped that grin off the Brit’s face, but tonight he just looks back at his partner for the evening stone-faced, with his arms folded.

 

“Alright,” Toxxic finally says. He sets his drink down on the coffee table next to the sofa and leans forward in the seat. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

 

“Let’s.”

 

“Good; and you know, Johnny, I think it’s good that we can be this close to each other without getting into hostilities,” Toxxic says, “and who would have ever thought that you’d see the two men who were the main event of Genesis Five tagging together in a match. It’s good though, real good; tonight we have to be on the same page despite everything that has happened between us in the past.”

 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” replies Johnny. “I can certainly do what needs to be done to get through this match, but that’s all this is. Least you forget, my tag team partner is wrestling your stablemate in match two of the best of three series between them so don’t think for an instant that I’ll hesitate to get myself involved if you and your crew so much as stick your nose in that.”

 

“Hey, what happens between Scott and Wildchild happens – I’ve got plenty of problems on my own without getting involved with that,” Toxxic says. “Problems like Spike – the little ungrateful bastard! You know I took him under my wing and trained him, showed him how to be a Champion, and what kind of thanks do I get? The bloody fool spikes my drink with LSD!”

 

“Look, I can certainly understand that you got issues with Jenkins, but I’m not here to help you take him out. You created the monster; you can slay it on your own! I’ll see you in the ring,” says Johnny, turning towards the door.

 

“Alright, look, let’s cut the bullshit,” Toxxic says in a more serious tone as he stands up, stopping Johnny from leaving the Revolution Zero locker room. “You and I both know that tonight we both need each other! Spike’s been a pain in the arse for months now, while Ejiro… well, he's got all sorts of unresolved shit with his sister and seems to be taking it out on me," the Straight-Edge Sensation grins. "He’s taken my World Heavyweight Championship – the very same belt you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to get a chance at while everyone but you has had their shot. He’s right here, Johnny, and all you have to do is show the World why you’re better than him! Show them why you, Johnny Dangerous, should get to face him for that belt and nobody else!”

 

Stepping away from the door, Johnny turns back towards the Brit. “I’ve already beaten Ejiro in a tag match with Lil’ Buck and I got nothing!” snarls Dangerous, “But why do you care, Toxxic?”

 

“I won’t lie,” replies Toxxic with another grin. “I really don’t care if you ever get a shot or not, but you do, Johnny... you do. I want Spike, and you know that you want Fasaki. Our chance is tonight – the chance to get even – and all you have to do is tell me what to do.”

 

“You’re asking for my advice?” Johnny asks, rather taken back by the notion. Still, it intrigues him.

 

“One hundred and thirty-three days as Tag Team Champion,” Toxxic continues. “That says something right there. For over six months you and Wildchild have yet to be pinned in any kind of a tag team match. Hell, me and Sean couldn’t even beat you two in a tag match and honestly, Martial Law didn’t beat you either – you were robbed! They stripped you guys of the belts and they didn’t even have to beat you. You and the Bahaman are either the luckiest sons of bitches I’ve ever met, or you two know what the hell you’re doing - I don’t care which. Just tell me what to do cause I want to know… I want to win!”

 

“Very well, Toxxic,” Johnny finally replies, nodding, after a moments thought. He takes a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lights it before finally continuing. “very well…”

 

"Put that bloody thing out, you wanker..."

 

FADE OUT.

[Chuck Woolery 0]

Pete: “Welcome back to Smarkdown, and do we have a treat for our SWF faithful here.”

 

King: “Cruiserweight action featuring the champion, Insane Luchador, and the challenger, Jay Hawke. All I want to know is why this match isn’t for the championship.”

 

Pete: “Well, Hawke has his sights set on regaining the International Championship, so I don’t really think he’s concerned with the championship not being on the line tonight.”

 

King: “Well, title or no title, I can’t wait to see Jay Hawke stretch this guy like he’s Stretch Armstrong in Willy Wonka’s taffy pulling machine.”

 

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

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit, and it will be contested under cruiserweight rules!”

 

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, and he heads to the ring wearing his trademark black and purple robe. As the crowd gets into its familiar chant…

 

“HAWKE SUCKS!

HAWKE SUCKS!

HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

…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: “And his opponent…”

 

“Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains plays as the opening guitars grind into the audience’s heads.

 

Funyon: “From Easton, Pennsylvania … weighing in at 201 pounds … he is the SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion … AND he is also the SWF Cruiserweight Champion … INSAAAAAAAAAANE LUCHADORRRRRRRRRRR!”

 

Once the song kicks up, pyro of black and red burst from the top of the ramp, and Andrew Rickman walks out. He milks the cheers before throwing his arms into the air energetically before sprinting down to the ring.

 

Pete: “You could tell from the reactions of both of these men that they’re ready for action, King.”

 

King: “That may be, MacDougal, but look at it this way. Hawke took his time and walked to the ring. Insane Luchador sprinted down to the ring. Luchador might be wearing himself down before he ever gets started.”

 

Pete: “And before this one gets underway, remember that this is under cruiserweight rules. You have a 20-count on the floor instead of the normal 10-count, and you’re automatically disqualified if you throw your opponent over the top rope to the arena floor.”

 

King: “Everybody knows the rules, Pete. Can we just get to the match already?”

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

King: “Thank you!”

 

Pete: “The bell has gone, we are officially underway. One fall with a 20 minute time limit.”

 

King: “And if any two guys are capable of going the distance, it’s these two.”

 

The two combatants lock up collar-and-elbow in the center of the ring, and Insane Luchador is quick to grab the left wrist and twist the arm. Jay Hawke wastes no time rolling forward to alleviate the pressure of the hold, quickly grabbing Insane Luchador by the head and snap maring him over. The cruiserweight champion is to his feet immediately, but the Dean of Professional Wrestling takes him over with a hiptoss. He extends his arms and bows to the crowd, as they go back into their familiar refrain:

 

 

“HAWKE SUCKS!

HAWKE SUCKS!

HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

 

Jay Hawke pulls Luchador to his feet and locks in a weak front facelock. Just as he grabs IL’s free arm to go for the suplex, the champion spins out of it and peppers his opponent with a series of right hands. He attempts to whip Hawke across the ring, but Hawke reverses it. Hawke leapfrogs over his opponent, but Luchador stops in his tracks and takes the Dean over with a lightning fast arm drag takedown. Hawke is to his feet quickly…

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

…and he’s back down just as quickly thanks to a spinning back fist.

 

Pete: “A tremendous series of quick moves and countermoves here, and I’m not sure Hawke was ready for the speed of Andrew Rickmen.”

 

King: “Oh, he was ready for the speed, but it’s so hard to counter it that he’s been thrown completely off-balance.”

 

As Hawke gets to his feet, Insane Luchador leaps onto the top rope and springboards off it…

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

…only to be caught coming down with an uppercut to the chin.

 

King: “But as hard as it is to counter the speed of Insane Luchador, the Dean of Professional Wrestling just proved that it isn’t impossible by any means.”

 

Referee Scott Ryder warns Jay Hawke about the closed fist, but Hawke ignores the warning and runs past the referee to stomp the Luchador in the head. Hawke pulls his opponent to his feet, levels him with a forearm to the face, then whips him into the ropes. He catches the champion coming in, spinning him around and dropping him back first onto the knee.

 

Pete: “Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker by the former International Champion.”

 

Jay Hawke does the infamous “I want the belt pantomime” as the crowd voices its disapproval.

 

Pete: “But he seems more focused on regaining the International Championship than he is about his opponent.”

 

King: “Trust me, Pete, Hawke wants the win here too. A win over the cruiserweight champion in a non-title match is sure to put him in line for a future title shot, and I don’t think any title is safe with Jay Hawke around.”

 

The cruiserweight champion has made his way to a seated position, which ends up being the perfect setup for Jay Hawke to lock in a dragon sleeper.

 

Pete: “Dragon sleeper applied here, and let’s be honest here, King. Over the first two to three minutes of this contest, Jay Hawke’s looked to be the better of the two.”

 

King: “Because he is the better of the two.”

 

Pete: “You realize that any wrestler can beat any other wrestler on any given night, right?”

 

King: “Even a blind squirrel can find an acorn once in a while, but the squirrel with sight is the one who isn’t going to starve to death.”

 

Pete: “Um…yeah…OK.”

 

Insane Luchador makes his way to his feet and begins throwing weak elbows into the midsection, but Jay Hawke trips him up with a legsweep to send him crashing back down to the mat. The Dean of Wrestling once again celebrates to rile the crowd up before unleashing a series of stiff boots to the side of his fallen challenger’s head. Insane Luchador crawls to the ropes, using them to pull himself to his feet. Hawke is right there, driving a series of knees to the ribs of his opponent to double him over. Hawke grabs Luchador’s left arm, locks it into a hammerlock, then spins Insane Luchador around before throwing him shoulder-first into the ringpost.

 

Pete: “And the Insane Luchador just hit that turnbuckle hard!”

 

King: “And he hit shoulder first, which is always the most important setup to the Wing Span.”

 

Hawke moves in, but upon hearing a heckler in the crowd, he turns toward the fans and flips the vast majority of section 109 off.

 

Pete: “But look at Jay Hawke. He’s still playing to the crowd, which is very uncharacteristic of him!”

 

King: “All he’s trying to do is show these people what true greatness looks like!”

 

This time taunting to the crowd costs him. Insane Luchador gets six punches into the midsection, then comes upstairs for some forearm smashes to the face. With Hawke reeling, Luchador bounds off the ropes and leaves his feet, sending Hawke crashing to the mat with a flying clothesline. Hawke is to his feet almost instantly, but Insane Luchador is right there waiting with a picture-perfect dropkick.

 

Pete: “All that showboating has cost Hawke the advantage here, and look at Insane Luchador keep Hawke off-balance!”

 

King: “Has either man gone for a cover yet?”

 

Pete: “I don’t think so.”

 

King: “And Andrew Rickmen’s probably got a perfect opportunity to at least try to win it right here. This could cost him.”

 

Hawke is once again to his feet, and the Insane Luchador leaps up, wraps his legs around Hawke’s head, and backflips him over with a headscissors, cradling Hawke as the shoulders hit the mat.

 

Pete: “Huracanrana! This could do it!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

T -- kickout.

 

Pete: “Only two!”

 

King: “He should have gone for the pin off of that dropkick and then gone for the huracanrana if it didn’t work!”

 

Luchador runs off the ropes again and catches Hawke coming in with a running knee strike. Hawke staggers backwards, leaning against the ropes to keep to his feet. Luchador charges, but Hawke lifts the knee at the last second to catch his opponent underneath the chin and spin him around. Jay Hawke immediately tries to lock in a sleeper hold, but IL quickly drops to his BUTT and, at the same time, drops Hawke’s chin onto the top of his head.

 

Funyon: “Five minutes have gone by, 15 minutes remain.”

 

Pete: “Wow! Five minutes into this one already, and I can‘t believe the pace they’ve been keeping thus far!”

 

King: “The pace is too quick here! Hawke needs to slow it down and use his superior technical ability to wear his opponent down!”

 

Luchador celebrates as the crowd voices its approval. Sensing he has things well in hand, the champion is up to the top rope. He leaps, but he gets caught coming in with a leg lariat to the face.

 

King: “And just like that, Hawke once again turns the tide!”

 

Pete: “Back and forth this one goes, and neither man can get any sort of extended advantage going before their opponent regains control!”

 

Jay Hawke has decided that he’s done fooling around. Taking advantage of Insane Luchador’s prone position, he immediately tries to lock in a crossface chickenwing. He has the chickenwing locked and has the head bent to the side, but Luchador twists his body to prevent Hawke from locking the fingers.

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke is going for the Wing Span in the early going here, but Insane Luchador is simply too wiry to have that hold locked in!”

 

King: “That might be true thus far, but somehow I doubt that will be the case five minutes from now!”

 

Frustrated, Hawke gives up trying to lock the hold in and simply begins punching and elbowing the left shoulder of the SWF’s resident double champion. Grabbing hold of the arm, Jay Hawke puts all his weight onto the shoulder, driving Insane Luchador down to the mat and pulling back on the arm.

 

Pete: “Fujiwara armbar!”

 

King: “All the pressure on the left arm and shoulder, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think Jay Hawke was trying to rip the arm out of the socket here!”

 

Pete: “What do you think he’s doing, massaging him?”

 

King: “Leave the humor to the professionals, Pete.”

 

Insane Luchador crawls over to the ropes, using his free hand to grab hold of the bottom rope. Hawke maintains pressure of the hold until Scott Ryder reaches the count of four, but Hawke gets a stomp to the shoulder for good measure as he releases the hold.

 

Pete: “Look at that disgusting display. Just stomping on the arm after breaking the hold.”

 

King: “Hey, the referee’s warning him about it, and he did it before the five count. Just relax and stop playing favorites out here!”

 

Pete: “Like you do every week?”

 

King: “Shut up.”

 

As Insane Luchador makes his way to his feet, Jay Hawke immediately traps the left arm into a hammerlock. As IL tries to grab a hold of the Dean to find a way out of the hold, Jay simply shoves him forward. Luchador’s shoulder hits the top turnbuckle hard, and Hawke goes right back into the hammerlock. He holds it for a few seconds, but he quickly shoves his opponent forward to again force the shoulder to hit the top turnbuckle.

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke continues to work the shoulder of his opponent.”

 

King: “And how is Insane Luchador going to be able to get the proper grip on the Evenflow DDT if he has no feeling in that arm?”

 

Pete: “That’s an excellent question, King.”

 

King: “Of course it is. Think about who thought of it!”

 

Jay Hawke snap mares Insane Luchador over and grabs a chinlock, but he makes sure to also grab a hold of the arm and trap it behind Luchador’s head.

 

King: “And here’s the thing. Andrew Rickmen has had problems with that right shoulder over the years. Hawke’s working the stronger left shoulder!”

 

Pete: “Good point. I hadn’t even thought of that!”

 

King: “What happens if Hawke completely incapacitates the good shoulder?”

 

Pete: “There’s no way the cruiserweight champion could properly defend himself!”

 

King: “Exactly.”

 

Jay Hawke releases the hold, but he drives a couple of knees into the small of Rickmen’s back, then follows that up with a series of elbows to the back of the neck. Jay Hawke adds a kick to the back for good measure, then throws Luchador’s back to the mat and covers:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. With the cruiserweight and hardcore champion still prone on the canvas, Jay Hawke grabs the arm and extends it, then drops a leg across the upper part of the arm. Hawke maintains his positioning, bending the arm over and bringing the other leg over top of it, scissoring it and holding on tight.

 

Pete: “Short arm scissors, and Jay Hawke has been relentless on the left arm of Insane Luchador over the last few minutes.”

 

Briefly forgetting where he is, Insane Luchador allows the right shoulder to fall to the mat:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Shoulder up. With the pain etched on the champion’s face, the shoulder again falls to the mat:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Shoulder up.

 

King: “If Rickmen’s not careful, he’s going to end up getting pinned here, and what kind of momentum will he have going into 13th Hour then?”

 

Insane Luchador begins to crawl to the ropes. Jay Hawke tightens the grip, attempting to keep Luchador right where he is, but the double champion is able to get his foot over the bottom rope. Scott Ryder asks for the break, and Hawke releases the hold at the count of four. Hawke gets to his feet, runs into the ropes on the other side of the ring, and baseball slides Insane Luchador, who falls to the concrete floor.

 

Pete: “Down to the floor goes Insane Luchador, and here’s something uncharacteristic from the Dean of Professional Wrestling! He’s going right out after him!”

 

King: “This is all part of his master plan to break his opponent down once and for all.”

 

ONE!

 

Jay Hawke picks up Insane Luchador, apparently preparing to body slam him on the floor. Instead, he walks over to the guardrail and drives his opponent back first onto the steel.

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

And again.

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

And again.

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Hawke then maneuvers Insane Luchador so his stomach is on Hawke’s shoulder, then he once again drops Luchador, this time throat first onto the guardrail.

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

FIVE!

 

Pete: “And now you’re seeing disgusting tactics from Jay Hawke. There is absolutely no call for using the guardrail outside the ring in that manner.”

 

Jay Hawke picks Insane Luchador up and onto his shoulder again. This time he runs toward the ringpost, using the champion’s shoulder as a battering ram into the steel.

 

EIGHT!

 

Jay Hawke drags Insane Luchador back over to the guardrail, then begins to choke Insane Luchador by draping his throat over the steel.

 

Funyon: “Ten minutes have gone by, ten minutes remain in the time limit.”

 

He holds it for a few seconds, then releases the hold and steps onto the ring apron. With the champion’s throat still over the guardrail, Hawke leaps off the apron, coming down with a elbow to the back of the head that puts the full brunt of the throat onto the guardrail.

 

ELEVEN!

 

Pete: “Come on, this is uncalled for!”

 

King: “Hey. The shoulder’s incapacitated, and now it’s got to be hard for Insane Luchador to breathe! This is absolutely brilliant strategy from the Dean of Professional Wrestling!”

 

Jay Hawke rolls back into the ring, confident that Insane Luchador isn’t going to be beating any twenty count back into the ring.

 

FIFTEEN!

 

SIXTEEN!

 

SEVENTEEN!

 

EIGHTEEN!

 

NINETEEN!

 

Insane Luchador just barely rolls back into the ring, only to be met by a knee drop to the side of the head upon his return to the ring.

 

Pete: “Somehow Insane Luchador made his way back into the ring before the twenty count!”

 

King: “I still don’t understand that rule in regards to these cruiserweight matches. Where the hell did they come up with that? Dallas?”

 

Jay Hawke rolls Insane Lucahdor onto his back and once again continues to drive the knees into the small of the back of his opponent. He then grabs the chin and sits back, making sure his opponent’s arms are over his knees.

 

Pete: “And into the camel clutch. After the beating Hawke just gave him on the floor a couple of minutes ago, I’m not sure how much more of this Luchador can take.”

 

King: “He might not be able to take very much of this one at all. I certainly hope not.”

 

Jay Hawke continues to pull back on the chin. Insane Luchador’s eyes begin rolling back into his head as his arms begin to go limp. The crowd begins to implore the champion to find a way out of the hold, but his arms are hanging over the side of Hawke’s knees, and there is no response from the double champion. Scott Ryder has no choice. He lifts Luchador’s arm…

 

 

…it falls.

 

Scott Ryder lifts the arm again…

 

 

…it falls.

 

King: “That’s two, MacDougal! One more and it’s all over!”

 

 

Scott Ryder lifts the arm again…

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

 

…it stays up.

 

Pete: “It’s not over yet! Insane Luchador still has some fight left in him!”

 

King: “But does he have enough fight in him to actually get out of this hold?”

 

Insane Luchador is getting a rush of adrenaline, thanks in large part to the reaction of the crowd. With his arm shaking, he is able to get it off of Hawke’s knees and onto the mat to alleviate the pressure. Hawke yanks back just a little bit harder on the hold, but the Luchador gets the other arm off of Hawke’s knees. With both arms on the mat, he uses them to push himself up, then grabs Hawke’s legs and lifts him off this feet. With the crowd buzzing, Luchador falls backwards, and he drives Hawke into the mat below.

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

Pete: “What a tremendous counter by the cruiserweight champion right there! That move right there might be the turning point!”

 

King: “I don’t know, Pete! I think it’s going to take more than that to keep Jay Hawke down!”

 

Despite King’s comments, neither man has moved an inch since the impact from the makeshift fall away slam, which has forced Scott Ryder to begin a ten count.

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

SIX!

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

Insane Luchador rolls over, draping an arm over Jay Hawke’s chest:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

T -- shoulder up!

 

PETE: “NO! Great presence of mind from Andrew Rickmen on that one, but he only got the count of two!”

 

King: “He might have knocked the wind out of Jay Hawke when he broke the camel clutch, but otherwise he wasn’t really hurt!”

 

Both competitors pull themselves to their feet. Insane Luchador moves in for a forearm, but Jay Hawke stops him short with a knee to the midsection that doubles him over. Hawke locks in a front facelock, then sets up the other arm for a suplex. Hawke attempts to lift Luchador, but Luchador wraps his leg behind Hawke’s to block it. Another lift attempt, but another block. This time it’s Luchador lifting Jay Hawke, and he holds him vertical for a few seconds before dropping his opponent straight down onto the top of his head.

 

Pete: “Brain buster! Insane Luchador hit that brain buster seemingly out of nowhere, and that’s the turning point!”

 

King: “No way, Pete! There’s no way this one’s over just like that!”

 

Insane Luchador pulls Jay Hawke up to his feet. He begins to go into a fast flurry of forearm and palm strikes, ending the sequence by taking the Dean of Professional Wrestling off his feet with a flying head scissors. Insane Luchador is immediately down for the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- kickout. Luchador doesn’t hesitate. Sensing victory, he body slams Jay Hawke down hard to the canvas, then heads to the corner as quickly as his battered body can take him. He climbs up to the top rope and leaps, backflipping down on his opponent with a picture-perfect moonsault press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- shoulder up.

 

Pete: “You could hear the crowd counting along! They thought it was over right there!”

 

Insane Luchador grabs Hawke by the head and repeatedly slams the back of his head into the mat.

 

King: “It might be after that series of headslams!”

 

Insane Luchador once again makes his way to the corner, then up to the top turnbuckle. With Hawke still prone on the canvas, he leaps, and he crashes down on Hawke with a beautiful frog splash. He stays on his opponent and grapevines the far leg:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- kickout.

 

“YAAAAAAAAA--BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Pete: “He didn’t get him! How did Jay Hawke kick out of that frog splash, King?”

 

King: “Honestly, it might have been instinct, Pete!”

 

Funyon: “Fifteen minutes have gone by, five minutes remain to time limit!”

 

King: “I honestly have no idea how he kicked out of that one, and I have even less of an idea as to whether he can last another five minutes!”

 

Insane Luchador’s face shows a look of frustration, as he obviously felt he’d gotten the winning three count. Undaunted, the Insane Luchador once again makes his way to the top turnbuckle. Jay Hawke pulls himself to his feet, and Insane Luchador leaps off the turnbuckle, going for a flying cross body press. Hawke dives forward just before impact to avoid the blow, and Insane Luchador crashes hard to the canvas.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

With all the air driven out of the lungs of the cruiserweight champion, he’s finding it hard to get back to his feet. He eventually does pull himself to his feet, and Jay Hawke is right there to spin his doubled-over opponent down to the mat.

 

Pete: “Tremendous swinging neck breaker, and after Insane Luchador had the wind taken out of him from the missed flying body press, all Hawke needs to do is cover him for the win.”

 

Jay Hawke drags his opponent over to the ropes, then slides out of the ring. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he drags Insane Luchador out with him.

 

King: “But he doesn’t want the win. What exactly is he doing?”

 

Funyon: “Four minutes remain in the time limit, four minutes.”

 

Pete: “You’d think he’d want to keep it in the ring with just four minutes to go.”

 

THREE!

 

Jay Hawke locks Insane Luchador into a front facelock, then glares at the crowd with an evil grin. Suddenly the grin fades off of his face, and Hawke takes Luchador down with another swinging neck breaker, this one bouncing the back of Luchador’s head onto the hard concrete floor.

 

FIVE!

 

Pete: “Oh my God!”

 

King: “Hawke’s going for the end of the match, alright! He might be going for the end of Insane Luchador’s career!”

 

Jay Hawke struggles to pick Insane Luchador up to his feet, but he eventually lifts what’s essentially dead weight and locks in another front facelock. Again, Hawke gives an evil grin, and when the grin fades…

 

 

THUD!

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

Pete: “DDT! My God, Hawke just dropped Insane Luchador down into the concrete with that DDT!”

 

ELEVEN!

 

King: “And this time, I doubt Luchador’s getting back in the ring!”

 

Jay Hawke looks down at the fallen carcass of his opponent, then slides back into the ring, awaiting the end of Scott Ryder’s twenty count.

 

THIRTEEN!

 

FOURTEEN!

 

Funyon: “Three minutes remain in the time limit, three minutes!”

 

FIFTEEN!

 

SIXTEEN!

 

SEVENTEEN!

 

EIGHTEEN!

 

NINETEEN!

 

TWENTY!

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, in 17 minutes 8 seconds, the winner of this contest, as a result of a countout … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

The crowd boos the winner vehemently as Hawke just glares at his fallen opponent.

 

Pete: “I can’t believe this. I hope Andrew Rickmen isn’t seriously injured.”

 

King: “But Jay Hawke just proved that, right now, he’s willing to do anything he needs to do to win a match. Arch Griffon, if this man gets his rematch for that International Championship, you might want to kiss that title goodbye.”

 

Pete: “We have plenty more action still to come after the commercial break. Don’t go away.”

Edited June 7, 2005 by chirs3

[Chuck Woolery 0]

FADE IN…

 

“Johnny?” Wildchild calls for his tag team partner as he enters the locker room backstage. He looks around momentarily before finally spotting the Barracuda doing some stretches by the sinks.

 

“Johnny!” Wildchild shouts again, this time grabbing his partner’s attention. Dangerous returns to a normal stance and turns towards his best friend.

 

“Hey, Nic; what’s up?”

 

“I jus’ wanted to talk with you before dis’ match you have tonight,” says Wildchild. “You’re teaming with Toxxic and I saw dat’ you had a few words with him already.”

 

“Yeah, I did,” Johnny replies. “But I didn’t make this match. Believe me I would have never chosen him as a partner on my own, but since he is my partner for tonight’s match I have to make it work… I have to!”

 

“Alright,” Wildchild finally responds after a moments thought. “Jus’ ta’ let you know though; I know you want a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship. Hell it’s been on your mind constantly for six months now, but jus’ be careful.”

 

“What do you mean be careful?” Johnny asks, somewhat taken back by the notion. “I can handle myself just fine. Just because I have to team with Toxxic doesn’t mean I have to like it and I know none of the fans are going to like it either, but I have to do what I have to do, Nic! I’ve been here for months on end waiting for my chance as people like Todd Cortez, Mak Francis, Ejiro Fasaki and Lil’ Buck all take their shot, and quite frankly… I’m a little bit tired of being an afterthought. Tonight, I’m going to make a statement--I’m going to pin Fasaki’s shoulders to the mat for three--and when that’s done, nobody will be able to deny me a chance at that title!”

 

“Ya’ know, Johnny,” says Wildchild , the sadness in his voice easily detected. “I can certainly understand your frustrations, but even if you can beat Ejiro tonight dat’ doesn’t guarantee you a chance at da’ World Title and you know it. Don’ let Toxxic fool you into dinkin’ dat’, and please, for da’ love of God, don’t let this desire at’ be da’ Champion consume your every waking moment! I need you when we finally get our rematch for the Tag Team Championship and I need you… cause you‘re the only man I can trust around here! I don‘t want ta’ loose my friends!”

 

Johnny just looks at his Bahaman friend then finally replies; “If there is one thing that will always be a constant around here, Nic, that’s Wild and Dangerous! No matter what happens between me and the World Title I will never turn my back on you and that’s a damn promise! Forever Wild,” he says, holding his fist out towards Wildchild.

 

Looking up at Johnny’s extended hand, Wildchild knows that all he can do is trust the man he’s trusted for years now. With a nod of his head he bumps Johnny’s fist back and says; “...Forever Dangerous.”

 

“Good,” says Johnny, smiling for the first time this evening. “Now lets go kick some ass!”

 

 

FADE OUT.

[Chuck Woolery 0]

"PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!"

 

...WAAAAAHHHHH...

 

*DUM DUM*

 

 

"YYYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

 

The crowd in the Cairo International Stadium go wild, as we return to Smarkdown, just in time as "Megalomaniac" suddenly hits...and Megan Skye leads the way for one half of the World Tag Team Champions. Sporting a noticeable bandaid on his forehead, Landon Maddix is in no mood to play to his cheering fans tonight apparantly, striding straight down the ramp and towards the ring.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, this following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye. From Huron, South Dakota...he weighs two hundred, twenty pounds...one half of the SWF WORLD Tag Team Champions... LLLAAAANNDDOOOOOOONN... 'LA CUCARACHA'... MMMMAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXX!!!!"

 

Maddix continues his stride down the aisle, all but ignoring the pop for his introduction.

 

"You can clearly see there, the stitches required by Landon Maddix after his match on Lockdown." points out Pete. "Or, rather, Johnny Dangerous' quite frankly undefendable actions after the match."

 

"Mm-mmmf-fmmfm."

 

"Wha...what have you got there King?"

 

"Huh...oh, sorry. I was just enjoying the new offer from Danny Williams Strong Style Ribs. It's the new 'Racks Bomber' meal. You get two racks of Strong Style Ribs, a tray of Hollywood Hot Wings and '1000% Guapo-molé' dip."

 

"Sounds...interesting."

 

Sliding into the ring, Maddix removes his Tag Team Title belt and hands it to assigned official Sexton Hardcastle. Meanwhile, Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck” begins to thump throughout the massive stadium, bringing the crowd to their feet once more for another rather popular SWF star. Namely, Lil' Buck, the crowd knuckin' and buckin' (!?!) as he makes his entrance. Pimp cup in hand, Buck pops the collar on his Pete Maravich throwback before walking on down the aisle.

 

"And his opponent...from Lanett, Alabama. Weighing in at two hundred and seventy pounds. He is 'SUGARHILL'S FINEST'... LLLIIIIIIIIIIIILLLL'... BBBBUUUUUUUUUUUUCCKK!!!!"

 

Removing his jacket and handing up his pimp cup to Hardcastle, Buck pulls himself onto the apron and stares across the ring. Megan and Maddix exchange a slightly anxious look, Megan quickly exiting the ring and leaving her charge to eye up his larger opponent.

 

"What the hell is a pimp cup anyway?" asks old man King.

 

"I honestly have no idea." Pete replies, sounding equally in need of a pipe and slippers.

 

"Is it, like, a cup you have to pay if you want to use a 'ho cup'? Can it play rap music? Does it have any spinners? Does it dress in fur and wear lots of jewellery?"

 

"It's...I don't know...it's a cup."

 

Having fired up the crowd behind him, Buck enters the ring. The size difference is already clear, raising the eyebrows of The Next Generation as Buck is checked over for concealed weaponry.

 

"A cup of what? Tea? Coffee? Coke? Diet Coke? Cocaine?"

 

"Can we concentrate on the match, please?" sighs Pete. "This is, of course, an important match in the World Title chase...Lil' Buck is coming off a loss to the World Champion himself, whilst Maddix is coming off of a loss to Johnny Dangerous. So both these men need a win tonight to keep themselves in the running for a title shot."

 

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

Back to action, the bell rings to start the match. Cautiously, Maddix steps into the centre of the ring, looking Buck up and down...and offering Sugarhill's Finest a handshake. Buck is understandably wary, but Maddix re-affirms the offer. And, having no actual beef to grind with Maddix, Buck shrugs his shoulders and tags hands with Maddix in a show of respect.

 

"Well, that's good to see." smiles Pete. "Some friendly competition for a change."

 

"Eh, it won't last."

 

Maddix nods in approvement, before the two back up and finally go to lock-up. Which turns out to be the last thing on Landon's mind, as he ducks behind Buck's lunge forward and charges the ropes. Buck turns on his heel and swings at the sprinting Maddix. But Maddix ducks underneath a clothesline...and then ducks under a back elbow. As his opponent continues running, Buck turns to meet him, launching off his feet and looking for a leaping clothesline. Seeing the 270 pound gangsta hurtling to meet him, Maddix turns evasive, hitting the deck and baseball sliding between Buck's legs. As he lands though, Buck suddenly hits the ropes himself. Maddix is ready, leapfrogging Buck on his return, mugging for the cameras as he lands but still with enough time to turn and catch Buck with a flying forearm!! Buck skids across the mat, quickly using the ropes to pull himself back up, as Maddix comes to a halt and holds his hands to the side with a sneer.

 

"YEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

 

Getting to his feet, Buck glares at Maddix, as The Next Generation once again offers a hand. Buck resists the urge to punch Landon's lights out and gracefully tags hands again.

 

"Maddix using his speed to his advantage there." comments Pete. "And that may be his only hope tonight."

 

"So long as Buck is being Mr Nice Guy at least. What's with him anyway? Shaking hands? He's suppose'be gangsta, foo'!"

 

"I think Buck's here for good competition rather than a fight, King. Hey, this is Smarkdown after all."

 

The two combatants back off again, before coming together for the lock-up. Again Maddix goes to weave behind Buck, but this time Buck is expecting the move, catching Maddix by his side and just throwing him backwards. Maddix rolls through to his feet and quickly charges Buck, taking a boot to the gut and getting whipped towards the corner. Buck is right behind Maddix, but the Tag Champion is the quicker of the two and reaches the corner early enough, pushing himself skywards by the ropes. Following in, Buck ducks and comes to a stop, while Maddix rotates in mid-air, hooking Buck on the way down with a sunset flip...

 

 

"NICE MOVE!" cries Pete.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

...but Buck is out very quickly. But Maddix again beats him to his feet, ducking under a southpaw swing and schoolboying Buck over...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

...again, Maddix can't keep the fresh Buck down. Both men get to their feet, Maddix looking for an irish whip. Buck digs his feet in to prevent it though, his size advantage allowing him to reverse and send Maddix into the ropes. Latching his arms, Buck swings with a Polish Hammer style double axehandle, just missing the top of the ducking Maddix's head. Approaching the ropes again, this time, Maddix leaps to the middle rope and springboards off. Buck is a little far away for Maddix to strike, but he does extend an arm, latching Buck's and using leverage to lever Buck over, modified armdrag style.

 

"Wow...I'm not Mike Quackenbush, so I don't know what to call that. Let's just call it a lucha libré armdrag."

 

Rolling to his feet, Buck rolls his eyes as Maddix is again left standing. With a smirk, Maddix cocks his hands into gun shapes, blowing imaginary smoke from the tips. A seemingly innocuous taunt. But one that causes Buck to start FUMING~!

 

"Uh oh...that may not have been well advised!"

 

"This kid doesn't know how screwed he is." smirks King.

 

Looking down at his hands, Maddix slooooowly realises how his taunting could be interpreted. Quickly, he stops the 'gun' motions and extends a flat hand to Buck...

 

 

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

"YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!"

 

 

...ONLY TO GET CLOTHESLINED OUT OF HIS BOOTS!!

 

"Buck's gangsta trippin'!!"

 

"And this match has ERUPTED into life!!"

 

Mounting Maddix, Buck has lost it, firing left hand after left hand across the head of Maddix, each one aimed at the bandaid. Which eventually flies off, leaving Maddix' stiched up wound exposed. Hardcastle quickly interjects himself and pulls Buck off of Maddix. Maddix takes the chance to try and roll out of the ring. But Buck scrambles over and grabs a handful of blonde hair to keep Landon from escaping.

 

"This is bad, King! Buck thinks Maddix disrespected his hospitalised tag team partner, Jarrod Banks. And you know what happens when you disrespect a member of a gangster's crew!"

 

"Yeah! White chalk outlines!!" cries King.

 

Fearing for his life, Maddix tries to get away from Buck...

 

 

...but he's going nowhere....

 

 

...but DOWN!, as Buck nails a big left hand to the jaw, knocking Maddix flat on his back. The Next Generation meekly holds his hands up and tries to beg off, but Buck swats his hands away, getting space to measure a double axehandle blow, DRIVEN into Landon's sternum! And again! A third time!

 

"LAN - DON!"

"LIL' BUCK!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LIL' BUCK!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LIL' BUCK!"

 

All sense of friendly competion is gone now as Buck drags Maddix to his feet and hurls him into the corner. This time, Buck waits for Maddix to safely nestle against the buckles before charging...and avalanching him in the corner. 270 pounds drives the air from Maddix lungs, causing him to flop out of the corner. Straight into Buck's arms, Sugarhill's Finest locking on a front facelock...and driving repeated forearms between the shoulder blades, repeated knees up into the torso, just generally beating the crap out of La Cucaracha!!

 

"My god, this is just brutal!" groans Pete.

 

"We knew it would be. So long as Buck caught Maddix, we knew he'd be big enough and bad enough to dominate this mouthy punk. He's not so mouthy now he can't breath though, eh?"

 

Dropping to his knees, Maddix gasps for air. Buck shows him no mercy however, picking him up and pulling him into a leaping short-arm clothesline!! Nonchalantly, Buck decides to try a cover...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Maddix kicks out...so Buck re-mounts and again throws a flurry of left hands across the head! Maddix covers up as Buck adds in some rights, almost crossfacing with his blows as he swings from side to side.

 

"ONE!"

 

Behind him, referee Hardcastle administers a five count.

 

"TWO!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"FOU..."

 

Buck safely stops pounding on 'four', dragging Maddix up by the hair.

 

"No matter how angry he is right now, Lil' Buck knows a DQ loss tonight does his World Title aspirations no good." points out Longdogger.

 

Already, Maddix looks to be beaten limp as Buck holds him in place. Grabbing an arm, Lil' Buck sends Maddix hurtling across the ring, catching him coming back with a short knee deep in the breadbasket. The already breathless Tag Champion crumbles to the mat, while Buck comes off the ropes and charges through with another knee, this one connecting to the kidneys. Maddix groans as he collapses once more, Buck right on top with a stronger cover than the last...

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

...only two!

 

 

Undettered by the kickout, Buck waits on his opponent. As Maddix fights to his feet, Buck snares an arm and thrusts him towards the ropes. As he rebounds, Maddix finds himself caught in Buck's arms before getting tilted, whirled...and dropped frontways across a knee!

 

"Ridin Spinners Gutbuster!" calls King.

 

"Lil' Buck seems to have calmed down slightly." Pete reports. "And a strategy seems to be emerging...Buck is trying to hamper La Cucaracha's air supply, which in turn will slow him down."

 

Maddix remains doubled over, while Buck takes his time over slamming a forearm into Landon's kidneys! Followed by a second! Dropping to one knee, Maddix breathlessly crawls on hand and foot in the direction of the ropes, a Buck handful of shorts keeping Maddix tethered in the centre of the ring. Buck measures Maddix for a third forearm, before turning his limp opponent to face him, wrapping his arms around the 220 pounder and...

 

 

 

"ARRGH!"

 

...getting thumbed right in the eye!!

 

"YEEEEAAAAAAHHHH!"

 

Some of the fans cheer Maddix's Cheat 2 Win mentality as referee Hardcastle admonishes Maddix. Meanwhile, Buck drops to his knees clutching his eye, in serious discomfort.

 

"I don't know if that was premeditated or just a desperation move...but Maddix caught Lil' Buck right in the same eye Ejiro Fasaki worked over back in the Seychelles." remembers Pete.

 

"That's a good point."

 

"And if it was planned, it was smart from Maddix."

 

"Of course it was planned! All of Maddix's cheating is planned."

 

As Buck continues to favour his eye, Maddix is taking the opportunity to recover much needed oxygen. Up comes Sugarhill's Finest to his feet, to be met with a forearm strike from Maddix. A second! Third...fourth...fifth and Buck is dazed now, enough for Maddix to hit the ropes. But despite impaired vision, Buck can see enough of the figure darting towards him to wrap and arm around the head, snaring Landon and quickly applying a sleeper. Before just as quickly dropping out, driving some more air out of Maddix and draping an arm over top...

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...KICKOUT!

 

"Maddix got Bucked Up, from out of nowhere, but managed to shoot a shoulder."

 

"Yeah, Buck'll have to try and hit moves from out of nowhere now. The longer this match goes, the more that eye is going to bother him. Especially after the damage Ejiro did...you should have seen how swollen up it was on the flight out of the Seychelles, Pete."

 

As both men get back to their feet, Buck goes to the gut with a knee before whipping Maddix headlong into the turnbuckles. Somehow, Maddix is able to leap to the middle rope...catching Buck charging with a boot to the jaw. Maddix fires a second boot off for good measure, making sure Buck is neautralised, before giving the signal for the Crash Landon!!

 

"He's going for it early!"

 

The crowd pop, as Maddix snares Buck's head and springs off the ropes...

 

 

 

 

...but as soon as Maddix starts to rotate, Buck is in control of the move and comes to a stop at 180! Maddix is still hanging off of Buck's body, trying desperatly to force Buck downwards, even throwing left hands to the head. But Sugarhill's Finest won't budge, carrying Maddix out of the corner...and dropping to one knee, SNAPPING Maddix across the other with a backbreaker!!

 

"OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"Buck was too big and too strong for the Crash Landon!"

 

Shrugging Maddix's frame off of his knee nonchalantly, Buck drops into a lateral press...

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH...

 

...ONLY TWO!

 

Piercing through referee Harcastle with a one eyed glare, Buck clambers back to his feet. He then drops a knee directly to the sternum, going back to his previous gameplan. Maddix shoots straight up to his knees gasping for breath, but Buck drags him straight back down and drops a second knee.

 

*CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP!*

 

Suddenly, Buck's head shoots up, as the Egyptian crowd are being rallied by Megan Skye. Ignoring the claps, Buck drags Maddix to his feet and drags him over near the ropes. A scoop from Buck looks to be leading to a hot shot...but Maddix floats over the back, waiting for Buck to turn around...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOO!!"

 

...before leathering him with a knifedge!

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOO!!"

 

...and again!

 

 

*SLA...*

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

...but Buck cuts him off with a STIFF clothesline!! Maddix gets turned inside out, rolling lifelessly onto his back and allowing Buck to make the cover...

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...ONLY TWO!!

 

 

"YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

 

"Listen to this crowd, solidly behind Landon Maddix!" shouts Pete.

 

"But crowd support isn't gonna fill Maddix's lungs with air! Every time Maddix tries to mount a comeback, he runs out of gas and gets caught. A bunch of cat worshipers ain't gonna change that!"

 

Bringing Maddix up again, Buck stoops low and lifts Maddix onto his shoulder...carrying him across the ring and placing him onto the top turnbuckle. Buck cracks Maddix with a couple of left hands to keep him in place, before climbing from the bottom ropes to the middle.Giving the signal, Buck takes a moment to display his "Dirty South" tattoo...

 

 

 

"ARRGGGHHH!!"

 

...but AGAIN, gets jabbed in his bad eye!!

 

"Come on Hardcastle!" moans King. "That's twice now!"

 

The eyepoke is seemingly enough to save Maddix, as he nails Buck with a forearm! Buck teeters but hangs onto the top rope vehemently...so Maddix nails a second forearm! Another wobble, but still Buck is holding on. Feeling a little steadier, Maddix re-adjusts on the buckles and swipes away one of Buck's hands, leaving him dangling precariously. And leaving him wide-open for a swift knee to the face, sending Buck FLYING backwards and CRASHING to the mat below!! Groaning, Buck begins to roll away from the corner, whilst Maddix pulls himself to his feet on the top rope, waiting for Buck to slow down before launching off the top...

 

 

 

...and CONNECTING with a Frog Splash!!

 

 

"YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

But the Tag Champion cannot stay atop Buck, rolling off of his opponent, clutching his ribs.

 

"Beautiful Frog Splash, but it may not have been the wisest move in Maddix's condition!" cries Pete.

 

"If not for that eye, Maddix'd be beaten by now." is all King can grumble in response.

 

On the outside, Megan encourages Maddix to hurry up and make the cover, which is easier said than done on her part. Gritting his teeth, Maddix exasperatedly crawls on his stomach, reaching Buck and flopping on top...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW...

 

POWER~!FUL KICKOUT!!

 

"No way that cover was gonna get it done." King critiques.

 

Rolling to his feet, Buck measures the recovering Maddix and swipes. Maddix ducks the left hand though, quickly firing a dropkick into Buck's kneecap. Leg shooting out behind him, Buck hops on his standin foot until he can regain his balance. Back to his feet, Maddix hits a second dropkick to the knee, this time dropping Buck down to one knee. Spotting an opening, Maddix gets a run-up...

 

 

"SHINING WIZAAAAAA..."

 

 

 

...NO!! Buck throws his arms over his face and blocks the Shining Wizard with his forearms!! Quickly shaking the pain out of his arms, Buck catches Maddix as he turns back around, booting him in the gut and pulling him into a standing headscissors. Locking up, Buck then looks to haul Maddix up. But the gutsy Galactico wraps his arms around Buck's right leg and clings on for dear-life!! Buck tries once and twice to lift Maddix, getting him up a certain amount before almost toppling over himself. Angrily, Buck SLAMS his forearms into Maddix's spine! And again! With his opponent weakened, Buck now tries again, hauling Maddix up...

 

 

 

...but Buck puts too much energy into the lift, allowing Maddix to float AAAAALL the way over and cradle him into a sunset flip...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH...

 

...ONLY TWO!

 

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

Kicking out, Buck rolls through to his feet. The Gangsta Of Love moves in towards Maddix, but Maddix tumbles underneath Buck's grasp. Frustrated, Buck goes after Maddix again, the Tag Champion again tumbling out of reach and across the ring. Maddix soon realises he's tiring himself out though. And as Buck advances a third time, Maddix doesn't tumble, instead nailing a right hand. And a second. Buck quickly catches Maddix with a left though, knocking him down.

 

"Maddix shouldn't be trying to exchange strikes with Buck." points out Pete, as Maddix scrambles back up. "He should be using pace."

 

"He can't use pace for long with bad ribs though."

 

Maddix defiantly comes at Buck with a forearm this time. A second, third, fourth, fifth, cupping him behind the head with his free hand to keep a stationary target. Buck pushes Maddix away, but The Next Generation rolls through and fires off a jab, suspiciously close to Buck's bad eye. Instantly, Buck howls and grabs at the eye, while Maddix hits the ropes, hooking Buck down with a bulldog to the approval of Megan on the floor! Head bouncing off the mat, Lil' Buck rolls onto his front to tend to the eye. He gets no favours from Landon though, as he places the flat of his boot across the nose and RAKES upwards, leaving Buck writhing in pain!

 

"YEEEEAAAAAHHHH!"

 

"Latino Eyerake!" cries Pete. "And Maddix can do no wrong at the moment, in the eyes of the crowd at least."

 

As Buck continues to be pre-occupied by his rapidly swelling eye, Maddix hits the ropes and drives in a double stomp...dropping instantly into a back senton!! Maddix favours the ribs, but this time is able to cover straight away...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR...

 

 

 

...NO, ONLY TWO!

 

Cursing aloud, Maddix fights to his feet, encouraging Buck up. Which is a mistake, as Buck ducks a wayward forearm, goes to the ribs with a knee and CHIN CHECKS~! Maddix!!

 

"OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"BIIIIIIG uppercut...and that certainly changes the momentum!"

 

"Buckin' Hell!!"

 

With Landon seemingly out cold, Lil' Buck has had enough, running his thumb across the throat. The universal sign for 'this match is over'. Handful of hair, Buck pulls Maddix to his knees before rocking him once, twice, thrice with forearms over the back. Buck then turns his back and hooks the arms into chickenwings, turning underneath Maddix in preparation for the Buck-Wild Ride...

 

 

 

 

...but Maddix has it scouted and desperatly fires his right leg towards his left, sandwiching Buck's head in the process. Five or six times Buck's head gets sandwiched before Maddix can finally adjust...

 

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

"OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

 

...AND MULE KICK BUCK IN THE FACE~!

 

"A DESPERATE escape from Maddix...he knows what that move's all about."

 

 

The kick knocks Buck loopy, allowing Maddix to free his arms. And with Buck on his hands and knees, Maddix quickly turns on his heels and steps over Buck's back, grabbing the head for the Land Of Nod!!

 

"YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!"

 

"LAND OF NOD!" cheers Pete.

 

"He's too strong, I'll betcha he's too strong!"

 

Maddix snares the head and starts to pull back...

 

 

 

...but King is dead on the money as Buck shakes out the cobwebs and pushes off his hands and knees, to his feet. Easily lifting the 220 pounds of Maddix onto his shoulder, Buck suddenly breaks into a run across the ring, throwing Maddix off as he gets near the corner...

 

 

 

 

...only for Maddix to counter the snake eyes, landing on the middle turnbuckle. Setting himself, Maddix springs off the ropes and rotates towards the 360ing Buck, catching his head and DDTing him into the canvas!!

 

"Nice move by Maddix!" Pete applauds.

 

"But not the one he wanted!" King fires back. "He couldn't get the Crash Landon, he couldn't apply the Land Of Nod...what else has he got? I don't think Maddix has a move that can beat Buck, now his finishers didn't work!"

 

"He could always cheat."

 

"Yeah and it's idiots like you that encourage him!"

 

As he gets to his feet, Maddix does look at a loss for what to do next, so he decides to cover Buck...

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH...

 

...kickout!

 

Still Lil' Buck won't give up, his entire body pulsating with adrenaline as he begins to fight back to his feet. Clearly worried, Maddix nails a right hand. A right hand Buck doesn't seem to feel. Buck gets to his knees as Maddix swings again, but again he has no effect. Luckily, it seems Landon's been studying his 'Art Of Hulking Up' tapes and stops punching the shaking Buck, instead, hitting the ropes. As he comes back, Buck is up though, charging through Maddix with a shoulder block! Buck comes to a stop straightaway though, having to shake out some more cobwebs before turning to grab Maddix again.

 

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

 

Buck grabs Landon's right arm and laces it through his legs, trying to Pump It Up...but Maddix quickly shoots back an elbow, connecting with the eye socket more by luck than judgement. As he escape the attempted pumphandle, Maddix hits a second elbow to the eye, this one judgement not luck. Stopping to gasp for breath momentarily, Maddix throws another elbow...only for Buck to weave underneath, waiting for Maddix to spin away from him before GRABBING HIM IN THE FULL NELSON!!

 

"HE'S GOING FOR THE CHAMPION'S REQUIEM!!"

 

Maddix knows what's coming and frantically tries to escape before Buck can lock his hands. Luckily for him, Megan also knows what's coming and jumps to the apron in front of Maddix. Referee Hardcastle takes a moment to notice the flailing female behind him, but when he does, he quickly reprimands her and yells for her to go back to the floor...

 

 

 

*CHING!*

 

"YYEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

...getting sucked right into the plan.

 

 

"LOWBLOW!" howls King.

 

"And Hardcastle didn't see a thing."

 

"DAMN IT, I knew you shouldn't have given him any ideas!!"

 

As his eyes open to the size of saucers, Buck breathlessly holds his 'area'. Hardcastle turns around and spots it but can't make the call on speculation, no matter how obvious the clues are...simply watching on as Maddix goes to the knee with the dropkick. This time, Buck drops to one knee first time, as Landon hits the ropes in front...

 

 

 

"SHINING WIZZAAAAAAARRRRRDD!!!!"

 

 

...AND CONNECTS WITH THE SHINING WIZARD, SNATCHING A LEG AS HE FOLLOWS THROUGH INTO A COVER...

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEE!!!!

 

 

"YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

 

"HE GOT IT!" cheers Pete, over the roaring crowd and blaring sounds of Incubus. "BIG win for Landon Maddix!!"

 

Maddix quickly rolls backwards and out of the ring, into the arms of Megan who helps the breathless Tag Team Champion to stay on his feet. Raising an arm is about all Maddix can do now, Megan continuing to hold him aloft whilst Maddix's Tag Team Title belt is retrieved.

 

"He couldn't get the Land Of Nod, or the Crash Landon...but Maddix managed to pull out the big victory over Lil' Buck. And that certainly does his World Title ranking no harm."

 

"He cheated AGAIN." moans King.

 

"Fair means or foul, it matters not, as Maddix picks up the win."

 

"Try telling that to Buck."

 

Retreating away from ringside with his belt, the victory and all his ribs presumably still intact, Maddix smirks through the pain he's feeling. Watching on from the ring, Buck has just about come around. Hardcastle tries to check on him, but Buck shoves his away, clearly pissed teh fuq off with the manner of his defeat. And, judging from the glare up the rampway at Maddix, pissed at him too.

 

 

-FADE OUT-

Edited June 8, 2005 by Ace309

[Chuck Woolery 0]

“Dominic?”

 

The Bahaman superstar’s head swivels. The voice isn’t one of the ones that usually speaks his full first name. He looks and sees Tom Flesher, clad in a khaki summer suit, standing back and to the left.

 

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt your warm-up.”

 

“C’n I help you?” asks the Wildchild coldly.

 

“There’s no need for hostility. Trust me. I just wanted to let you know face-to-face that I met with Scott earlier tonight, but… well, I hope that you trust that there’s nothing funny going on.”

 

Wildchild scowls at Flesher and continues stretching out for his match against Pretzler later in the evening.

 

“I’m not sure if you’re willing to believe me or not, but there were perfectly legitimate reasons for that meeting. Frankly, I would have invited you, but I didn’t think it was a good idea to have you and Scott in the same room.”

 

The Bahama Bomber continues warming up.

 

“It’s no secret that I don’t like you personally, Dominic.”

 

“Thanks for stoppin’ by ta let me know,” he shoots back.

 

“But,” Flesher says, “you’re valuable to the SWF, and the fact that we’ve had our differences in the past… over the Cruiserweight Championship… has no bearing on how you’ll be booked.”

 

“Why’s it seem like you’re up ta somethin’, Tom?” Wildchild stares at Flesher suspiciously.

 

“Trust me, Dominic.” Flesher shudders, clearly uncomfortable with addressing his foe by his given name but remembering how he had referred to Pretzler. “I just wanted to make sure that… you’re comfortable with the fact that you’re a draw.”

 

Wildchild raises an eyebrow and nods slowly.

 

Flesher shifts uncomfortably.

 

“Dominic, there’s no funny business tonight. I’m just aware of the very real possibility that your series with Scott is going to a third match, and I need to make sure that the 13th Hour card is malleable enough to reflect that.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’ll understand later.” Flesher grimaces, and chokes out a, “Good luck, Dominic.”

 

With that, he turns around and steps out of the room, shaking his head as he leaves, and the screen goes to blue... and our camera pulls back from a conveniently placed television monitor to reveal Scott Pretzler and Ben Hardy, standing in front of an SWF banner.

 

“With me at this time,” says Ben Hardy, “the Critic, Scott Pretzler. Mister Pretzler, last week on Lockdown, you were able to pick up a victory over Wildchild to take a one-fall-to-none lead in the Best-of-Three series to determine the Number One Contender to the World Cruiserweight Championship, giving you your first singles victory over Wildchild. Do you have any thoughts as you head into your match tonight?”

 

“Yes, Hardy,” as a matter of fact, I do have a few thoughts. I think that I’m going to secure a sweep here tonight on Smarkdown, which will leave me free to regain MY World Cruiserweight Championship. You see, I’ve finally figured out Wildchild; I know how he thinks, and I know how he competes in the ring. There isn’t any way that he can get the better of me!”

 

“Is dat right?”

 

Ben and Scott both spin around as Wildchild makes his way into the interview center, pushing a rotisserie basket. “So you t’ink dat you can beat me no matter what?”

 

"Damn, he really is quick," whispers Hardy.

 

“That’s right,” replies Pretzler. “I’ve figured you out, Wildchild. I solved your riddle, and now I can beat you anytime, anywhere. And in any style of match, I might add!”

 

Wildchild’s face breaks into his trademark grin. “Any kind of match, you say? Well, Mistah Big Mouth, if you’re so confident, why don’ you put your money where your mouth is?”

 

Pretzler blinks at Wildchild in a mixture of annoyance, confusion, and disbelief. “Excuse me?”

 

Wildchild points to the basket. “Inside of dis basket, I got a whole bunch of capsules, an’ inside o’ de capsules are papers dat have all of de different stipulations for all de matches we have here in de SWF. If you’re so confident dat you can beat me in any kind of match, I challenge you to face me tonight in a stipulation dat’s in this basket!”

 

“Any stipulation in this basket?” asks Pretzler.

 

“Oui,” replies Wildchild. “An’ I’ll even let you pick de stip out yourself.”

 

Pretzler smiles maliciously. “I like that… shows trust. All right, then; you’re on. And after I pick out the stipulation, I don’t want to hear any excuses!”

 

Wildchild’s grin grows even wider, a feat most people wouldn’t have thought possible. “I’ll remember you said that, monsieur.”

 

Pretzler spins the basket around a few times before opening up the hasp, and reaching in to retrieve a capsule. He cracks it open and looks at the paper inside, his eyes widening as he sees what’s inside. Wildchild leans over to peer into the Critic’s hands, the grin now threatening to consume his whole face.

 

“What was it?” asks Hardy, as he looks at the scrap of paper. “My goodness! Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like the second match in the Best-of-Three series tonight will be… a NO GRAVITY MATCH!”

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Oui. A No Gravity match; an’ remember, monsieur, you gave your word to accept whatever stipulation you picked. I’m sure dat you’ll do jus’ fine… Good luck, monsieur!”

 

Pretzler glares at Wildchild as he strolls off, whistling Beethoven’s Ninth. “Mr. Pretzler,” asks Hardy, “could we get your reaction to finding out the stipulation for tonight’s match?”

 

“I think it’s unbelievable,” replies Pretzler, as he rummages through the basket. “That kid must have a charmed life; I can’t believe that he’d luck out and happen to draw a No Gravity match when he could have just as easily been forced into a…

 

 

“NO GRAVITY MATCH?”

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Wait a damned minute!” Pretzler tips the rotisserie basket over on its side, dumping all the capsules on the floor. He bends down and grabs a handful, ripping them open as he looks at the contents. “No Gravity… No Gravity… No Gravity? That sneaky little…”

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Alright Wildchild,” he roars. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Well, it’s not going to help you! I’m going to beat you at your own game tonight, and go on to win back MY belt at 13th Hour!” The Critic slams the capsules on the floor and storms away from the interview center…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[Chuck Woolery 0]

FADE IN

 

“Welcome back to Smarkdown,” says Longdogger Pete. “And King, Wildchild is already a match in the hole in this Best-of-Three series, but if he’s going to get back into this thing, he’s definitely got a great chance tonight, as he lured Scott Pretzler into his trap earlier in the program, getting him to agree to a No Gravity match!”

 

“Wildchild is a devious little man,” spits the Suicide King. “He tricked Scott Pretzler earlier, because he knew that he couldn’t beat him in an earlier match, so he had to name the one stipulation where Pretzler’s technical superiority could possibly work against him!”

 

“Most definitely,” agrees Pete. “Pretzler is the type of wrestler who likes to keep the match on the canvas, but a No Gravity match requires you to be able to generate some offense from the top rope… and nobody in the business is better at doing that than the Wildchild!”

 

“Pretzler needs to try and slow him down as much as possible,” says King. “It’s imperative that Pretzler keep him off those ropes; Wildchild has not shown that he can consistently win if he’s not able to get to those ropes and build up momentum for his speed maneuvers, even if the rest of his high-flying game is going.”

 

“I’ll have to agree with you on that, King,” concedes Pete. “Wildchild is not very physically strong, and he relies on those ropes to facilitate his velocity, so that he can wear down his opponent with high-impact maneuvers!”

 

“That’s right!” agrees King. “And that’s why it’s imperative for wrestlers who depend on that kind of offense to wear their opponents down, but Wildchild has neither the strength nor the technical background to be able to wear down his opponent without running off of those ropes, which is exactly why I said earlier that Pretzler needs to keep him in the center of the ring!”

 

“That’s going to be tough for Pretzler to do in this match though, King,” counters Pete, “because he needs to try and incorporate the top rope into HIS offense if he wants to win. As you know, King, this isn’t a typical match: pinfalls don’t matter. Submissions don’t, either. Pretzler’s going to have to hit Wildchild with five moves from either the top rope or the top turnbuckle… I don’t know if Pretzler’s FAST enough to do that, King!”

 

“It doesn’t take speed, MacDougal; it just takes a plan,” King replies confidently. “Believe you me, Pretzler has a strategy in mind to win this match; Wildchild’s experience in No Gravity matches is not going to help him here!”

 

With that, the camera shifts to the center of the ring, where Funyon stands, his trusty microphone in hand. Upon receiving his cue, he lifts the microphone to his lips and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is the second of the Best-of-Three series to determine the Number One Contender to the World Cruiserweight Championship! And, it will be…

 

 

“A NO GRAVITY MATCH!”

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

Suddenly, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony begins to play, heralding the arrival of Scott Pretzler. The fans begin booing in earnest as the Critic steps out onto the stage.

 

“Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “leading the Best-of-Three series one to nothing, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… the ‘Critic,’ SCOTT PUUUUH-RETZLER!” Pretzler stands at the head of the aisle; he stops and stands with his hands at his hips, looking down at the fans with disdain.

 

“This is disgraceful,” spits King. “I can’t believe how unappreciative these fans are of a great wrestler like Scott Pretzler! We should never come back to this country again!”

 

“Will you stop?” barks Pete, as Pretzler’s theme fades out. “These fans have the right to cheer or boo for whoever they want…”

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“And, as you can hear, they’re going crazy for the Wildchild!”

 

“His opponent,” Funyon shouts over the roar of the crowd, “from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” is pumping at full blast as the Bahama Bomber bounces out onto the stage.

 

“Wildchild is in the midst of the biggest slump since his return,” says Pete, “perhaps even the biggest slump of his career! But he looks as ready as ever in this match tonight!”

 

“He’d better be ready,” replies King, “because Scott Pretzler’s confidence has to be at an all-time high!” Wildchild trots down the ramp before suddenly breaking into a dead run, somersaulting into the ring and immediately rolling to his feet…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And tackling Pretzler to the mat with a spear!

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“Let’s Get Dirty” is abruptly cut off, and referee Red Herrington immediately signals the timekeeper to ring the bell, as Wildchild assumes a mounted position atop the Critic and begins to hammer him with hard right hands!

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

“Wildchild is on fire,” shouts Pete. “He’s taken the fight right to Pretzler!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet, only to grab him by the back of the head and take him back down to the canvas with a snapmare takeover! Wildchild then quickly runs to the edge of the ring and leaps onto the second rope, swinging his leg sharply through the air as he bounces back into the ring…

 

CRACK!

 

… And blasting the Critic with a flying gamengiri!

 

“He used the shin guard!” roars King. “He just used that shin guard to enhance the impact of that gamengiri; that’s illegal! He should be disqualified for that!”

 

“King, this is a No Gravity match,” replies Pete. “The only rule in this match is that you have to hit five top rope moves on your opponent to get the win. Everything else is fair game; hell, you should be grateful that that second-rope springboard doesn’t count towards the score!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and whips him across the ring, diving feet-first towards the Critic’s legs and dropping him to his knees with a basement dropkick! The Human Hurricane scrambles to his feet and races to the ropes before Pretzler can recover, leaping off the canvas as he rebounds and snaring Pretzler by the head as he flips through the air…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Driving Scott into the mat with a flipping neck snap!

 

“Wildchild scoring with the Whiplash,” says Pete, as Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet. “Wildchild’s set the pace early in this match, King; if Scott Pretzler’s strategy was to keep him off the ropes, he’s gonna have to go with Plan B, in a hurry!” Wildchild looks out to the Cairo crowd and points down to his legs, before bending over to adjust his right shin guard.

 

“Now look,” barks King. “He just reversed that shin guard; he’s PLANNING to do something illegal!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into the corner. He races to the ropes as Pretzler crashes into the turnbuckles, and leaps to the top rope as the Critic staggers backwards out of the corner, springing backwards into the ring and swinging his leg sharply through the air…

 

 

WHACK!

 

… And leveling him with a reverse leg lariat! Scott flounders on the canvas like a trout, clutching his throat in pain! Wildchild, on the other hand, nips up to his feet and holds one finger in the air, pointing towards the SmarkTron as, for the first time, the score in the match is displayed:

 

 

-------

WC: 1

Pretzler: 0

--------

 

“That’s terrible, MacDougal!” shouts King. “Wildchild just hit Pretzler in the throat with an illegal foreign object! He could have crushed Pretzler’s larynx!” Wildchild pulls the Critic to his feet and whips him back into the corner, running to the ropes as Pretzler slams into the turnbuckles and leaping onto the middle rope as he staggers backwards out of the corner…

 

WHAM!

 

… Knocking Scott off his feet with a springboard dropkick!

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“Wildchild has taken control of this match!” shouts Pete. “He’s got Scott Pretzler reeling! Boy King, Pretzler had better thank his lucky stars that Wildchild is going to the second rope instead of the top rope so many times; this one could be almost over right now!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler back to his feet, only for the Critic to stun him with a knee to the midsection. Scott slams a series of clubbing forearms into Wildchild’s back before pulling him away from the ropes, grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring. Wildchild ducks a clothesline attempt as he bounces off the ropes, and leaps to the top rope as he approaches the edge of the ring, curling into a ball as he springs off…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And slamming into Pretzler’s chest with his patented Pinball attack, knocking him down to the canvas!

 

“Pinball!” exclaims LDP. “Wildchild has taken a quick two-to-none lead over Scott Pretzler! And he’s made it look easy!”

 

 

 

 

-------

WC: 2

Pretzler: 0

--------

 

 

Wildchild pulls Pretzler back to his feet and traps him in a front waistlock, pushing him backwards into the corner. The Bahama Bomber drives his shoulder into Scott’s midsection several times before climbing up to the middle ropes, straddling Pretzler as he holds his clenched fist in the air, signaling a ten-count punch to the crowd:

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

FIVE!

 

SIX!

 

SEVEN!

 

EIGHT!

 

NINE!

 

TEN!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

Wildchild grins out at the raucous Egyptian crowd, cheering his actions, when Scott Pretzler suddenly wraps his arms around the Bahaman’s legs and carries him out of the corner, dropping down to one knee…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And lowering Wildchild onto his outstretched thigh, compressing his spine with an inverted atomic drop! Pretzler remains kneeling, breathing heavily, as the Caribbean Cruiser holds his lower back in pain.

 

“Excellent ring awareness by Scott Pretzler,” cheers King. Pretzler scrambles to his feet and pulls Wildchild off the canvas, shoving him back forcefully into the corner. He clubs Wildchild over the back of the neck with sledgehammer-like forearms that drop the Bahaman to his knees, clutching his neck in pain. Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and grabs him firmly by the back of the head…

 

WHAM!

 

… Slamming the back of Wildchild’s head forcefully into the top turnbuckle!

 

WHAM!

 

And again!

 

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

 

Pretzler repeatedly bashes the back of Wildchild’s head into the top turnbuckle, before he finally relents, only to lead him over to the edge of the ring and heave him over the top rope! Wildchild’s face bounces off the ring apron with a resounding “CRACK,” as he falls out to the arena floor!

 

“What a brutal outburst by Scott Pretzler, as he tries to capture the momentum in this match!” cries LDP.

 

“There you go, Scott!” cheers King, as Pretzler climbs up to the top turnbuckle. “Put this chump’s lights out!” Pretzler steadies himself on the top turnbuckle and measures Wildchild as he gets back to his feet, before leaping down to the floor…

 

WHAM!

 

… And slamming into the back of Wildchild’ neck with a flying double axe-handle!

 

 

-------

WC: 2

Pretzler: 1

--------

 

Out on the arena floor, the Critic continues his assault, pulling him to his feet and trapping him in a front waistlock, as he rams Wildchild repeatedly into the edge of the ring apron! He then grabs Wildchild by the back of the head and pushes him towards the corner…

 

WHACK!

 

 

… Slamming his head against the solid steel post! The Bahama Bomber leans heavily against the ringpost to keep from collapsing to the arena floor. Pretzler picks Wildchild up off the floor, holding him in his arms…

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

… And then ramming him back-first into the ringpost!

 

 

WHACK!

WHACK!

WHACK!

 

 

Pretzler continues his vicious assault on Wildchild’s back until finally rolling him back into the ring, and then climbs back onto the ring apron. Looking into the ring at the unmoving Wildchild, Pretzler decides to take a chance as he heads towards the corner and climbs to the top turnbuckle.

 

“Pretzler’s going to the top!” shouts King. “This match is about to be tied!” Pretzler leaps from the top rope and dives down into the ring, his leg outstretched to deliver a legdrop…

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… But Wildchild rolls out of the way, causing Pretzler to crash into the canvas! Scott clutches the small of his back in pain as Wildchild crawls towards the center of the ring.

 

“Nobody home!” shots Pete. “Scott Pretzler thought he had Wildchild compromised enough for that guillotine legdrop, but the Bahaman had a little bit left over!” Wildchild crawls back towards Pretzler as the Critic pulls himself to a kneeling position, and pops him in the face with a quick right hand! The two combatants exchange punches as they get back to their feet, with Scott taking control, shifting out of a collar-and-elbow tie-up into a three-quarter nelson, and pulling Wildchild forward with a snapmare…

 

WHAM!

 

… Following through with a single fluid motion with a dropkick to the back of the head! Pretzler pulls Wildchild back to his feet and uses a deft series of right hands to force him back against the ropes, before grabbing him by the arm and whipping him to the opposite side of the ring. Scott instinctively steps back out of Wildchild’s Pinball range, and then bends down as he bounces off the far ropes, launching him through the air with a high back body drop!

 

… But the former circus star lands on the top rope behind Pretzler. Without hesitating, the Human Hurricane flips backwards off the ropes and lands in a seated position on Scott’s shoulders, locking his legs around Pretzler’s neck and arching backwards, snatching him off the mat and pulling him through the air with an amazing flying headscissors!

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“Beautiful backdrop counter by the Bahama Bomber!” shouts LDP. “And Wildchild has just taken a commanding lead in this match!” Once again, the raucous Cairo fans squeal excitedly as Wildchild holds his hands aloft, this time with three fingers extended on his left hand, compared to only one on his right.

 

 

-------

WC: 3

Pretzler: 1

--------

 

 

Wildchild charges Scott and stuns him with a kick to the midsection. He grabs Pretzler’s arm and whips him towards the corner, but the Critic reverses, sending him in instead. Wildchild leaps high into the air as he nears the corner, landing perched on the top rope. Anticipating a top rope attack, Scott drops down, flattening himself against the canvas…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But instead of leaping off the top turnbuckle, the Bahama Bomber performs a backflip straight into the air, and lands on the second turnbuckle, springing back off without pause and smashing into Scott’s back with a picture-perfect moonsault!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“That was vintage Wildchild right there!” cries LDP. “He totally faked Pretzler out with that backflip!”

 

“Yeah,” counters King, “But it doesn’t count towards his score! He didn’t jump from the top rope to hit the move, he jumped from the middle rope!” Unfazed his inability to talk the referee into giving him another point, Wildchild runs back to the corner and vaults up to the top turnbuckle. He confidently holds four fingers in the air as he waits for Scott to get back to his feet, and then explodes off the top turnbuckle, body extended as he plummets into the ring to crush Pretzler with a flying cross body!

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the Critic snatches him out of the air as he swings his body around, grinding the Bahama Bomber into the mat with a tremendous powerslam!

 

“Big time powerslam!” shouts King. “Excellent counter by Scott Pretzler!” Pretzler rolls Wildchild onto his stomach before rising to his feet, raising his bicep to eye level and measuring Wildchild before dropping back down towards the canvas…

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Slamming a heavy elbowdrop into the back of Wildchild’s neck! The Critic quickly scrambles to his feet and begins stomping the back of the Bahaman’s neck brutally.

 

“What an assault by Scott Pretzler,” cries Pete. “He’s absolutely livid, King!”

 

“Well, obviously Scott Pretzler has been pushed beyond his threshold by Wildchild,” says King. “And, I’ll admit, he might be feeling a little desperate, too; I mean, a three-to-one deficit can be difficult to overcome, so perhaps he’s feeling the pressure a little bit!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him fiercely into the turnbuckles! And, as the Bahama Bomber staggers backwards out of the corner, Scott swoops in behind him, trapping him in an inverted front facelock and hooking the leg as he lifts Wildchild up…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And drives him down to the canvas with the dreaded Tildebang Driver!

 

 

“Tildebang!” crows King. “Wildchild’s gotta be out cold!”

 

“Yeah,” says LDP, as the Critic rolls to his feet, “but Pretzler can’t win this match on a knockout, King!”

 

“He doesn’t have to,” replies King, as Pretzler steps out onto the ring apron, “You think Clown-boy’s going to be able to move out of the way of a top rope move after that?” Pretzler walks deliberately to the corner and climbs to the top turnbuckle. He looks out to the crowd with a sneer before leaping into the ring…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And drives his thigh across Wildchild’s throat with a guillotine legdrop!

 

 

“There’s the guillotine legdrop!” praises King. “And just like I said, Drain-Clogger, Wildchild couldn’t move out of the way THAT time!”

 

 

-------

WC: 3

Pretzler: 2

--------

 

 

Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and bends him over at the waist, so that their upper bodies are perpendicular. He hooks his left leg over the back of the Wildchild’s head while grapevining his right leg with Wildchild’s left, and then wrenches the Bahaman’s right arm back in his own direction, as he cinches in the Octopus Hold.

 

“This is great!” proclaims King. “An Octopus Hold in the center of the ring; I love it! Scott Pretzler is showing that, even in a No Gravity match, he can use wrestling to his advantage!”

 

“Well King, I have to give you some credit here,” concedes LDP. “You said before the match started that Pretzler needed to keep Wildchild in the center of the ring and away from the ropes, and it looks like Pretzler’s decided to do exactly that, to tremendous results!”

 

“Well, of course it was successful!” snaps King. “And I’ll tell you something else: I’ve always liked this hold, but especially right now. Pretzler’s showing great strategy here; not only does this hold keep Wildchild immobile, but it continues to work the areas that Pretzler has been concentrating on which, by the way, lead perfectly into the Snowflake!”

 

“King, the submission match was last week,” says Pete, as Pretzler finally releases the Octopus hold. “What good is it going to do to trap Wildchild in the Snowflake Clutch? He can’t win the match with it!”

 

“It’s going to do the same good that the Tildebang did, MacDougal,” counters King, as Pretzler exits to the ring apron. “It’ll take Wildchild’s speed advantage out of the equation; Wildchild’s not going to be able to move out of the way if he’s not conscious!” The Critic takes his time climbing to the top turnbuckle, taunting the Egyptian faithful as he dives off the top, his arm drawn back, and his fist curled into a ball…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… As he drives a flying fistdrop between the Bahaman’s eyes! Pretzler rises slowly to his feet, holding three fingers up on each hand, as the Cairo fans let them know what they think:

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

-------

WC: 3

Pretzler: 3

--------

 

 

“It’s all tied up!” shouts King. “Scott Pretzler survived an early offensive onslaught by Wildchild, and has managed to tie the match at three points apiece, with no signs of Wildchild being able to mount a comeback!” Scott pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the corner, following him in with a tremendous clothesline! The Critic squares himself to Wildchild chest and raises his arm…

 

 

SMACK! WHOO!

 

 

… Before slashing it across Wildchild’s chest with a tremendous knife-edge chop!

 

 

SMACK! WHOO!

SMACK! WHOO!

SMACK! WHOO!

 

Scott pulls Wildchild out of the corner and hammers him in the side of the face with a flurry of forearm shots and then traps him in a front facelock, grabbing him by the leg and lifting him into the air to deliver a Brainbuster, but the Bahama Bomber twists around in midair and lands on his back behind Pretzler. Wildchild whips his leg through the air to deliver a roundhouse kick as Scott spins around, but the Critic catches his leg at chest level…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Only for the Human Hurricane to immediately spring off the mat with his other leg, whipping it through the air and blasting Pretzler in the face with a gamengiri!

 

“Whoa!” exclaims Pete. “What a big-time counter by the Wildchild! Just when it looked like Scott Pretzler was about to take control of this match, Wildchild scores with a big time gamengiri!”

 

“And he used that shin guard again!” spits King. “I can’t believe that referee Herrington allows him to wear that in the ring!” Wildchild and Pretzler trade punches as they get back to their feet, with Wildchild taking control with a battery of rapid-fire right hands. He backs Scott against the edge of the ring and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, only for the Critic to reverse it, sending him into the ropes instead. Wildchild dives towards the edge of the ring headfirst, planting his hands on the canvas and uses the ropes to propel his body back towards the center of the ring, over Scott’s head, as he performs a handspring backflip! The Critic races in front of him to the ropes, but the Human Hurricane leaps off the canvas as he rebounds, twisting his body through the air…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And knocking Pretzler off his feet with flying back elbow! The Bahama Bomber quickly rolls to his feet and runs to the corner.

 

“Wildchild’s going to the top!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild leaps onto the top turnbuckle. “He’s going to try to re-take the lead!” Wildchild leaps fearlessly off the turnbuckle, twisting around in midair to deliver a corkscrew moonsault…

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… But Pretzler rolls out of the way at the last split second!

 

“He didn’t get it!” shouts King. “Wildchild went too quick for that move off the top! He thought he could tie it up quick and, you never know, maybe that’s what he has to do; maybe he doesn’t have much left!” Pretzler crawls to the edge of the ring, using the ropes to pull himself to his feet, and then lifts Wildchild off the canvas, whipping him to the corner, only for the Bahaman to reverse. Pretzler crashes into the turnbuckles and Wildchild charges in right after him, leaping off the canvas and twisting in midair to deliver his patented Blue Crush, only for Pretzler to dive out of the way… But Wildchild lands on the second rope, catching himself from crashing into the turnbuckles, and climbs up to the top rope while Scott’s back is turned!

 

“Look out, Pretzler!” pleads King. “Wildchild’s on the top!” Scott glances back towards the corner just in time to catch Wildchild situating himself on the top turnbuckle, and dives desperately into the corner, pushing Wildchild’s feet out from underneath him and crotching him on the top rope! The Critic climbs up to the top turnbuckle before Wildchild can recover and then leaps up, locking his legs behind Wildchild’s neck as he arches backwards…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And flings Wildchild into the ring with a sensational top-rope hurricanrana!

 

 

“Phenomenal move by Scott Pretzler!” gushes King. “He just gave Wildchild a taste of his own medicine, and has now put a stranglehold on this match! I just can’t see Wildchild getting two straight falls on this man, not in the shape he’s in!”

 

 

-------

WC: 3

Pretzler: 4

--------

 

 

Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the ropes, wrapping his arm around the Bahaman’s throat as he rebounds, trapping him in a sleeper hold!

 

“Sleeper!” crows King. “It’s over! Wildchild’s gonna be at Pretzler’s mercy after this, and you know Pretzler ain’t gonna show no mercy!” The Critic squeezes tighter on Wildchild’s neck, trying to expedite the effects of the sleeper, but Bahama Bomber, in a desperate attempt to get free, plants both feet firmly on the canvas and pushes Scott forcefully back into the corner, slamming his back into the turnbuckles.

 

WHAM!

 

 

Pretzler continues to hold onto the sleeper, so Wildchild pulls him out of the corner, only to ram him in a second time! A third time! A fourth time, and finally, Pretzler’s grip loosens around Wildchild throat, enabling him to stagger away from the corner. The Critic explodes out of the corner, arm raised to deliver a lariat before Wildchild can mount a comeback…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… But the Human Hurricane ducks underneath the lariat and his leg thrusts through the air as Scott wheels around, knocking him silly with a devastating superkick! Wildchild collapses to his knees, trying desperately to clear the cobwebs, as the Critic lies flat on his back a few feet from him.

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“Wildchild turned the tables on Pretzler with that superkick, but he’d better not waste any time,” warns Pete. “Pretzler still has the lead, and Wildchild can’t afford to make any more mistakes!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and grabs him by the wrist whipping him into the ropes, but the Critic reverses, trapping him in a waistlock as he’s sent past and popping his hips as he falls backwards…

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Driving the back of Wildchild’s head into the canvas with a brutal German suplex!

 

“German!” shouts King. “Pretzler may have knocked him out with that, but it’s obvious that he’s still feeling the effects of that sidekick; don’t take too long to put this guy away, Pretzler!” The Critic slowly gets back to his feet and drags Wildchild over to the corner. Scott lifts him up off the canvas and traps him in a front facelock, grabbing Wildchild’s leg with his free hand as he lifts him up and places him on the top turnbuckle, securing him to the perch before climbing up after him.

 

“Pretzler going for a superplex,” says King, as the Critic pulls Wildchild into a standing position. “If he hits this, it’s all over!” Scott traps Wildchild in a front facelock on the top turnbuckle and reaches down to grab his leg, but the Bahama Bomber fights back for all he’s worth, hammering Pretzler repeatedly in his exposed ribs!

 

 

“Look at Wildchild!” shouts Pete. “He’s fighting back; this one isn’t over, King!” Wildchild slams his fist into Pretzler’s ribs until he relents on the pressure of his front facelock, and grabs both sides of Scott’s head…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Driving his forehead into the bridge of Scott’s nose with a headbutt!

 

 

CRACK!

CRACK!

 

 

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

 

A second headbutt, followed by a third, sends Pretzler falling backwards into the ring. Realizing that he doesn’t have even a second to celebrate, the Human Hurricane leaps off the top turnbuckle, flipping twice through the air as he plummets down into the ring…

 

 

SPLASH!

 

 

… Crashing into Pretzler’s chest with his patented 720º Vertical Splash!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Falling Star Bomb!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild with the presence of mind to get out of that superplex, and then hits the FSB! It’s all even up!”

 

 

-------

WC: 4

Pretzler: 4

--------

 

 

Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and traps him in a front facelock, quickly lifting him into the air and spinning 270 degrees before falling back towards the mat, slamming Scott down with a corkscrew suplex!

 

“Beautiful corkscrew suplex,” says Pete. “That’s usually the setup for the Andros Drop!” Wildchild steps out onto the ring apron and climbs to the top turnbuckle. He leaps down into the ring, arms extending in a crucifix position as he spins in midair…

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

… And crashes into the mat as Pretzler moves out of the way!

 

“He missed!” shouts King. “Pretzler saw it coming!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a standing headscissors, wrapping both hands around his waist as he snatches him up off the canvas to deliver a snap powerbomb!

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the Bahama Bomber wriggles out of Scott’s grasp and drapes his leg over the back of the Critic’s neck as he falls, driving him face-first into the canvas with a Caribbean Cutter! Wildchild rolls away from Pretzler and to the edge of the ring, crawling underneath the bottom rope and pulling himself to his feet. He handcuffs both hands above his head and pumps them up and down as he waits for the Critic to stand back up.

 

“Oh my!” exclaims Pete. “Wildchild just gave the sign for Presumed Guilty!”

 

“Scott, look out!” pleads King. “He’s on the outside!” Pretzler stands up, scanning the corners for Wildchild, and before he realizes where he is, Wildchild leaps onto the top rope and springs into the ring, snaring the challenger in a front facelock and swinging around…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… Driving Pretzler’s face into the canvas with Presumed Guilty!

 

 

 

 

-------

WC: 5

Pretzler: 4

--------

 

 

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play, and the crowd erupts as Red Herrington holds Wildchild’s aloft in victory!

 

“The winner of the match,” booms Funyon, as Wildchild leaps over the top rope out of the ring, “evening the Best-of-Three series at one fall apiece… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

 

“Tremendous win by the Wildchild!” cries Pete. “Give credit to Scott Pretzler for having a great game plan for this match, but in the end, Wildchild’s experience gave him the edge, and now the Best-of-Three is tied at one apiece! They’ll settle it at 13th Hour, and I know I can’t wait! Folks, stick around for more exciting SWF action!”

 

Wildchild retreats backwards up the ramp, nodding in acknowledgement at the still-unconscious Pretzler…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[Chuck Woolery 0]

“Bloodlust of the Human Condition” kicks up on the archaic speakers inside of the Cairo International Stadium. Egyptians and other SWF fans leap to their feet in frenzy. They treat the new SWF International Champion as if he were a Pharaoh. Arch Griffon walks out from behind the curtain, newly won title belt draped over his right shoulder. He dresses in a pair of cargo shorts and new “A Day’s Killing” SWF t-shirt. He begins his long trek to the squared circle, where Funyon stands. After clearly his throat, Funyon introduces the big man.

 

“Please welcome the NEW SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION….ARCH GRIFFON!”

 

“A tremendous ovation for the champ! Griffon is in high spirits tonight. He looks rested and confident,” says Longdogger Pete.

 

“Of course he is in good spirits. He won a title he knows he doesn’t deserve,” says King.

 

“Will you let it go, King? He outlasted Jay Hawke. He defeated him after Jay Hawke did himself in. He is more than deserving of that belt over his shoulder!”

 

“He is not in action tonight. He wasn’t in action on Lockdown. What kind of a Champion is he?” asks King.

 

“He is a human champion. He had three title matches on three straight shows. The constant high profile matches can make a man need a break,” Pete responds.

 

“When I was wrestling, I would be out there every damned night. I made it on the road,” says King, gloating.

 

“Yeah, with the help of your little friends,” cracks Pete.

 

“What was that?” asks King.

 

Meanwhile, Griffon has made his way into the ring. He strides to the other side of the ring. He raises his championship belt high over his head as he advances towards a technician holding a microphone through the ropes. Griffon accepts it, nods to the balding man with the headset, and heads back to the middle of the ring.

 

“For those of you who do not know English, I have finally got around to the men in the back to translate for you. Enjoy,” says the big man.

 

A camera shoots over the Smarktron, where bright subtitles sit below Griffon after he speaks.

 

“I am going to make this short and sweet,” says Arch.

 

Griffon takes his belt off of his shoulder and raises it towards the fans in front of him.

 

“I deserve this. You don’t have to agree with me.”

 

“No you don’t,” mutters King.

 

 

“But realize I know that I am worth this title. This leather strap weighed down by gold has ties to some legends and unsung heroes. This belt goes back to the good old days. This belt has roots in the United States Championship, the Intercontinental Television Championship, and the Junior League Championship. It is my honor to hold on to it as long as I can.”

 

The fans packing the stadium break into polite applause. Arch puts the belt over his shoulder.

 

“Moving on … Jay Hawke.”

 

Hisses and boos spray from the seats.

 

“Sean Combs did not take this title away from you. I took it away from you when I nearly broke your god damned neck on that island. Sean Combs gave me a rematch against you, and it meant nothing to him. He doesn’t care about this title we bleed for.”

 

The fans buzz in response.

 

“He is not your enemy. I am.

 

“RAAAAHHHHH!”

 

“I understand you want a rematch, and you are indeed entitled to it. I got a second chance, and you deserve one as well. However, this match is going to happen on my terms. I want you to prove to me you are ‘The Dean’. All you have proved to me is that you have a rear chinlock tighter than a lid on a pickle jar.”

 

Scattered fans across the stadium cackle with laughter.

 

“This Sunday, we will do battle for the International Title. However, you will not be able to slow me down, and I will not be able to slow you down. Rear chinlocks, chokeholds, and everything else that you can think of that would slow us down will not be allowed in this match. The referee will be the one to decide what a resthold is. When he sees a resthold, he will tell an organist ringside to slam on the keys of his organ. This is the signal to let go of the hold. Two seconds later, a second blaring of the organ will take place. At this point, the match ends on a disqualification. This gets rid of a five count. Attacks pointed towards the arms and legs are legal. And all other normal rules apply to this match. In other words…”

 

“To get this belt back, you have to give me a wrestling lesson I will never forget! And there’s not a damned thing you can do about it!”

 

Griffon throws the microphone out the ring, and quickly slides under the bottom rope. “Bloodlust of the Human Condition” cues up in the stadium as Griffon quickly walks back up the aisle. The fans cheer him on from the entranceway as he leaves.

 

“At the Pay-Per-View, it’s going to be Archie Griffon versus Jay Hawke for the International Championship again. Their world war continues!”

[Chuck Woolery 0]

“Ladies and gentlemen,” bellows Funyon as SWF Smarkdown returns from its final commercial break of the evening. “The following tag team contest is scheduled for ONE FALL and will be your MAIN EVENT!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

 

The Smarktron abruptly whites out as the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire crashes out across the arena, then swiftly fades to black. As it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan:

 

‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’

 

“YOU TAPPED OUT!”

 

“YOU TAPPED OUT!”

 

The familiar chants start up almost immediately and continue on as the Smarktron shows notable moments from Toxxic’s career leading up to Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the stagewide blast of red pyro-

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

-that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger!

 

“YOU TAPPED OUT!”

 

“YOU TAPPED OUT!”

 

Through the smoke and the pyro after-image comes a familiar spiky-haired figure wearing his customized England soccer shirt. He stops at the top of the ramp, smiling rather devilishly, as he waits for his partner for the evening.

 

“Introducing first,” Funyon booms, “from Nottingham, England and weighing in at 218lbs; he is the leader of Revolution Zero and the former SWF World Heavyweight Champion; the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“And his partner…” the ring announcer continues after a hesitant deep breath and before a voice picks up on the speakers, whispering a name in a deep, sultry voice…

 

“JOHNNY DANGEROUS~!”

 

…and the entire building quivers as ‘After the Flesh’ thunders out across the Cairo International Stadium! Only this time it’s not a roar of cheers that greet the Barracuda’s arrival, but the exact opposite, and when he swipes aside the curtain and strolls out front and center the fans unleash holy hell upon him!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“From Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at 217lbs; he is… JOHNNY ‘THE BAAARRAAACUDAAAAA’ DAAAANGEEEROUUS!!”

 

“…and never in a million years did I think I would ever see this day come,” Longdogger Pete woefully says. “This team just doesn’t belong together and these fans here know it - just listen to them!”

 

“Oh, for the love of God, McDougal!” the Suicide King snaps, “I think it shows how far these two have come… how professional of them to put aside all differences in order to accomplish the greater good between them! If these pigheaded camel jockeys can‘t realize that than to hell with the whole lot of them!”

 

“Trust me, King,” replies Pete, “there can be no good to come out of this. Toxxic is just trying to play the Barracuda against Ejiro Fasaki to try and keep the new World Champion off of him, while using Dangerous’ superior tag teaming skills to come out with a win tonight!”

 

“Sounds like a pretty well laid plan to me,” says King. “Besides, Toxxic is just speaking to the Barracuda’s heart. He knows what Johnny wants and he’s more than happy to step out of the way and let Dangerous have what he already wanted in the beginning - a clear path at Ejiro Fasaki tonight!”

 

Having made their way to the ring, Johnny and Toxxic take the few moments they have before the arrival of their opponents to go over a last minute strategy. It’s a task that proves a little more difficult for Dangerous than normally as all he can hear are the constant, distracting boos aimed towards him, and its not a sound he’s used to hearing. He gazes out at the sea of fans and sighs heavily - they have to understand that he has no choice. This is about a man doing what ever he has to do in order to get the chance that he has worked so hard for.

 

“And their opponents,” Funyon begins again as ‘After the Flesh’ fades away and the crashing guitars of Black Label’s ‘Lamb of God’ fires up over the arena PA as the drumming sends a bolt through the crowd! The crowd immediately lights up…

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

 

…and their cheer is answered by the voice of Randy Blythe.

 

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

 

Bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway and the familiar figure of Spike Jenkins emerges.

 

“From Hollywood, California and weighing in at 226lbs; ‘HOLLYWOOD’… SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE… JEEEEEENNNNNN-KIIIIIINNNNNSSSSSSSS!!”

 

“I’m surprised you’re not bitching about this team, Drain-Clogger,” says King. “Right now Fasaki’s like Pinocchio without Jiminy Cricket to keep him straight – he’s a loose cannon! Who worse to have by his side right now than a man that spikes another mans drink with LSD!?”

 

“While I cannot condone Spike’s actions I will say that he was pushed to that point,” replies Pete. “What else is a man to do when he’s given no other options? Toxxic had it coming to him a long time ago!”

 

*POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP!*

 

Machine gun pyro explodes as Queen’s “Princes of the Universe” blares over the speakers, and the crowd roars out with a tremendous cheer!

 

“And his partner,” continues Funyon. “From Sarasota, Florida, and weighing in at 223lbs; he is the REIGNING SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIOOOOOOON… EJIROOOOOOO FAAAASAAAAKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

 

Fasaki and Jenkins head down the ramp, both of them with their eyeballs locked hard on their British opponent. They slide into the ring, which is oddly enough void of their opponents when they rise up to their feet - they wisely wait at ringside to avoid a sneaky attack by these two lowlife scumbags. Nonetheless, Fasaki strips the World Title off his waist and holds it aloft for the Egyptian fans before turning it over to referee Ronald ‘Red’ Herrington, the official for this match. Herrington hands the belt off to a ringside assistant for safekeeping as this title is not on the line tonight, and then calls for the bell.

 

DING DING DING!!!

 

Without even a second thought, Johnny steps out onto the apron to let Toxxic kick off the match while a debate ensues between Jenkins and Fasaki as they politely invite the other to step out onto the apron.

 

“At least Dangerous and Toxxic are on the same page here,” notes King. “Jenkins and Fasaki can’t even get past something so simple as to who’s going to start the match!”

 

WHAM!

 

…And it looks like that problem will get solved by the Straight-Edger. He races in from behind the two unsuspecting men and hammers Spike in the back with a double axe handle!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

Spike goes down to his hands and knees and the referee immediately orders Fasaki to step out onto the apron. Though hesitant, the last thing Ejiro wants is a disqualification, so he begrudgingly heads to the apron as Toxxic continues to hammer down on Spike’s back.

 

WHAM!

WHAM!

 

Until Jenkins finally rolls himself out of harms reach and up to his feet. The hard shots have made him a little bit unsteady already, and he stumbles back ever so slightly… then stops against the ropes. His eyes fall onto those piercing gray eyes of his former leader standing just several feet away, lopsided grin and all.

 

“That look has got to be enough to make Hollywood’s blood boil,” comments Pete. “However, Spike’s going to have to remain calm if he wants to stand a chance against this unholy team he’s facing and I think he knows it.”

 

“Shit, I’m worried about Toxxic remaining calm,” adds King. “He’s the one who got his drink spiked with LSD by Jenkins and HE’S the one who is out for blood!”

 

Despite the Suicide King’s fears, the two men are seemingly able to keep their emotions in check for the time being as they move to begin circling one another - Spike gingerly rubbing his back as the Straight-Edger slow steps the path around Hollywood while the crowd buzzes with anticipation…

 

SMACK!

 

…And then Toxxic wheelbarrows around and tags Johnny Dangerous in!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

“What in the heck is the meaning of this!?” shouts Pete, flabbergasted by the sight. “No offense to the Barracuda but the showdown these fans want to see doesn’t include him!”

 

Nonetheless, it’s Johnny who bolts into the ring and straight towards a slack-jawed Jenkins, hammering Hollywood in the face with a quick right hand! Jenkins is rocked on his heels, and a second punch sends him staggering into the ropes before Johnny grabs him by the arm and whips him across the ring. Springing off the ropes, Jenkins is returned to his sender…

 

WHAM!

 

…and then he catches the Barracuda with a leaping lariat across the throat, flooring him instantly!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

 

“What a hit!” exclaims Pete, “Spike just exploded off those ropes and caught Dangerous by complete surprise there!”

 

Hopping back onto his feet, Spike doesn’t waste a single moment trying to further an attack against his opponent - instead he scrambles towards his corner and tags Fasaki in to a huge cheer!

 

Leaping over the top rope, Ejiro comes into the ring at top speed and makes a beeline straight for the Secret Agent, just as Johnny gets back to a vertical base with one hand clenched around his neck…

 

CRACK!

 

…before getting dropped once again with an elbow to the side of his skull! Fasaki quickly applies a lateral press as Herrington drops and counts for:

 

ONE!

 

But Johnny quickly powers out! He shoves Rule off of him and rolls up to his feet and is rather surprised when his opponent doesn’t press a further attack, and instead points towards Toxxic on the apron!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

 

“Apparently Fasaki would rather compete against Toxxic instead of the Barracuda,” notes Pete, “and if Ejiro gets his way the Straight-Edged Sensation’s going to have his work cut out for him.”

 

“Ejiro would be wise to concentrate on the man who wants nothing more than that gold belt around his waist,” suggests King, even as Johnny shrugs and turns towards Toxxic to tag him in. “But if Pinocchio wants all the pent up rage that Toxxic’s been harboring against Spike then let him have it I say!”

 

Johnny reaches out for Toxxic’s hand but just before the Revolution Zero Leader can accept the tag the Barracuda quickly spins around and bolts back towards Rule!

 

“Or maybe not,” King continues as the Barracuda swings for Fasaki’s mouth with his fist. However, the blow goes sailing high over Rule’s head as he ducks down then reaches around Johnny to latch onto his other arm, and with a pop of his hips, sends the Barracuda to the mat with a textbook hip toss! Johnny quickly pops back up to his feet - his pride hurt more than anything else - and Ejiro chases after him…

 

TH-WACK!

TH-WACK!

 

…Only to receive two Shotei palmstrikes to the face, and it sends him stumbling back before dropping flat on his ass. Johnny grabs a handful of hair and drags Rule to his feet, repeatedly kneeing him in the chest as he does so before finally sending Fasaki barreling across the ring with an Irish whip! Rule bounces back off the ropes, back towards his aggressor, and right into a drop kick that sinks deep into his chest! Having downed his opponent, Johnny dives in with a cover for:

 

ONE!

 

“And not a penny more, as the World Champion easily kicks out!” exclaims Pete. Fasaki rolls over onto his knees with one hand clutching his chest, but before he can return to a vertical base on his own his hair is snatched up by Dangerous once more. Johnny drags the World Champion up to his feet and then whips him across the ring once more, only this time it’s straight into the corner post manned by Toxxic! Fasaki rams chest first into the unforgiving steel post and then slightly stumbles out of the pocket before Johnny slams into him from behind with an avalanche, slamming Rule into the post for a second time… and then Dangerous reaches out and tags Toxxic in to a barrage of boos!

 

“Well, it’s about time Toxxic quit warming up the apron and stepped into the ring,” Pete says disgustedly. “I was beginning to wonder if he had even planned on seeing any action tonight!”

 

“For a play-by-play man you’re quite the bumbling fool, McDougal!” snaps King, “the Barracuda is wisely keeping one man fresh to bail him out if need be.”

 

“Why would he need to be bailed out?” Pete questions his announcing partner, “are they planning on cheating? If that’s the game plan the Barracuda was banking on than it’s pretty stupid idea! ”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” whistles King, innocently twiddling his thumbs. Stepping into the ring, Toxxic grabs one of Fasaki’s arms as Dangerous grabs hold of the other, and together they send Rule across the ring with another Irish whip, and then sink four feet deep into his chest upon his return trip from the ropes, flooring the World Champion instantly! Toxxic bolts back up to his feet and then…

 

SMACK!

 

…charges the corner to nail Spike with a backhand!

 

“OH!” King winces at the slap, “He caught Jenkins napping in the corner with that one!”

 

Angered, Jenkins steps through the ropes, into the ring, but Herrington is on him like white on rice, trying as he might to keep control in this match! However, the referee’s dealings with Spike leave Fasaki wide open as Dangerous leaps off the corner post and nails Rule in the sternum with an elbow drop!

 

“Oh, come on!” cries Pete, “that’s just pushing it a little bit, Johnny! I don’t even think Toxxic realized what kind of an opening he created for Dangerous, but the Barracuda didn’t even think twice before taking advantage of it!”

 

“And that’s one of the main reasons Toxxic wanted Agent Dangerous on his side tonight,” replies King. “Johnny is an expert in the tag team environment as evident by what you just saw - he knows when to take advantage of a bad situation.”

 

Toxxic heads back towards Fasaki - Rule is rocking back and forth on the mat clutching his chest as Johnny stands angelically in the corner. The Brit just shrugs. How it happened isn’t really of concern to him, and he reaches down and grabs his opponent… and quickly gets rolled up with a school boy!

 

“Fasaki was playing possum! He’s got him!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TW - NO! While certainly caught by surprise with the tactic, Toxxic has more than enough energy to spare and he rolls off his shoulder to break the count. Back towards the corner, Johnny steps his foot back out of the ring as Herrington shoots him a glaring eye, knowing that the Secret Agent was just a nanosecond away from storming the ring for a save. Meanwhile, Rule and Toxxic both rise back to their feet and quickly leap towards each other, locking up like true gladiators fighting for purchase as the crowd roars in excitement! The two men appear to be closely matched, both of them struggling to get the advantage over their opponent to no avail until Toxxic starts to push back on Fasaki… only for Rule to suddenly snap back and put the Straight-Edger flat on his back with a lateral twist!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

NOO!!! Once more, more egos have been shattered than bones and Toxxic kicks out!

 

“It looks like Toxxic and Dangerous weren’t the only ones with a plan here tonight,” says Pete. “Fasaki’s trying to rattle the Straight-Edger with a slew of surprising maneuvers. If he plays his cards right he might get lucky with one of them!”

 

“What the hell do you know about playing cards, Toilet-Clogger!” spits King, “Ejiro might have a few surprises up his sleeve but he’ll run out of them soon enough; and then what!?”

 

“Well, I’m not sure… that’s why they’re called surprises, King,” Longdogger replies, shrugging his shoulders. However, Fasaki knows that he’s already pushed his luck far enough and a tag is what he desperately needs right about now! He starts to make his way towards his corner as Jenkins eagerly coaches him to make the tag…

 

CRACK!

 

…and once more the Barracuda bolts into the ring, races to the other corner and blasts Hollywood in the face, knocking him down from the apron!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

“Man,” Pete says, frustrated, ‘the Barracuda sure isn’t making any friends here in Egypt tonight - that’s the second uncalled for attack that he’s made now!”

 

“Well I sure never hear you complaining when he’s doing it as a part of Wild and Dangerous,” King counters with a glaring eye at his announcing partner. “He’s doing exactly what he knows - winning tag team matches by any means necessary. Johnny knowing when to jump into the match to keep the momentum in his teams favor is one of the main reasons Toxxic asked the Barracuda for his help!”

 

Knowing that the Suicide King is right, Pete simply concedes the argument as Herrington admonishes Dangerous for the less than sportsmanlike tactics then orders him back out of the ring. Dangerous strolls back towards the apron with the slightest bit of hesitation, freeing up the referee’s attention as he knows Hollywood can’t resist coming into the ring for revenge now and as expected, Spike hops back onto the apron, leaps to the top rope, and springs towards his former Leader to catch him with a missile drop kick!

 

CRACK!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

 

The crowd erupts when the Brit goes tumbling end-over-end before finally crashing into the mat! Spike pounces on Toxxic and starts chocking the ever-loving shit out of him, and it’s all the referee can do to try and pry Hollywood off the legal man!

 

“Chaos ensues in the ring,” reports King. “You think this referee could keep a tighter control on Jenkins and keep him from illegally interfering in this match!”

 

“You mean like Dangerous?” Pete appallingly asks, “He’s the one who started this whole mess by running in and punching Spike on the apron!”

 

“He was provoked!” snaps King. Fasaki pulls himself up by the ropes just in time to catch sight of Johnny racing towards him from the corner of his eye. When Dangerous closes in, thinking that he has the drop on Rule, Ejiro suddenly ducks down and hauls the Barracuda over with a quick fireman’s carry, “-and straight over the top rope to the thinly-padded concrete floor below!” exclaims Pete, “It looks like the surprises are still a plenty for our beloved World Champion!”

 

WHACK!

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!”

 

Johnny cries out in sheer agony after hitting the floor. He sits up on his knee and holds dearly to his right shoulder while cringing. From inside the ring, a smile crawls onto Ejiro’s face and he glares devilishly towards his pain-ridden opponent. Fasaki quickly swivels his head back and forth to get a beat on the whereabouts of his other opponent and his partner as well. The latter is finally returning to the apron as the Straight-Edge Sensation rocks back and forth on his knees with both hands gripping his neck. Fasaki steps towards his corner man and tags him in, then carefully begins explaining something to Jenkins while looking back and pointing towards the Barracuda on the outside of the ring.

 

“Apparently,” Pete begins to explain, “Ejiro realizes that he may have inadvertently opened up a sore spot on the Barracuda and if he and Spike can keep the pressure on that shoulder they could really turn the tables on this match.”

 

“What a bright idea,” King mockingly replies. “If only Johnny were actually the legal man that plan could work, but he isn’t, you dolt!”

 

“Which makes it all the trickier - they’ve got to somehow get Dangerous to tag in,” continues LDP. “If they can get that accomplished all the tag team experience in the world won’t help this unholy team in the least!”

 

“I don’t get why it’s ‘unholy’,” King mutters, “it’s not like it’s Dace or Danny in there…”

 

Spike and Ejiro appear to have finished their discussion and Fasaki turns around to head towards his beleaguered straight-edge opponent. However, Spike seems to have other ideas about who should get the ball rolling and reaches into the ring to tag his partner on the back!

 

*smak!*

 

“Blind tag by Spike!” LDP exclaims in surprise, “I wonder what Fasaki thinks of that?”

 

Not a lot, seems to be the answer. Ejiro wheels round to confront the Hollywood Superstar and actually throws a hand out to block Jenkins’ entrance into the ring. A heated discussion follows as the two men abandon their civility from the start of the match to demand that the other steps out to the apron…

 

“Teamwork is a wonderful thing,” King notes with some amusement.

 

…and finally, Ejiro concedes with bad grace. The Rule steps through the ropes and grabs the tag rope, then suddenly seems to remember something and calls Spike back over. Hollywood is evidently annoyed at being distracted from his intended target - who is now starting to get back to his feet, still clutching at his throat - and Fasaki leans forward to offer his last word of advice…

 

*smak!*

 

…and tags himself back in!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The roar of the crowd is not only because they might now finally get to see someone lay the Smarkdown on Toxxic, but also because as Fasaki steps through the ropes Spike cuts him off and backs the World Champion up against the turnbuckles. Ejiro is having none of it and shoves Spike backwards, but as he steps forward Spike regains his balance and replies in kind!

 

“It’s breaking down!” Pete calls as Ejiro collides backfirst with the turnbuckles again. “Don’t forget, Ejiro was unintentionally responsible for Spike’s most recent loss to Toxxic when he tried to interfere in their Hardcore match in Jakarta, and you can bet your bottom dollar that Spike hasn’t forgotten!”

 

Ejiro steps forward and goes nose-to-nose with Spike, the two volatile cruiserweights exchanging heated words as their teamwork seems to go out of the window. Toxxic looks over at his opponents to see them otherwise engaged, then back at his own corner where Johnny Dangerous is clambering back up to the apron nursing his right arm. The Straight-Edge Sensation’s breath is still coming a little hard so he reaches out and tags in his partner for the evening…

 

*smak!*

 

…and after a moment to confer, they charge across the ring at Spike and Fasaki!

 

“It’s a ruse,” Pete yells, “they persuaded Toxxic to tag Johnny in!”

 

*WHAM!*

 

*WHAM!*

 

“Noo-ooo,” King replies as Johnny and Toxxic wipe their opposition out with stereo spinning heel kicks, “they really are that dumb.”

 

Toxxic and Johnny grab Spike first and haul the Hollywood Superstar to his feet, then each grabs his hair and trunks before launching him over the top rope out to the concrete floor!

 

“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

With Jenkins out of the way Johnny brings the slightly dazed Ejiro up and hotshots him onto the top rope, then takes one of the Rule’s legs under each arm to bring his opponent horizontal while Toxxic bounces off the ropes behind them and leaps over Johnny’s head…

 

“Slam Dance!” King yells as the Straight-Edge Sensation lands BUTT-first on Ejiro’s back. “A vintage Wild & Dangerous move performed to perfection by this duo - in fact,” the Gambling Man continues, “I note that Toxxic’s execution of his role was actually rather superior to Wildchild’s normal carnival tumbling!”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Pete wittily rejoins. Meanwhile Toxxic sees referee Herrington bearing down on him and wielding the dreaded five-count, so he looks for a way to exit the ring. Out on the floor Spike Jenkins is starting to pick himself up…

 

“OI! WANKER!”

 

Rather amusingly, Jenkins does indeed look up just as a 218lb human missile planchas himself over the top rope and onto him! As British Airways performs an emergency landing in Hollywood, Johnny tries to take advantage of the Slam Dance and covers Ejiro…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Fasaki kicks out, not willing to go down just yet! Grunting, Johnny picks Ejiro up and hooks him for a suplex before hoisting the World Champion up and over…

 

*BANG!*

 

…and down! However, instead of going for the rolling verticals Johnny clutches at his shoulder, clearly in pain from his unexpected trip over the top rope. This pain stops the Barracuda from continuing with his offence in the expected way, so instead he brings Ejiro up again before taking the Rule’s weight onto his shoulders in a more balanced way with a Fireman’s Carry. Once vertical, Johnny takes a couple of quick steps forwards before rolling and crushing his opponent’s torso against the canvas with the Spinal Explosion!

 

*CLANG!*

 

Meanwhile, the cameras attention is drawn to the outside where Toxxic just sent Spike Jenkins backfirst into the steel steps! The crash draws the attention of Red Herrington who begins berating the two wayward wrestlers, but he doesn’t have the time to take his eyes off the ring as Johnny presses his advantage and begins firing off stomps into Ejiro’s back.

 

“Well, Johnny’s certainly trying to work Ejiro over,” Pete comments.

 

“Welcome to the world of wrestling,” King snorts, “you’re supposed to win, Drain-Clogger.”

 

However, the truth of Pete’s comment is borne out as Dangerous pulls the wincing Fasaki upright again and then slips behind him. In another moment the Barracuda has placed his head under Ejiro’s left arm and grabbed his left leg, then hoists up and backwards…

 

“MMMMMIIIIIIIIIIII SSSSSSSLLLLLLAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMM!!” Pete yells despite himself…

 

…but Ejiro slips out of the move and lands behind Johnny! The surprised Secret Agent turns, only to have Fasaki grab his right arm and twist in an armwringer, then lift one leg over the trapped limb and drop down to the canvas!

 

*BANG!*

 

“Fasaki Fuser!” Pete shouts. “Johnny knew it was only a matter of time before Ejiro launched a counter-offensive at that shoulder and tried to put Fasaki away first, but the World Champion was too wily!”

 

Johnny Dangerous tries to tuck his hurt right arm in to protect it but Ejiro is having none of it and readjusts his position to lock a Fujiwara armbar in on the unfortunate secret service operative. Johnny cries out in pain and starts scrabbling on the mat in an attempt to reach the ropes but it looks like the World Champion has got him trapped in the middle of the ring…

 

*WHAM!*

 

…that is, until Toxxic reappears and nearly takes Ejiro’s face off with a kick that would have done any Liverpool penalty taker proud! The exasperated Straight-Edge Sensation glares down at Johnny and audibly barks ‘do I have to do everything myself?’ - before a battered Spike Jenkins reaches into the ring, grabs his enemy’s ankles and pulls, first dumping Toxxic forward onto his face and then hauling him underneath the ropes where the Hollywood Superstar begins pounding him with Shoteis and forearm strikes!

 

“Apparently so,” King answers the British punk. Meanwhile Johnny forces himself upright, right arm cradled close to his body, then boots Ejiro in the gut as the Rule tries to emulate him. With no breath in his lungs Ejiro remains doubled over and Johnny places his right leg over Fasaki’s head in preparation for the Guillotine Face Driver… but Ejiro realises the danger and straightens sharply! Johnny manages to compensate for the counter and completes a backflip before landing on his feet but Ejiro lunges forward and grabs Johnny’s arm again, then brings the Barracuda down…

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“COOOOOOOOOBRA CROSSFACE!” Pete hollers as Ejiro tries to trap Johnny’s arm between his legs, but before the World Champion can hook the crossface portion of the hold in Johnny is already rolling forwards to get his head out of reach, then uses his trapped arm to his advantage as, despite the pain, he rolls Ejiro back onto his shoulders!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TTTHHHHHH-

-but Ejiro kicks out, and the moment he rolls backwards up to his feet the World Champion reaches out and pokes the advancing Johnny in the eye!

 

“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“I don’t know how you can cheer for any of this lot, Pete,” King notes. “If Comet was here he’d be having a fit right now.”

 

[unbeknownst to the commentators, wrestlers and most of the fans, at that exact moment a familiar figure in spandex appears in Row Z and opens his mouth…

 

“CYYYYYYYC-”

 

…and is cut off as Bobby Riley wraps his hand around his mouth before hauling the Superhero away, oblivious to his (largely muffled) protests.]

 

Meanwhile in the ring, Ejiro is expecting to be admonished by Red Herrington for his illegal use of the thumb. However, the World Champion quickly realises that the referee is distracted by the ongoing brawl on the outside between Spike and Toxxic - who are currently trying, in defiance of the laws of physics, to throw each other into the steel guardrail at the same time. Seeing this, Ejiro decides that enough is enough and reaches inside his tights…

 

“Uh-oh!” King exclaims in a cartoonish voice, “it’s CHAIN TIME! I guess the bad guys should flee from this righteous CHEATING, right Pete?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Johnny is rubbing at his face as Fasaki takes one more quick check on the position of the referee as he wraps the chain around his fist, then advances on the Secret Agent and draws back his right hand…

 

…but Johnny still has one eye that works.

 

*CRACK!*

 

“Johnny Kick!” Pete exclaims in amazement as the Barracuda lashes out with a right boot that catches the - momentarily - surprised Ejiro on the point of the chin. “He got him!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

With Toxxic outside the ring and a long way from being actively involved in the match it might seem strange that Johnny still gets booed, having just defended himself from a chain-wielding maniac. Nonetheless, the Barracuda isn’t going to waste any time hanging around to justify himself to a bunch of Egyptians so he heads for the nearest turnbuckle and begins to climb as fast as he can with one arm…

 

…on the outside, Spike Yakuza kicks Toxxic clean over the guardrail, then clambers over to follow him…

 

…Red Herrington turns around and sees the chain on the mat near Ejiro’s limp hand. The referee kicks it away…

 

..and only just gets out of the way of Johnny Dangerous as he comes down with a Shooting Star Press!

 

*BANG!!*

 

“SHOOTING JOHNNY PRESS!” King shouts. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been glad to see that!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!”

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Unbelievably, a Johnny Dangerous win is met by universal boos as the Barracuda painfully rises off Ejiro, clutching a shoulder hurt yet more by his landing. However, for the moment the crowd reaction doesn’t seem to be bothering the secret agent as he realises what he’s done.

 

He’s pinned the World Champion. Clean.

 

“The Shooting Johnny Press was the move that won Johnny Dangerous the World Title,” Pete reminds viewers, “ironically from his tag team partner tonight, Toxxic! Now that same move has helped him pin the World Champion again, and with 13th Hour only a week away it must be a strong argument to put the Barracuda in the main event!”

 

“Given that Toxxic’s taking on Spike Jenkins, Mak Francis is tied up with roid-monkey Williams and there isn’t really anyone else competent to hold the belt, I’d say it’s as good a choice as any,” King grumbles.

 

In the crowd, a mismatched group of officials and security personnel struggle to separate Toxxic and Spike Jenkins, who are not only still standing but still trying to kill each other. Johnny Dangerous, mid-ring, is standing tall over the prone figure of Ejiro Fasaki...

 

When I was back in seminary school…

 

The crowd immediately bursts into a mixed reaction of cheers and boos as they hear Jim Morrison’s voice over the speakers.

 

There was a person there who put forth the proposition

That you can petition the Lord with prayer.

 

Petition the Lord with prayer?

 

Petition the Lord with prayer?!

 

 

 

YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER!

 

With that, a blue explosion lights up the stage, and smoke billows everywhere as the opening strains of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” ring out through the Cairo International Arena. The crowd stays mixed – some fans appreciate his purist stance toward wrestling. Some hate that he won’t give them what they want to see.

 

All of them, however, recognize one thing.

 

Regardless of what they think of his booking, the man who is about to step through that curtain will, without a doubt, go down in history as the greatest ever.

 

As he steps onto the stage, Tom Flesher is met with a polite ovation, if one that seems a little strained. He pauses for a moment, adjusting the collar of his light blue shirt, then smoothing the khaki summer suit he wears in the balmy Egyptian air. After another moment of crowd noise, the Smarkdown commissioner raises his hand in the air, and after a few seconds the arena goes quiet enough for him to speak.

 

“I have to tell you, gentlemen, I’m not pleased.”

 

Flesher has rarely been known to pull punches on the mic, but for some reason he seems even more blunt than usual tonight.

 

“If you’ll pardon the venue,” he says in clipped tones, “I thought that there were some things I needed to say to the lot of you that really couldn’t wait.”

 

“As you know, we’ll be traveling just across the Mediterranean Sea this week. We’re going to end up in the Vatican City, where we’ve been able to secure St. Peter’s Square for our pay-per-view event, 13th Hour.” Flesher pauses for a moment, letting the crowd pop, and then continues. “Frankly, gentlemen, we’re on a world tour. This is serious, serious business. We’re carting you around, taking you through South America, showing you Australia… we took you to Japan. We put you on display in front of the greatest fans in the world, and then we took you to an island resort. All we asked was that you put on a good show, wrestle with heart.”

 

He stops, shaking his head and attempting to collect his thoughts.

 

“Frankly, I expected better.”

 

“Ejiro Fasaki, you should be ashamed of yourself. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you lately, but you are not carrying yourself like a World Champion. You get a match with Lil’ Buck, because Sean Combs is a fan of his… and you barely eke that out. After seeing the performance you put on, I was half tempted to pull that belt off you and put it up for a tournament. You dethroned Toxxic, Jir. For god’s sake, you took the strap off of ME. Well, I’ll tell you something, Ejiro. You beat Buck, but you didn’t do it convincingly… and Sean Combs isn’t his only fan. I don’t care what happened between then and now, I care about what happens when the two of YOU are in the ring together.”

 

Flesher takes a deep breath, but catches himself before he continues his rant.

 

“Ejiro, you’re defending against Buck next Sunday. If you beat him convincingly, maybe I’ll take you seriously as the athlete I know you can be and as the man I used to travel with and respect. Otherwise, frankly, I’m going to keep thinking of you as a shell of the person I knew.”

 

Flesher turns toward Spike Jenkins, and the commissioner’s blue eyes turn to a steely gaze.

 

“And you, Spike Jenkins… do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in? You of all people should know what kind of a danger it is to put something in someone’s drink. You of all people should be able to respect Toxxic’s choice not to participate in some of life’s greatest pleasures.”

 

“You of all people should know that this is MY show, and you don’t f**k with Tom Flesher’s show.”

 

“Spike, there will be consequences. I promise, there will be consequences. It doesn’t matter if I have to go through Peters, if I have to call the whole committee together, or if I have to raise half the dead in the world to do it. You will pay for what you did to Toxxic, not because I have any special affinity for the whiney limey but because you decided you could f**k with me.”

 

Flesher takes a deep breath. He collects himself for a moment, and then continues.

 

“So, in short, I have to say that the two of you have presented a problem for me. The three of you, actually… Johnny Dangerous, just consider everything I said to Ejiro and remove the parts where I discussed his success. Sure, you pinned him tonight... but he would have gone down for the count if Melissa looked at him funny. You’re as listless as he is, but with half the potential. Start bringing it, or consider yourself on the chopping block.”

 

“But I digress.”

 

“Ejiro, it’s true that traditionally the World Champion wrestles in the main event of the pay-per-view. On the other hand, it’s true that traditionally the World Champion is at the top of his game. You are not,” says Flesher matter-of-factly, “so you will not.”

 

Flesher pauses. The crowd gasps collectively; as he expected, some of them boo. Once again, he raises his hand. This time, the crowd isn’t silenced, but he does manage to get them down to a dull roar so he can continue.

 

“That naturally leaves,” he continues, “the highly-anticipated grudge match to fill the main event slot. Obviously, the logical choice is to put Toxxic versus ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins in the top slot. It’ll draw, as they say in the back. The kids want to see it.”

 

“Spike, I told you there would be consequences. This is just the beginning. I hope you enjoyed main-eventing tonight. It’s the last one you’ll ever be in, as far as I’m concerned. Toxxic, I’d say that I’m sorry you won’t be headlining 13th Hour, but frankly, if you’re willing to drink something that an emptyheaded bimbo handed to you, you’re too stupid to be the SWF’s standard-bearer.”

 

Flesher pauses once again. This time, having offended nearly everyone in the crowd, he accepts a hearty round of boos.

 

“Come on, guys,” he says. “All I’m doing is rewarding good behavior… and punishing bad.”

 

He looks around at the signs being held up, and at the faces of the fans. Nearly every sign involves one of the four wrestlers in the ring.

 

“So, with the ‘natural’ choices out of the way,” he continues, “I had to really think. I want to reward good behavior. It’s true. And… frankly… who’s been putting on a better face for the fans than…”

 

He pauses for effect, unable to keep a small smirk from crossing his face.

 

“Wildchild and Scott Pretzler.”

 

The crowd, shocked, is finally silent.

 

“Admit it. You were on your feet tonight. So were the fans in the Seychelles who had the distinct pleasure of seeing that submission match live. At St. Peter’s Square, everyone – everyone – will be on their feet when they see the final match in the series… especially when the match is main-eventing the show. There’s only one more bridge to cross.”

 

“Wildchild got the advantage tonight. Pretzler had it in match one. Who gets it in match three?”

 

Flesher once again pauses, and once again smirks.

 

“Neither of you. And this isn’t going to end with a fluke… oh no. One of you is going to come out on top, and you’re going to do it decisively.”

 

“30 minutes, gentlemen. Iron Man.”

 

With that, Tom Flesher turns crisply on his heel and walks back behind the curtain. With the crowd and the wrestlers in stunned silence, the SWF Smarkdown telecast fades to black.

 

===

SWF Smarkdown, June 6, 2005.

© Superiority Complex Promotions. All rights reserved.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation: “Raising workrate by typing faster.”