Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 Though it is late at night, the Basilica of St. Peter is abuzz with activity. A queue of faithful pilgrims seems to stretch for miles, beginning outside the chapel and continuing to the splendid altar at its head. There are people of all ages, shapes, sizes, and colors – black, white, off-white, even the occasional Klingon – but all are here for one reason and one reason only: to receive the blessing of His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI. A hooded figure, his face concealed in shadow, waits patiently near the front of the line. His eyes are cast downward. He has been here for a long time. The line moves on. One by one, they are blessed by the pope. At last, the cloaked figure steps up to the altar. He kneels. The Holy Father looks down at him and is about to perform the blessing, but he holds up a halting hand. “Wait,” he says. “There is something I must ask of you.” Benedict frowns. His guards move in suspiciously, guns ready. This is not customary at all. The figure stands. “I am not what you might call a believer. But on this night, I request a favor.” Scott Pretzler throws off his cloak, revealing full wrestling attire. “Your Holiness, I am a professional wrestler. Tonight I am scheduled to face a man who has beaten me on many occasions in the past… and to be quite honest, I have much doubt that I can come through with a victory. All I ask is that you pray for me, and through our Lord grant me the strength to defeat my opponent.” The pope is very puzzled, as is everyone else in the basilica. Finally, he lays a gentle hand on Pretzler’s shoulder. “My son, why do ask this of me? Lord Jesus answers the prayers of all, even a humble servant like yourself. You do not need my assistance in this.” Pretzler’s eyes narrow. “So you refuse me?” “My son—“ “As I said, I don’t even believe in God. Nor do I support a corrupt and evil organization that for centuries has condoned pedophilia, genocide…” He whirls around to face the congregation, holding his arms out in a dramatic gesture. “…and abuses of all other natures under the sun. Your church is an abomination, Ratzinger. And it does not help one bit that it is led by a flag-waving member of the Nazi party!” Everyone in the room is shocked to silence. The pontiff’s face is contorted into a mask of rage; his mouth works but emits no sound. “Once a Nazi, always a Nazi. I spit on your church. I spit on this city. And above all, Your Holiness, I spit on you.” His tirade winding down, Pretzler turns away from the pope and is about to exit the cathedral when a hand taps him on the back. He turns around. Pope Benedict XVI is staring at him with cold unblinking eyes. He flings off his robes. Underneath is a white singlet lined with gold. His wrists are taped, and on his feet he sports a pair of tightly-laced grappling boots. He cracks his knuckles with menace. … “My child,” he says in a low voice, “are you calling me out?” … Pretzler’s eyes rove up and down the portly yet surprising fit body of the former Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger. He’s certainly been hitting the gym lately. But soon he will be hitting something else – namely, the basilica floor, when his ass is TAPPING OUT! *WHAM!* Pretzler answers the challenge with a thunderous elbow smash. Benedict reels from the blow before responding with an elbow of his own, sending the congregation into a frenzy of cheering. ”YEEEAAAHHH!” He follows with a knife-edged chop. ”WOOOOOOOOOOO!” Hooking an arm around Benedict’s head, Pretzler knees him in the gut and attempts to muscle him into an over-the-hip takedown – but with a sudden burst of energy belying his age, the pontiff counters with a crisp back body drop. Pretzler falls… …right through the glistening brass of Benedict’s massive papal chair! *CRUNCH!* The seat gives way beneath the force of the move, breaking into dozens of tiny fragments. Pretzler groans and rolls over, and the pope turns to face his audience. Slowly but with authority, he raises his fist into the air. ”HO-LY FATHER! HO-LY FATHER!” He reaches down and picks up the quivering form of his broken foe. Placing Pretzler in a standing headscissors, he solemnly makes the sign of the cross before reaching down and locking both arms around his waist. He heaves Pretzler into the air and over his shoulders, until he is suspended in the crucifix position that sets up the most feared move in all of the Holy See: THE… LAST… COMMUNION! Suddenly, however, Pretzler wriggles free and lands behind him. He spins around to face the Canadian… who boots him in the gut and piledrives him onto the unforgiving stone of the altar! *WHUMP!* The fight is driven out of the pontiff upon impact. He slumps onto his side and twitches. Pretzler sits up. He lifts Benedict so he is sitting up and crosses both arms over his chest. He twists so he is straddling the pope’s body. The Snowflake Clutch is locked in tight! “Give up, you useless figurehead! Submit!” Pretzler snarls through gritted teeth. Benedict struggles with all of his Heaven-sent strength. “I… submit… only… to… “JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESUS!” With this proclamation, he makes a last effort to break free of the hold, but it is no use. The bones in his neck begin to separate… His face turns a deep and unholy purple… A red haze clouds his vision… Having had enough, Benedict’s bodyguards finally reach down and pry Pretzler away from his prey. They drag him down the aisle and toss him forcefully out of the cathedral. On the altar, the pontiff stirs. He immediately feels a sharp pain in his neck and collapses again as medical aides swarm over him. His body is moved to a stretcher and carried away to an ambulance. But before he vanishes from view, Pope Benedict XVI can be heard gasping through strained vocal cords. “I… never… submitted. “It… was… a… screwjob!” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF 13TH HOUR, JUNE 12, 2005, LIVE FROM ST. PETER'S SQUARE IN THE VATICAN CITY! (10:00 PM EST, 7:00 PM PST; check local listings) (send everything to Chuck Woolery) After the strongest Smarkdown in a long time, the SWF travels from Egypt to the Vatican City for the final stop of the world-wide leg of the It's The End Of The World (And We Like It) tour, and the first stop on the European leg! Feuds have been simmering for weeks, Smarkdown brought them to a boil and added some fresh spice into the mix, and this Sunday in the Vatican, dinner is served! MAIN EVENT 30-MINUTE IRON MAN MATCH Wildchild v. "The Critic" Scott Pretzler -> And so, it all comes down to this. The number one contendership to the Cruiserweight championship happens to be on the line as well, but for these two men there is so much more at stake. After years of trying to start, revitalize, and save the Cruiserweight division, Wildchild -- with some help from Scott Pretzler -- has succeeded in bringing cruiserweight wrestling to the main event of an SWF pay-per-view. After their submissions match and their zero-gravity match, both of these men have all right to be exhausted, but they'll gut it out one last time, for one half-hour, to determine who really is the best. Rules: Twenty-count outside the ring. Pinfalls, submissions, count-outs, and disqualifications all count as one point. The person with the most points at the end of the thirty-minute round will be declared the winner. If the two men are tied after thirty minutes, there will be a thirty-second rest period followed by a sudden-death overtime. SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Ejiro Fasaki (SWF World Heavyweight Champion) v. Lil' Buck -> And from a story of hatred to a story of... lackadaisicalness? Sorry, the word was in my head. Ejiro Fasaki's reign as World champion has been less than stellar, marked most recently by another loss to Johnny Dangerous in tag competition. Remarkably, Dangerous is unbooked tonight, and after a brief meeting, SWFCC decided that Lil' Buck would receive another shot at the champ. Can Buck pull it out this time, or will Ejiro Fasaki finally start to shine again? Rules: Standard. GRUDGE MATCH Danny Williams v. "The Franchise" Mak Francis -> Does this even need an explanation? Francis has debuted a new move. It's deadly and illegal in Utah, Montana, and the island of Puerto Rico -- luckily, none of those are stops on the second leg of our World tour. Danny Williams has called Francis out, saying that he's resorting to dishonest tactics, something like that. Personally, I wouldn't mind if Mak brought a gun to the ring and pistol-whipped people, but I like feeding into stereotypes. Anyway, Danny's going to try to beat some sense and respect into Mak, and Mak's going to make Danny bleed enough to fill the tank on an H2. Rules: Standard, as far as I know. If there's a stip, you should both know it. LAST MAN STANDING Toxxic v. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins -> Spiking other people's drinks is not cool, and Toxxic is out for blood. God only knows what Toxxic took (LSD), but whatever it was it was most certainly against the rules of straight-edgedom, and anything that makes Toxxic break his Zen-like control over his body's intake is cause for a beatdown. Jenkins has been itching for his shot at Toxxic since Indonesia, and now he gets it. Careers have been ended in Last Man Standing matches... and with Toxxic's fury, it's more than likely that Spike Jenkins will be the next name on that list. Rules: Disqualifications and count-outs do not apply. A pinfall or submission is cool, but in order to win the match you must render your opponent unable to stand up for ten counts. SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP LET MY PEOPLE GO! MATCH Arch Griffon (SWF International Champion) v. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke -> Griffon and Hawke have issues, all of which revolve around the International Championship. In Jakarta, Hawke retained his belt through rather... nefarious means, and Sean Combs was so outraged that he granted Griffon an immediate rematch. In Seychelles, Griffon made good, walking away with the belt. In the Vatican, somebody's going to walk away with the belt... can Hawke become the first-ever two-time International champion, or will Arch Griffon prove that Hawke just can't win by himself? Rules: Restholds have been outlawed for this match. It will be referee Nick Soapdish's discretion as to what is and what is not a resthold. When he spots a resthold being applied, he will make a certain signal to an organist who has a church organ set up at ringside. The organ will blare. This is the signal to release the hold. If the combatant doesn't do this, the organ will blare a second time about two seconds after the initial sound. This will get rid of annoying five counts. If it blares twice, the attacker is disqualified. SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS Martial Law ("Urban Legend" Todd Cortez and Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix, SWF Tag Team Champions) v. THE MYSTERIOUS ARMY (??? and ???) -> Manson and Arch Griffon are booked. Wildchild is booked. So Joseph Peters and Tom Flesher made some phone calls, and here's THE MYSTERIOUS ARMY to take on Martial Law for the tag belts. It should be fun... and MYSTERIOUS. Rules: Standard tag. SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP STAINED GLASS WINDOW PAIN MATCH Insane Luchadore (SWF Hardcore Champion) v. Manson v. "The Maniac" Bryan Rodgers v. Zyon -> Look at all the stained glass windows in the Vatican City. Let's smash them. Rules: A competitor is eliminated when they are thrown through a stained-glass window. The last man remaining in the match wins. 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Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 Pete: We are starting 13th Hour out with a bang of violence in this four-way stained glass window pain match! King: Well that was a mouth full. Pete: As for the rules, the match will start in the ring and end…someplace in the Vatican city. The winner will be the only person not thrown through a window… The fans in the Vatican are going insane as 13th Hour begins with these frightening words… “The world is a vampire!!” The fans rise to their feet as the “Maniac” himself Bryan Rodgers makes his way out to cheers and minor boos from those who simply don’t like him cause of his “style.” Funyon: Coming to the ring hailing from Richmond, Virginia “Maniac” Bryan Rodgers!! “Sent to drai-ai-ain!!” Bryan shows off this “style” by whipping out a Marlboro and lights it. “Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames” “And what do I get, for my pain” Bryan quickly puts the cigarette out though as he knows this could be the biggest match in his career on such a grand stage. “Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game” ”Even though I know-I suppose I'll show” ”All my cool and cold-like old job” After smacking a few fans hands the “Maniac” makes his way to the apron and then calmly wipes his combat boots off before entering the ring. His theme continues as Bryan Rodgers taunts the crowd with his signature “Too much evil for one hand” pinky to lips. Bryan then goes over to a random turnbuckle and checks his taped wrists while he waits for his opponents. The lights in the Vatican dim as the statements… “I’m Born.” “I’m Alive.” “I Breathe.” Appear on the Smarktron as they alternate at an intense rate giving the fans something to look at as “Vitamin” by Incubus blares across the holy city. As the song plays SWF’s newest attraction Zyon makes his way out to the thousands in attendance. The fans give a similar reaction to Zyon as they did Bryan Rodgers. Funyon: Now entering the arena coming to us from Elkhart, Indiana Zyon!! The youth makes his way down to the ring smacking a few fans hands and then leaping on to the apron where he takes a second to view his massive surroundings. Then Zyon grabs the top rope and gently flips himself into the ring landing on his feet with ease. His theme then kicks into the chorus… “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.” Zyon then performs his own signature taunt which is a quick headband followed by a minor intense rising of the arms. The youth then heads over to his own turnbuckle as he waits along with the “Maniac” for one last challenger and then the champion himself. The lights on the Vatican once again dim as “Crusher Destroyer” by Mastodon kills SWF’s sound system as red strobes flash throughout the Square. The fans are once again cheering for yet another SWF face. The cheers only get louder as the man himself Manson enters devil horns in the air. King: Kind of odd for devil horns to get cheers. Suicide King points out to those at home as the no nonsense Manson enters the ring via under the ropes and goes straight to his corner… Funyon: Now in the ring hailing from Denver, Colorado “The Raging Bull” Manson!! Funyon makes the late announcement just as “Man In The Box” by Alice In Chains hits the city… Yes…the champ is here. Funyon: Now making his way to the ring hailing from Easton, Pennsylvania THE SWF HARDCORE CHAMPION INSANNNNNEEE LUCHADOR!!!! The champ comes sprinting down to the ring, but before entering the ring he places the hardcore title to the side and then energetically enters the ring expecting a brawl to start, but the three challengers show some restraint as Luchador makes his way to his corner. King: You know…I really don’t like any of these guys. They should all just kill each other. Pete: Well, that is probably what each competitor is planning. Referee Mark Hebner is in the ring even though to be honest he is only there to witness three men going through glass and that is it. The fans are like a volcano ready to erupt as the ref signals for the bell… DING, DING, DING!!! The opening match for 13th Hour has begun. The all circle around…wait scratch that this is a hardcore opener. The Insane Luchador rushes up to the man who took the title away from him not to long ago…that man being Manson. Luchador places a right had into Manson and then goes to throw him over the ropes and to the outside, but Manson counters and throws Insane Luchador to the outside…or that’s what he thought at least. Pete: Manson better turn around. Manson though is quickly surprised by a right fore arm from the new comer Zyon, which then leads him into Insane Luchador who grabs Manson and performs an inside to the outside suplex on to the concrete floor. Zyon and Bryan Rodgers are left in the ring, but that doesn’t last long as the “Maniac” takes Zyon down with a clothesline, and then sets his sights to IL and Manson who are now on the outside brawling. Bryan Rodgers runs and performs a suicide dive on to the two brawling, which gets the fans to cheer. Pete: What a suicide dive!! Zyon is left in the ring collecting himself after the clothesline that downed him. As he rises to his feet he notices that the other three are on the outside rising to their feet…but not for long. Zyon then sprints and leaps over the top rope and performs a forward flip suicide dive on to Bryan Rodgers and Manson. Insane Luchador saw it coming and got out of the way. Zyon is back on his feet and plays to the crowd only to turn around into… CRACK!!!! Pete: Damn!! King: Yeah I agree… Zyon is knocked silly by Insane Luchador who cracked the youth over the head with a steal chair. Luchador drops the dented chair and grabs Manson up to his feet and the two veterans go deeper into the city. Pete: Folks there is no need to worry, there are SWF cameras planted virtually everywhere in the city. Manson gives Luchador a right hand and then gives him a power hip toss on to the concrete. The fans watching on the Smarktron lets their expression do the talking as they all grimace. Zyon and Bryan Rodgers follow suit as they exit the ringside area brawling. The “Maniac” grabs Zyon who is now wearing the crimson mask and tries to throw him face first into somebody’s home…and succeeds. Zyon bounces off of the house and into Rodgers who then sloppily slams Zyon down on to the concrete. Down the road a little is Manson and the Hardcore champ. The two are battling over a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire!! Pete: Where did they find that? King: I knew the residents here were thugs. Manson tries to slam the bat into the face of Insane Luchador, but the champ holds him off and gives the “Raging Bull” a swift kick to the testicles that drops the “bull” quickly and sufficiently. IL then goes completely sinister and looms over his fallen opponent and jabs the barbed wire into the face of Manson. Each time the insane one pulls away the skin sticks to the bat like glue…needless to say Manson is a bloody mess. The screen splits showing how a bloody Zyon as gotten the advantage on Bryan Rodgers with a right hand followed by throwing “Maniac” into a house back first. Bryan Rodgers crumbles to the ground holding on to his back as Zyon looks around and finds a brick lying around… King: Well this is getting good. Zyon walks over toward the brick, but COMPLETELY out of nowhere Zyon is met with a barbed wire baseball bat to the face instantly dropping the challenger. Standing over Zyon is Insane Luchador who then picks the brick up and looks to the side where Bryan Rodgers used to be…but he is gone Insane Luchador has bigger problems though as Manson sneaks up behind the champ and punches him right in the rib causing Luchador to drop the brick and clutch his side. The champ then turns around and is met with a belly-to-belly suplex that slams Insane Luchador down on to the concrete. Manson then turns and drops Zyon who was trying to get to his feet with an aggressive kick to the head… CRUNCH!!! Pete: Oh MY…goodnight!! My that must have been a mighty strong kick, huh. Actually though it wasn’t the kick which is obvious as Manson is on the ground and pieces of the brick is scattered all over as “Maniac” Bryan Rodgers is the last man standing…but that is later on in the card. Bryan only has a few seconds to think though as Zyon reaches his feet his face totally drenched in red. The new comer runs up and goes for his signature “Snap” running front dropkick, but Bryan Rodgers just side steps him. Zyon though collects himself and lands on his feet just to turn into am attempted barbed wire baseball bat swing…that misses. Zyon was able to duck and then leaps into the air from a crotched position and hurricarana’s Bryan Rodgers down. Zyon tries to get to his feet, but before he can Insane Luchador grabs Zyon and tries to throw him through the dreaded GLASS!!! King: Elimination one…oh wait. King speaks too soon as Zyon puts on the breaks and sends Insane Luchador face first into the building where the window is located. Zyon then grinds Luchador’s face into the brick building causing scrapes and minor bleeding. Insane Luchador falls to the ground and Zyon then performs a quick mudhole stomping before turning into a clothesline performed by a bloody Manson who now has a mighty noticeable lump on the back of his head. Pete: That is just SICK!! King: What the clothesline??? Pete can only just shake his head as the clothesline sent Zyon face first into the building, which then causes Zyon to fall down on the road. Manson then grabs the hardcore champ up still smarting from having HIS face driven into the random building. Whatever idea Manson just had is now gone as Bryan Rodgers grabs Manson and throws him back first on to the hood of a nearby car. Insane Luchador falls back to the ground to collect himself. Rodgers then gets on to the top of the car and forces Manson up there too as the fans back in the arena are getting excited. Pete: This will end horribly for one of these men… King: Just one…this match alone is horrible for all four. Rodgers does a quick Muta taunt and then grabs Manson up and puts him in the position for the “Best Damn Brainbuster EVER!!!” The fans are on their feet, but before the “Maniac” can perform the deadly move Insane Luchador butts in and kicks Bryan Rodgers in the gut causing Manson to simply fall from a vertical position down to the concrete. The Insane Luchador then shows everyone what brought him to the dance as he grabs Rodgers and… ABSOLUTELY KILLS THE “MANIAC!!!” Pete: ….Man! The fans cheer as Insane Luchador just performed his signature evenflow DDT on to Bryan Rodgers on top of the car. Bryan Rodgers limply rolls off the side of the car and down to the concrete as the fans start a “Insane Luchador CLAP CLAP CLAP” Chant. Manson gets back to his feet, but the hardcore champion drops him with an off the car double ax handle. Insane Luchador though gets no time to rest as Zyon walks up and… SMACK!! In one flawless and deadly flick of the wrist Zyon places a kendo stick right between the eyes of Insane Luchador causing the champ to bleed on impact. Zyon throws the broken kendo stick to the side and then… CRASH!!! Sends Insane Luchador head first into the driver’s side window of the car!! Pete: The rules state that throwing the opponent through a car window is not an elimination. King: Did you just explain a RULE to us in a HARDCORE match? Pete: Yes…Yes I did. Insane Luchador falls to the ground as Zyon notices a window nearby that would count as an elimination. Zyon then grabs Manson up as the camera pans on all the wrestlers faces showing that all men are now bleeding like they are the saving graces of a blood bank. Zyon wants to send Manson into the glass, but Manson dead weights him causing Zyon to go for a fore arm, but Manson ducks and maneuvers himself and Zyon near the vehicle and drops Zyon with a… “CONSEQUENCES!!!” “RAAAAAAA” The fans cheer, as Zyon is O…U…. T!!! Manson sees Insane Luchador back to his feet and then slides over the car dukes of hazard style just to be met with a right hand from the Hardcore champion. Insane Luchador then goes inside the nearest building, which turns out to be a church… Pete: Oh boy… King: This could be hate mail waiting to happen. Manson follows as we are once again in split screen mode. Manson enters and quickly spots Insane Luchador who whips a vase at one of his challengers. The vase breaks over the bloody face of Manson who staggers against a window…oh boy. Insane Luchador charges, but Manson snaps out of his daze and also charges and spears Insane Luchador through one of those atonement booths. Outside of the church is Zyon and Bryan Rodgers who are both just now rising to their feet. Zyon staggers over toward the “Maniac” who out of instinct kicks Zyon in the gut and slams him face first into the car. King: Man…whoever owns that car is going to be pissed. Zyon staggers backward toward a window that is apart of the church that the other two competitors are fighting in. Bryan Rodgers charges Zyon who then hip tosses Bryan Rodgers…NEAR the glass. Pete: Oh man that was close. Zyon then goes off screen for a second and then comes back with a…LADDER!! Pete: Now I must ask again, where did he find that? “YEAHHHHH!!” The fans obviously don’t care as they cheer the competitors on. Zyon uses the ladder as the weapon that it is and goes to swing in at Bryan Rodgers who is now standing, but the “Maniac” dodges via ducking. Bryan then uncharacteristically backs away from Zyon and then dives toward the car that is totally thrashed???? Zyon is in pursuit as Bryan reaches under the vehicle and pulls out a “Death Chair” which gets a “pop” from the crowd. Zyon though doesn’t care as he goes to slam the ladder on to Rodgers who is on the ground, but Bryan once again dodges and places a barbed wire chair shot to the left leg of the youth who drops the ladder and clutches is leg now bleeding from the barbed wire. Bryan’s eyes then seem to glow as he reels back and pulls forward chair in hand… CRAAAAACK!!! The barbed wire chair bends over the head of Zyon who lifelessly falls back down to the ground. “Holy Shit!!!” Yeah, that unmistakable chant echoes through the city. Bryan Rodgers then lifts the youth on top of the car that was dented earlier with the “Maniac’s” own head. Rodgers then goes to look for that ladder… The other screen shows Manson and Insane Luchador fighting their way around the church. Neither man has a distinct advantage that is until the hardcore champ finds a scepter lying around. Insane Luchador then swings over hand in an attempt to knock his opponent out, but Manson shows courage by blocking it with his hands and now we have your basic tug o’ war. King: Place your bet Pete who gets it. Pete: I don’t know! Well Pete and the rest of the viewing audience quickly finds out when Manson kicks the champ in the gut and drops him with a Russian leg sweep that was assisted with the scepter. Manson then gets on his feet and proves why some know him as “Manson the Stampede” as he overwhelms his opponent with shot after shot with the golden scepter. “Crack!!” “Crack!!!” “CRACK~~!!!” The hardcore champ is basically motionless as the “raging bull” sets his opponent up for the kill as he grabs Insane Luchador and throws him toward the glass… “CRASH!!!!” Pete: What the… King: ????? Everyone in the arena is stunned cause lying against a wall is the hardcore champ Insane Luchadore as referee Mark Hebner who was in the middle of this storm signals that there is an elimination, but it is…Bryan Rodgers??? A replay shows that Insane Luchadore was indeed launched toward the glass, but the split screen shows that Bryan Rodgers was on top of the ladder ready to go in for the kill on Zyon, but the youth was able to recuperate and he simply tilted the ladder backwards and it sent the “Maniac” through the window… Pete: Well it’s official “Maniac” Bryan Rodgers has been eliminated!!! “RAAAAHHHH!!!!!” The fans cheer after watching the replay as Bryan Rodgers is seen by medical attention that quickly carts the hardcore “Maniac” away from the action. Manson is shocked and a little pissed that his main rival in the match wasn’t eliminated. Manson leaps through the hole where a window used to be and right as he does he is blind sided by a ladder… “CLANNK!!!” The steel ladder falls to the ground as Manson falls backward leaning against the building to hold him up. Zyon calmly walks up to Manson… “SMACK!!!” Zyon hits Manson with a closed right hand…but Manson fires back by kicking Zyon in his hurt left leg. Zyon crumbles to the ground as Manson goes serial killer and grabs some shattered glass and jams it into the head of Zyon who quickly fights it off, but not before the camera gets some blood on it… King: The camera…is nothing in this world sacred anymore??? Zyon grabs his head as Manson looks to continue his punishment on Zyon, but Manson is attacked from behind by the man he almost eliminated. Insane Luchadore kicks Manson in the kidney area a few times before dropping him with a reverse DDT on to the shattered glass. “OOOO!!!” The fans echo as Manson rolls over showing cuts and scrapes across his back. Insane Luchador…well does something insane as he walks up and goes for a standing moonsault on to Manson, but Manson rolls out of the way causing Luchador to land chest first on to the shattered glass. The hardcore champ clutches chest and stomach area as he suffers the same fate as Manson… Pete: This is a bloody, bloody battle. While Manson and Insane Luchador are swimming in the glass Zyon limps his way over to the ladder and sets it up. Zyon then breaks rookie tradition by using his brains as he drags Manson away from the glass. Zyon then lifts the veteran to his feet and drops him with a quick and relatively weak “Decline!!” Pete: That’s that flatliner that he uses. King: And like all spot machines it seems Zyon has to go high risk. Blood has now stained the clothes of the SWF new comer as Zyon slowly climbs to the top of the ladder. Before he reaches the top however Insane Luchador who in all honesty shouldn’t even be walking starts to climb up the other side. Zyon simply looks on and it must be noted that he has the higher ground and should have the advantage… “SMACK!!!” Pete: What a right hand by Insane Luchador… Revenge of the Sith this is not. Zyon though quickly fires back with double the firepower as he lands two punches to the bloody face of Insane Luchador. The two competitors fight each other as Manson rises from the dead…or at least the realm of unconsciousness and releases a weak…whistle??? Pete: A whistle??? King: Yes the dreaded WHISTLE OF ALL IMPOSING DOOM!! Both Zyon and Insane Luchador look down…way down on to Manson who breaks a smile through his bloody face and then goes on to tip the ladder over. The ladder comes tumbling down as Insane Luchador uses his knowledge of the hardcore by leaping off the ladder and landing on his feet…and Zyon… “CRASH!!!!” Zyon falls to the pavement and then seems to clutch every known bone in the human body as Manson and Luchador start a sloppy brawl. The two men who have traded the title now trade rights and lefts, as Zyon is all but dead on the ground. “YEAAAHHHH!!” Did I mention that the fans are absolutely loving this? Insane Luchador gets the advantage on Manson as he grabs Manson and goes to throw him into the side of the church, but Manson puts his foot down literally and then powers Insane Luchador into a power slam right there on the street. Manson then just for good measure places a boot to the head of Zyon who is still writhing in pain from the ladder fall. Manson then grabs the Insane Luchador and leads him into a different building with windows and a staircase…OH MY!! Yes marking out for a staircase since June of 2005. Pete: Where are they now? King: No fricken idea. Manson goes to suplex Insane Luchador on to the staircase, but Luchador places his hand on the railing and forces his weight down on Manson and then kicks off a wall performing an AMZING spinning DDT on to Manson. The DDT totally folds Manson up as Insane Luchador spots a pot just sitting around. The reigning hardcore champ then waits for Manson to regain his composure before…getting the pot kicked out of his hands by Manson. Manson then simply pokes Luchador in the eye... Pete: That eye poke is about as hardcore as I get right there. King: Man insulting you now would be too easy. Manson then finds the pot himself and just LEVELS the champ across the head with it… “TING!!!” The sound echoes as Luchador falls back into what appears to be a living room… King: I guess for one night SWF owns the Vatican. Pete: I’ve just been informed that all damaged goods and materials shall be replaced by the SWF… King: That better not come from my paycheck. Insane Luchador tries to rest against a table, but is quickly met with a kick to his sternum. Luchador doubles over… “Knock, Knock…” King: Ha!! Pete: Could the owners be home? Manson “The Stampede” is confused as he goes up to the door and opens it… “SHATTTTTTERRR!!!” In the door way was Zyon who just crushed a clay pot holding dirt over the head of Manson whose face could easily be sold on Ebay as a work of art. “Let’s Go Zyon Clap Clap Clap!!” The fans cheer as Zyon walks up to Insane Luchador and is met with a lamp to the face that shatters on impact knocking the youth back near the staircase. Zyon blindly goes up the staircase as Insane Luchador gives chase. Once again Zyon has the higher ground and tries to use it to his advantage by leaping on to the Luchador and goes for a hurricarana, but Insane Luchador counters by tossing Zyon over the railing and down to a table…and through it. Pete: Holy…. King: Hey…leave that for the fans to cheer. “Holy Shit!!” And that is exactly what they cheer. Insane Luchador leans against the railing and takes a breath before heading down the stairs and grabbing Zyon up and literally throwing him out of the house. Luchador then beats Zyon from one side of the road to the other where a building is standing, but more importantly a window is in clear view. Insane Luchador then grabs Zyon and attempts to launch him into the glass…and it succeeds!! Or does it? Zyon gets his feet up and somehow uses his athleticism to run up the glass and quickly leap away from it a move only done in the Matrix movies. Keanu Reeves would be proud. Insane Luchador isn’t the least bit proud as he just LAYS into Zyon with a right hand thus proving that Zyon was not the “one” since the “one” could stop bullets let alone a measly punch. The youth staggers backward distancing himself from the window as Insane Luchador dives into the air and goes for a spinning DDT on the street, but Zyon counters by shoving Luchador away and then dropping him with a leaping clothesline. In the background is Manson who staggers his way toward the Zyon/Insane Luchador battle. King: Good to see that Manson is still alive. Pete: Well I’m sure for someone to lose the others may just have to pretty much kill him. King: And all this time I thought you just had to throw the opponent through a window. Pete: King that’s what I…oh never mind. Zyon goes to lift Insane Luchador up, but the resilient hardcore champ drops the rookie with a blatant and LEGAL low blow… “OHHHH!!!” King: It seems even the crowd felt that. Zyon doubles over in pain as Manson comes flying in at a now standing Insane Luchador and hitting him with a…kitchen sink???? King: You have got to be kidding me. Pete: This is the SWF where we use everything including the kitchen sink. Manson then throws the sink to the side as he lifts Insane Luchador up and lifts him up into a firemen’s carry, and goes to throw him through the glass window, but once again Insane Luchador stops the attempt by placing his hands against the window before Manson can turn Insane Luchador into the human dart. “Insane Luchador CLAP CLAP CLAP!!!” The fans cheer for the hardcore champ who could be seconds away from elimination, but not before putting up a fight. Luchador using one hand to block the potential end of his reign as hardcore champion and using the other ARM to beat on the head of Manson who begins to weaken with each blow…and then Zyon appears after the low blow. Manson takes his attention away from the man he is holding in the air to places a swift kick to the bleeding left leg of Zyon, which causes the youngster to crumble to the ground…but the one with the real advantage now is Insane Luchador who slides down the back of Manson and lifts him up for a…”GoreGasm” into the window!!!!!! Pete: This could possibly end the mans career. King: Yeah well it’s to be expected in this violent environment. Manson however values his career and the hardcore title as he flips out of the potential finisher. Manson then grabs Insane Luchador by the head as the fans back at the ring rise to their feet. The look of shock on Insane Luchador’s face says all that needs to be said… “CRACK!!!” However Zyon who plays the role of the spoiler uses what Luchador used on him earlier by placing a stiff low blow on to Manson who is forced to let go of the hardcore champ who quickly takes advantage by tossing Manson THROUGH THE GLASS!!!! “Holy Shit!!!!!!” Like you didn’t see the chant coming. Pete: Oh my god, Manson has just been eliminated. King: And then there was two. The fans are going crazy as the medics that are on standby quickly rush to the fallen Manson who simply fell to the numbers game that was accidentally played by his opponents. No plans, No games, just instinct can be blamed for his elimination. “YEEEEEAAAAAHHHH!!!!” The fans cheering picks up, as Zyon and hardcore champion Insane Luchador are the only two left of the four. The rookie grabs the champ who then transitions Zyon into his grip as the two brawl back toward the ring!! King: Why are they coming back this way? Pete: Well King you may want to look around… King: Oh…my… King’s reaction is one to expect by a retired vet who is near a ring suddenly surrounded by windows placed vertical and horizontal on platforms that hold them up. King: Were these here the whole time? Pete: Actually yes… The fans cheering picks up as Zyon and the champ make their way down the ramp… “CRASH!!!” Zyon finds himself into the safety barrier…and then over the safety barrier as Insane Luchador clotheslines the rookie over the railing and into the crowd. Pete: The fans getting a little something special tonight. The two brawl their way up the rows as Zyon is really taking a beating as Luchador fires off rights, lefts, left kick, and of course right kicks. The fans after seeing all the blood want to have nothing to do with the battle so they make way mighty quickly…not even Moses had this much pull. The two then start a to decline in rows and floors as they end up behind the crowd. They are now on flat floor fighting it out with Zyon trying to come back, but a couple strikes to that left leg does the rookie in as Insane Luchador then drops the youth with a snap hurricarana. Pete: How can he still perform moves like that? King: Well he is the hardcore champ. Insane Luchador then goes off camera for a moment as the fans cheering doubles! “YEAHHHHH!!!” The fans cheer as Insane Luchador comes back and is not alone… Pete: Good lord he has a table. Pete announces as Insane Luchador sets the table up and lifts Zyon up just to make sure he doesn’t make any false movements. EVENFLOW DDT!!! BLOCKED!!! Zyon blocks the killer DDT and goes for a right hand, but the bloody champ blocks it and sends Zyon crimson face first into the steal railing keeping the fans away from jumping down for an up close and personal view of the brawl. Zyon then staggers backward as Insane Luchador forces him on to the table. The bloody and beaten Insane Luchador once again goes off camera, but the people don’t need a camera to know what is coming. Pete: Where is he…oh wait never mind. King: Yeah you know…we all know. The hardcore champion then reappears in a balcony where those who are having to use binocular vision are getting the shock of a lifetime…they get to stand next to Insane Luchador. The fans are on their feet eagerly waiting to see what happens next as Insane Luchador does what an Insane Luchador does… B~A~L~C~O~N~Y~S~A~U~L~T!!!! The flashing of the Kodak cameras truly show that these men are stars and these men put their bodies on the line to not only hurt the other opponent, but to entertain the fans…well Insane Luchador can go home happy knowing he did one of those things… “OHMYGODCRASH!!!!!!” Insane Luchador goes through the table…and the table alone. Pete: HE IS DEAD!!! King: Fucking spot monkeys… “HOLY SHIT!!!!” The fans are screaming at the top of their lungs, as Insane Luchador must be unconscious as Zyon after avoiding his end is able to recuperate a bit. King: Remember Pete this match can’t end until somebody goes through some glass. Pete: But I doubt the man can even move any more…. Jesus. After a few moments of Zyon’s life flashing before his eyes he some how finds his way to his feet as the fans cheer both competitors on, even though only one is on their feet. Zyon lifts the lifeless Insane Luchador up and practically drags him toward the ring and back into it… Pete: Right where they started from. Zyon then exits the ring and looks under the ring and pulls out a ladder…yeah the crowd does cheer, but nothing can get them to cheer loud enough for what’s getting ready to be brought out. Zyon once again looks under the ring and pulls out a table…but not just any table! Pete: What the…its like a table, but the wood… King: The wood is replaced with glass… Pete: The SWF is really the home for everything inventive. King: I have to agree, but I doubt saying that is going to give us a raise. Pete: I was serious!! Insane Luchador is still the ring not moving as the fans begin to get ancy as Zyon places the ladder and the glass table into the ring. Zyon who has gained a reputation in the Indy’s for being good with ladders sets his tool up… King: Why does he need a ladder? Pete: Well my guess is that Zyon isn’t the strongest guy around here so lifting his opponent up and having enough force to drive him through a table could be questionable… King: Okay…and what is wrong with the top rope. Pete: Oh I don’t know… The blood on Zyon is dry, but the red still covers his face like a pop stars makeup. Insane Luchador face is the same way except his blood to those watching could be a little bit fresher. Zyon then sets the glass table up and then…shows a true moment of being rookie by playing to the crowd… “YEAHHHH!!” Well he does get the cheer he wants. Zyon grabs the champ up and... EVENFLOW!!!! Pete: Oh MY…EVENFLOW DDT from… King: Let me guess NOWHERE!!! King shills just as Pete would as Zyon is spiked to the mat. The rookie made his defining rookie mistake as the fans could sense the end nearing…well if Insane Luchador decides to get back to his feet. Both men are down as Zyon rolls to the outside getting himself away from the glass table…only to get close to more conventional windows. Insane Luchador rises to his feet, as do the fans who start clapping and cheering…and the match isn’t even over yet. True Respect Zyon is able to force himself up and enters the ring and walks into a super kick that knocks him on to the glass table. Pete: That super kick just plainly caught the rookie off guard. King: Yeah you are not a kidding. Insane Luchador looks at the ladder and smiles. He then climbs the far side and everyone in the arena and those sitting at home are starting to get flashbacks from the June 1st edition of Smarkdown. And guess what that is exactly what Insane Luchador is planning except this time he is moving a lot slower. Pete: This was the unorthodox use of the ladder that won Luchador the title. Insane Luchador reaches the top of the ladder and gives off a hop…but the ladder doesn’t tilt so Insane Luchador sets to try again, but Zyon rolls off the table and makes his way up the other side of the ladder, which just throws Luchador’s plan to hell. “YEAAAHHHH!” The fans haven’t been bored for one single second. Zyon now reaches the top, but Luchador shows Zyon how someone with the advantage uses it by placing not one, but two rights hands to the face of Zyon who is now holding on to the ladder with one hand and out of desperation Zyon shifts his weight along with the ladders to the side causing the ladder to tip over sending both men over the top rope and to the floor…and the fans are loving this!!! “THIS IS INSANE CLAP CLAP CLAP!!!!” King: Well that’s a new one. Pete: It symbolizes the match perfectly. Both men are now on the outside both trying to get to their feet first and get the advantage. Both men are writhing in pain as Zyon and Insane Luchador both get to their feet at about the same time. Luchador places a kick to the bloody leg of Zyon’s and then rolls the youth into the ring. Luchador is now the one looking under the ring and pulls out…his weapon of choice. Pete: Luchador has his signature light tube sword. King: Dubbed the Excalibur by some… Pete: Dubbed “THE END” by its victims. Insane Luchador shows the weapon off to a few in the front row as he excites the crowd even more. The hardcore champion then enters the ring for what could be the final conflict. “IN~SANE LUCHA~DOR!!!" One part of the city cheers… “ZY~ON!!!” The other part cheers. True Respect… Insane Luchador waits for Zyon to get to his feet and the rookie does. This signals Insane Luchador to raise his “Excalibur” and right before he attempts to knight his opponent Zyon charges…. “SNAP!!!!!” Zyon performs his patted running front dropkick to the hardcore champs chest knocking Insane Luchador back against the ropes…who then comes off of them with one last wild swing… “OHHHHH!!!!” The fans cheer at just what happened as… Zyon barely ducks out of the way of the swing. Zyon then tries to take control by ripping the tube sword away from it’s owner and goes for a swing of his own…that does NOT connect as Insane Luchador dodges and kicks Zyon in his left leg!! Zyon drops the sword causing Insane Luchador to instinctively want to pick it up, but Zyon goes for a hurricarana, but just doesn’t have enough strength in his whole body let alone that injured left leg. Insane Luchador lifts Zyon up toward the glass table and looks to finish it with a power bomb of some sorts…but the rookie just WILL NOT DIE!!! Pete: Zyon still fighting… King: Well of course I’m sure nobody wants to go through glass. Zyon punches Insane Luchador in the head with everything he has and once again goes for a hurricarana, and sadly he once again cannot force the champ over into the move as Zyon was vertical, but the champ was able to keep his base. Insane Luchador once again brings Zyon up and then without moments hesitation… “SHATTTTEEERRRRR!!!!????” Pete: I don’t believe it… The glass table is still standing, but the tube sword is no longer still together since Zyon on his last hurricarana attempt was able to grab the tube sword and then when lifted into the air the youth leveled Insane Luchador across the face/head region with everything he had. “WHOOOYEAAHHHH!!!” The fans are yelling and cheering as Zyon pulls himself to his feet and then grabs the reigning hardcore champion up and simply lays him across the glass table. Zyon then makes his way over toward the far side of the ladder and climbs it as quick as possible while Insane Luchador is once again bleeding terribly. Zyon goes till there is about four or five rungs left as the fans all rise to their feet in what is something to behold. The blood continues to squirt from the fallen hardcore champ as Zyon grabs the top of the ladder and take a noticeable deep breath and launches himself over the ladder keeping both legs close together…and crushing Insane Luchador through the glass table with an END ALL, BE ALL LEG DROP FROM THE TOP OF THE LADDER!!!! Pete: IT’S OVER!!! King: Ok…that was insane. “YEWOOOYEAHWOOOO!!!” The fans are on their feet clapping and cheering like mad as “Vitamin” blares through the city as the medics quickly get to the ring to check on the former champion and the new one…Zyon somehow gets to his feet and limps away a few feet from the car crash that was the end of the match. Replays of the match are shown on the Smarktron as Zyon’s hair spiked up covered in blood, clothes stained in blood, and of course face covered in dry blood smiles and leans against the ropes to help himself stand. Pete: Well King as you noticed Zyon didn’t finish the match with the “Final Flash” but instead chose to finish Insane Luchador with a move that hit or miss would be less consequential toward his near future. King: Did you just try to give a technical reason to a finish of a hardcore match??? Pete: Why yes…yes I did. Referee Mark Hebner finds the Hardcore belt and hands it to Zyon who then takes one last look at the former champion before exiting the ring and heading up the ramp as its made official… Funyon: Your WINNER and NEW SWF HARDCORE CHAMPION ZY~ON!!! “Vitamin” continues to play as the new champ makes his way up the ramp and turns around before exiting and his glowing green eyes scan the audience who are on their feet cheering for him and the other competitors who participated in this war. Zyon then looks down at his first taste of gold and with one hand raises the belt causing the cheering from the crowd to get slightly louder. Zyon then turns to exit… Tables, ladders, chairs, barbed wire, baseball bat, churches, glass, new champion, HARDCORE… And there is only more to come… Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 The beautiful images of St. Peter's Square... The blood, sweat, and drama of SWF wrestling... "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for ONE fall, and it is for the S - W - F TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS!" And there's Funyon, coy as ever with his ring introductions. You would think, as the reader, and knowing that this is the match involving the MYSTERIOUS ARMY, that I was writing in the first person and that I was actually one-half of the MYSTERIOUS ARMY, and that I was writing this match in the first-person to throw you off so it'd be harder for you to guess. Alas, you'd be wrong, and that's what you get for putting too much thought into my writing. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to SWF 13th Hour," says our ever-attractive play-by-play commentator, Longdogger Pete, "and if you're just joining in you've missed a slobberknocker of a window pain match for the Hardcore title!" "... right." Suicide King, bitter and heelish as always. "How about I do us all a favor and turn your mic off while the intros are going on." "Sounds like a..." but Pete's microphone is cut off, and all we can hear is King laughing up a storm, as though he was Sean Connery on Celebrity Jeopardy. Also, we can hear the opening melodic chords and vocals of "Save Yourself" by Breaking Benjamin, and an explosion of white pyro illuminating the top of the ramp in a decidedly God-like fashion as spotlights shine on the entrance ramp, illuminating Maddix and Cortez, Megan following out behind them. The three stop, surveying the crowd. "I...CAN...NOT...SAAAVE...YOU! "I! CAN'T! EVEN! SAAAVE...MYYY...SELF!" "SO JUST SAAAVE YOURSELF!" ... "SSSAAAAAAAAAAAAVVVVVEEE!!!" "Introducing first, the CHAMPIONS... weighing in at a combined four-hundred FORTY-six pounds, Todd Cortez and Landon Maddix... MARRRRRRRRRRRRRTIAL LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!" The trio walks to the ring, Cortez kissing his cross and Maddix... not kissing anything but merely holding the ropes open for Megan, who gracefully steps inside of them. Cortez and Maddix follow suit, and the two pose for a bit before awaiting their mystery opponents... "We're all sitting here, waiting for the mysterious army to reveal themselves," King says, sounding eerily like a golf commentator, and then the disembodied voice of Rod Roddy calls out... "QUIZ! SHOW! COME ON DOOOOOOOOOWN!" The crowd in St. Peter's Square nearly RIOTS as "Come On Down" by Crystal Waters blasts out the speakers, Cortez and Maddix looking shocked themselves as Quiz and Show, the legendary Double Jeopardy, burst through the curtain! Quiz tonight is decked out in a grey sequined suit with a classy purple tie, while Show is wearing a purple dress shirt with grey pants and his ever-present "Show" nametag! Quiz has a microphone in hand, and he raises it to his lips. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to a very special Catholic Church Approved edition of the QUIZ SHOW! Tonight, live from St. Peter's Square, we have two FABULOUS contestants tonight, Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix and the "Urban Legend", Todd Cortez! Gentlemen, tonight we'll be playing the lightning round, so if you'll please put your hands on your buzzers..." "Wait a second!" Landon has a microphone now, and he's not happy. "I didn't get a buzzer!" Funyon, conveniently enough, digs two buzzers out of his pocket, and hands one to Landon and one to Todd. Landon, sheepish, mumbles out a "nevermind", and Quiz, huffy, continues. "Question number one... which SWF show is currently the most entertaining?" *BZZT!* "Todd?" "What is Storm!" "Correct!" The SmarkTron displays: Todd, 1; Landon, 0. "Question number two... who was the significantly more charismatic member of Hollywood Boulevard?" *BZZT!* "Landon?" "Who was Mike Van Siclen?" "Correct!" The SmarkTron changes to Todd, 1; Landon, 1, while in the ring Landon grins at Cortez. "You know it's true, bud." "Question number three... this is what Martial Law will receive tonight!" *BZZT!* "Landon?" "What is bitches?" "... I'm sorry, that's incorrect." *BZZT!* "Todd?" "What is... you know, I didn't even have an answer, I was just buzzing in because I felt like it." "That's not correct either." *BZZT!* "Show?" "WHAT IS AN ASS KICKING!" "You are correct, sir!" The SmarkTron changes to read "DOUBLE JEOPARDY RULES!", as Quiz tosses his microphone away and slides into the ring, the burly Show following behind! Both men stand up in the ring, raising their arms and posing for the psyched crowd in St. Peter's Square! Cortez and Maddix remain in a neutral corner, watching on as Double Jeopardy pose. They stop, however, and the fans calm down as Show steps out of the ring. In the Martial Law corner, Maddix pats Cortez on the shoulder and disappears through the ropes, standing on the apron without talking out with his partner who would start for their team! "This match is going to be a true test for the team of Martial Law. We've seen some tension between the two men, and now they're facing a team they weren't prepared for...a team that is all too familiar with tag team glory in the SWF!" "Martial Law is running on borrowed time, mostly thanks to Cortez. There's something that's been troubling that young man lately, and Maddix seems to have had enough of it." "Don't you think part of Todd's stress IS Maddix?" "Why? The guy should be grateful that Landon came along and stood by his side when Revolution Zero was on the path to put him out alongside Mike Van Siclen." Despite the claims in commentary, Todd Cortez does look focused tonight, as his stoic demeanor is a far cry from Quiz's sly, smug smirk. The two men circle each other and lift their arms, tying up in the center of the ring to get the tag title contest started! Immediately Cortez takes Quiz by the wrist and wrenches the arm, but Quiz quickly jumps forward, flipping through and coming back to his feet with Cortez's wrist in his grasp, reversing the hold. Cortez grunts as his arm is wrenched, then quickly counters, back into one of his own, moving into a hammerlock and positioning himself behind Quiz...then slapping the game show lover across the back of the head! "I can tell you already that if they lose the belts tonight, it'll be his fault. Look at how cocky this kid is, Peter." "Surely something you were never guilty of." Quiz stumbles forward, holding his head, then turns around, charging angrily at Cortez, but falls victim to a drop toehold! Cortez jumps on his back, grabbing him by the head and applying a headlock, keeping his grip as Quiz pushes back up to his feet. Cortez is then sent to the ropes and comes off with a head of steam, and when Quiz drops to his stomach for Cortez to hop over him, Todd stops short and starts stomping on the back of the head and neck of Quiz ferociously! The crowd roars at the sight of the simple, yet very effective tactic, then applauds again as Quiz is pulled up and sent to the ropes, only to be sent high into the air by a Cortez back bodydrop! Show cringes as he watches his partner crash down to the canvas, and shouts words of warning as he sees Cortez bracing himself for another assault. Quiz gets up and Cortez comes running, jumping up and aiming at the chin of Quiz with a single leg dropkick, but Quiz steps back and swats it away. Cortez quickly comes up, only to be grabbed in a front facelock, but he pushes Quiz back to the ropes. Quiz rebounds and crashes into Cortez, knocking him to the canvas, then runs the ropes, hopping over Cortez's fallen body and bouncing off the far side, grabbing Cortez's head and swinging around to spike him with a DD...NO! Cortez pushes him back to the ropes again, this time catching the rebound, and drilling Quiz with an inverted atomic drop before clotheslining him over the ropes and down to the ringside floor! "Well there doesn't appear to be much ring rust on the part of Double Jeopardy, since Quiz has kept up quite well with Cortez, although the champions have stayed one step ahead of their opponents thus far." Quiz picks himself up, and Cortez races across the ring, sliding under the bottom rope with a baseball slide, but it's sidestepped, and Quiz yanks the Urban Legend out to the floor. Quiz follows up with a kick to the gut and snaps Cortez over with a su...nope, no he doesn't, because Cortez slides out and lands behind him, then pushes Quiz forward...into a diving clothesline from the apron by Maddix! "YYYEEEEEEAAAAHHHHHH!!" "Whether it was precision planning or just a case of Maddix wanting to get involved, that was some nice work by the champions!" Show immediately storms into the ring and moves towards the ropes, but referee Nick Soapdish stands in his way, ordering him back to his corner. Cortez rolls Quiz into the ring, and seeing Soapdish's back turned, Landon stops his partner from getting back in, then hops up on the apron himself and slingshots over the ropes, dropping a leg across the throat of Quiz! Landon then motions for Cortez to get back in the ring as he scurries out of it, and Cortez follows up by springboarding off the top rope and curling his knees up into his body, dropping across the sternum of Quiz with a cannonball senton drop! Quiz kicks his legs as he clutches his chest much like a heart attack victim, unable to fight off Cortez as he pulls him away from the ropes, and covers for a pin! ONE! TW-the count is broken up by an agitated Show, who drags Cortez off of his partner! "Someone's not happy with Martial Law." "Why should he be? They've been cheating their asses off since the bell rang!" Soapdish again has to usher Show out of the ring, giving Cortez and Maddix the chance to swap places without the actual tag taking place. Soapdish turns around and sees Cortez holding the tag rope and Maddix picking Quiz up off the mat and leaves it be, not wanting to jump to the wrong conclusion. "Remind me if I ever make a comeback to tell the company that Soapdish needs to stay as far away from the ring as possible during my matches. Ineptitude at it's finest." "If Double Jeopardy were doing the same thing, you'd be preaching the glories of it all." "Well they're not, so I'm not." Maddix pulls Quiz to his feet and focuses on the chest, ramming his knee into it twice. He goes for a third kneelift, but it's a case of going to the well too often, as Quiz clutches the leg for dear life, and then... DING! OK, so maybe it didn't make that exact sound, but it'd be funny if it did, no? At any rate, the former World Champion drops like a sack of potatoes thanks to the low kick by the returning superstar, and is then knocked off his knees and onto his back via basement dropkick to the chin! "Now it looks like the challengers are taking over." "Wow, Pete, that was quite the in depth observation. What's next, are you going to tell me that the champions haven't lost the belts since they won them?" "...well, they haven't." With Maddix reeling, a weary Quiz tags in the biggest man in the match, Show, who comes into the ring with eyes full of fury due to Martial Law's ability to keep Quiz at bay. Maddix starts to come to his feet and does it right in front of the big man. Maddix shakes the cobwebs loose and looks up into the eyes of Show, who glares at the egotistical tag champ and takes him by the head, hurling him over into the Double Jeopardy corner! Maddix hits hard, and Show starts putting the boots into his stomach and then choking him, which draws a reprimand from Soapdish yet again. This time it's all a ploy, however, as Quiz drops to the floor and pulls Landon's legs out from under him, then yanks him into the ringpost! "OOOOOOOOOOOH!" "They're just trying to out-cheat each other now, Pete." A screech of pain emits from Landon's mouth, and Show blows past Soapdish and drags Landon further into the ring, then drops a leg across the back of his neck. Show then follows up by rolling him onto his back and hooking a leg, going for Double Jeopardy's first attempt at a win here tonight. ONE! T-shoulder up! Despite his situation, Landon is in no way, shape or form ready to relinquish the tag titles. However, he's not able to fight back as Show pulls him up and launches him into the ropes, catching him on the rebound and hurling him across the ring with a powerful hiptoss! The shock of the canvas/spine collision sends pain surging through the back of Maddix, and he scrambles to pull himself up with the help of the ropes, but he's pulled away and then pushed up into the air, as Show presses him over his head before slamming him down hard on the canvas! A mixed reaction goes up as Maddix clutches his back and comes to his knees, begging off from the advancing Show. The bigman continues to get closer and closer, step by step, so Maddix goes to "Plan B" and scurries out of the ring, calling for a timeout. "Like it or not, that's a smart move." points out Pete. "Maddix breaks any momentum Show was building, plus he gets a chance to recover from getting 'posted' a minute ago." Megan hurries over to check on Maddix's condition, while in the ring, Show shows off TEH GUNZ~! to the crowd. Leaping off the apron, Cortez decides to check on Maddix as well. Which prompts Quiz to rush into the ring and past his partner, stepping out onto the apron in front of the Martial Law trio and springboarding off the middle rope with a moonsault into the pile of bodies!! "YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" "The Monty Hall Moonsault! And this live, studio audience goes wild!" Hopping to his feet, Quiz assesses the three bodies beneath him and picks that of the legal man, Landon Maddix, to haul to his feet and hurl back into the ring. Dazed from being a human crash mat, Maddix wonders aimlessly around the ring for a moment, before bumping into Show...who takes The Next Generation into his arms and lifts him into the Body Language bearhug~!! "YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" "And the Bearhug gets a pop!!" "Good Lord." "BOORRR - IIIIING!" "BOORRR - IIIIING!" "BOORRR - IIIIING!" "I guess these Italians are familiar with a Charlie Matthews match." sneers King. "Well, it always was a trademark of his repetoire, both during his Double Jeopardy run and afterwards, when of course he gained most recognition." "What I want to know is why Jay Hawke isn't going to be able to use a resthold at any point during his match, yet they booked Charlie Matthews. Talk about bolting the barn door after the horse has escaped." Trapped in the dreaded bearhug of doom, destitude and drowsiness, Maddix howls in pain as Show squeezes away on the hold. Seeing his partner in trouble, Cortez rolls into the ring, but Soapdish keeps him at bay. Which in turn allows Quiz to sneak into the ring and NAIL Maddix in the spine with a roundhouse kick! And a second! Still Show keeps the Bearhug applied, as now Quiz fires off a dropkick, before scurrying back out of the ring. As Soapdish turns around, he's oblivious to what just happened and goes back to asking Maddix if he wants to give it up. Maddix shakes his head with a defiant 'NO', but Show tightens his grip once more. Back on the apron, Cortez shouts encouragement to Maddix, who tries a headbutt. Wrong move. Now Maddix dizzy as well as having the life squeezed out of him. So Maddix goes to the ol' ear clap, having to hit four in quick succession to get himself free. Maddix lands on his feet and quickly grabs Show, trying to irish whip him across the ring. Putting on the brakes, Show reverses and sends in Maddix, catching him coming off the ropes... ...BACK INTO THE BEARHUG!! "YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" "GOD DAMN IT!" screams Maddix, followed by a howl as Show again clamps on the hold. "BOORRR - IIIIING!" "BOORRR - IIIIING!" "BOORRR - IIIIING!" Show smiles at the familiar reaction, but gets the smile wiped off his face as Maddix nails another ear clap. A second ear clap. And a third, rocking the cranium of Show. In response, Show re-tightens his grip and carries over Maddix over to the corner, allowing Quiz to tag himself in. The lighter member of Double Jeopardy begins to call the shots as he enters, Show sending Maddix into the ropes on orders from his partner and clubbing him down with a clothesline. As soon as Maddix flops to the mat, Quiz is on the run, getting backdropped on return by Show, right across the chest of La Cucaracha! "Double Dare from Double Jeopardy." calls Pete. "And with Quiz in, the pace should quicken again here." "With any luck." yawns King. As Maddix clutches his chest and gasps for breath, Quiz turns to the crowd and yells "THE SENTON SPLASH!" at the top of his lungs, before hitting the ropes and doing just as he says...dropping a senton across the chest. "WHAT WILL FINISH THIS PUNK OFF!!" is Show's answer. Or question. Or, whatever. Either way, Quiz makes the cover... ONE! TW... Maddix throws a shoulder up, to the mild surprise of Quiz. Glancing back to his corner, Quiz sees that Show wants back in and obliges him. Show comes in and now it's the bigman who's directing traffic. Quickly, Quiz grabs Maddix's leg before he can get close to his corner, pulling the one half of the champions to his feet and sending him into the ropes. A drop down by Quiz means Maddix has to hurdle him, only to hurdle himself straight into a high knee from Show that connects directly in the sternum! "Double Jeopardy with some more double teaming...there seems to be no ring rust, but also, no rust as a team." "That's true." King agrees. "There's no doubting they're a great team. After all, they never actually lost the Tag Team Titles. It was Sin-Quiz-Ition who lost the belts, not Quiz and Show. So obviously, you can't discredit them as a team. Obviously, they've been out for a while though...which might come into play if the match goes long." "Yes...don't forget, it was last year that Landon Maddix went 60 minutes with Alan Clark." "If only we could forget." Slowly and methodically (OMG SHOOT~) picking up Maddix from the canvas, Show sends him hurtling towards the turnbuckles and looks to follow in behind. Planting his hands, Landon launches himself up and over Show. The bigman braces himself just in time as he crashes into the turnbuckles, absorbing some of the blow... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOO!!" ...but turning around into a hard knifedge chop. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOO!!" ...and a second. Defiantly, Show beats his chest, almost daring Maddix to try again. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOO!!" ...which he does, to little more than a brief grimace from Show. After all, he's been hit a WHOLE lot harder from wrestlers a WHOLE lot more 'strong style' than Maddix. Again, Show dares Maddix to take another shot. Looking a little scared that his chops are having no effect, Maddix looks around before firing a cho...NO, Maddix fakes out Show and scampers towards Todd for a tag...but Show is able to catch him just short in a waistlock, using that to lever Maddix's back to his corner. Show then uses his size and ability to takedown Maddix, before applying a body-scissors. "This may be a 'resthold' on first sight, but it's also a very smart move." observes Pete. "Remember, Lil' Buck's strategy on Smarkdown was exactly the same as Double Jeopardy's has been thus-far...wear Maddix down, work on the chest and ribs, cut off the air supply and slow this kid down." "Whatever." groans King. "All I know is, I've only just woken up after the Bearhug." "It shows. HI-YOOOO~!" Trapping the Cucaracha beneath him, Show can now have a little bit of fun, messing with the hair of Maddix while rolling onto his side for better leverage. With the air being squeezed out of him once more, Maddix weakly informs Soapdish he doesn't want to quit. Breathlessly Maddix tries to inch himself away from the centre of the ring and towards the ropes, but moves little more than a few millimetres thanks to Show's tree-trunk esque legs. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" Show again clamps in the hold, Cortez only able to watch on from the corner and shout obligatory words of encouragement. In desperation, Maddix begins to swing out with his left arm, firing elbows wherever they may land. They prove no more than an irritance to Show though and he simply deals with the irritant with a crossface strike. That stops Maddix for a few seconds, but he eventually starts throwing again. Angrily, Show grabs two handfuls of hair and releases his body scissors, allowing him to SLAM his knee into Maddix's kidneys!! And that stops him. Rather than re-apply his hold though, Show shows mercy on the half-conscious fans and brings Maddix to his feet, clubbing him across the back with a forearm before reaching and letting Quiz tag back in. Despite complaints from Cortez, Show is in no hurry to leave the ring, wrapping his arms around Maddix waist and popping him with a gutwrench suplex. Allowing Quiz to slingshot in, driving his right knee into the sternum with pin-point precision. "They are really pin-pointing the airways of Maddix." "Hey, you think Flesher hooked them up with a tape of Smarkdown?" smiles King. "Wouldn't surprise me. It wouldn't surprise me if YOU supplied them with tapes, seeing as you're so tight with Flesher and you dislike Martial Law so much." Gasping for breath, Maddix instinctively sits up and looks to make a tag, despite being on the opposite side of the ring from his partner. Quickly, Quiz stomps him back down before making a pinfall attempt... ONE! TWO! Not enough. Quiz stays cool as he drags Maddix to his feet. Shoving him back into the ropes, Quiz then tries to send his opponent across the ring and to the ropes. Maddix manages to pirohuette and reverse, only for Quiz to roll out of the whip and connect with a quick dropkick. A smirk forms on the gameshow fanatic's face, wagging his finger in the direction of the Urban Legend before he rushes over to grab Maddix in a front facelock. Casually, Quiz brings a knee up into the sternum. And again. Before hooking the tights and elevating for a suplex... ...but Maddix floats over the back, turning down a possible tagging opportunity to boot Quiz in the gut and pull him into a standing headscissors. "IT'S PEOPLE... ...WHAT IS SOYLENT GREEN!!" "Wow, Landon Maddix getting into the Double Jeopardy spirit there!" But Quiz slides over Maddix's shoulder to avoid the Soylent Green, Maddix wheeling around and getting whipped into the corner. Head of steam, Quiz charges and follows in with as much of an avalanche as his cruiserweight frame will allow. Maddix breathlessly slumps down the buckles. Only for Quiz to drag him back up and press him against the corner... Slap! Forearm! *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOO!!" A knifedge chop. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOO!!" And a second. Quiz then backflips out of the corner, but Maddix somehow finds the FIGHTING SPIRIT~! to cut off the Quiz Show Combo, charging out of the corner and nailing Quiz between the eyes with a flying forearm!! "YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" "A pure desperation move caught Quiz napping there and now, Maddix has the opportunity to make the tag to Todd Cortez!" "He had the opportunity a minute ago too." protests King. "But making the tag would mean sharing the spotlight with someone. You just know Maddix would love a pinfall victory over Quiz or Show, even if it's just to shove down Tom's throat." "Well, he already has two victories over Show in tag matches." "Flukes." The race is on as both Quiz and Maddix are crawling to their corners. Obviously, Quiz is the healthier (by some margin) of the two, but the flying forearm seems to have knocked him loopy. Still, it's Quiz who reaches the corner first, tagging in Show... ...as meanwhile, Maddix reaches out for Cortez... ...WHO SUDDENLY FLIES OFF THE APRON, COURTESY OF SHOW!! "Smart move there." approves King. Having recovered from being dove on, Megan scuttles over to help Cortez back up. It's too little too late now though, as Show has already dragged Maddix back to the centre of the ring and is pulling him to his feet. Maddix manages to pop Show with a quick forearm. But the bigman simply shrugs the strike off, catching La Cucaracha napping with a double leg takedown. He then hooks up the legs and starts to turn...turn...turn... "Uh oh..." "Watch out in the front row..." "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" "FOUR!" "FIVE!" "SIX!" "SEVEN!" "EI..." Finally, Show throws Maddix off after seven and a bit rotations of the Winning Spin. Dis-orientated himself, Show staggers around the ring before eventually finding his corner, falling towards it to allow Quix a tag. Taking his time, Quiz waltzes over to Maddix who clearly has absolutely no idea where he is, Quiz deciding to make a cover... ONE! TWO! Kickout by Maddix. Rolling off of Maddix, Quiz glances back to his corner and noticing Show asking for a tag, obliging his partner. Show comes back in looking to be recovered from his spin-fest moments ago. But his recovery looks to be short lived, as he hoists Maddix up onto his shoulders. "Show hoisting Maddix up. Could this be the Lose A Turn?" "First the Giant Swing, now the Airplane Spin...forget Lose A Turn, Maddix might be about to lose his lunch!!" Show takes a last deep breath, before he closes his eyes and begins to spin again! "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" "FOUR!" "FIVE!" "SIX!" "SEVEN!" "EIGHT!" "NINE!" Show stops just short of ten, taking a few seconds to stop staggering like a drunk man and get himself steadied, before lifting Maddix off his shoulders and into the Grand Prize gutbuster! The groaning Next Generation rolls off of Show's knees and looks dangerously close to blowing some non-proverbial chunks. Show quickly grabs a hold of the head and near-leg, cradling Maddix up into a ball for a pin attempt... ONE! TWO! Cortez in to break the count!! Referee Soapdish rushes across to reprimand Cortez, the Urban Legend furious about something. Which turns out to be Quiz sneaking into the ring, clapping his hands behind the head of Soapdish to simulate the tag, while putting the boots to Maddix. While all this is going on, Cortez continues to argue with Soapdish, allowing Quiz to place a foot across Maddix's throat and freely choke the one half of the champions. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" The warm, welcome back reception is forgotten now as the fans get on Quiz's case. Cortez is meanwhile finally leaving the ring, Soapdish not surprised to see Quiz in the ring and indicating to everyone that he 'heard the tag'. Quiz has released the choke now, dragging Maddix to his feet and hitting a vertical suplex. All of the work done on Maddix's ribs and airways are coming back to haunt him now, the simple suplex having an amplified effect on him. Quiz therefore has the time to measure Maddix for a standing moonsault, remaining on top for another pin attempt... ONE! TWO! Shoulder up!! Quiz looks a little surprised, but shakes it off and drags Maddix back to his feet. Grabbing a wrist, the challenger sets and sends Maddix off the ropes. But for some reason, Quiz makes the rookie mistake of ducking his head a fraction too early, Maddix reading the duck and vaulting into Quiz's shoulder blades with the Mushroom Stomp!! "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHH!!" "A surprising vertical leap, considering the damage Maddix has taken." Pete enthuses. "Now though, he really has to make the tag this time. There's only so long you can last solo against a team like Double Jeopardy, as greats of the past have found out." As he springs off of Quiz, Maddix flops forward, leaving both men down and both again searching for tags. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" Again, it's Quiz who's making quicker progress, words of encouragement from Cortez not really helping Maddix too much. But on sheer grit and determination, Maddix continues to crawl on, knowing the longer he's in the ring the less likely Martial Law are to retain their titles. Reaching the corner, Quiz makes a lunge and tags in Show... ...as Maddix makes a similiar lunge... ...Show grabs an ankl... ...NO, THE TAG IS MADE!!! "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" "HERE WE GO!! CORTEZ IS IN!" The crowd go wild as the pumped up, amped up, Urban Legend Todd Cortez bursts into the ring and unloads on Show with a barrage of forearms!! Show is eventually wobbled from the strikes after ten or twelve and staggers away, allowing Cortez to hit the ropes and come at Show with a single legged dropkick. The bigman of Double Jeopardy is staggered but doesn't go down. So Cortez explodes into the ropes again, brushing Show with another single leg dropkick which he again absorbs. Popping back up, Cortez calls on the support of the crowd before trying again, this time sending a spinning wheel kick towards Show's burly chest, causing him to stumble backwards and crash through the ropes to the floor!! "COME ON!!" is the cry from Cortez... ...but he gets caught from behind by Quiz, ambushed with forearms to the back. Cortez is backed against the ropes and sent across the ring, Quiz leapfrogging Todd as he shoots back before tumbling around with a drop-down. Over goes Cortez, carrying on running. Quiz leaps back up and swings at Cortez, but the Urban Legend whips behind into a waistlock. Elbows quickly connect with the head though, freeing the challenger and allowing him to run off the ropes. Cortez shakes off the cobwebs though, catching Quiz running at him and snapping him over with a quick powerslam! "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" "My word, Cortez is just running through the former World Tag Team Champions!" gasps Pete. Clutching his back, Quiz pulls himself back to his feet... *WHAM!* ...and eats a mouthful of palmstrike! The strike staggers him backwards, but Cortez instantly grabs Quiz's arm and pulls him back in, hooking a leg behind Quiz's and executing the STO. He then hits the ropes again, nailing a running legdrop and making a quick cover... ONE! TWO! Shoulder up!! Cortez spots Show trying to re-enter the ring out of the corner of his eye and quickly sprints over as Quiz kicks out, planting both feet into Show's chest to knock him back to the floor. Behind Cortez, Quiz is up and charging. The Urban Legend is aware of him though and ducks his head, backdropping Quiz up and over the top, sending him crashing into his partner! Bodies go tumbling as Cortez is still fired up, hurriedly getting himself a run-up and asking the crowd if they want to see a dive. "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!" And the answer is unanimous. "Todd Cortez has completely shaken this Tag Team Title match up and turned momentum into the champion's favour! And now, he's looking for something big." "He's getting too fired up, Pete. He doesn't need to take a risk like this. Especially with his partner hurt." Double Jeopardy regroup on the floor just as Landon Maddix staggers over, popping both with a quick forearm before holding them in place...as Cortez begins to climb the ropes close to the turnbuckles, the crowd rising to their feet as Cortez reaches the top... ...AND WIPES OUT DOUBLE JEOPARDY WITH A SHOOTING STAR PLANCHAAAAAAAA~!!!~!!~! "YYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" "OH MY GOD!!" gasps Pete, as the bodies pile up in the front of the announce table. "CORTEZ RISKED IT ALL...AND I THINK HE GOT IT ALL!!!" Having just avoided his partner's dive, Maddix slumps into the apron and catches his breath. Megan nervously watches from the sidelines but it seems Cortez is okay, pulling himself up on the announce table and weakly holding an arm aloft to the delight of the entire Vatican. "COR - TEZ!" "COR - TEZ!" "COR - TEZ!" "COR - TEZ!" As Cortez soaks up the crowd's adultation, Maddix rolls back into the ring. Double Jeopardy are both still down. Grabbing Quiz, Cortez has now got his mind set back on the Tag Team Championship belts. But as he looks to send Quiz back into the ring, Maddix tells him "No", wanting Cortez to assist for his own dive. Cortez breathlessly asks Maddix what he's thinking, but Maddix again calls the shots. And in the end, Cortez shrugs, helping Show to his feet and holding the challengers in place. In the ring meanwhile, Maddix lines up the dive and hits the ropes, vaulting to the top rope and diving off... ...BUT DOUBLE JEOPARDY MANAGE TO SCATTER... ...AND MADDIX WIPES OUT CORTEZ WITH THE SPACEMAN PLANCHA!!!! "OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Ha Ha, I love it!!" crowd King. "Maddix wanted a slice of the glory instead of doing what was good for the team!" "I don't know about that, King." "Oh come on Pete, he's a glory hog. And it's gonna cost Martial Law the Tag Team Titles. I always said it would and tonight may just be the night!" With Martial Law having wiped themselves out, Double Jeopardy have a few seconds spare to recover themselves before discussing their next move. Show grabs Maddix while Quiz grabs Cortez, La Cucaracha getting HURLED into the side of the apron, while The Urban Legend is thrown back into the ring by Quiz. On the outside remains Show, putting the boots to Maddix. As meanwhile, the legal men are back in the ring and Quiz is just begging Cortez to get back to his feet. Slowly, Cortez begins to do so, looking a little dis-orientated and limping slightly as he lumbers around... *SMACK!* ...into a superkick from Quiz!! Frantic, Quiz dives on top of Cortez as quickly as he can and screaming at Soapdish to get into position... ONE! TWO! THR... ...NO, ONLY TWO! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Cortez gets the kickout, and the standing-room-only crowd in St. Peter's Square is going absolutely berzerk! With Maddix reeling on the outside, the non-reeling Show rolls into the ring, looking at his partner Quiz with wide-eyed anticipation. Quiz, always the mischievious plan-forming type, forms a mischievious plan in his head, and bellows... "WE'LL TAKE X FOR THE BLOCK!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Show nods, and he bends over, putting Quiz on his shoulders and lifting the game show host high into the air, in perfect position for the electric chair drop! Quiz raises both arms into the air, celebrating the impending victory as Show lumbers around the ring, getting into position, but the ring seems to be shaking a bit more than usual... *WHAP!* ... and suddenly Show lurches forward, victim of a Landon Maddix kick to the back of the head! Show drops like a sack of bricks, the back of his head instantly discolored from the kick, while Quiz barely manages to bail in time, landing on his feet! He turns around, trying to figure out exactly what happened... *WHAP!* ... but he too eats boot, this time victim of Sweet Cuca Music! "LANDON MADDIX JUST TOOK OUT BOTH QUIZ AND SHOW!" Pete screams, and King can do nothing but wish he had left Pete's mic turned off as Cortez, barely alive, sees the fallen Quiz and drapes one arm over for the cover. ONE! TWO! THREEEEEEE! *DING DING DING!* "Ladies and gentlemen, YOUR winners, and STILL the S - W - F TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS OF THE WOOOOOORRRRLD... Todd Cortez and Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix, MARTIAL LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!" Maddix pops up, throwing both arms into the air and celebrating as "Save Yourself" blasts over the loudspeakers. Referee Soapdish hands Landon both titles, and he raises them both high into the air, dropping to his knees as Cortez, groggy, looks on in a bloodied stupor and we fade to black... Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 Pete: “And as 13th Hour continues here live from Vatican City, we are getting ready to settle the International Title situation once and for all! Arch Griffon is set to make his first defense of the championship he won fifteen days ago on Storm as he faces the former champion, Jay Hawke.” King: “And this match is a travesty, a sham, and a mockery. It’s a traveshamockery!” Pete: “Oh, stop.” King: “I’ll stop nothing! Here’s the facts, Pete! These two met on May 23, right?” Pete: “Right.” King: “And Arch Griffon was disqualified for power bombing Jay Hawke onto a chair.” Pete: “I’m with you so far.” King: “Right there, Arch Griffon shouldn’t have gotten a rematch because he blew his shot, but because Sean ‘Puffy’ Combs was allowed to book the May 28 edition of Storm as he saw fit, he granted Griffon a rematch.” Pete: “And since all matches at Storm are no disqualification matches, the match had to end on a pinfall or submission, and Griffon won the championship with the Arch Nemesis.” King: “Granted. And did Hawke get a rematch at the next show? No. He wrestled Bryan Rodgers, then had a brutal match with Insane Luchador just five days ago, while Arch Griffon has sat on the sidelines taking a mini-vacation.” Pete: “Come on, King. Arch Griffon knew that Jay Hawke had a rematch clause in that contract, and he was quick to say Hawke was deserving of that rematch, so he’s the one who issued the challenge for tonight.” King: “Yeah. Some challenge. Restholds are banned, and Nick Soapdish is the one who gets to determine what a resthold is? This is the guy who thinks ‘dishwasher’ is just another way of saying ‘wife’. No wonder Hawke called this guy a coward earlier in the week.” Pete: “I can guarantee you that Arch Griffon is anything but a coward, and this should be one amazing title match. With that being said, let’s go to Funyon for the introductions.” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a one hour time limit, and it is the Let My People Go Match for the SWF International Championship! Here are the rules. Restholds are banned from this contest. When referee Nick Soapdish rules that a wrestler is using a resthold, we will signal the organist at ringside, who will hit the keys. When a wrestler hears that sound, he has two seconds to release the hold. If he does not release the hold before the organist hits the keys a second time, he is disqualified. All other normal rules apply, and it is the sole discretion of the referee to determine what is and is not a resthold.” King: “Great job, Funyon. We just ran out of satellite time and we’re not halfway through the card yet.” 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. Pete: “Look at the focus of the challenger tonight. He’s ready for this one.” King: “He’s ready, alright. And if Arch Griffon is coming in underestimating him, we’re going to crown a new champion tonight.” The arena goes dark as “Bloodlust of the Human Condition” comes over the PA. Funyon: “And his opponent. From Des Moines, Iowa … weighing in at 302 pounds … he is the reigning and ARRRRRRRRRRCH GRIFFONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” As the crowd gives off a mixed reaction, the lights continue to dim. Just as the song begins to kick into gear, white pyrotechnics shoot from the aisle, blinding the fans in the arena. Griffon emerges from the pyro, power walking to the ring as always. As he gets halfway to the ring, he removes the championship belt from around his waist, pointing at it as if to say “If you want it, come and get it.” King: “Go ahead and taunt Hawke with that title belt, pal. Because after tonight, you’re never going to see that belt again except from a distance.” Pete: “I’m not saying Hawke can’t take the title tonight, King, but saying this is Griffon’s last-ever title defense is a bit strong.” Griffon enters the ring and hands the belt to referee Nick Soapdish. He shows it to Hawke, who nods without removing his gaze from his opponent. Soapdish then holds the title belt above his head to signify it’s on the line… “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” …then hands it to Funyon at ringside. Both men stare each other down from their corners as Soapdish signals for the bell. *DING DING DING!* Pete: “There’s the bell, and your International Championship match is officially underway.” King: “And the first surprise of the match is the bell rang before these two beat the hell out of each other for five minutes.” Each man steps toward the center of the ring, but neither man removes his gaze. As they come nose-to-nose, Griffon begins to say something to his smaller challenger. Hawke stares a whole through him while listening to every word. Hawke nods, and both men go into a collar-and-elbow tieup. Hawke immediately locks in a side headlock, and Soapdish signals to the organist, who hits her note. Hawke immediately breaks his grip and glares at Soapdish while Griffon smiles, his plan already beginning to throw the challenger off his game. King: “See, this is why the stipulations as they stand are a bad idea. The headlock is one of the most basic wrestling moves around, and Hawke can’t even use it.” Pete: “He agreed to these stipulations.” King: “No he didn’t! Griffon just said, ‘Nuh uh uh, no headlocks for you‘ and Flesher agreed to it without a contract ever being signed.” Hawke tries to think of a new strategy, but Griffon locks Hawke back up. Hawke goes back to the headlock out of instinct, and again the referee signals to the organist, who hits the keys. Hawke again releases the hold and shoots the look of death to Soapdish, who lifts his arms as if to say “What do you want? Those are the rules.” King: “How the hell can it be a resthold when nobody’s done anything yet?” They lock up again, and with Hawke at a loss at what to do since he obviously can’t use a headlock, Griffon easily tosses him to the mat. The Dean is quickly up to his feet, and he charges Griffon, who takes Hawke down with an arm drag takedown. Up goes Hawke again, and down he goes to another arm drag. This time Griffon locks in an armbar, and Hawke smiles waiting for the organ… … …and it never comes. King: “What the hell? Why isn’t the organ going?” Pete: “Griffon said that arm and leg attacks were legal.” King: “How the hell is this any less of a resthold than a reverse chinlock or a side headlock? Why not just hand Griffon the belt now and save us ten minutes of valuable airtime?” The point made, Griffon releases the hold and backs up a few steps, smiling at his challenger the whole time. Hawke looks at Nick Soapdish, who explains arm attacks are legal. Hawke simply shakes his head. Another lockup, and this time Griffon drives a knee into the challenger’s midsection. He picks Hawke up over his head, holds him up there for a few seconds, then brings the challenger crashing down hard to the canvas. King: “Now that should be an automatic disqualification!” Pete: “WHAT?!?!” King: “He could have dropped him right away, but he rested at least four or five seconds with that move!” Pete: “You’ve got to be kidding!” King: “If the headlock is illegal, pretty much anything resembling a delay should be too.” Jay Hawke would probably agree with that, as he gets clotheslined to the mat. Hawke rolls to the floor to try to get a breather, and is relieved to see that Nick Soapdish is actually starting his ten count rather than immediately signaling for the organ. King: “Wow, Nick Soapdish actually makes a good decision in this match. Too bad it only took three minutes.” Pete: “If Jay Hawke is truly the Dean of Professional Wrestling, he’ll make his adjustments.” King: “The next time you have to adjust because you can’t use actual wrestling holds, you can let me know how easy it is.” Jay Hawke reenters the ring cautiously, making sure Griffon isn’t going to attack him coming in. Once in the ring, he charges, but Griffon knocks him straight down with a hard shoulder tackle. This time Griffon charges off the ropes, and he knocks Hawke down with another tremendous shoulder block. He comes off again, but this time Hawke’s prepared for him, as he dropkicks Griffon in the left knee coming in. Griffon collapses to the mat in agony, clutching at his knee, and Hawke pounces on it like a lion on a steak, driving a series of knees into the side of Griffon’s knee. Pete: “And here’s the challenger going to work on the champion’s knee!” King: “See? I’ve told you this man was a genius! He’s going to find a way to slow the pace down and keep Griffon grounded!” Jay Hawke drives the knee into the side of Arch Griffon’s knee, then keeps the position as he holds onto the toe and bends it into an awkward position. Pete: “And this is absolutely terrific strategy. Hawke can’t use headlocks, but with attacks to the arms and legs being legal, Hawke can simply sit back here and apply all the pressure he needs to those tree trunk-like legs.” King: “And it helps negate the power advantage. Griffon’s going to have a hard time keeping his balance on one leg, and that makes his power attack much less effective.” Jay Hawke still has the leg hooked, and Griffon reaches up and pulls on the hair. Nick Soapdish signals the organist, who hits the keys on cue, and Griffon releases his hold of the hair. Pete: “Soapdish signaled for the organ, and all Griffon was trying to do was break the hold!” King: “Hey, Griffon made the stipulations! He’s the one who wanted to avoid the five count tonight, and therefore he’s got to live with it.” Griffon again yanks on the hair to try to get out of the hold, but Soapdish immediately signals for the organist to hit a few notes. Griffon immediately lets go of the hair, but moves his hands forward and rakes the eyes. Hawke releases the hold to cover his eyes. King: “Oh, come on!” Pete: “He broke within that two second window, King!” King: “Why must you always make excuses when your favorites break the rules?” As Hawke’s vision becomes clear, Griffon pulls himself up to his feet. Though he’s clearly trying to put as little weight on the left knee as possible, he still has terrific ring awareness. This is shown when Hawke runs off the ropes after Griffon, and Griffon catches him coming in and takes him over with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex. Hawke hits the mat hard and rolls over to the ropes. As Jay Hawke uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, Griffon limps over and clotheslines his challenger, somehow gaining enough momentum to take him over the top rope to the floor. Pete: “There’s the toughness of the champion! His knee’s obviously not a hundred percent right now, but he’s still got plenty of fight left in him!” Funyon: “Five minutes have gone by, 55 minutes remain.” King: “Yeah, but there’s plenty of time remaining in this one, and that knee’s a clear target for The Dean if he can get things on track.” THREE! Jay Hawke pulls himself up to the ring apron. Arch Griffon walks over and tries to grab Hawke, but Hawke levels Griffon with a shoulder block to the midsection. And another shoulder block. Hawke uses the top rope as a slingshot and flips over into the ring, cradling Griffon as he goes down. Pete: “Sunset flip!” ONE! TWO! Kickout. Both men are to their feet in an instant, but it’s Griffon who gets the first shot in in the form of a lariat that nearly takes his challenger’s head clean off. Griffon goes for the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. With no hesitation, the champion picks up the Dean of Professional Wrestling. He quickly goes for a suplex, but Hawke floats over and lands on his feet behind him. Before Griffon can turn around, Hawke dives forward, driving the shoulder into the left leg. The knee buckles, and Griffon collapses to the mat, once again clutching at the knee. Pete: “Again the challenger attacks the left leg. Unusual strategy from Jay Hawke, who normally works the shoulder and neck to set up that Wing Span.” King: “Almost a necessity given the nature of the rules tonight, though. His best chance at regaining the title is making sure Griffon remains on the mat.” Jay Hawke grabs a hold of Arch Griffon’s foot and spins around while holding the toe. Pete: “Spinning toehold, and that’s obviously what Hawke’s strategy is now that he has an idea exactly what Nick Soapdish is going to call a resthold and what he isn’t going to call a resthold.” Jay Hawke gets for another spin in on the toehold, and Arch Griffon’s shoulders fall to the mat: ONE! TWO! Shoulder up. King: “And with a move like this, it is very easy for a man to get pinned before he even realizes his shoulders are down.” Jay Hawke spins again, but this time Griffon lifts a foot to the challenger’s back and kicks forward. The force of the kick sends Jay Hawke crashing into the turnbuckle. Hawke staggers backwards, right into the champion’s schoolboy cradle: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Both men get to their feet, but with Griffon struggling to keep his balance, Hawke quickly levels the champion with a leg lariat to knock his opponent down. Pete: “And just like that, Hawke regains the advantage.” Jay Hawke immediately grabs the toe and sits back, bending the left leg and putting all of his weight on Griffon’s left knee. King: “And he goes right back to the knee, Pete. Brilliant maneuvers on the part of the Dean of Professional Wrestling tonight.” Pete: “And if this keeps up, you have to think that Hawke is going to get a submission victory out of this.” As Jay Hawke leans back to provide more pressure to the hold, Griffon reaches up and hooks Hawke’s arms. Having the huge strength advantage, his grip is more than tight enough to roll Hawke onto his shoulders: ONE! TWO! Hawke gets his shoulders up and rolls back over, maintaining control of the hold. Griffon, however, wastes no time hooking Jay Hawke’s arms again and rolling the challenger back over onto his shoulders: ONE! TWO! Again Hawke gets the shoulder up and rolls back over, still maintaining the pressure of the inside toehold. Clearly getting frustrated, the champion slams his arms into the mat. Hawke tightens his grip on the left foot, and Griffon reaches over, hooking Hawke’s head into a facelock. Nick Soapdish immediately signals to the organist, who gets in a solid middle C note, and Griffon releases Hawke’s head as Hawke maintains his hold. Pete: “The challenger with a death grip on that leg here. I don’t think he’s ever going to let Arch Griffon go!” King: “What I love is that Arch Griffon’s own stipulation is preventing him from breaking out of the hold right here. Hawke’s using the rules in his favor!” Arch Griffon tries to find a new way out of the hold. He tries to use his free leg to scissor one of Hawke’s legs. Griffon can’t quite hook it, but he’s loosened Hawke’s grip enough to relieve the pressure from the hold. Hawke floats over and locks in a front facelock out of instinct. Nick Soapdish signals for the organist, who gets an F sharp in. Hawke releases the hold and slaps the mat in frustration. Pete: “And just that quickly, I think Hawke forgot where he was!” King: “I dispute that! That is an amateur wrestling hold that dates back to Jacob wrestling God in the Old Testament! How the hell can that be deemed a resthold?” Pete: “It’s up to Nick Soapdish, and he clearly felt Hawke was trying to stall for time!” Jay Hawke immediately moves in on his opponent, but Griffon catches him coming in with a knee to the midsection. Griffon immediately tucks Hawke’s head between his legs, causing the crowd to stir… Pete: “Griffon could be going for the Arch Nemesis right here!” …but Jay Hawke starts punching the knee to avoid being taken down by the move. Hawke grabs the leg, looking for a takedown, but Griffon simply lifts his knee and sends the challenger flying across the ring. Hawke rolls onto his feet out of instinct and comes charging in with a clothesline, but Griffon ducks and hooks both of his challenger’s arms, locking his fingers behind the back of Jay Hawke’s neck. Pete: “The Gridlock! Incredible full nelson applied by the champion, and this is a power move that won’t be affected by the champion’s knee being weakened!” King: “All that strength in Griffon’s arms, and all that pressure to the back of the neck…how is Jay Hawke supposed to combat the strength here?” As Jay Hawke tries in vain to find an easy way out of the hold, Griffon uses his strength to drag the Dean over to the corner. With the challenger still trapped in the vicelike grip of the champion, Arch Griffon begins to ram Jay Hawke’s head into the turnbuckle, with the crowd eventually counting along: “FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Funyon: “Ten minutes have gone by, 50 minutes remain.” With the hold still firmly locked in, Arch Griffon lifts his opponent and bridges back into a picture perfect dragon suplex: ONE! TWO! THR -- NO! Griffon’s knee buckles, and he releases the hold before Nick Soapdish can bring his hand down for the third time. The champion clutches his knee as the challenger holds the back of the neck. Pete: “Just past the ten minute mark of this contest, and both men are hurt!” King: “Hawke’s been working Griffon’s knee. Griffon has begun to target Hawke’s neck. And either way, both men are hurting. The one who can suck it up right here is going to be the one who walks out of Vatican City with the championship.” Both men pull themselves to their feet. Jay Hawke moves in and levels Arch Griffon with a forearm to the side of the head. Griffon comes back with a forearm of his own that knocks his challenger at least three feet backwards. Jay Hawke moves in and catches Griffon with another forearm. Griffon comes back with another forearm, then a series of short forearms that back Jay Hawke all the way against the ropes. Dazed, Hawke runs forward… SMACK! …but gets caught underneath the chin with a super kick. However, Griffon immediately falls to the canvas, clutching at the knee. Pete: “What a super kick, but the champion is down as well!” King: “What a mistake! He stood on the left knee to kick Hawke with the right foot!” Griffon pulls himself to his feet, then yells to get the crowd fired up. The crowd responds in kind as Jay Hawke pulls himself to his feet. Griffon uses all the strength he has left in his knee to bound off the ropes and leap into the air… “OHHHHHHHHHHH!” …but Jay Hawke ducks out of the way, and Arch Griffon ends up knocking Nick Soapdish out of the ring with a flying shoulder tackle. Pete: “Down goes Nick Soapdish!” King: “Thank God! Now lock a headlock, Jay!” As Griffon gets to his feet and looks down at Soapdish, Jay Hawke immediately rolls to the outside. He goes to the timekeeper’s table and grabs the championship belt from Funyon, then gets back to the apron. Hawke climbs the top rope, belt in hand, and the crowd screams at the champion that Jay Hawke is right behind him. Griffon turns around, and Hawke leaps with the belt in hand. Griffon moves in a step and catches Hawke in midair, then spins around, dropping his challenger with a twisting spine buster slam. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Pete: “Twisting spine buster by the champion!” King: “And I’ll go ahead and say it, a bad move by the challenger! He tried that last time and it ended the same way!” Griffon looks over and sees the belt laying in the ring. He picks up Jay Hawke, drags him over to the belt, then lifts him into the air, bringing him down back first onto the belt. King: “Power bomb!” Pete: “With gusto!” King: “And that should be an automatic disqualification!” Pete: “It should be, but there’s no referee! And I don’t think Griffon’s done with him yet!” Wanting to shut Jay Hawke’s arrogant mouth once and for all, the International Champion pulls the challenger to his feet. He kicks Jay Hawke in the midsection, drives a nasty knee into his challenger’s face, then locks his head in a standing head scissors. Pete: “That’s the set up for the Arch Nemesis! King: “And they’re standing over top of that championship belt!” Arch Griffon picks Jay Hawke up, holds him upside down for a few seconds, then drops Hawke headfirst onto the championship belt. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Pete: “ARCH NEMESIS ONTO THE BELT!” King: “It’s over! Hawke’s never going to get out of that one!” Arch Griffon covers, just as Nick Soapdish struggles to pull himself into the ring. Pete: “And here comes the referee! Hawke is down and pinned!” King: “It’s over! Dammit, it’s over!” Nick Soapdish slowly crawls into position and goes down for the count: ONE! Arch Griffon hooks the near leg. TWO! The crowd stands up, getting ready for the standing ovation. THRE -- Jay Hawke just barely gets his foot on the bottom rope. “YAAAAAAAA -- BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Arch Griffon gets to his feet, raising his arms in the air in celebration, but only then sees Hawke’s foot out of the corner of his eye. Pete: “I don’t believe it, Pete! Somehow Jay Hawke managed to reach out and get his foot on the ropes!” King: “Griffon hooked the wrong leg! He hooked the near leg, and the far leg was the one closest to the ropes!” Pete: “Even so, if Hawke was an inch shorter, this match would be over right now!” With Nick Soapdish still on the mat in an attempt to shake off the cobwebs, Jay Hawke rolls out of the ring, then begins to crawl underneath the ring. Griffon reaches through the ropes and tries to grab a hold of Hawke. As Soapdish returns to his feet, he tries to grab Griffon and get him away from the ropes. Unaware it’s the referee, Griffon shoves Soapdish to the mat out of instinct. Pete: “Oh no!” King: “He’s going to end up getting himself disqualified!” Hawke has begun crawling from underneath the ring, and Griffon again reaches through the ropes to grab his challenger… THUNK! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” …only for the Dean of Professional Wrestling to level Arch Griffon in the left knee with a lead pipe. Griffon screams and clutches the knee as Hawke manages a smirk. Pete: “Come on!” King: “Brilliant! And because Griffon tossed Soapdish across the ring, the referee never saw that!” Jay Hawke slides back into the ring. Still holding his neck from the Arch Nemesis onto the title belt, he slowly gets to the center of the ring. He grabs Arch’s injured knee and spins him around, locking in an inside stepover toehold before spinning around into a crossface. Pete: “STF!” King: “And that’s going to wrench the knee!” Arch Griffon screams in pain as a dazed Soapdish turns around and crawls over to check on the champion. “PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!” The crowd’s chants don’t block out the intense pain, as Griffon begins pounding on the mat with his fist, then biting his own fist to try to block out the pain. Jay Hawke pulls back just a little bit more though, and Griffon has no choice: TAPTAPTAPTAP! *DING DING DING!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, in 14 minutes 38 seconds … the winner of this contest … and NEWWWWWWWWWW SWF International Champion … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!” The crowd continues to boo as Nick Soapdish picks up the title belt and hands it to Jay Hawke, who clutches it against his chest as he collapses to the mat out of exhaustion. Pete: “I can’t believe it! What a shallow victory for Jay Hawke!” King: “Shallow victory?” Pete: “Jay Hawke was the one who introduced that title belt into the ring, and then he resorted to using the lead pipe to gain the victory!” King: “Hey, it was Arch Griffon who tried to make the rules into his favor! As far as I’m concerned, justice was served tonight!” Pete: “Well, you and I are going to have to agree to disagree on that one, King, because as far as I’m concerned, it was Arch Griffon who proved to be the better man tonight.” King: “Then why doesn’t he have the title?” Pete: “Well… we can argue about this one after the show tonight, but there’s still plenty of action coming your way tonight at 13th Hour!” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 “Buck?” Johnny Dangerous asks incredulously. “Come on, Tom.” Flesher sits lazily behind his desk, scratching a few answers into his crossword puzzle. “Can I help you,” he asks, not looking up, “or did you just want to bitch?” Dangerous glares over the desk. “Just tell me… what did Buck do to deserve that title shot? He lost to Ejiro, and then he lost to Landon. What did I do? I pinned Ejiro!” Flesher sighs, and adopts a patronizing tone. “Well, Johnny, the problem is that occasionally something happens that I like to think of as ‘a blip on the radar.’ For example, when a wrestler has as many wins and as few defeats as Lil’ Buck – let’s use the term ‘a solid win-loss record’ – then that particular wrestler can be forgiven for an occasional loss to a high-profile competitor. It is particularly appropriate to do so when, as happened in the Seychelles, that wrestler is misinformed as to the rules under which the match will be contested.” Flesher takes a sip of the coffee on his desk, looking up with a soft expression, seemingly asking, “Do you understand?” A scowl from Johnny prompts Flesher to nod, satisfied, and continue. “On the other hand, sometimes we have someone who is neither in possession of ‘a solid win-loss record,’ at least in singles competition, nor particularly talented. That person, Mr. Dangerous, is you.” Dangerous sighs, exasperated with the Smarkdown commissioner. “I don’t even understand how you had the power to –” “Don’t question the back room,” says Flesher, who then absentmindedly reaches into his suit jacket’s breast pocket and withdraws a pack of Camel Turkish Royals. He takes one of the cigarettes out and puts it to his lips, and then, after a moment, decides to offer the pack to Dangerous. The Secret Agent curtly accepts, and each man produces his own lighter. “I don’t like you smoking, Johnny,” Flesher admonishes gently. “It’s bad for your wind, and, well… it’s almost like it’s a coping mechanism for you.” Dangerous, fully aware that he’s rarely seen with a cigarette when he’s being received well by the fans, nonetheless takes a long drag. Flesher follows suit, and then thoughtfully exhales. “What I don’t understand, Johnny, is why you think you deserve to be in contention for the World Title.” “That guy who beat Buck? I pinned him last week. That guy who won the International Title about an hour ago? I’ve beaten him. My tag team partner is –” “If I were you, John, I wouldn’t hang my hat on Wildchild’s success.” Flesher absently puffs his cigarette, a small smirk lighting up his face. “And,” Dangerous continues, “this back-office position is getting to you. You haven’t been in the ring in nine months, since you got retired by that guy I pinned last week.” Flesher winces from the barb. “You’re getting soft, Taamo,” Johnny spits, barely controlling himself. “Sitting back here, you forget how wrestling works. All you see is the business side of things.” Flesher glares. “Is that why I have a guy who can barely speak English and a guy who can barely get to the bottom turnbuckle headlining 13th Hour, Johnny? Because I don’t understand wrestling? Is that why I’ve turned Smarkdown into the most consistently-high-rated SWF show, just by giving the fans what they want? I know wrestling, and I know that wrestling fans watch wrestling shows because they want to see wrestlers wrestling. And,” he says, his tone calculated to jab back at the former World Champion, “I’ve forgotten more about this sport than you can ever dream of knowing.” “You’re twenty-three,” Dangerous growls. “Cocky little boy, aren’t you?” “Well, old man,” Flesher says, “just remember that out of all the men who’ve ever risked their bodies on that canvas, this ‘cocky little boy’ is the best ever. I think I’m more than competent to figure out who deserves a shot at Ejiro’s belt.” “Do you want to back that up, or are you going to sit back here playing grabass with Annie’s sister?” “I’ll tell you what,” Flesher says, rising. “Storm’s a hardcore show, but… my match, and my rules. You and me, one on one… this little boy’s going to take you to school, and once you’re counting the lights you’ll know that you’re not getting near the World Title until after Genesis.” “And if I –” “You won’t,” Flesher says, casually dropping an ash off his cigarette. “But, just to make things interesting… you beat me, and you get the World Champion at Ground Zero. Guaranteed, whoever he is.” Dangerous drops back with a smirk, as Flesher raises an eyebrow and grinds out the cigarette in his ashtray. Johnny nods, and says, “Well then, Commish, I guess I’ll see you in the ring on Friday.” He turns and begins to walk out. “Hey, Johnny?” Flesher calls after him. Dangerous turns his head, and Flesher calls, “You’ve got to quit. Cigarettes are a filthy habit.” “What can I say? Sometimes it’s just an addiction.” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 In the middle of a wrestling ring, set up in the middle of St. Peter’s Square, in the middle of Vatican City, a man known only as Funyon adjusts his bowtie and raises the microphone to his lips. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a LAST MAN STANDING MATCH!!” “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The massive cheer that greets this announcement may come as surprise given the largely clerical nature of the crowd, but anyone familiar with the themes of revenge and righteous fury running through the Bible will know that deep down, what all good Catholics love is seeing the bad guys get a real shitkicking. And, as the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire rings out and the words ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG’ flash up on the huge portable screen that’s serving as the Smarktron, it becomes clear that the biggest bad guy of the SWF is in the house. In fact, he’s in the House Of God. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Introducing first, from Nottingham, England,” Funyon begins as the familiar spiky-haired figure steps out of the shadows of the Vatican and into the area lit by the floods, “he weighs in tonight at 218lbs and is the leader of Revolution Zero; ‘The Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” Toxxic looks neither to right nor left as he passes down the entranceway, ignoring the jeering Italians on all sides and with his eyes fixed solely on the ring. One year previously, in the Mark of the Quad Cities Center during 13th Hour 2004, Toxxic competed in his first Last Man Standing Match. His opponent, Nathaniel Kibagami, didn’t walk away from that match. Toxxic did. “Well, here comes the man who by rights should be challenging for the World Title tonight,” Suicide King says, “although I can understand his desire to eliminate Spike Jenkins once and for all instead. Needless to say, if it was Toxxic going for the belt the World Title would be at the top of the card.” “King, will you give it a rest?” Pete asks wearily. A foolish question. “Face it MacDougal,” the Gambling Man snorts, “for all the pleasure I will get at seeing Scott Pretzler finally squash Wildchild for good, Flesher just wouldn’t have dared drop the World Title match down the card if the Straight-Edge Sensation was involved.” “Well, perhaps it’s time for him to step aside and let others have a chance at the limelight?” Pete ventures. “I take it that’s your excuse for never achieving anything except getting your ass kicked by Mistress Sarah?” Meanwhile, Toxxic has rolled under the bottom rope into the ring and stripped off his personalised England soccer shirt - drawing yet more boos from the rabidly patriotic Italy supporters surrounding the ring - before throwing his arms wide, palms flat- *BOOOM!!* -to send an explosion of red pyro erupting skywards from each ringpost! ‘I never thought this could be me I guess you never do until it’s happening to you Like all the fun turned into shame And all the ‘could-have-beens’ rearrange…’ ‘Rookie’ begins to fade out and the crowd noise becomes audible again. However, peace in St. Peter’s Square is short-lived as all the floods suddenly hit full and- *BAM!* -the crashing guitars of Lamb Of God’s ‘Black Label’ sends a bolt through the crowd! The SmarkScreen shows a quick flypast of the world-famous Hollywood sign, then as the drumming picks up Randy Blythe’s scream tears out across the Vatican City! ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!’ “And his opponent!” Funyon bellows over the noise, “from Hollywood, California; he weighs in tonight at 226lbs and is the Longest-Reigning Cruiserweight Champion of ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL time… ‘HOLLYWOOD’… SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE… JEEEEEEEEN-KIIIIIINNNNNSSSSSS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The answering cheer is loud, but not quite as loud as it could have been. Spike evidently doesn’t have the complete and total support of the crowd behind him, although it doesn’t seem to be bothering the Hollywood Superstar as he makes his way towards the ring. “Hmm,” King muses, “I guess they don’t get many straight-edgers taking the communion wine, right?” “You know King,” Pete says, all seriousness, “I don’t think this is even about ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ or ‘good’ or ‘bad’ anymore. Toxxic betrayed Spike and beat him down, Spike’s been chasing him ever since, has attacked and tried to cripple Toxxic and placed an intoxicating substance in his drink…” “So what is it about?” King asks impatiently. “…this is about blood. Pure and simple, it’s about blood.” Spike is already stripping off his jacket as he sees Toxxic staring over the top rope at him, eyes like two steel balls glaring out through their dark eyeliner. Jenkins motions his former leader to ‘come on’ as he approaches closer… but it seems that Spike wasn’t expecting Toxxic to take him so literally, as the Straight-Edge Sensation takes a firm grip on the rope and slingshots himself over the top onto Spike with a plancha that drives his opponent down to the concrete! “RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “I want a ‘Holy Shit’ chant,” King snickers. “Just one. That’d really make my night.” The Gambling Man is going to have to wait however, as for the moment the crowd are content to boo while Toxxic pushes himself up into something approaching a sitting position on Spike’s chest and begins to hammer away with right hands. Jenkins tries to cover up but some blows still sneak through, so the Hollywood Superstar lashes upwards- *CRACK!* -connecting with a Shotei to the jaw that topples the Brit from his perch and sends him sprawling. Spike scrambles to his feet, but fast as he is Toxxic is quicker and the Straight-Edge Sensation is in position to fire a dropkick into Spike’s head before the Hollywood Superstar is fully back to a vertical base. Jenkins staggers sideways into the ring apron and before he can recover Toxxic is up again, grabbing his former stablemate’s arm and hauling to Irish whip Jenkins into the steel guardrail separating them from the fans! *BANG!!* Spike yells out in pain as his spine meets steel, but Toxxic is just warming up. The Brit latches onto Spike again, then heaves with all his might to send the Hollywood Superstar knees-first into the ring steps! *CRASH!!* Spike hits full speed at thigh-height and flips straight over the obstacle to land hard on his back. In an attempt to get some separation from his opponent Jenkins begins to roll sideways, but even this is no defence as Toxxic takes a few steps, vaults up to the top of the ring steps and then somersaults off to land the Hangover across his opponent’s windpipe! “Well, I don’t think this match has started off quite as Spike intended,” Longdogger Pete notes with some concern. “If the brawl we saw on Smarkdown didn’t give us enough of a clue, I don’t think there’s going to be any quarter asked or given in this one!” “If the idiot decides he wants to ‘spike’ Toxxic’s drink - well, he gets what’s coming to him,” Suicide King snorts. “Maybe this match will finally put him in his place… although I’m not holding my breath.” Spike isn’t holding his breath either, mainly because he’s having trouble breathing in any shape or form after Toxxic’s leg has crushed his windpipe. Things are only set to get worse for Hollywood though, as Toxxic hauls him up off the floor again and grabs the wheezing Californian’s arm, then Irish whips him one more time - right into the ring post! *CLUNK!!* Jenkins ricochets off and staggers woozily between ring and guardrail. Toxxic steps up behind his wobbling opponent and waits for him to turn around, then places one hand on either side of Spike’s head and- *CRUNCH!!* “Headbutt!” Pete shouts as Toxxic fires his forehead into Spike’s face, “and Spike could be about to resemble Ejiro Fasaki’s sister!” “Yeah, I wish,” King snorts, then pauses as he realises he’s talking about Spike. “…at least, I think I wish…” the Gambling Man muses. Toxxic keeps hold of his opponent, takes a good grip on the waistband of Spike’s trunks and rolls Jenkins into the ring under the bottom rope. The Straight-Edge Sensation then follows him, allowing referee Andy D’Urso to finally call for the bell! *DING-DING-DING!* “And the referee’s first responsibility in this match will be to make a count!” Pete exclaims as Spike doesn’t instantly rise off the canvas. “So far, Toxxic has been in complete control!” ‘ONE!’ “Did you expect anything else?” King asks smugly. “He is the three-time World Champion, you know.” ‘TWO!’ Of course, it’s still far too early for Spike to be in any danger of losing the match and the Hollywood Superstar begins to push himself up. D’Urso instructs Toxxic to back off and let his opponent rise but the Straight-Edge Sensation isn’t feeling particularly charitably inclined, so he steps up and boots Spike in the head to send him sprawling into the ropes, draped across the middle one with his head and arms dangling to the outside. Before the referee can make another admonishment Toxxic grabs the top rope in both hands and slingshots himself up and over, coming down with a guillotine legdrop to the back of Spike’s head! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The crowd haven’t been particularly partisan so far, but the continued onslaught from the Straight-Edge Sensation seems to be striking a bad note with the assembled Italians and they respond in the same manner Toxxic has heard for the vast majority of his career. Shrugging, the Brit hops back up to the apron and heads for the top rope as Spike clutches his throat once more on the canvas in the ring. To further add to his opponent’s breathing problems, Toxxic somersaults off the top to land both feet in Jenkins’ ribcage with a highly effective double stomp! “OOOOooooooffffffffff…” With Spike on the mat struggling for breath Andy D’Urso is left with no alternative but to make his count again… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ Spike coughs violently… ‘FOUR!’ …and starts to struggle up, making it to one knee as Toxxic looks on. The Straight-Edge Sensation grimaces in annoyance and strides forward to grab the kneeling Jenkins by the head before hauling him up to his feet and firing off a brutal European uppercut! *WHAM!* Spike staggers but doesn’t fall, and the blonde Californian comes back with a Shotei to the jaw! CRACK!* The force of the blow sends Toxxic stumbling back but the former World Champion has no intention of coming off second to his opponent when he’s been on top so far and steps back in with another uppercut! *WHAM!* Spike wobbles back again and this time he actually rebounds off the ropes, but he uses this to his advantage by striding forwards and launching another Shotei at the unprepared Straight-Edge Sensation- *CRACK!* -then follows up with a Rolling Elbow! *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Spike’s own momentum nearly unbalances him, and instead of immediately following up Jenkins places his hands on his knees and takes a moment to clear his head. After a few deep breaths the Hollywood Superstar seems to be feeling a bit better and he looks around to see where Toxxic has got to; the Brit is still clutching his jaw but is starting to get up off the canvas, so Spike takes a couple of quick steps and back mounts his former mentor before firing down brutal crossfaces! Toxxic raises his arms to block them as best he can so Spike reaches down and tries to lock in a Rear Naked Choke. His British adversary manages to foil him however, but now Toxxic is trapped on the canvas with Spike only a few inches away from achieving a potentially match-winning hold. “How quickly the tables have turned,” Pete notes in astonishment, “and all because Toxxic decided to engage Spike in a straight-up striking contest! Now, instead of being free to hit and run as he pleases Toxxic is very much at Spike’s mercy!” A Rear Naked Choke is a very effective move when used in something like UFC. It’s equally effective in a regular wrestling match, as long as the referee doesn’t DQ you for actually choking. However, in a wrestling match where disqualifications don’t count the intended victim does have an option not available to the Lidells and Ortiz’s of this world… “AAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!” “He’s biting him!” King laughs as Toxxic sinks his teeth into prime, sun-ripened Californian Jenkins. Spike hastily and instinctively pulls his forearm away from his opponent’s mouth and Toxxic takes this chance to scramble for the ropes. Of course, with rope breaks not in effect Spike doesn’t have to break the hold but the Hollywood Superstar is unable to hold the bodyscissors he has applied as Toxxic threatens to drag him right through the cables and out to the floor. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Well, what do you know,” King says, looking around, “they speak English here.” “Those are two words I think most of the world knows by now, King.” The moment Spike releases his grip Toxxic ceases his attempts to get to the floor and manages to remain on the apron, eager not to have to re-enter the ring with his opponent waiting. However, this might not have been the best plan in the world as Spike is still in easy striking distance and the Hollywood Superstar grabs Toxxic’s hair and hauls the Brit’s torso between the top and middle ropes, then drives a vicious kick into the Straight-Edge Sensation’s jaw! *CRACK!* This time Toxxic does slump out to the floor and Spike wastes no time in stepping through the ropes after him, dropping lightly onto St. Peter’s Square in pursuit of his hated enemy. Before Toxxic can recover from the blow to the head and his fall Spike has already brought him back to his feet, then places the younger straight-edger’s forehead on the bottom rope and scraaaaapes him along it before ramming Toxxic’s skull into the ringpost at the end of it! *CLUNK!* The Brit reacts almost exactly as Spike did earlier, staggering away and clutching his head. However, Spike is intent on exacting revenge for the beating he took at the start of the match and grabs Toxxic’s arm, then Irish whips his former leader into the guardrail… but Toxxic jumps up at the last moment, balancing precariously on top of the steel structure! After taking a moment to catch his balance the Straight-Edge Sensation leaps backwards, twisting in the air as he looks for the Role Reversal- *KERR-RRRACK!* “-but Spike Yakuza kicked him right out of the air!” Pete shouts in astonishment. “Toxxic pulled the same move in Jakarta, and this time Spike was prepared!” “Dumb luck,” King asserts through clenched teeth, “and this is Spike, so I mean dumb.” Andy D’Urso couldn’t help but wince as Spike’s boot met Toxxic’s jaw coming the other way, and when the Brit doesn’t stir upon landing the referee realises that he has a job to do… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ Spike looks on, seemingly almost eager for Toxxic to get back up and into this match. After all, he’s waited a long, long time to pick up a win over this man. He wants to enjoy it. ‘FOUR!’ Toxxic groans and rolls onto his side, clearly not out of it just yet. Protocol would require Spike to let his opponent make his way back to his feet, but Jenkins isn’t interested in all that ‘spirit of the game’ stuff so he steps up and starts dropping stomps right into the Brit’s chest and ribs! “That’s right, hit the man while he’s down,” King grumbles. “Sounds like a plan,” Pete agrees mildly. Spike continues his assault for about ten seconds or so, then seems to lose interest and starts to wander away. However, the cessation of hostilities is not a result of any sudden pacifistic tendencies on Jenkins’ part, or indeed his attention span starting to waver. In fact the Hollywood Superstar is looking for a weapon - a weapon he finds in the shape of a steel chair. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” Hollywood picks the lonely item of ring furniture up and closes it with a sharp *snap* before turning back towards his beleaguered enemy. Toxxic has managed to stagger up to his feet and is holding his ribs but the Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t look in any great shape so Spike draws back the chair, swings… *whooof* …and misses, as Toxxic ducks at the last moment! The momentum of Spike’s swing causes him to stumble forward past his opponent, but the Hollywood Superstar turns on a dime to track his former leader- *CRACK!* -and gets the chair superkicked back into his face! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “And now it’s Spike’s turn to have the advantage snatched from him,” Pete notes. “It’s been over a year since Toxxic held the Hardcore Gamer’s Championship but he’s acquitted himself well in these sort of violent matches since then, and I’d reckon that on the outside of the ring and when weapons are in play he has the edge over his opponent!” However, Spike is not without his own instincts in these matters and even as he falls the Hollywood Superstar twists his body to make sure he traps the chair underneath him on the floor, preventing Toxxic from retrieving the weapon. The Straight-Edge Sensation is more concerned with holding his ribs for the moment, but as the pain slowly starts to recede Toxxic begins to look around for inspiration. Seeing no other weapons immediately to hand the Brit hauls himself up onto the apron, then walks cautiously along until his is approaching Spike from behind. Hollywood starts to push himself up… and Toxxic leaps off to drop a leg across the back of Jenkins’ neck, driving his face back down into St. Peter’s Square! *BANG!* The jolt from the painful landing doesn’t seem to help Toxxic’s midsection any, but it is definitely Spike who came off worse and the Straight-Edge Sensation signals to Andy D’Urso to begin his count. The referee obliges… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ Spike begins to stir again, rolling over onto his back and starting to woozily sit up. ‘FOUR…’ Jenkins grabs the Spanish announcer’s desk and pulls, slowly hauling himself up to his feet. Hollywood looks at the fans, many of whom seem to be shouting and trying to tell him something. Spike can’t speak Italian, but he can work out what they mean as they point past him… *CRACK!* …and he whirls around to floor the onrushing Toxxic with a Shotei! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The former World Champion flounders on the deck, jaw stinging from Spike’s palm thrust and trying to work out exactly why and how he ended up on his back instead of clobbering his adversary from behind. However, Toxxic isn’t given a chance to work things out as Jenkins reaches down to grab him by his spiky hair, then hauls him to his feet and rolls him back under the bottom rope into the ring. “We’re heading back into Spike’s territory now,” Longdogger observes. “Please, Toxxic didn’t win the World Title three times by brawling on the floor,” King snorts. Jenkins fires off a couple of quick kicks into Toxxic’s ribs, then drags the Straight-Edge Sensation to his feet and Irish whips him into the far corner. Toxxic hits backfirst, the impact blasting the breath from his lungs, and Spike begins to run, performs a handspring and then leaps up to deliver a devastating gamengiri… …but Toxxic ducks out of the way at the last moment, and the Tidal Wave misses! Spike manages to land on the second buckle though, and as Toxxic turns back to try and take advantage Hollywood leaps off backwards and lashes out with his right boot in a flying superkick! *SMACK!* Toxxic topples backwards, and although Spike doesn’t seem to think that there is much likelihood of that getting the win he motions for the referee to count anyway… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FIVE…’ Toxxic is starting to move, clutching at his head but beginning to bring himself up. Spike snorts and moves back in, again not waiting for his opponent to rise on his own but determined to keep the pressure on. He brings Toxxic up and twists his former mentor around into a reverse headlock, then tightens his grip and tries to force the Straight-Edge Sensation over onto his front! “He’s going for the Silver Lining!” Pete shouts as the crowd suddenly roars in anticipation. “This is one of only two moves that Toxxic has ever tapped to-” “-but not when performed by Spike!” King shoots back. “You know as well I as do Longdogger that it’s Landon Maddix’s Dragon Clutch that forced Toxxic to tap, not Spike’s!” Spike is determined to change that but Toxxic is proving to be unreasonably stubborn and fighting it for all he’s worth. Jenkins tries for a few more seconds to destabilise his opponent and force him onto his front, but still with no success. Abruptly changing tactics, Spike holds his right arm straight out to the side… “CLEAN LIVING!” …but before the Hollywood Superstar can execute the swinging reverse neckbreaker Toxxic manages to twist around in his opponent’s grip to turn it into a front facelock, then wraps his arms around Spike’s waist and bridges backwards into a Northern Lights Suplex! *BANG!* “Well, that’s certainly not a regular move from Toxxic’s arsenal,” Pete comments as the Brit releases the useless pinning bridge and rolls to one side leaving Spike struggling for breath, “but as a desperation counter it was effective enough.” “Don’t display your ignorance by confusing a desperation counter with what that was, which was a masterful piece of strategy,” King informs him loftily. “Toxxic knows Spike very well and has all his moves scouted!” “Right…” Toxxic has risen to a crouch and is watching Spike intently, seemingly planning his next move. Jenkins was willing to bring the big guns out early, and Toxxic is painfully aware that he’s going to need to up his own offence if he’s going to stay in this match. With that in mind the Brit starts to move towards the nearest turnbuckle, climbing as fast as he can as Spike begins to stir off the canvas. Jenkins reaches his feet and looks around, trying to draw a bead on his elusive opponent… and Toxxic leaps into the air, snaring Spike around the neck and flipping forward to bring Hollywood down with a blockbuster neckbreaker from the top rope! “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” The impact causes Spike to grab at the back of his neck but it seems that Toxxic misjudged the effect it would have on his own body, as the hard landing shakes up his ribs again. It takes a few seconds for the Straight-Edge Sensation to be in any condition to try and follow up on his offensive - wearing a wry facial expression that indicates ‘OK, no more of that for a while’ - and Spike is already trying to get back to his own feet. Toxxic immediately underhooks both of Spike’s arms and places Hollywood in a standing headscissors… “Toxxic Shock Syndrome!” King shouts in anticipation. “But can his ribs take the lift?” Pete fires back. …we shall never know, as Spike manages to squirm one arm free, then the other, then hooks his former leader behind the knees and forces his way upwards to power his way out with a back bodydrop! *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Spike is still holding the back of his neck - which hasn’t been helped any by that last lift - but he is able to round on the gasping Toxxic and measure him. The Straight-Edge Sensation knows that he doesn’t want to be on the mat right now and forces himself up to a sitting position, then over onto one knee… and finds Spike waiting for him. *CRACK!* Jenkins fires off a kick to the ribs, further troubling the former World Champion’s midsection. *CRACK!* And another. Spike backs off, slams both hands into the canvas and straightens up with a roar before stepping back up and drawing his right boot back… and pausing. “…?” Spike was expecting Toxxic to duck. He was waiting for the Straight-Edge Sensation to anticipate the third kick, just like he did in Jakarta, then catch him on the jaw as he comes back up. But Toxxic, wheezing as he tries to restore oxygen to his lungs, does nothing of the sort. So Spike shrugs and lashes out with his right boot in a potentially knock-out blow… *whoof* …and now Toxxic ducks! Spike’s momentum carries him around, and the Brit lunges forwards to place one shoulder under each of Spike’s knees before getting his legs under him and, rather unsteadily, forcing his way upwards with Spike on his shoulders. Jenkins realises what’s happening of course, but a second later he is perched precariously in an electric chair position far above the ring… “RRRRRRRAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!” “He’s going for the Dangerlust!” Pete shouts as Toxxic‘s hands reach upwards towards his former follower. “Counter it Spike, counter it…!” But the Straight-Edge Sensation’s black-nailed hands lock onto their targets, and Spike’s wrists are held firmly (wait a minute, the wrists, not the back of the neck…?). It’s too late for Spike Jenkins to do anything, and Toxxic drops… …backwards. Not forwards. *BANG!* “Wha-?” Pete exclaims in shock as Toxxic drives Spike down onto his shoulders, “that wasn’t the Dangerlust! That was… I don’t know, something like an Ocean Cyclone Suplex!” An Ocean Cyclone Suplex without a bridge of course, as the object of this match is not to pin the opponent. Toxxic rolls away from the prostrate Jenkins, still holding his ribs, and casts a glance over at his enemy. He’s sure he felt something give or tear or break or just hurt a hellish amount during that lift, and he’s certainly not going to try it again. He’s just going to have to hope that it’s enough. ‘ONE!’ “I don’t get it,” Pete says, confused as Toxxic rises to one knee, then to his feet. “Why wouldn’t Toxxic use the Dangerlust from that position?” ‘TWO!’ “I mean,” the Miami Menace continues, “he could have put the match beyond doubt there!” ‘THREE!’ “…evidently, he knew that Spike would have the move scouted and so changed things up a bit,” King says, although the Gambling Man doesn’t sound very sure, “that has to be the answer.” ‘FOUR!’ “Or maybe Toxxic really doesn’t want another broken neck on his conscience,” Pete mutters to himself. “I’ll admit it doesn’t seem very likely, but still…” ‘FIVE!’ A great, racking cough shakes Spike’s body as the Hollywood Superstar lays on the mat. However, that expulsion seems to signify that life and fight still remain in the man from California and he begins to stir. ‘SIX!’ Spike rolls over slowly onto his front and begins to crawl, heading for the ropes. Toxxic watches with narrowed eyes, unwilling to jump in and break the count just in case his opponent fails to make it to his feet in time, but not anxious to let Spike get back to his feet and set himself properly… ‘SEVEN!’ Jenkins reaches the ropes and grabs the middle one, then begins to haul himself up. Andy D’Urso doesn’t break the count even when Spike changes his grip to the top cable and gets onto both feet, as Hollywood has to be standing unaided… ‘EIIIGGGGGHHHHHT…’ Spike releases the top rope, wobbles sideways for a moment… then stands, free from all support! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic’s face twists into a grimace and he strides forwards before Spike can prepare, then lashes out with a RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! Windup… DISCUS CLOTHESLINE… but Spike ducks and catches Toxxic’s arm over his right shoulder, extending his own right arm across Toxxic’s chest! However, the Straight-Edge Sensation recognises the setup for the Minor Threat jawbreaker and fires off one, two, three back elbows to Spike’s temple to cause Spike to stagger sideways… then Toxxic whirls around on the spot again and- *BANG!* “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again!” King chortles as the discus clothesline connects for probably the first time in six months and takes Jenkins off his feet once more. Andy D’Urso gets ready to count but Toxxic knows that it’s going to take more than this to keep Spike down now, so he pushes himself back to his feet and heads for the turnbuckles again. “The last time Toxxic went up top he hurt himself on landing,” Pete notes as the Straight-Edge Sensation begins to climb, wincing at the strain on his ribs. “Has he got a different plan in mind this time, or is he going to take a chance?” Toxxic reaches the top rope and pauses for a moment, straightens up, then launches himself into the air and zeroes in on Spike’s forehead with his fist! The shock of the landing is absorbed mainly by the straight-edger’s arms and legs, and although Toxxic’s fist is clearly smarting from where it connected with Jenkins’ (thick) skull his sensitive midsection avoids taking another battering. With this approach having paid off the Brit heads to the skies again, climbing up to the top rope and looking down at his Californian opponent… but pausing, as he sees that Spike has rolled away, presumably in the throes of pain from the previous fistdrop. Toxxic’s eyes narrow as he judges the distance - it’s a reach, but he can probably make it. He crouches down for a little extra ‘spring’, then uncoils and soars across the ring… …but Spike rolls away again, and now he is definitely out of reach of the Straight-Edge Sensation who crashes and burns by driving his fist directly into the canvas! Whether or not the mat is actually more painful to hit than Spike’s head is debateable, but Toxxic has mashed his fist up without hitting his adversary and the mix of disappointment and pain causes him to yell out and cradle his right hand in the other. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Spike is on all fours and shoots a quick look sideways to check on his opponent. Toxxic is swearing in a low voice but is also starting to get back to a vertical base, so Spike knows he has to act quickly. Instead of moving towards his adversary however, Jenkins lurches upwards from all fours like a sprinter from the blocks - albeit a sprinter who’s taken a hell of a beating so far today - and heads for the ropes at top speed. The sudden movement takes Toxxic off-guard and the former World Champion turns to follow Spike to see what he’s up to, but is unprepared as Jenkins rebounds at an unprecedented velocity- *WHAM!!* “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” -and nails Toxxic with a when-in-Rome-do-as-the-Romans-did-and-decapitate-your-enemies-LARIATOOOOOOOOOOO~! “He got him!” Pete shouts jubilantly as Toxxic completes a full backflip and lands messily on his front as Spike stumbles to halt at the far cables. “Spike nearly took Toxxic’s head off with that Lariat, and that could be the opening Hollywood needs to get back into the match!” Andy D’Urso doesn’t hesitate in his duty and starts the count as Spike gets his breath back, standing over the possibly-broken body of the Straight-Edge Sensation. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FIVE!’ There is no sign of movement from Toxxic. Whether or not he’s been knocked completely unconscious or not is unclear, but there’s no indication that the Straight-Edge Sensation can even hear the referee. ‘SIX!’ ‘SEVE-’ -and Spike steps in to break up the count, leaning down to grab Toxxic’s spiky hair in both hands and hauling his opponent roughly up to a sitting position! “What!?” Pete yelps as D’Urso breaks off his count before remonstrating with the unrepentant Hollywood Superstar. “Spike, you could have won the match there! Is it worth it?” “Apparently so,” King muses as Jenkins hauls the near-deadweight of the Straight-Edge Sensation over into a front facelock and begins to pull upwards. “I don’t know what Spike’s got in mind, but it looks like he’s being just as stupid as usual…” It takes a couple of attempts for Spike to achieve his goal as Toxxic’s legs keep buckling, but after a few seconds Jenkins has managed to get his former mentor in a standing headscissors. Before Toxxic can slump down again Spike reaches down and underhooks one arm… then the other… “So what’s this, he’s stealing the Toxxic Shock Syndrome?” King snorts. “Way to prove your point, moron.” “I don’t think so,” Pete says slowly as Spike lets out an almighty yell, “I think we could be about to see something rather worse…” With a huge heave, Spike wrenches upwards and hoists Toxxic up, then turns by ninety degrees as he does so and catches the Straight-Edge Sensation in a Burning Hammer position! “I Just Broke Your Neck!” Pete shouts. “This will do it, no question!” “He wouldn’t!” King replies tensely. Oh, he would. At least, he would if he could. But as Spike readjusts Toxxic’s weight on his shoulders and prepares to drop down the Brit seems to come to his senses and reaches out with one black-nailed hand to dig into Spike’s eyes! “YAAAARRRGGGGHHHH!” Jenkins’ grip relaxes and Toxxic slithers down behind his opponent, rather ungraciously but certainly not ungratefully. The adrenaline that has started pumping after that close shave seems to have given the Revolution Zero leader a burst of energy and he reaches up around Spike’s head and wraps his arm across his opponent’s face to secure a reverse headlock, the drops to one knee and drives the other up into the back of Spike’s neck. Before Jenkins can slump to the ground however, Toxxic pops back up again… but instead of dropping back down in an inverted DDT the Straight-Edge Sensation instead twists Spike over into a ¾ headlock and runs directly for the turnbuckles! Toxxic’s boots find the bottom, middle and top buckles, then he launches himself backwards… *BANG!* …and comes down with the Intoxxication, driving the back of Spike’s skull into the canvas! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” That seems to be the limit of the straight-edger’s energy as he does nothing more than roll away from Spike, causing D’Urso to begin his count. ‘ONE!’ “Toxxic hits the Intoxxication, and that could be Spike Jenkins down for the count!” Pete exclaims. “However, if Toxxic himself can’t rise before the count of ten then we have a draw!” ‘TWO!’ “A draw in a Last Man Standing match?” King says. “What an anti-climax. Just as well that Toxxic will get up, really.” ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FIVE!’ “…you sure about that, King?” ‘SIX!’ Slowly, Toxxic gets his arms under him and begins to push upwards. All he has to do is get back to his feet for a second or two, and this match should - hopefully - be over. He knows Spike Jenkins is tough, but even kicking out of the Franchise Tag shouldn’t mean he can get up from this battering. ‘SEVEN!’ ‘EIGHT!’ Toxxic reaches his feet and catches a quick glance from Andy D’Urso as the referee acknowledges that he is up, and therefore won’t be counted out. Then D’Urso turns his attention back to his other charge, and Toxxic turns to follow his gaze. ‘NIIIIIIIIIIINE…’ Spike is on one knee. ‘TEEEE-’ Make that on his feet. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “HE’S UP!” Pete shouts over the roar of the Vatican crowd. “Spike Jenkins has got up from the Intoxxication, and we still have a match on our hands here!” “Big deal,” King snorts, trying not to sound worried. “Toxxic’s still got a load more high-impact moves he can use, I don’t think Spike will last long!” Toxxic doesn’t waste any time hanging around to see exactly what sort of state Spike is in. Instead the Straight-Edge Sensation rushes forwards as fast as he can before leaving his feet in a rather sloppy spinning heelkick that nevertheless catches Jenkins on the jaw and causes the Hollywood Superstar to tumble backwards out between the top and middle ropes to the floor. “Perhaps,” Pete says guardedly to King’s comment, “perhaps. But don’t forget that Toxxic doesn’t seem to be able to do much lifting at the moment, so moves like the Toxxic Shock Syndrome or even the Caffeine Bomb might be out of the question! Not to mention the risk he would run if he went up top for something like the Inglorious.” “Watch and learn,” King replies, “watch and learn.” Toxxic ignores D’Urso’s instinctive request to keep the match in the ring and climbs somewhat gingerly down to the floor. There he not only finds a rather battered Spike Jenkins, but also the chair that Spike attempted to use earlier in the match. Grinning lopsidedly, Toxxic picks the weapon up before grabbing Spike by his dirty blonde hair and dragging the Hollywood Superstar upright. The Brit leans Jenkins against the Spanish announce table, causing some concern to Curry Man and Exploding Chicken, then winds up with the chair and swings with all his might… *whoof* …and misses as Spike ducks out of the way! Toxxic swears as his momentum causes him to collide with the announce desk, then he turns around to find his opponent- *CRACK!!* “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Last Dance!” Pete roars. “Last Dance into the chair, and the tables have been turned!” “NO!” King shouts, although whether at the turn of events or LDP’s furniture puns remains unclear. Regardless, Spike scoops up the steel chair from the floor with some glee, then rams it down hard on Toxxic’s midsection as the Straight-Edge Sensation is sprawled face-up over the Spanish announce table. Ignoring Exploding Chicken’s *clucks* of alarm, Jenkins turns and heads towards the ring, rolling in under the bottom rope. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE…?’ D’Urso’s count falters as he sees what Spike Jenkins is doing now. Slowly but surely, the Hollywood Superstar is starting to climb the ringpost closest to the Spanish announce table. “This doesn’t look good,” King says, transfixed. “Guys?” Pete says, motioning hurriedly to Chicken & Curry. “Guys! MOVE!!” The two bilingual announcers make tracks as Spike perches on the top buckle, unfamiliar territory for such a ground-based wrestler. All around St. Peter’s Square, fans who thought to bring cameras use them as they capture what might be a once-in-a-lifetime moment… …and then ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins leaps into space, pumping his arms and legs as he goes, before coming down right on top of Toxxic, the chair and the Spanish announce table. *KERRRR-RRRRRRAAASSSSSHHHHH!!* “RRRRRAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “RATINGS GRABBER THROUGH THE ANNOUNCE TABLE!” Pete screams at the top of his lungs. “JESUS CHRIST, THEY COULD BE DEAD!” King, despite the chants rising around him, is speechless. ‘ONE!’ It takes Andy D’Urso a moment to begin his count, but the referee knows he has a job to do. ‘TWO!’ Spike Jenkins is rolling around on St. Peter’s Square clutching his ribs. He just fell some fifteen feet onto a steel chair and through a table. ‘THREE!’ Toxxic just isn’t moving. ‘FOUR!’ ‘FIVE!’ ‘SIX!’ Slowly, Spike Jenkins reaches out one hand and grabs the steel guardrail. ‘SEVEN!’ The straight-edger from Los Angeles starts to haul himself on, conscious as he does so of the massive cheers from all over the Square. ‘EIGHT!’ Several well-meaning Italians nearly knock Spike back down again as they pat him enthusiastically on the back, but Jenkins grits his teeth and forces his way up to his feet. ‘NINE!’ Looking around, Spike sees Toxxic still lying in the wreckage of the table. Hearing D’Urso’s count, Jenkins realises how close the match is to ending and surges forward, determined not to let his former leader off so lightly… ‘TEN!’ *DING-DING-DING!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “IT’S OVER!” Pete roars over the noise of the crowd. “SPIKE HAS DONE IT! HE’S FINALLY BEATEN TOXXIC! HOLLYWOOD DOES EQUAL RATINGS!” “Oh shut up,” King sulks. As the roar of the crowd gains in volume to the point where it is threatening to dislodge the roof of the Vatican, Spike Jenkins simply stares at the form of his former leader. He doesn’t really register Andy D’Urso raising his right arm in victory. All Spike knows is that he didn’t want it to end yet. “What a match!” Pete enthuses, oblivious to Spike’s apparent lack of elation at finally defeating his former mentor. “Don’t go anywhere though, as we have a grudge match of equally epic proportions coming up when ‘The Franchise’ Mak Francis takes on Danny Williams!” For some reason, as Spike starts to make his way back towards the wrestlers’ dressing room and medical personnel begin to check on Toxxic, a line come backs to him. Many, many months ago, back in the days of the original Revolution Zero, he and Toxxic had been bored whilst on tour and arguing about music. Part of the discussion had involved Toxx digging out his footage of the Sex Pistol’s one and only tour in the USA. Spike can still remember, after the final gig, Johnny Rotten crouching at the front of the stage and sneering at the fans. ‘Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated…?’ FADE OUT Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 “So, Mr. Jenkins, we meet again,” Tom Flesher says, as the exhausted straight-edger steps through the curtain. “Can this wait?” says Spike, breathing deeply. “I just –” “Failed. Miserably. I know, Spike, you wanted to cripple Toxxic. You wanted to kill him in that ring. What do you get? A hollow victory. I know how it feels, my friend.” “Listen, shut up for a second,” says Spike, wincing with every breath. “I need to get my ribs taped, and you absolutely reek of smoke. It smells like you were hanging out with Johnny Dangerous, for god’s sake.” “I wouldn’t worry about the ribs too much,” Flesher says. “It’s not like you won’t have plenty of time to heal.” Spike looks quizzically at Flesher, too exhausted to parse the statement. “Do you remember what you did with Toxxic’s drink?” “I didn’t –” “Don’t give me that shit. The girl at the club admitted it. Now, we can avoid getting law enforcement involved, but you have to understand that there are consequences.” Flesher smirks. “Get to the point.” “Thirty days, Mr. Jenkins,” Flesher says, pulling a pink sheet of paper out of his pocket and handing it over. “You’ve got thirty days to heal up. I’m sorry, but the public just wouldn’t stand for it if you kept wrestling without any apparent punishment.” With that, Flesher reaches out his hand. “The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation wishes you the best of luck during your suspension,” he says, “and we sincerely – sincerely hope to be doing business with you again soon.” Flesher winks to highlight the venomous nature of his comments, and then quickly turns and exits. As he watches Flesher walk away, Spike, dumbfounded, shakes his head. He waits, trying to figure out how to respond. After a moment of silence, he opts simply to shout, “Can I get my fucking ribs taped? I just wrestled a Last Man Fucking Standing Match, for god’s sake!” Jenkins seethes as the camera shot fades. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 (edited) It is here where vast masses are held by the Pope, the pumping heart of the largest church in the world. The one and only entrance to what some view as the holiest city in the world. The place where demons fear to tread and God’s elusive touch can be felt by the lucky few who have had the pleasure to walk it’s ancient grounds. Tonight, the faithful have gathered. Armies, legions, hordes of various peoples from every possible corner of the globe crowd the sacred valley. Elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder, they stand at attention in the great piazza, united by a common belief.... That the SWF is the best damn wrestling promotion in the world! The great Egyptian obelisk is still the center of the majestic Doric-pillared colonnade but all eyes are currently on the tiny blue wrestling ring beside it. It’s really a sight to behold, flanked by two beautiful 17th century fountains and in the shadow of the St. Peter’s Basilica, the SWF ring has never looked better. King: Tell me again why we couldn’t have this thing at the Coliseum? Pete: It’s an ancient historically preserved landmark that is no longer capable of housing sporting events. King: No, I was talking about the Coliseum in Vegas. The one where you can gamble and pick up desperate hookers. This has got to be the most boring city on the tour. Pete: I am sure there are plenty of fans back at home who would love to trade places with you King. Especially when we’ve got what may very be the definitive final meeting between legendary rivals Danny Williams and Mak Francis coming up. Pumping their fists into the air, the fans howl and holler as Funyon enters the squared circle. For this omen could only mean one thing, that the next match is about to begin. There are multiple translators at hand, ready to recycle Funyon’s words to the diverse crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall.” As the translators play catch up, the Franchise emerges from one of the dark brown papal apartment building acting as a make shift locker room for tonight’s event. There’s the slightest hint of his new theme music which is lost in the warm Italian breeze, evidently the openness of St. Peter’s Square isn’t doing the SWF’s sound system any favors. “ Introducing first, weighing in at 240 pounds, hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania....... he is the FRANCHISE, MAK FRANCISssssssssssssssssssss!!!!“ Removing his odd choice of glasses, Mak surveys the awe inspiring location. This is indeed a fine place to start his legend a new, his path the belt begins tonight. In today’s modern world there is no escape from televised actions and the mostly Italian crowd is very much aware of the Franchise’s actions last week. It may be difficult to get real nasty in the shadow of the Pope, who with a Cardinal on each side is silently watching the festivities from his balcony in the Basilica, so the fans simply lower their thumbs in polite disapproval. Used to the booing by now, Mak makes his way down the aisle without a hint of concern. As far as he’s concerned he’s got nothing to prove, in his mind he defeated Williams last week and he can do it again in front of the PPV crowd. Pete: Two weeks ago, the Franchise got his big rematch against Danny Williams. Even though he had the match won, the Franchise lost his cool when Danny became the second person to kick out of the Franchise tag. What followed was a rampage of bloody carnage, ending with the Franchise debuting a deadly new move that drove Williams’ head straight into the mat. King: And what a move it is. Not since Kibagami have I seen a wrestler show such little regard for the health of their opponents but that’s the attitude you need if you want to win titles. Pete: You also need confidence to win the Title and despite the front he’s putting up now, I have a funny feeling that Mak is still suffering from the same self doubt that’s plagued him since his losing streak. The Franchise doesn’t believe in himself, he believes in a move. Pete mus have X-Ray vision because you wouldn’t think that to see the Franchise, who is arrogantly posing on the top rope. However, one can’t help but wander if this new found confidence only stems from the new move. “And his opponent, weighting in at 265 pounds, hailing from Louisville, Kentucky.....” For the second time this year, the Vatican explodes! Parents raise their children on their shoulders. The Pope comes to his feet. Miles away, people watch from the tops of their houses, struggling to sneak a peak at their beloved wrestling hero. “DANNY WILLIAMSsssssssssss!!!” Marching out of the locker room, a fired up Danny Williams purposely strolls towards the ring. Even with a monestrous bandage on his head, Williams looks confident and focused The guardrail, is a literal wall of hands, all reaching out in hopes of just gracing their finger tips against the SWF”s fastest rising megastar. Not stopping, Williams tries to smack as many hands as he possibly can but there’s a never moment his eyes drift to the side. The scenery may be beautiful but this not the time for sight seeing. The only thing on Williams’ mind is the Franchise and whether or not he should follow through with the goofy idea in his head. Pete: Last week, Danny Williams voiced his disgust with the path the Franchise has took in his quest to finally become the Champion, promising to teach him what winning is really about. King: Like he would know. This guy may have actually got the World Title a few times but he only successfully defended it once. If Mak wants some advice he shouldn’t listen to this nut job, he should listen to me, I won’t teach him all my tricks of course.... Pete: Any ways, Williams said that he wants to see the Franchse from two years ago, the one who outlasted him in one of the most grueling Iron Man matches of all time. That’s the only man who can beat him, not the insecure punk of today who takes short cuts left and right. King: Don’t you understand that’s just a trick. He knows Mak isn’t strong enough to duke it out toe to toe like he did two years. Taking short cuts is only way the Franchise can beat this roid freak. Pete: Somehow I don’t think that’s the case. King: Than you’re a fool and hopefully Mak isn’t as foolish. Entering the ring, Williams eyeballs the Franchise. Mak is arrogantly shouting rude remarks at the fans, bragging about how easy it’s gonna be Danny out. Even though he doubts there’s still hope, Williams decides to give it a try. Marching up to the Franchise, Williams surprisingly holds out his hand. Mak can’t believe what he’s seeing, after everything that happened last week, he still wants to be “buddy, buddy” again. Doing his best to encourage Mak, Williams motions to the crowd, asking them to give the Franchise some support. Though Mak may not be deserving, the fans can’t say no to Williams. After all, it’s the right thing to do, nobody wants to see these two in a war. This dispute should be settled in a clean respectable match not a blood bath. Pete: Williams is staying true to his word, he’s giving Mak one final chance to salvage his inner hero before it’s too late. King: Don’t do it Mak! The Franchise looks to the crowd, who are wildly cheering him on. It’s a sight he hasn’t seen in a while and it feels good. Hearing vocal masses chant your name at the Vatican is certainly an accomplishment that should be cherished. How could he turn his back on so many people? Hell, even the Pope way up in his luxury balcony is edging him on. Doubt begins to creep into the Franchise’s psyche. Sensing that Mak is turning to the light side of the force, Williams holds out his hand more firmly.... Smack! but a slap to the face is all he gets. “Fuck you and your respect!” The disrespectful slap and the hateful obscenities shock and outrage the crowd. Pete: I feared this would happen. King: He made the right choice. Mak doesn’t want Danny’s respect, he wants Ejiro’s Title. Soapdish almost comically jumps in between the two men but there’s no need too. Restraining himself, Williams coldly walks away. It’s too late, the man who wrestled his heart out two years ago is gone. No use holding back now, if it’s a war this punk wants it’s a war he’s going to get. Breathing hard, Williams takes position in his corner. Like a race horse at the gates, he waits and listens. The Franchise smirks at the scowling fans, boasting about the smack heard around the Vatican. With both men in their corners, Soapdish sees no point in delaying the festivities. DING! DING! DING! There’s nothing stopping Williams now, he waited for the bell but that’s about as civilized as he plans on being. Exploding out of his corner, Williams takes the ill prepared Franchise to the mat! Mounting Mak’s chest, Williams uses his thick forearms to savagely pound his rival’s face into hamburger meat! Eager to see the Franchise deservingly get his ass kicked, the capacity crowd reacts positively to the beat down. Pete: And Williams is on fire! I told you the Franchise’s slap was a huge mistake. King: Mak should have seen that coming and attacked Danny before the bell when his back was turned. That’s what I would have done. Trying his best to keep this thing under control, Soapdish gives Williams an altermatum, ordering him to cease the assault at the count of three. Not wanting to get disqualified when there’s so much more to be done, Williams snatches up the brutalized Franchise and fires him into the buckles! Blam! Before Mak can even register the aching pain in his back, Williams crushes his skull with an amazing running, jumping elbow smash! Crack! The leaping blow leaves Mak dazed and confused, allowing Williams to calmly lead him out of the corner and position him for a Suplex. Without breaking a sweat, Danny suspends the Franchise over his head. Showing off his power to the Vatican crowd, Williams stalls for several seconds before doing a cute little spin and dropping the Franchise! “Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!” groans the wincing crowd. You see, Williams didn’t drop Mak on the canvas like he normally would. Mak’s repeated disrespects have struck a nerve with Williams, who is now going out of his way to inflict extra punishment on the Franchise. Instead of landing uncomfortably on the shock resisting canvas, Mak finds himself impaled on the top rope. Pete: The Franchise has been hung out to dry. King: Now what cause was there for that? Williams paints himself out to be some kind of saint but he’s just as if not dirtier than the Franchise. Pete: Williams is going to be a lot nastier than usual, he has to be if he wants to teach the Franchise a lesson, but I doubt will see him take any short cuts tonight. King: We’ll see. With his mouth widely hanging open, the Franchise plants his feet on the apron, easing but not eliminating the cramping pain in his abdomen. Crack! The break doesn’t last long as a running elbow sends the Franchise flying off the apron and into the guardrail! Crash! Williams surveys the situation, coming to the conclusion that the Franchise is in perfect position for his favorite flying attacking. Not giving the Franchise the chance to move, Williams bullets across the ring, hitting the ropes and gaining speed. Straightening his body into a human torpedo, Williams threads the needle and dives through the ropes! CRACK! The Elbow Suicida connects flush with the Franchise’s already throbbing skull, knocking him clean over the guardrail! Having never thought they see the legendary move in person, the fans reward Williams with a wonderful standing ovation. Not wanting to disappoint such a holy crowd, Williams pauses to soak in the cheers before going right back to work. Reaching over the guardrail, Danny scoops the ailing Franchise up and elevates him over his head. Calling on the power of his Hulk like shoulders, Williams presses the Franchise to the fullest height of his arms, launching him over the second rope and back into the ring. Again, the fans applaud the superhuman feat. Pete: Look at the power of Williams, thus far this match has been all his. King: And you expect the Franchise to wrestle this guy cleanly? Pete: Mak has overcame his power before, the only significant difference between tonight and the Iron Man match is his lack of confidence. King: No, the Franchise just wised up and learned the hard way that short cuts is the only way to get anywhere in life. Climbing onto the ring apron, Williams spots the Franchise still laid out on the mat. Since Mak is hardly in position to dodge anything, Williams decides to take the opportunity to ambush him with a risky but effective high flying attack. Scaling the turnbuckles, Williams balances himself on the top rope. Surrounded by unmatched 17th century artwork with his long brown hair blowing in the breeze, Williams waits for a moment to strike. The image is heroic to say the least, as evident by the constant flashes of cameras going off. His back and head throbbing, Mak slowly stumbles to his feet when he sees Williams hulking frame take flight into the night air! The gears in his head turning at light speed, Mak’s mind warps back to last week. Leaping up at Danny, the Franchise throws out his legs! Pete: Diving Elbo....NO! Dropkick! But Pete’s hyperactive call is still wrong as Williams spreads out his legs, just barely leap frogging over the Franchise’s boots! Williams safely lands on his feet while the Franchise unceremoniously flops on his chest. Blindly hustling to his feet, Mak comes face to face with Williams, who is poised and ready. Blam! A standing dropkick blasts the Franchise into the corner behind him! Boom! Holding his aching back like an old man, Mak stumbles out of the corner. Blocking his path, Williams dips his head, elevating Mak over his shoulder and into the heavens! Crash! Landing hard on his back, the Franchise thrashes about the mat in agony. Taking aim, Williams storms out of the corner! Leaping high into the air, Williams winds up his arm for a big elbow drop! Thud! Nobody’s home! At last, Williams momentum has been stopped. Celebrating the end of his punishment, Mak gratefully raises his fists into the air. King: The Franchise, using his brains to stop Williams’ snowballing momentum. Looking to the fans who doubted him, Mak tauntingly flexes his bicep and points to his temple, letting them know that muscles are no match for intelligence. The gesture would be more effective had not Williams suavely returned to his feet with a kip up. Expecting to see Danny laid out from his big elbow wipe out, Mak calmly spins around only to drop his jaw in horror. Pete: Instead of taunting the crowd, Mak should have capitalized off Danny’s mistake. Not to keen on the idea of getting tossed around the ring like a midget in a circus again, the Franchise takes the fight to Williams. Determined to put the big guy down, the Franchise unleashes a flurry of forearms into Danny’s skull. Putting a stop to this more annoying than damaging attack, Williams grabs Mak by his head and violently throws him into the canvas. Seemingly unaffected by the strikes, Williams demands more of his opponent. “That all you got!”, snarls Williams,”You can do better than that!” Enraged by the challenge, the Franchise jumps to his feet, more determined than ever. Once again, he charges, overwhelming Williams with a series of hard forearms! The forearms are harder than before but they aren’t hard enough to move Williams, who easily tosses Mak to the floor a second time. Rubbing his jaw, Williams felt these forearms but he knows the Franchise can do better. “That’s it, Mak! Hit me again, come on!”, orders Danny as he motions to his jaw. Appearing to be shook up from the hard push, the Franchise stays on the mat, licking his wounds. Williams demanding tone is almost fatherly as he inflicts tough love on the Franchise. “Come on! What’s wrong with you! You can’t be done yet!” Williams tries to be patient but the Franchise doesn’t show any signs of getting up. Frustrated with Mak’s lack of heart, Williams reaches down to pick him up. “Gaaaaaaah!” cries Danny as the Franchise tears into the bandage on his head, burying his fingers into the partially healed gash he opened up last week. Jerking away, Williams bails to the floor, absurdly clinging to what’s left of the shredded bandage on his face. The fans can’t help but lower their thumbs as the Franchise rises to his feet with a wicked smile, obviously proud of the dirty trick he played on Williams. Pete: Williams tried to light a fire underneath the Franchise and bring out the hero that defeated him two years ago....instead we get this..this revolting diabolical display of villiany. King: Why can’t you give credit where it’s do? The Franchise brilliantly outsmarted that neanderthal by leading him into a false of security and when he least expected it, attacked his injury without mercy! Moving in on his wounded prey, Mak follows Williams to the floor. Williams is attempting to pull himself up with the guardrail but his crutch is used against him as Mak slams his face into the steel! As Williams bleeds on the guardrail, Mak pulls up a section of the floor padding, revealing the ancient stones beneath. Removing the remains of Williams’ bandage with a quick jerk, Mak leads him to the stones with a front facelock. Pete: Oh no, Mak isn’t going to.... From the inside, Soapdish tries to in vain to reason with the Franchise but he’s made up his mind. Grinning about the damage he’s about to do, Mak drops back! Crunch! The DDT gruesomely spikes Williams’ face into the ground! Shocked and concerned, the fans fearfully jump out of their chairs. Sliding back into the ring, the Franchise stands up with a smile. He knows that Williams is in bad shape and if he isn’t already finished he will be soon. The sight on the outside looks like a murder scene with Williams lying face down in a pool of blood. Pete: This match has took a turn for the worse. King: For Williams it has. But for the Franchise this is a golden opportunity, he smartly directed his attack to the biggest kink in Danny’s armor, evening the playing field and eliminating all the athletic advantages Williams had over him. Pete: Even the playing field!? For goodness sakes, Williams could be bleeding to death. Even though he doesn’t want to see the match end like this, there’s nothing Soapdish can do except count Williams out. Confident that the victory is his, the Franchise prematurely celebrates. “Boooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” Awaking to the taste of his own blood, Williams somberly returns to the land of the living. His head is throbbing and his memory is scattered. He tries to open his eyes but the blood is flowing so thickly down his face that he can’t open them any further than a slant. Shaking his head from side to side, Williams desperately tries to wake himself up. Gradually his hearing returns, revealing the muffled noise of a ref counting. “Six!”................................ “Seven!” ..................................................... Having wrestled for most of his life, there’s a lot of things that come second nature to Williams. One of the many rituals that have been imbedded in his brain is to get back into the ring at all costs. Though he’s too weak to even stand, Williams epically crawls his way to the ring. “Eight!”........................ Clutching the drapery with weary fingers, Williams pulls himself up to the ring apron. “Nine!”......................... Throwing a leg onto the platform, Williams sluggishly slides back into the ring. Glad that the match will continue despite the Franchise’s predictions, the fans loudly pop. Turning around to see what all the fuss is about, the Franchise shakes his head in disappointment, how could Williams possibly have survived. Soapdish tries to inspect the bleeding gash on Danny’s forehead but the Franchise pulls the scrawny official away to see for himself. Williams is leaking blood like a busted pipe, his face is completely crimson and soon most of his chest will be as well. Dragging Danny from the ropes, Mak tries his luck with a cover. One! Two! NO! Despite bleeding like a stuff pig, Williams is strong enough and aware enough to kick out without any trouble. But with his very life dripping out his body with every heartbeat, Williams no longer looks like the hulking threat that was tossing the Franchise around earlier. The brief feeling of doubt the Franchise felt fades, sure Danny kicked out but look at him, there’s no way can could ever pose a threat again. Looking to exploit his new found advantage, the Franchise guides Williams to his feet. Setting his sights on a turnbuckle across the ring, Mak grabs Danny by the hair and takes him for a jog. Blam! Colliding head first with the thinly covered steel, Williams bounces back to the canvas, rolling off his neck with the momentum. Williams is down and out, totally at the Franchise’s mercy. Mak knows this and he lets the fans know it too. Sitting Williams on his knees from behind, the Franchise cruelly stands on his hands, pinning his arms down. Grabbing Williams’ hair, the Franchise pulls his head up, further stretching the leaking gash on his forehead. As if he’s posing for photographs, Mak proudly smiles from ear to ear. Outraged by this disrespect, the fans let the Franchise have it. “Booooooooooooooooooooooooo!” Releasing Williams’ hands, Mak puts a boot to the back of his head. Putting weight on the boot, Mak stomps Danny’s face into the canvas, casually walking off him like a door mat. The fans gasp in disgust and the Pope whispers to a Cardinal as if he’s asking, ”who brought these mad men to my doorstep?” King: The Franchise is literally walking over Danny Williams. Pete: This is disgusting. Mak isn’t trying to pin Williams, he’s trying to torture and humiliate him. One can’t help but wander if the Franchise is unleashing years of pinned up frustrations, the jealously of seeing Williams go on to repeatedly win the title that’s eluded him for so long. While the Franchise gloats, Williams attempts to pull himself up with the ropes. Spotting Danny out of the corner of his eye, the Franchise pushes his forehead into the top rope and drags it across the length of the ring. Needless to say the steel cable irritates the cut, opening it up a hell of a lot more. Williams cries out in anguish, evoking the deepest sympathies of the crowd. Soapdish chastises the Franchise, who arrogantly releases Williams from his cruel clutches. Free, Williams crawls into a near by corner, holding the gash on his forehead in a vain attempt at clogging the leak. Stalking Williams with malevolent intent, the Franchise gruesomely scrapes his boot against Danny’s gore covered forehead. The Franchise twists and turns his boot, painting it’s bottom in Williams’ blood. Growing increasingly irritated, Soapdish frantically orders the break. Rolling his eyes at the spoilation of his fun, the Franchise pulls Williams up into a side headlock. In full control, the Franchise waves to the fans before bolting out of the corner, jamming Williams’ face into the mat with a mutilating bulldog! A fist drop follows! Feeling good, Mak thrusts his pelvis like he’s the second coming of Elvis! Pete: It’s not until Williams is bleeding profusely that the Franchise has regained his ailing confidence. King: He’s doing a little too much show boating though, don’t get me wrong I’m all for humiliating somebody to prove a point but you still have to keep the pressure on your opponent, otherwise your just another dumb muscle head that wastes too much time posing. Convulsing in agony, Williams rolls to the ropes, draping himself over the second one. Finally leaving the pelvic thrusting to the professionals, Mak spots Danny on the ropes. Reaching over, the Franchise pulls the blood splattered human towel up by his hair, bending his head and upper torso over the top rope. Williams looks like hell and the fans grow sick at the sight of him. The Franchise cackles at their repulsion but it’s still not enough so he gruesomely grinds the point of his elbow into the spurting gash on his forehead. Fresh streams of blood pour from the wound, running down Danny’s stomach and soaking his tights. Kids cry in terror, woman and men alike grow ill. King: I like this new mean streak in the Franchise. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this vicious and brutal. Pete: Hard to believe that weeks ago this was the same man respectfully shaking hands with Williams. Sadly, I don’t think we’ll ever see that sight again. King: He’s past the point of no return and I love it. Put this psycho in the ring with that softy Ejiro and I guarantee you we’ll have a new Champion. After Soapdish’s increasingly angered warnings, the Franchise removes his blood dripping elbow from Williams’ skull and calmly turns him around. Grabbing Williams by his arms, the Franchise shoves a boot into his face, grinding the cut with a creative but incredibly violent inverted Surfboard. Getting sick of telling Mak the same old things, Soapdish gets right to the point and threatens a d.q.! Still grinning, the Franchise quietly nods. Using Williams’ hair like a dog leash, Mak drags his victim back under the ropes, leading him to the center of the ring for more abuse. Crack! A desperation elbow finds the mark! Wobbled and angered, Mak responds with a jumping knee! Wham! The knee grotesquely hits the bleeding target on Danny’s forehead, causing him to double over in pain. Blam! A knee lift elevates Williams off his feet, knocking him straight on his ass. Deciding that he’s humiliated Williams about as much as he possibly can, Mak decides to put him out of his misery and go for the cover. Instead of hooking a leg, the Franchise opts to sadistically grinds his forearm into Williams’ blood pumping wound. One! Two! NO! Williams kicks out though it wasn’t very hard since Mak didn’t hook the leg. No matter, the Franchise didn’t really expect Danny to be down for the count anyway, plus he get’s to torture him more. King: Mak should have not only hooked the leg, he should have put his boots on the ropes for extra leverage. Pete: The Franchise is playing a very dangerous game and it almost cost him, hopefully he’ll learn from his mistake and start concentrating on winning. Stepping back into a corner, the Franchise carefully measures his laid out target. Getting a running start, Mak leaps into the air, dropping his knee onto Danny’s lacerated forehead! Thrashing his legs, Williams spasms in agony! Having landed on his bad knee, the Franchise flinches as he gets up but no how matter bad his knee hurts, he takes great pleasure in knowing that it hurt Williams far more. Turning around, Mak blankets Williams for the pin. This time, he hooks the leg. One! Two! NO! Again, Williams forcefully kicks out! Hoping the hooked leg would have made a difference, Mak snaps his fingers in an “oh shucks” gesture. Not wanting to reach deep into his bag of tricks just yet, the Franchise decides to see how far he can stretch his “work the cut” gameplan. As if he’s looking for a Boston Crab, the Franchise tightly tucks Danny’s boots under his arms. Glancing behind him, Mak eyes the turnbuckle, measuring the distance in his mind. Satisfied with his position, Mak drops straight back, catapulting Danny into the corner! Wham! Williams’ blood spurting forehead bounces off steel, sending him back to the canvas from whence he came. An unbearable pain, Williams buries his face into his hands while unrhythmically stomping his feet into the mat. If he’s in that much pain, surely he won’t kick out thinks the Franchise as he goes for the cover. One! Two! ........... NO! Williams kicks out! Moved by Danny’s repeated defiance, the fans briefly applaud his efforts. Getting a little annoyed, Mak jumps to his feet with a snort. Helping Danny to his feet, the Franchise pushes him into the ropes and whips him across the ring. Weak legged, Williams not so much runs as he stumbles at a fast pace. Hitting the ropes, Williams rebounds back at the Franchise. Aiming for the big red target on Danny’s head, Mak swings up his leg for a big boot! Swoooosh! Williams ducks! Hitting the ropes again, Williams goes for the flying forearm! Splat! Side stepping the would be attack, the Franchise shoves Williams’ crimson face into the unpleasantness of the hard canvas. This may not be what he originally had in mind but the Franchise couldn’t have planned it out in any better. Unable to stomach this spectacle any more, the crowd starts to rally behind Williams, clinging to the hope that their cheers can somehow resurrect him. “Dan-e! Dan-e! Dan-e!” Staring down at his fallen opponent, the Franchise becomes full of confidence. Williams appears to be on dream street, making it very easy to finish him. There is no question as to what method the Franchise will use to dispose of his rival, the Franchise tag may not be strong enough anymore but one move is. Letting everyone in the arena know that their hero is knocking on heaven’s door, the Franchise swipes his hands in the “he’s done!” gesture. Getting Williams on his feet proved to be a fairly easy task, after all he’s not out cold just a little boot drunk. Positioning Danny’s head in a front facelock, the Franchise carefully spins around so that he is standing back to back with his victim to be. Pete: He’s going for the CASH FLOW! King: This is what we’ve been waiting for, the one move the Franchise can defeat Danny Williams with. Reaching back with his free arm, Mak locks his hands under Danny’s chin. The hardest part is yet to come, hauling Williams over his shoulder will require a great deal of leg strength but it’s nothing the Franchise can’t handle, he’s done it before and he’s confident he can do it again. Taking his time, Mak smiles and nods at the fans in his line of sight, taking pleasure in their worried frowns. Having got his sadist jollies, the Franchise dips his knees for what will be a hard lift. Mak thrusts his body upwards for the lift but to his confusion, Williams doesn’t come off the canvas. The worried faces in the crowd become hopeful and jubilant. “Dan-e! Dan-e! Dan-e! The chant continues to grow, becoming more and more thunderous. Getting worried, the Franchise labors harder on his next try but the result is the same. Williams is resisting! Not knowing any other way to escape the elaborate set up, Williams falls back on the one advantage he will always have over Mak, power. As if he’s escaping a gallows, Williams reaches under his chin, locking his huge hands completely around the Franchise’s thin wrists. Firmly planting his feet shoulder length apart, Williams lets out a beastly growl as he muscles the Franchise’s hands out from underneath his chin and into the air, sliding out of his clutches as if it was an extremely heavy motorcycle helmet. All this straining has gotten Williams’ blood pumping but even as it trickles down his nose and into his mouth, he refuse to quit. Edited June 13, 2005 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 (edited) Pete: Williams said that cheating and new moves won’t be enough to stop an unbreakable will and he’s proving that tonight! With his arms oddly bent behind his head, Mak’s flabby triceps swell with strain as he struggles to resist Williams’ power. “No! No! NO! NOOOOOO!”, screams the Franchise as he loses more and more ground. Disillusionment hits the Franchise like a freight train. No matter what happened tonight, he always had his ace that he could fall back on but it seems there’s no such thing as a sure thing when your facing someone as resilient as Danny Williams. Wide eyed and deranged, the Franchise hangs on with everything he has. Having bled buckets, Williams has some difficulty in getting Mak’s arms over his head, what should be easy is proving to be incredibly tiresome. However, the shoulders are not easily fatigued and it’s there that Williams finds the strength to finally escape! Snorting air out of his nose like an annoyed bull, Williams pushes Mak’s hands over his head! Keeping hold of one of his wrists, Danny spins the Franchise around, pulling him into a short arm elbow smash! Crack! Mak wobbles in place, allowing Williams to spin place! Crack! Rolling Elbow! Both men are down and the crowd is in hysterics! Pete: The Franchise had the perfect plan but there’s one thing he didn’t count on, Williams’ unmatched fighting spirit. King: It’s still a toss up though. Powering out of like that took a lot out of Williams and it’s doubtful he has any reserves left. Though he landed the last strike, Williams is rightfully exhausted and incredibly vulnerable. Hoping to buy himself more time, Williams sluggishly rolls to the outside. Temporarily out, Mak wearily sits up. Discovering that he’s alone, the Franchise nervously searches about, finding Williams on the padding below. Not waiting for what will no doubt be another failed count out attempt, the Franchise makes chase. Some front roll fans have some words for the Franchise, who responds by calmly flipping them off. Snatching the agonizing Williams off the floor, Mak nonchalantly whips him into the guardrail. Clank! Suddenly, Williams rebounds back, blasting the Franchise with a Running Elbow! Crack! Mak crumbles while Williams stumbles to the floor with the momentum. Their prayers answered, the crowd rejoices! Pete: Williams is heroically fighting his way back into this thing. King: Mak went for the kill too soon and he’s paying the price. Pete: That’s what happens when you put all your hopes into one move. Stunned, the Franchise sits up and shakes his head. Foggy headed, Mak slides back into the ring, struggling to regain his senses. Hot on his trails, a drowsy but determined Williams slowly but surely makes chase. Blam! A surprise Dropkick blasts Danny off the ring apron, knocking him into the steel guardrail below! Clank! Thinking that should be enough to keep the barbarian at the gate, the Franchise rests on the mat, trying to regroup. “Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” But a howling growl startles the Franchise! Fuel to the brim with pumping adrenaline, Williams makes a mad dash for the ring! Caught off guard, the Franchise jumps to his feet when Williams comes sliding into the ring with mad determination. Exploiting his advantage, Mak frantically fires off as many boots as he possibly can, walloping the holy hell out of Williams’ face before he can even get up. Each boot sickly connects with a thump but Williams refuses to give in. In the back of Danny’s mind he knows that all he has to do is get close enough to land an elbow and the match can still be his, the pain he’s feeling now is a price worth paying. Digging deep, Williams weathers the assault and rises to his feet. Closing in on the panicking Franchise, Williams absorbs kick after kick until he’s close enough to do some damage. Crack! A close range elbow smash sends Mak reeling backwards. Crack! A reverse elbow leaves him wobbling in place. Wham! And a surprise Mule Kick knocks him on his ass! With his mission accomplished, Williams drops to his knees. Moved by Williams bravery and eager to see the Franchise get what’s coming to him, crowd erupts into a standing ovation. Pete: What an inspiring comeback from Danny Williams! Through sheer force of will power he has changed the tide of this match up. King: Well, he’s not gonna think his way back into the match now is he? Why dodge a kick when you can walk right into it? The Franchise may be down but at what price? Williams’ head feels like it’s gonna bust and the loss of blood has left him dizzy and nauseated. Clearing his eyes of caked blood, Williams examines his surroundings, which are completely covered and splattered with his blood. Such a sight is unsettling to say the least but Williams is a battle tested warrior who’s seen his own blood more times than he’d like to admit, this just might be the most he’s ever seen at once. Not that it matters to Williams, who believes that there are far worse things than losing a little blood like losing the mach. Danny took a lot of punishment to create this opportunity and he’s not gonna let it go to waste. Firing himself up, Williams jumps up with a growl. A bit punch drunk, Mak wearily wobbles to his feet when Williams pushes him into the ropes and sends him for the ride! Hitting the ropes, Mak rebounds back against his will, running right into the waiting hands of Williams. Using Mak’s momentum to press him over his head, Williams parades around the ring, looking for a good place to discard him. No longer showing any concern for the well being of his arrogant, patience testing rival, Williams brutally drops Mak face first onto the top turnbuckle! The Franchise bounces back to the canvas, searching his bust mouth for loose teeth. Pete: Williams, no doubt getting payback for Mak’s catapult. King: Hey now, Mak was just working over the cut a little. Meanwhile, Williams tried to knock his teeth down his throat and kill him. Wobbling a little from blood loss, Williams realizes that he has to end the match while he’s got the chance. Linking his hands over his head, Williams screams.... “Victooooooooooooooory!!!” The excited fans come to their feet as Williams hastily positions Mak in a standing head scissors. Hooking his arms around the Franchise’s waist, Danny dips his knees and lifts! His face wrinkles with strain, fresh streams of blood pour from the pulsating veins on his forehead but the Franchise doesn’t budge. Evidently the loss of blood has had a bigger effect on his power than Williams’ originally estimated. Regrouping, Williams huffs and puffs, feeling his lungs with much needed oxygen. Getting momentum, Williams sinks to the mat and rises back, fooling a few over eager fans into jumping into the air prematurely. Letting out one final cry of effort, Williams rips the Franchise off the canvas, flipping him onto his broad shoulders! Ka-boom! Doubling over, Williams brings him down with thunderous force! Not giving his muscles the chance to relax, Williams lets the bounce of slam carry the Franchise all the way onto his shoulders again. The twist is a pleasant surprise for the fans who “oh” and “ah” with amazement. Snapping his torso forward, Williams slams Mak down a second time! Ka-Boom! Leaning forward on his tippy toes, Williams pushes the Franchise into the canvas, holding him down for the pin. A double Williams’ Powerbomb is an experience no previous wrestler has been unlucky enough to endure, leaving the fans to come to the conclusion that Mak’s number is up. “One!” “Two!” ..................... NO! The Franchise forcefully kicks Williams off, forcing Soapdish to pull his hand back into the air! Disappointed to say the least, the fans return to their seats with a sigh. Pete: From experience, Williams knows one Powerbomb on it’s own isn’t enough to keep Mak down and to his credit he made a clever adjustment but it the end it’s gonna take a lot more to knock the Franchise off the King’s Road. King: Now where does Williams go from here? He’s burned the last of reserves and the Franchise is still hanging in there. You talk about unbreakable wills, what about Mak’s? Pete: I don’t think anybody’s questioning Mak’s desire to win, it’s just the way he’s channeling it. But yes, kicking out of those Powerbombs is very impressive. Getting Mak up for back to back Powerbombs is an exhausting labor for a man who’s just bled several pints across the ring. Laying on his back, Williams takes a much needed rest. The decrease in his heart rate has caused his bleeding to slow down tremendously but it will be a while before the open artery closes for good. Though the temptation to lay on the mat for the rest of the night is irresistible, Williams couldn’t live with himself if he gave up now. What would his fans say? The ones who expect him to comeback and reclaim the title? Not wanting to find out, Williams forces himself off the canvas. The Double Powerbomb may have failed but Williams still has plenty of options to go with. Not really in the mood to do a lot of heavy lifting or swinging, Williams takes a less laboring route. Sitting the Franchise up from behind, Williams pins back his arm and clamps his fingers around his face. Pete: The Step-Over Facelock? I haven’t seen Williams use this since he made Frost submit to it in his final SJL match. King: I guess he finally realized how stupid the Buffalo Sleeper was. Pete: It was an effective move, just a little too difficult to set up. Flexing his bulging biceps, Williams concentrates all the power of his arms on squashing the Franchise’s head like a melon. Having not been in this much pain since some gangsters put his head in a vice last summer, the Franchise stomps his feet and screams like a banshee. The Franchise’s seizure like reaction to the hold somehow tips the fans off that he might be in discomfort and may want to call it a night, so they give him all the encouragement he needs. “Tap! Tap! Tap!” This isn’t the first time the Franchise has disagreed with the fans. Refusing to give in, Mak drags his ass towards the ropes but the pain...oh god the pain. When you feel like your being tortured by gangsters, a couple of feet can seem like a life time. Mak needs to get out of this damn hold, right now! Not having the time to think of a clever reversal, the Franchise let’s his instinct take over. Reaching up with his free hand, Mak viciously digs his nails into the open gash on Danny’s forehead! “Booooooooooooooooo!” Yelping out in pain, Williams releases the Franchise and scurries away. King: Great counter wrestling from the Franchise, going back to the area he injured earlier to escape the submission hold. Pete: This is the dirtiest I’ve ever seen the Franchise wrestle. How low can he sink before the night is over? Soapdish lays the verbal smack down on the Franchise, who is in too much pain to give a damn. Numb faced and nearly comatose, Mak flinches his nose as he pulls himself up with the ropes. Pulling his hand down from his forehead, Williams finds an incredible amount of fresh blood. Enraged, Danny charges Mak, tearing into the Franchise with a series of mean spirited elbows! Desperately reaching out, the Franchise grabs Williams around the head and like a vampire sinks his teeth into the bloody opening on his forehead. The surge of pain is so great that not only does Danny cease the assault but collapses to his knees in agony. Pete: For crying out loud, he’s biting him! King: Does that your answer your question? Soapdish is all over Mak, having to grab him by his hair to remove him. Stumbling away, the Franchise spits a wad of Danny’s thick dark blood towards the jeering fans. The crowd goes berserk and the shocked Pope does the sign of the cross. Pete: I in all my dreams would could never have foresaw this. The pursuit of the World Title has inspired so many great acts of courage, bravery, and unprecedented athletic performances but for the Franchise, it’s only evoked madness and savagery. King: He’s literally blood thirsty. Bahahahahaha! Williams is bleeding like a stuffed pig, it’s literally dripping and pooling beneath him. Soapdish tries to inspect the hemorrhaging cut but Williams pushes him aside, fearing that he would probably be justified in stopping the match. Blood is flowing like a waterfall, severely disabling Williams’ vision. Walking away from the ropes, Williams wipes his eyes when he feels the arms of the Franchise snap around his waist. With a pop of the hips, the Franchise hurls Williams’ blood dripping body high over his head with a huge Belly to Belly Suplex! Boom! Crash landing on the far side of the ring, the glassy eyed Kentucky native clumsily staggers to his feet only to skip right back to the canvas. Unable feel to his feet, Williams frantically crawls the ropes, struggling to use their sturdiness for support. Rushing in for the kill, Mak clamps his arms around Danny’s wide belt line and snaps back at a high angle bridge! Pete: Beautiful Northern Lights Suplex! King: I guess he’s not crazy to forget how to wrestle. The fans hold their breath as Soapdish slides to the mat and starts the count. One! Two! ............... NO! Williams boldly shoots his arm off the mat! “Dammit!” exclaims the Franchise with a slam of his fist. While the Northern Lights Suplex isn’t a powerful move, Mak thought it would at least catch the bloodied and blind Williams off guard long enough to score the pinfall. Having to come up with a new plan, Mak takes a second to consider his options. The Danny Killer may be a sure thing but the psychological devastation of Williams powering out of it and regaining his momentum in the process is still scarred into his mind. Mak may not retire the Danny Killer for good but he’s not ready to risk it all just yet since there are plenty of other options that are far less elaborate and a hell of a lot safer. Getting an idea, Mak steps behind his blood spewing victim and yanks him up by his tights. Grabbing a quick waistlock, Mak heaves back in search of a bridge! Mak successfully elevates his victim off the canvas but Williams resists! Shifting his weight back to the mat, Williams muscles Mak off his back with a sudden hiptoss! Rolling to his feet, Mak grabs the teetering Williams by his hair and yanks his head down. With surgical precision, the Franchise grotesquely rakes his knee brace across Williams’ blood dripping face! Pete: What an abuse of privilege from the Franchise, using that medical issued knee brace as a weapon. King: A knee brace is the best weapon a wrestler can have. It’s sharp, deadly, metal and yet it’s perfectly legal to carry into the ring. At point I considered paying off some doctors so I could wear one myself. Grabbing his blood spurting face, Williams blindly wobbles away, allowing Mak to slip behind him and grab a waistlock! Boom! A hard German sends Williams to the canvas but Mak hangs on like a pitbull. Grimacing from the skull jarring Suplex, Williams frantically struggles to pull Franchise’s hands apart like a jammed seat belt. Keeping himself tightly attached to Williams, Mak forces him up and throws him back! Boom! A second German leaves Williams glassy eyed and badly hurt. Thinking back to the Iron Man, Mak relaxes his grip, two should be enough to take the fight out of him. Suddenly, Williams starts to wiggle and squirm. Not in any condition to pry himself free, Williams crawls to his feet, desperately reaching for the ropes that can end his pain! Boom! Killing that dream, Mak slams Williams into the canvas a third time! The accumulative punishment adds up, reducing Williams to a drooling, rubber legged zombie. Everything from Mak’s arms to his feet is aching but he has to go on, Williams mustn’t be allowed to recover again. Breathing hard, Mak laboriously drags Williams to his feet. Boom! Mak feels Williams grow completely limp but still he keeps his hands locked. Even though Williams appears to be dead and buried, the Franchise can’t leave anything to chance. It’s the time to go for broke and let it all hang out. Sweating profusely, Mak peels all 260+ pounds of Williams’ dead weight off the canvas. Pete: This is disgusting! Williams isn’t moving anymore, there’s no call for this. King: He’s making sure that this is one beating Williams won’t will his way back from. Feeling ill, the fans gasp and groan at the inhumanity of Mak’s attack. Somehow managing to get his swaying captive steady, Mak puts all his remaining strength into one huge throw! Crunch! Williams javelins into the canvas head first! The impact is so great that his legs swing over his head, folding him like a sheet. King: That’s one filthy German! Pete: The Franchise has excessively massacred Williams with five straight Germans! Will it be enough to kill Danny’s fighting spirit? The entire Square grows quiet in mourning, surely Williams couldn’t have survived such a relentless barrage of Suplexes. Out and folded, Williams helplessly lies prone for the pin but Mak is nowhere to be found. Throwing someone as big as Williams around without any breaks isn’t white collar work and the Franchise is suffering for it, big time. Lying as prone as his victim, Mak’s round undefined stomach pumps feverishly into the air. Maybe he should have stopped at four or three even. Realizing that Soapdish is about to start a double count, the Franchise turns over on his knees. Losing as much water as Williams lost blood, Mak crawls to the victory that seems so far away. Finally, Mak reaches his long awaited destination but confusingly, he doesn’t go for the pin. Fearful of another Williams’ miracle comeback, Mak grabs Danny by his arms and drags his carcass to a nearby. Staggering onto the ring apron with his mouth hung open in a state of fatigue, the Franchise wearily ascends the turnbuckles. King: I don’t understand this? Mak doesn’t need to take a high risk, he needs to go for the cover. Pete: We talked about the Franchise’s fragile state of confidence. Somehow, he believes that five Germans aren’t enough to put Williams away? Balancing himself on the top rope, Mak boldly defies gravity. Smacking his knees, the Franchise gracefully changes direction in mid air, crushing Williams with his trademark Frog Splash! Pete: He hit it! Staying atop his crushed foe, Mak hooks a leg for the pin. However, an incredible feeling of doubt creeps into his mind. Williams has kicked out of the Frog Splash on numerous occasions, what if it still doesn’t work? Waiting for Soapdish to drop down for the pin, the Franchise stealthily does something he hasn’t done before. Obviously, he’s cheated before but this is a new low he’ll have to ascend to if he wants to insert himself back into the World Title scene. Pete: He’s got his feet on the ropes! King: Smart move by the Franchise, using his environment to it’s fullest potential. The fans are going ballistic, struggling to get Soapdish’s attention. However, the official is far to caught up in his work to notice. One! Two! ....................... THREE! NO! Soapdish brings the count to a grinding halt, his hand literally centimeters away from the mat. Williams hasn’t moved an inch, his shoulders are still down. Mak shoots his head up in confusion, finding that Soapdish is staring right at his boots. The Franchise quickly removes his boots but he’s too late, besides the ropes are shaking like crazy anyway. In between breaths, Mak tries in vain to deny using the ropes but Soapdish wasn’t born yesterday. Climbing to his feet, the official swipes off the count to a predictable positive reaction. Pete: The Franchise has sabotaged his own victory! Williams was out and finished with no chance of kicking out but Mak’s lack of confidence has once again proved to be a damaging liability. King: Well, Mak doesn’t use the ropes very often, he’ll get better with time. Pete: Surely, he’s learned his lesson and won’t even think about using the ropes again. Burying his head into the mat, Mak struggles to block out the screaming demons within his head. He had the match won, it was his for the taking but he screwed it up again. How could he have made such a stupid mistake, why did he have to use those damn ropes? But before Mak can become totally lost in self pity he comes to realization that he’s wasting precious time and maybe just maybe if he tries the pin again, Williams will still be out. With renewed hope in his eyes, Mak crawls over to Williams, covering him for the pin This time Soapdish checks the ropes before dropping down for the count. One! Two! .................... THRE-NO! Williams just barely wiggles his shoulder up to another big pop. The hope Mak was desperately clinging to drifts away into the night air, leaving him nothing but regret. Rolling on his back, a very tired and very frustrated Mak runs his hands through his hair, he had his opportunity and he missed because of his own foolishness. Williams may still be down but with Mak blowing his best opportunity of the night, the crowd comes alive with a renewed interest. A very controlled and steady chant begins to quietly rise..... “DAN-E!.................. DAN-E!.................................. DAN-E!” Even though the crowd has gotten back into it, all is not lost for Mak. Williams is still bad shape and there’s still one ace left up the Franchise’s sleeve. It’s this ace that motivates Mak to keep trying. Forcing himself off the mat, Mak stumbles into the ropes from fatigue. Now is the time, there’s no way Williams could possibly power out of the Cash Flow. Sluggishly making his way over to Williams, Mak grabs by his rust stained hair and after a great deal of struggling, muscles him up into a front facelock. Knowing what this means, the fans frantically increase the tempo the chanting, hoping there energy can give Danny enough power to escape the deadly move a second time. DAN-E!.........DAN-E!......DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E! To drained to bother taunting the crowd, the Franchise turns Williams out from under his arm, spinning him so that he is now standing back to back with him. Mak reaches back when with his free hand when Williams violently springing to life! Diving for the ropes, Williams tightly hooks their salvation with both arms. Releasing Williams from the Neckbreaker set up, Mak spins around and grabs Danny by his hair. Before Soapdish can even say anything, the Franchise uses his unfair advantage to pry Danny from the ropes. Grabbing a sudden rear waistlock, Mak hoists Williams off the mat for a German! Thinking fast, Danny kicks off the ropes, knocking both men to the canvas in a heap! Pete: Great ring instinct from Williams, using the ropes to save himself from the certain death of the CASH FLOW! King: When Williams uses the ropes it’s resilient but when Mak uses them it’s cheating. Both men are down and hurting, giving the fans another opportunity to rally behind their hero. Though his face is caked and stained a rust color there is no fresh blood to be found, his arteries have clotted and he’s beginning to stir. Not so much hurt as flat out exhausted, Mak scrambles to his feet to meet him. As soon as Williams gets on his feet for the first time in a long time, the Franchise cuts him off with an exhausted Yakuza Kick! Wham! It may not have as much power as it normally would but it’s still enough to sends Williams back to the canvas. Staggering to the ropes, the Franchise collapses on his knees from exhaustion. Pete: The Franchise appears to be suffering heavily from fatigue. King: It’s not easy kicking somebody’s ass all night. Pete: Especially when that somebody is Danny Williams. For the Franchise it’s been a continuos struggle to keep him worn down and battered and it looks like it’s finally starting to take it’s toll. Peaking over his shoulders, Mak spots Williams getting up again. Shaking his head in disbelief, the Franchise stands up with a sigh. Leaning against the ropes, Mak launches himself into his rising opponent, catching him with a Yakuza Kick before he can reach his feet. Wham! Mak collapses on top of Danny, blanketing him with a lazy pin attempt. One! Two! No! Williams escapes the pin with a surprisingly strong kick out! Pete: That was a quick kick out, Williams is starting to recover! King: That’s because Mak hasn’t landed anything significant since the Frog Splash a couple of minutes ago. It’s gonna take a lot more than those half assed kicks to keep that caveman down. . Everything Pete and King said are true and Mak knows it. He knows Williams is getting stronger but there’s little he can do to prevent it, he’s too damn tired. In a last ditch effort, the Franchise mounts Danny’s chest and lethargically rains weak punches down upon him. Williams just pushes him off and starts to get up. Mak may be dehydrated and drowsy but he still reaches his feet first. If it worked before it will work again thinks the Franchise as he swings out his tired heavy leg for another kick! It connects but it doesn’t put Williams down! Exploding forward, Williams swings at the Franchise’s head! BLAM! Williams’ meaty forearm clubs Mak in the throat, sending the Franchise spiraling to the canvas in a dazzling 460 spin! Pete: AXE BOMBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! The sudden swing of momentum causes the St. Peter’s Square to erupt, even the brittle Pope jumps out of his chair! Williams would very much like to capitalize on his new found advantage but coming back from such an enormous blood letting won’t be easy. He’s still incredibly dizzy and weak, not to mention sore and aching, besides Mak isn’t gonna be getting up anytime soon. Dropping his head to the canvas, Williams takes a much needed rest. King: He can’t make the cover, Pete. Pete: Your right, King, I don’t think Williams is gonna get a pinfall out of this one. But if Williams can capitalize off the damage he’s done, this could be a pivotal shift in the momentum. With both being men laid out for quite some time, Soapdish has little choice but to start to the dreaded double count. As if he’s taking this opportunity to put himself in the spotlight, the tiny official energetically thrusts his fingers into the air with ever number he calls. This only entices the capacity crowd to count along. Having watched U.S. wrestling on t.v., the Italian fans prove to be quite familiar with English numericals. “One!”................”Two!”..............”Three!”...................”Four!”..................... To the dismay of the crowd, it’s actually the Franchise who is the first to stir. “Five!”................”Six!” Turning their frowns upside down, the fans jubilate as Williams begins to move. “Seven!”.............”Eight!” Even though he doesn’t look like he knows where he’s at, Mak struggles to a knee. Looking much more aware of his surroundings, Williams does the same. “Nine!” The fans loudly “boo” as Mak reaches his feet first, bringing the count to a halt. But as soon as he’s up, the Franchise crumbles back to the mat, leaving Williams standing tall and alone. The sight of seeing his enemy tumble before boosts Williams’ as well as the fan’s spirits to new heights. Fired up, Williams lets out beastly growl. Winding up his arm, Danny eyes the Franchise, who is once again struggling to find a vertical base. Pete: Williams is looking for another Axe Bomber! Once it’s clear that the delirious Franchise is gonna somehow reach his feet, Williams darts into the ropes, picking himself up some serious speed. Bouncing off the ropes like a pinball, Danny rockets back at the Franchise like a runaway freight train! Wham! A big boot stops Williams’ in his tracks! But by the time Mak can even lower his boot, Williams is charging again! Taking aim, Danny wildly swings out his arm! Swooooosh! Seeing it coming a mile away, Mak ducks the dreaded Axe Bomber! Williams stumbles forward with the momentum, giving the Franchise a much needed opening. Jumping straight up into the air, Mak blasts the back of Danny’s skull with a wicked Enzugiri that even he probably didn’t think he had in him! Williams stumbles away, presumably to die alone in the wilderness like some sort of great beast. Knowing that he came very close to having his night ended, Mak breathes a sigh of relief. Relaxed but still slightly disorientated from the Axe Bomber, the Franchise slowly makes his way to his feet. BLAM! Having never went down, Williams levels the Franchise with one juggernaut of an AXE BOMBER!!! Mak changes direction at least three times in mid air before splattering on the mat in a lifeless pile of humanity. Off balance and rubber legged, Williams tumbles through the ropes, free falling to the floor. The exciting sequence sends the still standing fans into a frenzy! Pete: Williams is an unstoppable! He just kept coming and coming until the Franchise couldn’t hold him off anymore. King: But he’s put a lot of distance between himself and the Franchise. Once again, he won’t be able to immediately capitalize off the Axe Bomber. Not to mention, the moron blocked that kick with his head. Rubbing the back of his head, Williams sits up on the outside. The Enzugiri smarted but he’s felt harder in his matches with Jay Dawg and Kibagami. It still didn’t feel too nice but Williams can live with it, he knows the damage he did to the Franchise is far worse. However it won’t stay that way if he wastes anymore time sitting on his ass. Popping his neck from side to side, Danny eagerly slides into the ring. Mak is exactly how he left him, practically begging to be pinned. Accepting the invitation, Williams hooks a leg for the pin. Pete: I don’t know, Mak is still out, Williams may have him! Believing that Williams match long struggle has finally reached it’s climax, the masses triumphantly count along with Soapdish. “ONE!” “TWO!” ................ “THRE-BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” protests the fans as Mak swings up his leg, slamming his knee brace into Williams’ head! Being on the opposite side of the action, Soapdish missed the cheat. King: Did I mention I love the knee brace. Pete: What a horrible way to rob Williams’ of his victory. Checking his forehead for blood, Williams is relieved to find that the gut didn’t reopen. Williams becomes overran with rage, the Franchise can’t even show enough fighting spirit to kick out of a move on his own. Letting out a thunderous growl, Williams winds up his arm, calling what will be the third Axe Bomber of the match. Angrily grabbing the hair of the man he once respected, Williams viciously drags the Franchise to his feet. Steadying Mak, Williams draws back his arm.... Pete: Here it comes! when the Franchise shamelessly claws at his clotted cut with desperation. King: Finally, the Franchise is going back to what brought him to the dance. Unfortunately for the Franchise, the wound is no long as sensitive as it once was, especially with Williams being so pissed and fired up. Growing tired of Mak’s dirty tactics, Williams simply pulls his clawing hands away! Screaming a banshee like battle cry into the Franchise’s face, Williams swings with all his might.... BLAAAAAM!!! knocking the Franchise to the mat with inhuman power! Mak rolls and tumbles with the momentum, ending up motionless on his face. Pete: AXE BOMBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! Dropping down, Danny rolls the Franchise’s limp body over and blankets it for the pin. Certain that the Franchise is finished, the fans mass at the guardrails, threatening to swarm the ring. “ONE!” “TWO!” ................ “THREE!!!” IT’S OVER! Mak has pulled off some miracles before, at one time there was nothing Williams had that he couldn’t kick out of but the heart that made it possible has been soiled from several short cuts to many. Soapdish calls for the bell and St. Peter’s Square let’s the good times roll! Ding! Ding! Ding! Now that the blood drinking demon has been vanquished, the Pope blows kisses and offers his blessings. Many fans threaten to rush the ring, with the best of intentions of course but security is razor sharp tonight, surprisingly holding the fans at bay without the use of violence, it’s the Vatican after all. Pete: What a courageous performance from Danny Williams, possibly the hardest fought victory of his career. No matter what Mak did to him, Danny kept coming and coming until the Franchise couldn’t hold off him off anymore. King: Sure it’s courageous but it’s also disturbingly stupid. Only a brain dead baffoon like Danny Williams could conceive such a retarded winning strategy. Mak may have lost but it was only because he wore himself out kicking Danny’s ass. Pete: It may not have been a complex strategy but it was indeed an effective one, one that could not have worked had not Williams demonstrated such remarkable fighting spirit. He truly has shown the Franchise what winning was all about, victory through guts. King: Unlike your strategy, victory through gut. Bahahahahahaha.......hey, why aren’t you laughing...you get it right? Williams rolls off the Franchise, wanting to celebrate but lacking the strength and a few pints of blood. When one takes into account the events of the previous weeks, it’s easy to forget how important this victory really is to him. The Iron Man match was such a devastating heart breaking loss with Williams pulling out all the stops and not having any answers to the Franchise, never before had such a monster effort resulted in anything but a victory. The victory two weeks ago was nice but Williams isn’t stupid, he knows it was a fluke that resulted from a foolish mistake on the Franchise’s part. But tonight’s match was a real win, a win that in Williams’ mind exercised a more powerful demon than the one that inhabited poor Regan in a certain popular Catholic themed horror movie. The victory would have tasted sweeter had Mak answered Williams’ challenge and fought like he did in the Iron Man match and perhaps there will always be a hint of doubt if one thinks too much, however the Franchise made his choice and the fact that he cruelly wrestled with such bad intentions only made Williams’ struggle more perilous and ultimately heroic. As if they have forgotten they have to save their breath for the upcoming matches the fans continue to chant... “DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E!” With the help of Soapdish, Williams reaches his feet. He’s grateful and smiling, but it’s clear there’s nothing more he would rather to than get to the hospital where a fresh bag of warm blood is waiting at his disposal. Mak on the other hand is still out cold with the ringside doctor frantically struggling to revive him. His reaction to the loss will be interesting but even if he regains his consciousness in a timely matter it won’t be until a day or two that he’ll be capable of giving a coherent response. Pete: We know what this victory means for Williams, a long awaited return to the Championship scene but what does it mean for the Franchise? Will he continue to meltdown and plunge deeper and deeper into the blackness of the abyss of jealousy and or will he emerge from a little wiser, a better man perhaps. King: Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. He’ll probably go over even in crazier, cheat more, invent several new finishers and go on a bloody merciless rampage of destruction the likes of which this company has not seen since............I retired. Pete: Thank goodness the majority of our fanbase is old enough to realize you full of hogwash. King: Give it time, never underestimate the power of history revision. Did you know George Washing was really a cross dressing pirate? Pete: Hey look, it’s time for a commercial break.. King: But were on a PPV. (Cut to a commercial) Edited June 13, 2005 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 (edited) “And we are only moments away now from deciding just who will come out of the 13th Hour with the World Heavyweight Championship and boy does this one have a whole lot of controversy surrounding it!” The Suicide King answers, “You know that is one is true. Tom Flesher has basically booked this encounter to embarrass our World Champion as it is obviously not going to be the main event this evening. And who can really blame him?” Longdogger Pete says, “I do believe that Ejiro Fasaki is going to blame him a whole lot, but first he has to get past Lil’ Buck once again in a rematch from two weeks ago from Sean ‘Puffy’ Combs’ private island. And you have to expect that Buck himself is going to come into this contest with some fire of his own as it is clear that a lot of people are underestimating the hood from Alabama.” “Look the fact of the matter is that Ejiro Fasaki does not bring in ratings. He does not bring in merchandise sales or pay per views buys. Tom Flesher is doing what he has to do in order to save the SWF from a boring, bland champion. It’s his duty as an executive!” “I really can’t disagree more King, but the time for debate has ended as we now go to Funyon with the introductions.” The shimmering ring announcer calls into the microphone, “This next contest is scheduled for ONE fall and is going to be for the Smarks Wrestling Federation Heavyweight Championship of the WORRRRRRLD! Introducing first…” Knuck if you buck, boy! Knuck if you buck, boy!e Knuck if you buck, boy! Knuck if you buck, boy! Stepping through the curtains, Lil’ Buck raises his pimp cup high into the air and receives a not so happy response as the people in and around the Vatican don’t seem to particularly care for gangsta rap. But still Sugerhill’s Finest doesn’t really give a whole lot of a damn as he ignores the crowd almost in their entirety. Decked out in his usual gear, Buck has made a rather odd addition of a white eye patch over the eye that Ejiro damaged in their last encounter. Taking off a pure white Atlanta Braves baseball cap, Lil’ Buck tosses the lid into the third row as he powers to the ringside steps. Virtually tearing the throw back jersey over his shoulders, Buck tosses it strait into the face of a ringside photographer before stepping into the ropes. Climbing up to the middle rope, the thug from the hood brushes the dust off his shoulders as he continues to simply ignore all the negative noise being pushed in his direction. “Introducing first the challenger. He is currently ranked as the number six contender to the World Heavyweight Title and hails from the bad side of Lanett, Alabama. Weighing in this evening at 271 pounds this is Sugerhill’s Finest… LITTLLLLLLLLLLE BUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Looking towards the entrance way, Buck points at the eye patch he has strapped over his face and visibly roars out that Ejiro is going to end up getting some of the same as dished out two weeks ago. Leaning up against the ropes closest to the entranceway, Buck draws the attention of the referee Sexton Hardcastle who requests that the grappler back off a few paces. BAM! “SWEET ZOMBIE JESUS!” Just grabbing the official by the hair, Buck leans back and blasts the official with a southpaw left that knocks Hardcastle strait into oblivion! Immediately pulling Sexton to his feet, Buck clamps down on the back of his head with a full nelson and starts to shake the tiny official back and forth with callous disregard. Powerfully lifting the referee into the air, Buck JAMS him home with an atomic drop and continues to crush away with the hold! “Champion’s Requiem!” calls out The Suicide King, “I really don’t Buck is in a pleasant mood here tonight!” “Oh that’s a real insight their King! Buck is going to maim the official before the match even gets underway!” POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP! Dropping his jacket and the World Title belt the moment he comes through the curtain, Ejiro Fasaki races down the aisle and into the ring just as Buck tosses the referee’s limp body to one side. And with the sounds of Kill Bill continuing to play over the speaker system, Ejiro bashes the rising hood right in the face with a hard elbow to the side of the head. Cracking back with the southpaw left, Buck returns the favor only to have Ejiro come right back with two strait elbows before getting cut off with a knee to the chest. Immediately taking Fasaki by the hair, Buck pushes the World Champion through the ring ropes as NO ONE tries to restore the lack of order caused by the pre match assault on the official. Immediately going to the outside, Buck is met on the floor by a right hand by The Rule but the challenger wades right through it with a left of his own that knocks Fasaki flat to the hard concrete. Hauling the wounded Fasaki up to his feet, Sugerhill’s Finest jams his face onto the steel ringside steps! BOOM! His head impacting off the steel, Ejiro’s eyes cross a moment as he stumbles away from the scene of the crime for a moment before Buck is back on his attack. Lil’ Buck lands a crushing forearm to the back of the head that sends the Champion down to a knee on the concrete as the crowd at Vatican City continues to wonder what the devil set off this assault. Pulling Ejiro up to his shoulder, Buck carries the struggling Rule back towards the ring steps before letting him go and allowing the World Champion to impact with the steps face-first before he coils backward and is once again left in a heap on the concrete. “We NEED another official out here and we need them NOW!” calls out Longdogger Pete as Buck simply stomps Fasaki right on the top of his head. “Hardcastle is out cold! We need a referee damn it!” “I don’t think Buck would agree,” chokes The Suicide King as Sugerhill’s Finest pushes Funyon out of his chair. Folding the chair together, Lil’ Buck slams the chair against the side of the ring for a moment as if to warm up the weapon for its next purpose. Cocking the chair back, Buck looks on as Fasaki pulls himself up with the guardrail as the crowd roars out in protest. But their protest does not mean a God damned thing to Buck as he gets his one eye aimed right at his adversary. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! SMASHING Ejiro in the back of the head with the chair, Buck knocks Rule right over the railing with the force of the impact. Dropping the bent chair on the concrete, The Sugerhill Thug shakes his head from one side to the other with the joy of rending flesh as he continues to take advantage of taking out the official before the match could even really begin. And in a fight with no rules, Lil’ Buck is always going to have the advantage over a wrestler like Ejiro Fasaki. But that was not always the case… “YOU TAPPED OUT! YOU TAPPED OUT! YOU TAPPED OUT! YOU TAPPED OUT!” “Oh that’s a good idea,” mocks the King of Heart, “make the big angry black man even more angry by reminding him of past failures. Make a mental note not to do that the next time you guys go to Compton!” “I have to believe that Buck is doing this because of the last match these two men had. But I’ll be damned if he is not taking his game to another level here tonight. You have to think that this gambit on attacking the official had to be premeditated… but I didn’t know that Buck was that calculated. He always struck me as more of a doer than a thinker.” “Well’s he’s doing a hell of a job right now.” Moving into the crowd, Buck shoves one man aside and another down on his ass as The Sugerhill Thug continues to stalk Fasaki about the arena. Grabbing the stunned Rule about the head and jaw, Buck heaves the smaller man back over the barricade and to the area around the ring. Hurdling over the rail once more, Buck jaws the entire way as Ejiro tries to crawl towards some kind of safety. But Buck does not get back onto The World Champion right away as he takes a moment to tear away the protective padding around the ring and expose the concrete underneath. Grabbing Ejiro around the head in a front facelock, Buck drags his smaller adversary over to the patch of death and clubs him across the back with a forearm. Looking from one side to the other, Buck puts his arm into the air and signals that something bad is about to happen to Fasaki. But not yet! Pushing up and into his opponent, Ejiro elevates Buck into the air and sends him over the top with a backdrop. Just clearing the concrete, Buck can at least take some solace in the fact that his back missed taking such a devastating impact. Scratching up to his feet, Lil’ Buck is knocked right back down to the floor with a running elbow to the side of the head. Rolling with the force of the impact, Buck ends up against the side of the ring only to have Ejiro stay right on him with a series of devastating stomps to the chest as Fasaki holds onto the side of the ring. Kicking with rage and fury behind each blow, Ejiro staggers his far larger opponent as the crowd roars in approval. “JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!” Picking a struggling Buck off the floor, Ejiro bounces his head off the side of the ring apron. The force of the impact shattering him against the reef, Lil’ Buck folds to his knees before Fasaki peppers him with another right hand to the jaw. Callously grabbing Buck’s eye patch, Ejiro rips the protective covering off the injured area of his adversary and exposes the number of stitches still etched across the top of his eye. Holding Buck by the side of the head, Ejiro starts to chop away on the eye with elbows… BAM! BAM! BAM! After elbows… BAM! BAM! BAM! After elbows… BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! Finally letting Lil’ Buck loose, Ejiro allows his challenger to fall to the floor padding on his now red eye as blood is once again dripping into it. Straddling over Buck’s back, Ejiro pulls back on his opponent’s head before grabbing a hold of his opponent’s eye and gouging it until he can hear the pleasant sounds of agony drifting from his opponent. Releasing Buck from his claws, Fasaki allows the gangsta from Alabama to crawl away for a moment before grabbing him by the back of the head and taking him to the concrete exposed earlier. Shoving Buck’s head between his own legs, Ejiro points up into the air before reaching around his body in preparation for the Memphis piledriver! LDP yells into his headset, “He’s going to kill Buck! He’s going to commit homicide right here in front of us!” “Where is an official? WHERE I SAY!” says The Suicide King as he clearly has created a routing interest. But Buck still has plenty of his wits about him in order to throw his base wide in order to keep from being taken vertical for the piledriver. Instead hooking his arms around Ejiro’s legs, Buck manages to stand up and hold Ejiro up in the air for a moment… BEFORE WHIPPING HIM TO THE CONCRETE! “ALABAMA SLAM!” shouts Longdogger Pete as Ejiro collides with the concrete at way too fast a pace for anyone to effectively survive. “His brain just got splattered all over the concrete! I guess that Lil’ Buck is tired of being the bitch for bastards like Fasaki and Landon Maddix. You go for his eye and he’ll go for your entire body!” Grabbing onto the guardrail in a furry, Buck virtually rips the barricade apart in a fit of rage. Then simply kicking Ejiro in the side of the face, Buck hauls the limp World Champion off the concrete and pushes him underneath the bottom rope and into the ring for the first time. Rolling back into the ring after his disintegrated pay, Buck looks to the entranceway for a moment and waves to the backstage area… and lo’ and behold! “Its Eddy Long! What the hell has he been waiting for all this time!” calls out Longdogger Pete as the referee heads down the aisle in a visible huff. Sliding into the ring, Long immediately starts to berate the Gangsta of Love for his actions thus far in the contest as Buck simply backs the replacement official into a corner with a number of threats regarding his own personal safety. Not standing still like his predecessor, Long immediately signals for the contest to actually begin… DING! DING! No armed with the promise of disqualification, Eddy Long is able to back the challenger off a bit as Buck turns his bloody attention back to the still unmoving World Champion who has been simply inert since being splattered with the modified spinebuster. Giving the official a tiny shove to show him just who is actually in charge here, Buck signals that he follow him to where Ejiro is still lying. Dropping to his knees in front of the Champion, The Gangsta of Love puts his hands on the chest of The Rule. “Shortest World Title match in history! SHORTEST MATCH IN HISTORY!” ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWWWOOOOOOOOOOO! THRREENAWAAAHHHH! Ejiro gets a foot on the ropes with the last bit of energy he has left in the tank! “JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!” Popping to his feet in a second, Buck gets right in the face of Eddy Long once again and pushes the official to the canvas! But his bullying tactic does not have the same effect as it did earlier in the contest as Long pops right back and shoves the Gangsta of Love backward may an entire half step. Shaking his head at the insult, Buck pulls back his left hand once again in a threat of smacking the bitch out of the referee. Shouting back at Sugerhill’s Finest, Long points to his striped shirt and makes it quite clear that he is going to be the law in this match regardless of what Buck might have to say about it. “Look I don’t know what is going on here,” replies Longdogger Pete, “what with referees only appearing when Buck actually asked for one. But it is clear that this official is not going to just let Buck do whatever he wants in this contest.” The Suicide King answers back, “The real problem is that Buck is spending most of his time arguing with Long and not enough of his time taking the World Championship away from his opponent. He caught a break early on but now the rules are actually in effect once again.” Seemingly just now able to move a little, Ejiro drags himself to a knee with the help of the ropes as Buck saunters back into range. Grabbing Fasaki up to his wobbly feet, Buck basically just holds Fasaki for a moment there before his world is turned upside down. Grabbing The Gangsta of Love by a leg, Fasaki shifts upward and elevates Buck right over the top and to the hard CONCRETE FLOOR! SPLAAAAAAAAT! Hoisted by his own hubris, Buck’s body collides with the hard floor that he exposed a few minutes before. Collapsing from the effort himself, the World Champion lands on his face on the canvas with a hand on the back of his head as he tries to reason himself out of having a concussion. But the story at the moment is that Buck has only ten seconds to get back inside the ring before being counted out and he’s already used four. FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! Counting at a far faster pace than normal, the referee shows off his displeasure with the challenger in this contest. But Lil’ Buck is not about to go out like some punk and he rolls his aching body back inside the ring well in time to keep from getting counted out of his contest. Holding onto the small of his back as he straitens up, Buck limps across the ring where Ejiro had crawled during his brief respite. Wincing as he bends over to grab the champion, Buck nonetheless manages to collect his bounty and shove The Rule into a corner. Leaning back, The Gangsta of Love tosses a hard left towards his foe only to have it blocked in route. Quickly firing back with a right hand, Ejiro catches Buck under the jaw and knocks the 270-pounder back two steps. Staggering back into Fasaki, Buck eats another right hand before getting another that finally sends the big man to the canvas. Finally getting up to his feet, Buck finds himself tossed into the ropes before he is knocked to the canvas with a back elbow to the face. Leaning back into the ropes, Ejiro holds onto the strands for support as Buck continues to try and get to his feet and find a counter to this attack. “Ejiro is picking up the pace,” calls out Longdogger Pete, “this might be his one and only chance to put Buck down and get out of here with the World title intact!” “He’s going to need more than a back elbow to keep a pimp like Lil’ Buck down for three. Don’t think he’s just walked off that spill to the concrete in a few minutes, he might be dealing with a major head injury.” Still going off his adrenaline, Ejiro grabs Buck by the back of the trousers and the head and pushes him onto the middle ropes. Reaching over his opponent, Ejiro chokes his foe on the cables before running to the other side of the ring. Quickly pouncing on Buck’s back with all his weight, Ejiro crams his opponent against the ropes once again before stepping out to the apron. Putting an eye on his opponent, Ejiro comes charging back and… KRACK! Snapping a soccer kick into the bloody eye of his opponent, Ejiro knocks Buck off the ropes and back inside the ring in a heap. Leaning onto the ropes, Ejiro continues to try and catch his breath as Buck clutches at his eye trying to figure out just how badly his vision has been impaired. But how long Buck has to wait is unknown as Ejiro heads up to the very top turnbuckle in the hopes that a high impact blow might seal the contest in one blow. But as he dives off the top and he notices that Buck has taken one step to the side and out of the way of the impending axe handle. Leaping into the air as Ejiro comes into range, Lil’ Buck catches Fasaki in midair with a leaping clothesline that turns The World Champion inside out. Immediately picking the World Champion off the canvas, Buck wraps his burly arms around the body of his opponent. Hauling the World Champion into the air, The Gangsta of Love turns his opponent about before crushing him against the canvas with a belly-to-belly suplex. Immediately hooking Ejiro’s legs up, Buck tries to get this match done with a count of… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEENOAHHHHHHH! Kicking out hard enough to get his shoulders off the canvas, Ejiro keeps his World Title under his control for another few moments as Buck once again seems to have a number of words to share with the secondary official. “Count to three BIOTCH!” shouts The Gangsta of Love. “This is already supposed to be OVER!” Bending over at his waist, Buck reaches into his own eye and wipes as much of the clouding blood out of it as he can as Ejiro continues to grab a hold of the back of his head. Knowing that he might need to wear Ejiro down a bit more before he can get the eventual victory. Mounting his opponent over the back, Lil’ Buck reaches underneath the champion’s chin and starts to pry backward with a chinlock. Sitting back as far as he can on the small of Ejiro’s back, Buck pulls on his opponent’s head in an effort to get the champion worn down as far as he can before trying for something with a little more punch. “JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!” chants the crowd in an effort to get the Champion out of the hold before orchestra music begins once again. Fighting up to his knees, Ejiro tries to push up into his foe in order to alleviate the pressure. But Buck does not give Ejiro a chance to actually get any farther before he takes a little air and drops on the small of Ejiro’s back with his weight. Arching back on his own impact, Buck rubs the small of his back that was injured by the fall to the concrete before once again and reaching across his opponent with another chinlock. Cranking back as far as his injured spine with allow, Buck continues to work on the head of his opponent as the referee continues to check in and see if the champion wants to resign this contest and his World title in the process. Instead Ejiro once again crawls forward with the weight of his opponent strapped to his head and reaches out with his free arms in the hopes of getting a hold of the bottom rope in order to get a break. Inching ahead from his spot on the canvas, Ejiro finally gets just within inches of forcing a break only to have Lil’ Buck help him along by letting it go himself. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! That is not to say that Buck was going to just give Fasaki a free pass. Instead, Ejiro finds himself on the wrong end of several mind numbing cross faces as Buck hammers him across the face time and again with sickening impact. Grabbing Ejiro off the canvas with violent intentions, Buck picks Fasaki into a front facelock and hooks him up for a vertical suplex. But as he has Ejiro up in the air, something goes out in Buck’s back and the big man allows his opponent to swing back down to the canvas the way he came. Adjusting as he goes down, Ejiro hooks his opponent into a small package and a count of… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWWWWOOOOHANNNN! Kicking out of the cover quite easily, Buck nonetheless learns that he might not be able to lift Ejiro as easily as he thought. Quickly getting to his feet, Buck once again collides with Fasaki with a shoulder and knocks his smaller foe to the canvas in a heap. Flipping over onto his stomach with the impact, Fasaki once again holds the back of his head after taking such an impact. “From what we just saw,” says LDP, “Buck might not be able to effect a whole lot of throws into his offense. He may have to effect the Hacksaw Jim Duggan offensive gambit of 1992.” “What?” “Clothesline… running clothesline… three-point stance clothesline.” “Ah.” Not quite taking the advice of the commentators, Buck once again hooks his foe into a front facelock and this time is able to elevate Fasaki into position for a vertical suplex. But instead of falling backward, Buck shucks Ejiro forward a little bit before CRUSHING him with an orange crush powerbomb! Keeping his legs over the World Champion’s shoulders, Buck tries to get the World title with a count of … ONNNNNNNNNNNE! TWWWOOOOOOOO! THREGODNOOOOO! Sticking the heel of his boot into the eye of his challenger, Fasaki manages to get a shoulder off the canvas in order to keep the match going despite taking a variation of the move that won him the title the first time from Tom Flesher. Putting the palm of his hand against his eye, Lil’ Buck swears a vow against his breaking body before getting to his feet and kicking Ejiro in the head once again. Picking Ejiro off the canvas, Buck tosses the World Champion into the ropes and plucks him into the air on the rebound and brings Ejiro around with a tilt-a-whirl. But as Ejiro is at his highest point, The World Champion starts to kick his legs wildly and forces his way down on top of Buck with a lateral press for… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWWAHWAANNNNNNA! Forcing his shoulders off the mat, The Gangsta of Love continues to guard against these flash pins. Up as fast as his body can allow, Buck hammers Fasaki across the back of the head and knocks the World Champion right back down to the canvas. Rubbing the small of his back once again, Buck moves into a corner and puts a hand up in the air as Fasaki continues to struggle to mount some sort of offense by getting to his feet. Leaning back into the ropes for a little extra-added momentum, Buck charges ahead and… KEFUCKINRAAAAAAAAAAACK! TAKES HIS DAMNED HEAD OFF! “LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” His dick knocked into the dirt, Ejiro ends up flat on his back as Buck bounces from one side of the ring to the other in joy from cutting his opponent off at the shoulders. Brushing the dirt from his shoulders as Ejiro merely convulses on the canvas, Buck enjoys the fruit of his labor with a smile as the crowd continues to give him hell for his actions tonight. “YOU SUCK BUCK! YOU SUCK BUCK! YOU SUCK BUCK!” “What did I tell you King, Hacksaw Offensive BABY!” Going away from mid-80s offense for a moment however, Buck pushes Ejiro into a corner before lowering his shoulder and hefting Ejiro up to the top turnbuckle. Pushing the World Champion’s legs over the ropes, Buck heads up after his opponent in order to take him off the top. Hammering Ejiro with a left hand, Buck hooks Ejiro with a double arm in hopes of taking him over with the ‘Dirty South Thang’ top rope DDT. But as Lil’ Buck is going to take Ejiro over, Fasaki hooks his legs together underneath the strands in order to keep from getting thrown. Breaking the double arm, Buck tries to batter Ejiro loose from the turnbuckle with some forearms. But instead, Fasaki gets underneath Buck’s arms and simply shoves the big man backwards and off his perch to the canvas! BOOOOOOOOM! Crashing into the mat, Buck makes a roll to the center of the ring with a hand on his spine as Ejiro continues to take a breath on the top turnbuckle. Slowly steadying himself, Fasaki puts his feet on the top rope strands and rises to his full height and takes aim. Coming off the turnbuckle, Ejiro jams an elbow into the face of the challenger from seven in the air! Kicking his feet at the moment of impact, Buck begins to struggle immediately out from underneath the cover that was created from the elbow drop. Getting to his feet in a stagger, Ejiro leans into the ropes once again with a hand on the back of his head as Buck tries to get up with his bad back and poor eye. The World Champion watches carefully from the other side of the ring, before charging to the other side in order to crush the challenger with a running elbow to the side of the head. CRACK! Knocking Buck to the canvas with the point of the blow, Ejiro immediately drops on his challenger and hooks the far leg for a count of… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREENOOHAOOOOOO! “Kick out at two,” reports Longdogger Pete. “Ejiro Fasaki keeps trying to get the victory after each and every move that he does. And I have to wonder if he might be better off trying to put some moves together in order to wear Buck down.” The Suicide King says, “By the same token the World Champion is not getting paid by the hour. You get into that ring to win the contest and that is it… end of list. Winning is the only thing that really matters.” Knowing that to be true, Ejiro jams a knee into the face of his adversary and knocks him flat back to the canvas. Immediately getting on top of his opponent, Ejiro grabs the man from the street and gives him a little bit back with six strait right hands that all find their homes right in the bloody eye of the challenger. Getting off his stunned opponent, Ejiro runs the ropes before crushing his foe with a running knee drop to the sternum. Sitting up at the impact, Lil’ Buck starts to stagger up rather than stay on the canvas and keep taking punishment. Ducking behind his opponent, Ejiro grabs his opponent around the waist and looks to take him over the top with a belly-to-back suplex only to have Buck crush him under a hard elbow to the back of the head. Knocking Ejiro down to a knee, Buck crushes the Champion once again with another hatchet type elbow to the back of the head. Leaving a stunned Ejiro kneeling there, The Gangsta of Love rushes from one side of the ropes to the other before CRUSHING Fasaki once more with a clothesline from the left side. “HOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” yells out Longdogger Pete much to our annoyance. “As much as you might enjoy that nonsense, Buck won’t just get the win with clotheslines. Sooner or later, Ejiro is going to eventually learn to duck or something.” Shaking his head over the force of the impact that he himself created, Lil’ Buck enjoys the thrill that comes from knocking another man’s block off. But once again, instead of using the lariat to go for a cover, Buck tries to string it together with another power maneuver that would be more likely to seal the deal. Pulling Ejiro up to his feet, the challenger forces him into a standing head scissors before grabbing his opponent around the waist. Pulling the World Champion up, Buck gets him about half way before Buck has to set Ejiro back down on the canvas due to the spinal injury. But The Gangsta of Love is nothing if not persistent and he hammers Ejiro across the back and goes right back to trying to take his opponent up and into the air, Getting enough strength together to get Ejiro up into the air, Buck picks the World Champion skyward and… GETS POKED RIGHT IN THE EYE! Releasing Ejiro from his grip, Buck allows The Rule to land on his feet right in front of the challenger. Quickly moving without thought, Ejiro boots Lil’ Buck right in the stomach before grabbing him by the head and dropping to the canvas! “KICK-WHAM-STUNNAHHHHHHHHHH!” ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREANOOONONONONONONO! Rolling a shoulder off the canvas with a desperate kick to one side, Buck manages to stay alive as the crowd calls out en masse in the hopes that Long actually did count three on this occasion. Looking to the ref while still grabbing the back of his head, Ejiro doesn’t complain even a little before he gets back on his feet and picks the challenger off the canvas. Hooking the big man into a front facelock, Ejiro takes a moment before flinging the challenger overhead with a snap suplex that does nothing to alleviate the pain Buck now feels in his lower lumbar region. Immediately floating over after the throw, Ejiro picks up both of Buck’s legs and tucks them under his arms. Stepping over, Ejiro does just what you should do to an opponent with a bad back. You take them to Boston. “Great move by Ejiro,” relays LDP, “he can work over the back without having to lift Buck at all. He can sure bend him backward though!” SCREAMING out in pain from the hold, Buck immediately reaches out for the bottom rope as Ejiro sits on his back with a perfectly executed Boston crab. Not knowing what to do to escape the position he finds his back in, Buck reaches behind him and tries to grab at Ejiro’s ankle and maybe pull it out from underneath him. But Lil’ Buck simply does not have the leverage to pull the leg out and soon instead just starts flailing at the leg in the hopes of getting the base broken. “JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!” Giving up on trying to get out of the crab that way, Buck instead simply bites and claws for the ropes in the hopes that he can still rally from this position if he can just get out of the hold. Fighting and scrapping for every inch he can get, Buck pulls himself closer and closer to the ropes as Eddy Long keeps asking him again and again whether the Gangsta of Love is going to submit rather than risk further injury. But rather than do that, Buck instead hatches another idea as he grabs the official by the pants leg and pulls him forward right into Ejiro’s back! Falling forward in a clump, Long and Fasaki create a dog pile for a moment as Buck uses the opening to crawl forward to the ropes. Using them to get to his feet, Buck hobbles a bit as his back spasms and he falls into a turnbuckle. “What’s Buck doing?” calls out The Longdogger as Buck seems to envelop the turnbuckle for a moment as both Ejiro and the referee confer with each other over the state of this contest. Leaving the referee on the canvas for a moment, Ejiro heads back over to where Buck is now evidently loafing in the corner. That is until Buck quickly reaches out and SLAMS his opponent’s face into the now EXPOSED turnbuckle! The Suicide King relates the story, “He was removing the padding! Buck removed the padding that hides the turnbuckle hook!” His possibly concussed brain hitting the steel rattles once again before he takes a step back out toward the center of the ring before he dumps onto his face. Leaning backward into turnbuckle, Buck puts his arms into the air. Buck has the knowledge that he might have to throw the Buck Wild Ride out of the window due to his back being in such sad shape and the fact that Ejiro demonstrated two counters to the move the last time the two men met. But he has another move in his arsenal that may just do the job, after all it worked on the referee! “CHAMPION’S REQUIEM!” shouts out Longdogger Pete prematurely as Buck slaps on the full nelson. Ripping Ejiro’s brain from one side to the other, Buck thinks about lifting Ejiro up in order to jam him to the canvas but decides that his own spine might not handle the impact. So instead Buck keeps Fasaki vertical and depends on his arm strength to do the damage to Ejiro’s neck. Pushing with all he has, Buck calls out to the crowd that their boy is about to give it up as a recovered Eddie Long checks in closely with Fasaki to see if the champion wants to submit! “YOU SUCK BUCK! YOU SUCK BUCK! YOU SUCK BUCK!” Holding in tightly, Ejiro tries to pull apart the fingers of his challenger only to have Buck make a little hop in order to exert more pressure on the hold. Losing whatever hold he might have had, Ejiro’s arms go limp as he gives up… Trying to break the hold that way. WHAM! Instead, Ejiro turns a bit and pushes backward into a corner in an attempt to jar Buck loose but the larger man simply grunts through the pain of having his back battered that way. Quickly turning, Buck pulls Ejiro backward out of that corner and back into the center of the ring before the referee orders a rope break. Hopping a bit once again, Buck tries to drive Ejiro into a submission as the World Champion tries to keep his head strait regardless of the pain. But he has to submit… That he doesn’t have a whole lot left in the tank. Knowing he doesn’t have a whole lot of consciousness left in order to effect an escape, Ejiro knows he only has one chance left to get himself out of this. But with all the turning and agony, Fasaki doesn’t know where to go next. But he has a one in four chance. WHAMMMMMMMMMM! “He’s loose! Ejiro Fasaki is loose!” “Lil’ Buck hit the steel he opened up in the first place!” Slamming into the corner with the exposed turnbuckle, Buck has no choice in the matter as his hands break free on instinct and Ejiro slumps to the canvas in front of him. His back aching in agony, The Gangsta of Love does nothing to defend himself as Fasaki purposely jams himself backward once again and crushes Buck’s back against the turnbuckle yet again! “JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!” Both men fall forward onto their faces as Ejiro and Buck both try to ward off what they have just dealt with physically and emotionally. Both men are at the edge of the tank with little left over for more than one or two chances to win this thing. Clubbing Ejiro from behind, Buck determines that it will be he who gets to fire that shot as Ejiro crumbles to the canvas in a heap. Dragging Ejiro out to the center of the ring, Buck once again sets himself up to powerbomb his opponent… “This can’t work! His back is SHOT!” But Buck is determined that he is going to drop Ejiro on his head come hell or high water. Reaching around Ejiro’s body, Buck manages to get Ejiro up maybe a foot before the big man has to set him back down on the canvas... AND EJIRO SWEEPS OUT HIS LEGS! The back of his head hitting the canvas, Buck is stunned for a moment as Ejiro uses the legs to TURN HIM OVER AGAIN! “BOSTON CRAB! BOSTON CRAB!” The King laments, “Buck NEVER should have gone for another throw! NEVER! He can’t lift anything at this point! That damn pride of his got him in trouble now!” Screaming at the pain of the hold once again, Buck grabs onto the back of his head trying to find somewhere beyond the pain where he can survive the hold. But Ejiro does not seem to really give half a damn as he continues to bend the powerful legs of the Gangsta of Love backward with crab. Crawling and scratching, Buck reaches out for the ropes only to find that he brought Ejiro too far out into the center of the ring. “JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!” Pulling back just doesn’t seem to be doing the job however as Buck refuses to submit to Ejiro for the second time. His spine contorted by the crab however is no picnic as Buck continues to simply scream at the top of his lungs as the referee continues to ask him if he wants to submit rather than take the punishment. Shouting at the referee in response, Buck damn well refuses to submit while he still has the smallest glimmer of getting out of this Pay Per View with the World Heavyweight Championship. And Ejiro takes that hope away… He adjusts his leg position for a moment… And he takes a knee… “Liontamer! LIONTAMER!” TAP! TAP! TAP! “Its OVAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” DING! DING! Tossing Buck’s legs to one side as he stands, Ejiro puts his hands in the air for a moment, before collapsing to the canvas in a heap of broken humanity. Grabbing the World Championship belt from Funyon, Eddy Long is more than happy to give the title belt back to the man that didn’t cripple an official this evening. Hugging the belt to his chest, Ejiro rolls up to his knees as he puts a hand on the back of his head. Finally rising to his feet, Ejiro goes to the outside of the ring and starts to retreat back down the aisle. Turning only to point at Buck, Fasaki slaps the title belt a few times as Funyon gives out the official report… “The winner of this match and STILL SWF HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORRRRRLD. HE IS EJIROOOOOOOOOOO FASAKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” “Damn what a match,” calls out Longdogger Pete. “For all the lack of hype going into this contest, Lil’ Buck tried everything he could in order to take that World Championship. But I have to wonder just what was behind that attack that started that match. And why didn’t a replacement referee come out any sooner?” “You would think that Buck would have had some sort of knowledge at was going to happen as well the way he was acting. The question is how he knew that was going to happen? I smell conspiracy Pete. I SMELL IT!” “Well… we have to put that behind us for now. Because we are only moments away from the MAIN EVENT and the third match between Wildchild and Scott Pretzler!” Edited June 13, 2005 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 13, 2005 (edited) FADE IN “This is it!” shouts a bombastic Longdogger Pete. “For months now, Wildchild and Scott Pretzler have feuded over the World Cruiserweight Championship, and now their rivalry will come to a head, here tonight, in the Vatican!” “This is, by far, the highest on the card that the Cruiserweight Division has ever been featured on an SWF Pay-Per-View,” says the Suicide King, “and it just goes to show how great a wrestler Scott Pretzler is! You know, Pretzler has elevated the Cruiserweight Division to levels never thought of in the SWF, and after he…” “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” interrupts Pete. “Before you spew out any more misinformation, you’d better stop right there, King! Where do you get off trying to make it sound like Pretzler did that all by himself?” “Well, Pretzler’s the one who did all the work, Drain-Clogger,” replies King. “He’s the one who saved the Cruiserweight Division from certain doom, rescuing the title from Spike Jenkins, whose record-breaking title reign was even more slumber-inducing than this year’s NBA Finals!” “In a title match that should have been Wildchild’s from the very beginning, I’d like to point out!” snaps Pete. “By all rights, Wildchild should have won the title from Spike Jenkins, and if he hadn’t refused to fight Wildchild, that’s probably exactly what would have happened!” “But it didn’t happen,” retorts King. “What happened was that Scott Pretzler became the World Cruiserweight Champion in his first title match in the SWF, and since then, the popularity and interest in the Cruiserweight Division has been at an all-time high! You can try to spin it however you want to, MacDougal, but that’s not a coincidence!” “Correlation doesn’t necessarily equal causation, King,” replies Pete. “Although I will say that Pretzler has definitely had an important role in the revitalization of the Cruiserweight Division…” “So you admit it!” interjects King. “Scott Pretzler has saved the Cruiserweight Division!” LDP shakes his head in frustration. “That isn’t exactly what I said, King… Pretzler has been instrumental in restoring interest to the Cruiserweight Division, but he hasn’t done it alone; he’s had a lot of help from the young man he’ll be stepping into the ring with tonight!” “The only thing that Wildchild has shown me is that he’s not on Pretzler’s level,” replies King. “He won the title on a fluke, and was able to retain in a match that was tailor-made for him! As soon as Pretzler got to face him on equal terms, he won decisively. And tonight, he’s going to prove that not only is he the superior wrestler, but that’s he’s by far the better conditioned athlete!” “They’re obviously two wrestlers that are evenly matched, King,” counters Pete, “otherwise, we wouldn’t be here tonight! After all, we got to this point because these two young men split the first two matches in a Best-of-Three, with Scott Pretzler winning a submission match, and Wildchild evening things up on Smarkdown with a No-Gravity match!” “Wildchild’s faster and more agile than Pretzler, there’s no doubt about that,” concedes King, “but that’s not going to help him in a match like this! To win an Iron Man match, it takes superior conditioning, and a strong wrestling background, as well as a solid strategy. And Pretzler clearly has the advantage over Wildchild in all three of those categories!” “Well, we’ll know in about thirty minutes!” shouts Pete. “Without further ado, let’s take it over to Funyon, for our ring introductions!” DING! DING! DING! The timekeeper’s bell brings everyone’s attention to the center of the ring, where Funyon, the SWF’s trustworthy ring announcer, stands resplendent in a white tuxedo. Upon receiving his cue, he raises the microphone to his lips and begins to speak: “Ladies and gentlemen… this… is the MAIN EVENT!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! With that, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony begins to blast through the speakers, and the SmarkTron displays Pretzler’s name in brilliant gold letters, followed by some of his more notorious highlights. The Critic steps out onto the stage and places his hands on his hips, looking down to the crowd as they shower him with boos: BOOOOOOOOOO! “The following contest is a thirty-minute Iron Man challenge!” booms Funyon, as Scott proceeds down the aisle. “The wrestler who scores the most pinfalls or submissions in thirty minutes will be the winner, and will be declared the undisputed Number One Contender to the SWF World Cruiserweight Championship! Making his way to the ring at this time, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… the Critic, SCOTT PUUUUUH-RETZLER!” “There he is, the once and future World Cruiserweight Champion!” praises King, as Pretzler walks up the steel stairs and steps onto the ring apron. “And he looks ready! Now you tell me that he isn’t the future of the SWF!” “He’s in phenomenal shape, there’s no doubt about that,” concedes LDP. “I don’t know about him being the future of the SWF, though; he’s a great wrestler, but he hasn’t proven to me that he’s got anything special that’s going to take him all the way to the top!” “Don’t worry about that,” replies King, as Pretzler climbs into the ring, flexing his arms and torso as he waits for his opponent. “You may not be a believer right now, but you will be in about thirty minutes, I guarantee!” Beethoven’s Ninth fades into the ethereal, and the fans begin to cheer wildly the lights cut out: RAAAAAAAAAAH! ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA… The Vatican erupts as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” heralds the arrival of the Bahama Bomber! A solitary spotlight pierces St. Peter's Square, flashing off and on in rhythmic time as the beat throbs melodiously. The cheers become even louder as the Bahama Bomber bursts onto the stage… RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! “They’re on their feet here for the Wildchild!” shouts LDP, as Wildchild races back and forth across the stage, waving his arms in the air. “His opponent,” booms Funyon, “hails from Morgan’s Bluff, Andros, in the Commonwealth of the Bahamas!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “He weighs two hundred and fourteen pounds!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “He is… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! Wildchild slaps hands with all the fans clamoring around the barricade, and takes a quick victory lap around the ringside area before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. He rolls to his feet and bounces energetically off the canvas, pumping his fist through the air excitedly. “There’s no denying who the crowd is behind here tonight!” screams Pete, as the lights are restored. “What?” bellows King. “I can’t even hear you over this noise!” Referee Ronald “Red” Herrington runs up to intercept Wildchild as soon as he reaches the ring, pointing down to the shin guards and demanding that he remove them. The Caribbean Cruiser bends down to comply as his music dies out. “There!” shouts King. “You can finally hear yourself think in here! And I, for one, am glad that Red Herrington finally decided to take initiative and make Wildchild take those damned shin guards off! Now that the match is on equal terms, we’ll see what he’s really able to do against Pretzler!” Wildchild leans over the edge of the ring, handing his shin guards to the ring attendant, before turning his attention back to Scott Pretzler. The Critic walks towards the center of the ring, meeting Wildchild and standing nose-to-nose with him. “Boy you can feel the tension between these two men, King!” notes Pete. “Definitely,” agrees King. “No love lost here!” Red Herrington motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone!” cries LDP. “And we’ve got a timer in the lower right hand corner for our viewers at home to keep track of how much time is remaining. King, the time for talking between these two is over; it’s all come down this, and it’s time to get down to bid’ness!” The Critic and the Bahama Bomber stare at each other for a few seconds before, without preamble, Pretzler plants both hands into Wildchild’s chest and shoves him backwards. Wildchild responds by locking up with Pretzler in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, dropping to one knee and surprising the Critic with a fireman’s carry takeover, before quickly applying a reverse chinlock. Scott doesn’t waste any time getting back to a vertical base, though, locking his arms around Wildchild’s waist and lifting him up off the canvas to deliver a belly-to-back suplex, only for the Tropical Tumbler to float over his shoulder and land behind him on his feet. Wildchild wraps his arms around Pretzler’s waist and pushes him towards the edge of the ring, only for the Critic to grab onto the ropes as Wildchild attempts to pull him back into a rolling cradle. “And we’re off to a quick start,” reports Pete. “Wildchild surprising Pretzler with a little mat wrestling to start off the match, but Pretzler isn’t off-guard for long.” Wildchild rolls on his shoulders and back to his feet, easily leapfrogging to avoid a charging Pretzler, only to be knocked down by a running shoulderblock as the Critic rebounds! Wildchild rolls onto his stomach and bellies out as Pretzler runs back to the ropes, allowing the Critic to run over the top of him. Wildchild scrambles back to his feet and quickly springs off the canvas to leapfrog Scott as he bounces off the ropes a second time, and immediately leaps back into the air locking his hands behind Pretzler’s head as he makes his third rebound, and planting his feet into the Critic’s midsection as he arches back… taking him over with his patented Freefall monkey flip! Wildchild beats Pretzler up off the canvas and pulls him to his feet, grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring. The Bahama Bomber underhooks Pretzler’s arm as he comes off the ropes and lifts him in the air for what appears to be a hiptoss… WHAM! … Only to slam Pretzler down onto his outstretched knee in a modified rib-breaker! 28:56, 28:55, 28:54… “Whoa!” shouts Pete. “That was an uncharacteristic move by Wildchild, but a very good one, as he catches Scott Pretzler with what appears to have been a modified gut-buster! He caught him in the ribs, King! And Scott Pretzler is hurting in the early portions of this match; he may have possibly fractured a rib on that maneuver!” “Well, I’ll tell you what,” says King, as Wildchild whips Pretzler into a nearby corner, “Scott Pretzler is fortunate that he’s in such tremendous physical condition, but he’s obviously been hurt by that early attack by Wildchild. He’d better hope that the ribs aren’t broken, or that’s going to make it hard for him to breathe in the latter stages of the match, and he’s not going to be able to get that precious oxygen when he needs it the most!” Wildchild charges across the ring, lowering his shoulder and burying it into Scott’s ribs! He grabs onto the ropes as he withdraws a few inches before using them to pull himself back into the ring, and bury his shoulder into the ribs a second time! Wildchild pulls Pretzler out of the corner and whips him into the ropes, snatching him as he rebounds with a lightning-fast armdrag. Pretzler howls as the force of the armdrag slams him onto his ribs, but the Bahama Bomber wastes no time, rolling Scott onto his stomach and immediately leaping into the air… WHAM! … Crashing down onto Pretzler’s exposed back with a leaping senton splash! Wildchild runs to the ropes as Pretzler tries to pull himself to his knees… CRACK! … And drives a running punt kick into Scott’s ribs! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The riotous Roman fans cheer ever louder as Wildchild continues to slam kicks into Pretzler’s side! “I’m disgusted by the lack of sportsmanship on the part of Wildchild,” growls King. “I can’t believe that he’d stoop that low as to attack Scott Pretzler like that!” “Wildchild hasn’t done anything illegal, King, counters Pete. “I’ll grant you that I can’t remember ever seeing Wildchild behaving this aggressively before, but he hasn’t done anything that Scott Pretzler wouldn’t have done to him, given the chance!” Wildchild runs back towards the edge of the ring, somersaulting across the canvas as he bounces off the ropes and springing back into the air… WHAM! … Before crashing into Pretzler’s back with the Rolling Thunder! Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and whips him into the ropes, only for the Critic to reverse it on him. Scott underhooks Wildchild as he rebounds to take him over in a hiptoss, but the Human Hurricane twists in midair and maneuvers in front of Pretzler, planting his feet in Scott’s midsection and taking him over in a modified monkey flip! Wildchild scrambles to his feet and dives towards Pretzler, measuring him up as he drives an elbow smash into the midsection! “Wildchild continues to show a tremendous amount of aggression,” notes LDP, as Wildchild gets up and delivers elbow after elbow to the Critic. “You can see that he senses the ribs are compromised.” “What do you mean, senses?” snaps King. “This has all been part of his strategy! Strategy that I didn’t think he was capable of, I’ll admit, but he knew what he was doing when he first went for that rib-breaker!” Wildchild cups Pretzler’s chin with his left hand, and plants both knees into Pretzler’s back as he hooks the legs with his right hand, before falling backwards, pulling the Critic into a bow-and-arrow submission! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “An uncharacteristic, but brilliant maneuver by the Wildchild!” shouts Pete. “And you can see the angle of that bow-and-arrow, allowing Wildchild to plant those knees right into those injured ribs!” “Well, I’ve got to admit that Wildchild has surprised me with the way he’s attacked Scott Pretzler,” concedes King. “Like I said before, I didn’t think that he was capable of this type of strategy… but, as you’ve seen, Drain-Clogger, so far it hasn’t netted him and decisions over Scott Pretzler!” “That may not be to his benefit, though, King,” replies Pete, as Red Herrington checks in on Pretzler. “The longer he allows himself to stay in this hold, the worse it’s going to be for him in the long run; heck, if he submits right now, Wildchild will have to break the hold, and he can always try to get that decision back later on in the match!” “I’ll have to agree with you on that,” co-signs King. Seeing that he’s not going to get Pretzler to submit, Wildchild relents, releasing the hold and pulling Pretzler to his feet. Wildchild traps Scott in a front waistlock and pushes him backwards into the corner, driving his shoulder into those ribs once more! He draws back to deliver another shot… WHACK! … But the Critic gets his knee up, jamming it into the face of the inbound Wildchild! “Beautiful desperation counter!” praises King. “Despite taking a beating early in this match, Scott Pretzler still had the presence of mind to get in that kneelift, and send Wildchild back on his heels!” Pretzler steps out of the corner, stunning Wildchild with a knee to the midsection… WHACK! … And quickly shooting his arm into Wildchild’s face with a European uppercut! The sudden action aggravates his rib, though, forcing him to hesitate before whipping Wildchild into the ropes, and allowing the Bahama Bomber enough recovery time to see the lariat coming, duck underneath and run back across the ring… WHAM! … And explode off the ropes to hit Pretzler with a spear! 25:51, 25:50, 25:49… Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and whips him into the ropes, only to traps him in and abdominal stretch as he rebounds. Red Herrington bends down in front of Pretzler’s face and asks him if he wants to give up, but the Critic not only shakes his head in defiance, but also actually begins trying to negotiate his way out of the submission. “I give Scott Pretzler all kinds of credit for refusing to give up,” says Pete, “but if he doesn’t get out of this abdominal stretch quickly, he’s going to be in really bad shape later on!” Pretzler struggles to inch his way over to the edge of the ring, reaching desperately to try to grab onto the ropes… “Five minutes have elapsed!” booms Funyon. “There are twenty-five minutes remaining!” “Twenty-five to go in the Iron Man,” says LDP, “as you fans can see at home… And you can also see Pretzler reaching desperately for those ropes; that might be his only way out of this, King. I think that the only other way out of this will be to submit!” “And this is definitely going to be an Iron Man,” adds King. “Look at the sweat running off the forehead of Scott Pretzler; you’d think that we were twenty minutes into this match, not five!” “Pretzler finally gets to the ropes,” reports Pete. “Referee Red Herrington calling for the break and gets a clean one!” Scott continues to lean against the ropes as Wildchild steps away from him, only to sneak back up behind the Critic and grab him by the legs, pulling him away from the ropes before he realizes what’s going on… WHAM! … And slamming him chest-first into the canvas! Wildchild hops over Pretzler’s back and runs to the edge of the ring, leaping onto the second rope… WHAM! … And springing back into the ring, crashing into Pretzler’s back with a sensational quebrada! “Wildchild with a big springboard moonsault into the lower back and the ribs!” exclaims Pete, as Wildchild scrambles to his feet and begins to deliver a series of kneedrops into Scott’s midsection. “And look at Wildchild measuring Pretzler with those knees,” growls King. “He’s sadistic, MacDougal! We’re almost six minutes into this match, and he hasn’t even attempted to go for a cover!” “Well, remember that it was Scott Pretzler who, with help from his friends in Revolution Zero, cost Wildchild the World Cruiserweight Title in the first place,” replies Pete. “The animosity between these two young men has literally been building for months, and there’s definitely some motivation on the part of the Wildchild!” “You know, there’s an old saying that living well is the best revenge,” counters King. “Wildchild might feel a little better about himself for getting to inflict a little punishment on Scott Pretzler, but it’s not going to mean anything if he doesn’t come away from this match with the win!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and traps him in a front facelock as he attempts to lift him into a vertical suplex, but the Critic still has the ring awareness to use his leg to block the suplex, prompting the Bahama Bomber to slam his free hand repeatedly into Scott’s ribs. Wildchild continues to slam forearms into Pretzler’s ribs until the Critic drops to his knees, and then leaps off the canvas… WHAM! … Slamming into Pretzler’s back with a leaping senton splash! “It is very obvious what the focus of this match will be, as far as Wildchild is concerned, offensively,” notes Pete, as Wildchild rolls to his feet and runs to the corner, stepping out onto the apron and climbing to the top turnbuckle. Wildchild leaps off the turnbuckle into the ring… SPLASH! … And crashes into Pretzler with another leaping senton! Wildchild rolls Pretzler over and applies a lateral press as Red Herrington drops down to deliver the count: ONE! TWO! THR— KICKOUT! 22:54, 22:53, 22:52… “And Wildchild finally going for a cover, but only gets two!” cries LDP. “Our first cover of the contest, coming with just over seven minutes gone!” “And great resilience shown by Pretzler to kick out of that!” praises King. “A lesser man would have lain there and taken the three!” Wildchild hammers Pretzler in the face with quick right hands that back him into the corner. He grabs Pretzler by the wrist and whips him across the ring, charging in after him and leaping into the air as he approaches the corner, twisting in midair to deliver his patented Blue Crush! CRACK! … But the Critic dives out of the way at the last second, causing Wildchild to crash face-first into the top turnbuckle! Pretzler runs to the ropes as Wildchild staggers backwards into the ring and raises his arm as he rebounds… WHAM! … Knocking the Bahama Bomber flat on his back with a desperation lariat! Pretzler hooks Wildchild’s near leg and, when referee Herrington drops down to count, also grabs a handful of tights, pulling for all he’s worth! ONE! TWO! “Pretzler’s got the tights!” shouts Pete. THREE! DING! DING! DING! “Yes!” crows King. “Ladies and gentlemen,” shouts Funyon, “the winner of the first fall, the Critic, Scott Pretzler!” 22:17, 22:16, 22:15… “Pretzler with the first fall,” says Pete, “but only with the help of a handful of tights!” “And I’ll tell you what, MacDougal,” chides King, “you could probably classified that as a major upset! For almost the first eight minutes of the match, Wildchild had the advantage, and yet Scott Pretzler goes up one to nothing!” Pretzler, sensing a prime opportunity to distance himself from Wildchild, scrambles to his feet, waiting until Wildchild starts to get back up, and dropping down to his knees… WHAM! … Driving a ferocious elbow into the back of the Bahaman’s head that sends him back down to the canvas! “Pretzler up one to nothing,” repeats LDP, as Pretzler continues to land elbows on the back of the neck of the fallen Wildchild, “and there is no rest period in this match; this is the Iron Man!” “Let’s see what kind of resilience Wildchild has, now that he has to take the punishment, instead of dishing it out,” taunts King, as Pretzler pulls Wildchild up and traps him in a double underhook. “You know, I kind of equate that to a hockey game, MacDougal, where you see one team get ten or eleven shots on goal, and then the other team, with their first shot on goal, scores!” Scott pops his hips as he arches backwards and takes Wildchild over with a butterfly suplex. He pulls Wildchild to his feet and levels him with several brutal European uppercuts, but even the shock of the motion sent shockwaves shuddering through Scott’s ribs. Pretzler rolls Wildchild over on his stomach and bends over behind him. He grabs both of Wildchild’s arms and crosses them in front of his chest. The then drives a knee into his back to flatten him against the canvas, and straddles him as he lowers himself into a crouching position, pulling back on Wildchild’s arms to cinch in the Snowflake Clutch! “The Snowflake!” crows King. “Pretzler’s about to go up two to nothing!” Herrington drops to his knees and looks into Wildchild’s eyes, asking if he’s ready to submit, but the Bahama Bomber shakes his head vigorously. “Wildchild may have to submit,” Pete says sadly. “There’s no doubt that he has the heart of a champion, but I don’t think that he should try to stand up against the torture of the Snowflake Clutch; he’s got almost twenty-one more minutes to try and get two falls back, but if he doesn’t get out of this hold, there may not be any coming back!” “No doubt,” agrees King. “Just like when Wildchild had Pretzler in that bow-and-arrow, the smartest thing that Wildchild could do would be to tap immediately, and make Pretzler have to break the hold!” Wildchild struggles desperately to pull his knees close to his chest in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure off his back, but the Critic simply scoots forward, re-extending Wildchild’s legs and leans back into the Clutch. “It’s over,” repeats King. “Wildchild needs to tap; he’s going to do irreparable damage to his back if he doesn’t!” Once more, Herrington asks Wildchild if he wants to submit, only for the Bahaman to scream his refusal. LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! The cheers of the crowd give Wildchild a burst of energy, and he tries once again to pull his knees to his chest, this time getting the balls of his feet underneath him. “Listen to these fans get behind Wildchild!” cries Pete. “They’re giving him the energy to fight back!” “I don’t think it’s going to be enough, though,” counters King. “He’s been in the Snowflake for too long!” The fans roar with excitement as Wildchild begins to stand up, taking Wildchild with him. “Wildchild taken the pressure off of his back!” exclaims LDP. “He’s back on his feet, King! All he has to do now is find a way to shake Pretzler free, or get to the ropes!” Wildchild attempts to do exactly that, as he beings to stagger towards the edge of the ring, all the while with Pretzler in tow. LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! “He’s almost there!” shouts Pete. “Just a few more inches to go!” Wildchild reaches frantically for the top rope; he knows that he’s within reach. Only a foot to go… five more inches to go… three inches… one… … But before he can quite reach, Pretzler uses his strength and leverage to his advantage, falling backwards while still maintaining control of Wildchild’s arms. Before the Bahaman can react, Pretzler rolls over on his shoulder and puts Wildchild back on his stomach, wrenching back into the Snowflake Clutch once again! “Ten minutes have gone by,” shouts Funyon. “There are twenty minutes remaining!” “Hah!” jeers King. “Just when Wildchild thought he was out, Pretzler pulled him back in! He’s got no chance, now, MacDougal; that effort took all the adrenaline he had in his body; look in his eyes, you can see the energy leaving his body through his eyes!” Red Herrington looks into Wildchild’s eyes and asks him if he’s ready to give up. “N-N-N…” Suddenly, Scott leans back further into the Clutch… “URK!” “… yes…” DING! DING! DING! 19:33, 19:32, 19:31… “That’s it!” exclaims King. “Pretzler’s up two to nothing!” Herrington tells Pretzler that he won the decision and to release the hold, but Pretzler refuses to turn Wildchild free! “Ladies and gentlemen,” yells Funyon, “the winner of the decision, the Critic, Scott Pretzler! It is two decisions to none!” BOOOOOOOOOO! “Two to nothing,” repeats Pete. “And, I mean in quick succession, too, King! Pretzler has jumped out to a two-to-none lead!” “You know what I would do?” asks King. “I mean, obviously, with the beating these guys have taken, they’re both a little out of sorts, a little disoriented. But, if I were Pretzler, I’d go right back to another submission; not necessarily the Snowflake, because that requires a little more exertion on the deliverer’s part than your average submission hold, but something that he can put on Wildchild that will let him get a little rest, get that oxygen flowing back into his lungs, and maybe even get another submission, and take a three to nothing lead! And then try to tie him up in some kind of hold until time runs out!” “Well, he has to let of the Snowflake first, King!” warns LDP. “Pretzler had better turn Wildchild loose; he’s risking disqualification if he holds onto the Clutch for much longer!” DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! Herrington orders the timekeeper to ring the bell a few more times to warn Pretzler, and gets in the Critic’s face. “Turn him loose!” orders the official. “This is your last warning!” But Pretzler looks him right in the eye and shouts, “Piss off, zebra!” before cranking back even harder on the Clutch. Left with no other alternative, Herrington begins to deliver his count: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! “That’s it,” Herrington shouts at the timekeeper. “Ring the bell!” He then heads over to Funyon in order to relay is official decision. DING! DING! DING! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “the referee awards the decision, as a result of a disqualification… to the WILDCHILD! It is now two decisions to one!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! And yet, even after losing a fall, Pretzler still refuses to release the Snowflake Clutch! Wildchild, having long since stopped fighting, is now on the edge of consciousness, and fading rapidly. DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! “And Pretzler still won’t turn Wildchild loose!” shouts Pete. “He’s going to be in danger of losing another decision!” Herrington warns Pretzler of exactly that and, when the Critic shows no sign of releasing the hold, begins to deliver a count once again: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FI— And, just before Red Herrington can get the word “five” all the way out of his mouth, Pretzler finally releases the Snowflake Clutch! The Critic shakes out his stiff knees, clutching his ribs as the shock of sudden movement sends a wave of pain through them. “It’s now two to one,” says LDP, “but I don’t think Pretzler really cares, King! He just wanted to inflict some more punishment on the Wildchild! And now, even though he gave up one, he may have just made the biggest move of the match to incapacitate the Wildchild, as we rapidly close in on eighteen minutes!” “We may not know,” says King unsurely, as Pretzler kicks Wildchild onto his back. “This may come back to haunt Pretzler, or it could very well be the smartest move of the match! Look, he’s going for a cover!” Scott lowers himself slowly to his knees and applies a half-hearted cover as Herrington drops down to make the count: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! “He pinned him again!” exclaims Pete. “Got him!” echoes King. “It’s three to one!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” bellows Funyon, “the decision goes to Scott Pretzler, it is now three decisions to one!” 18:00, 17:59, 17:58… “You have to admit, MacDougal,” says King, “that might have been a smart move by Pretzler to hold onto the Snowflake Clutch for almost a full extra minute; he gave up one, but he got it back immediately, and look at the Wildchild now! He’s in dire straights, with just under eighteen to go!” “So he still has his two decision lead here,” concedes Pete, as the Critic stalks methodically towards his opponent. “He traded one for one, but the damage done by holding onto the Clutch may be insurmountable for the Wildchild!” Pretzler walks over to Wildchild and pulls him to his feet, but before he can deliver an offensive maneuver, the Caribbean Cruiser stuns him with a forearm to the ribs that makes him gasp! The Critic staggers backwards, and Wildchild takes a tentative step forward, blasting Scott in his side with a second forearm! Pretzler lowers his arms to guard his midsection… BAP! … Leaving him open to a jab to the face! BAP! BAP! BAP! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! “Where is Wildchild finding the strength to fight back?” Pete wonders aloud. Wildchild continues to mix it up against Pretzler, going to the face every time tries to protect the ribs, and vice versa, until he backs him up against the ropes. Grabbing Pretzler by the wrist, Wildchild whips him across the ring, lowering his head to deliver a backdrop as he bounces off the ropes… WHAM! … But the Critic lowers the boom on Wildchild, dropping to his knees on the rebound and driving another elbow into the back of his head! “Wildchild put his head down,” cries Pete, “and Pretzler made him pay for it!” “Well, I’ll tell ya,” adds Pete, “when you get fatigued, and in this type of situation, it’s very easy to make mistakes. And it’s the guy that can capitalize on the most mistakes that usually comes out on top, as you can see Scott Pretzler doing right now!” Pretzler flattens Wildchild on his back and grabs him by the left arm, pulling it into an armbar. “And this is a smart move by Scott Pretzler,” cheers King, “because, the longer he can keep this hold on Wildchild, not only is he wearing out the arm… not only can he possibly get a submission out of this, albeit unlikely… but also… the clock is ticking, MacDougal! A three to one lead, and we’re down under seventeen minutes now!” “Certainly the clock is, and will continue to be a factor in this match,” admits Pete, “as we see Scott Pretzler pulling back on the left arm of Wildchild, applying a great deal of pressure to the elbow, and even pulling back on the fingers of the left hand!” “Totally legal,” informs King. “Nothing at all illegal about that hold!” Wildchild attempts to negotiate his way to the edge of the ring, but Pretzler plants both feet firmly on the canvas and elevates as high as he can, pushing the Bahaman back down. “Wildchild’s been in this hold an awfully long time,” says Pete. “He needs to try and figure a way out of it, though, because he can’t afford to go down another fall!” Wildchild slowly but surely closes in on the ropes, only for Scott Pretzler to relax his grip; just long enough to pull Wildchild back towards the center of the ring, and immediately re-apply the armbar. Red Herrington asks Wildchild if he’s ready to submit, but the Bahama Bomber shouts defiantly, “Fuck no!” “Excellent strategy by Pretzler,” says King approvingly. “The armbar is a nice, low impact hold, that keeps the man incapacitated without requiring a great deal of physical effort, and at the same time, allows him to get his air back, all while burning the clock. And we’re just about down to fifteen minutes now!” “The armbar has served Pretzler well to this point, King,” says LDP, “but I don’t know what it’s going to be able to do for him in the long run; Wildchild’s neither a power wrestler nor a mat technician, so it’s not like he relies on arm strength of grip strength for his offense. If I were Pretzler, I think I might have gone for something that worked the leg!” “I’ll give you that,” concedes King. “I probably would have gone for the leg, too. Or at least worked on the right arm, instead of the left, since Wildchild loves to use that jab with the right hand… But you have to keep in mind, MacDougal, these two have been beating on each other for almost fifteen minutes now, and I’m sure that fatigue has had some detrimental effect on Pretzler’s judgment. He probably came into this match with a sound strategy, but Wildchild got off to such a fast start, and he took such a beating early on, that his body is probably running on auto-pilot at this point!” LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! Once again, the crowd tries to give Wildchild an extra jolt of energy, and he begins to respond, using his free arm to push his body towards Pretzler’s, taking pressure off of his arm and elbow. He then pulls himself into a seated position, with Pretzler shifting into standing armbar as both men get to their feet. “You hear the crowd chanting for Wildchild,” reports Pete. “And it looks like they’re giving him the motivation that he needs!” “Fifteen minutes gone by,” booms Funyon. “There are fifteen minutes remaining!” WHAM! … Wildchild causes Pretzler to howl in pain as he throws a clenched fist into the ribs, and the ensuing hesitation allows him to grab the top rope. Herrington yells at Pretzler to break the hold, but before the Critic can even respond one way or the other, Wildchild uses the rope to balance himself as he flips backwards to reverse the hold, and then grabs Pretzler by the wrist as he runs to the corner, leaping from the canvas to the second turnbuckle to the top, and then running across the top rope before springing back into the ring and taking Pretzler over with a sensational springboard armdrag! “Beautiful counter by the Wildchild!” shouts Pete. “And with every slam, with every takedown, Wildchild continues to do more damage to those injured ribs!” “I can’t believe that Wildchild is even able to fight back after the beating he’s taken,” says King. “I don’t know where he’s getting this energy from!” The Bahama Bomber runs to the ropes and leaps into the air as he rebounds to deliver a flying forearm! WHAM! … But Pretzler explodes off the canvas and knocks Wildchild out of the sky with a tremendous high-angle dropkick! “Dropkick!” cheers King. “The best in the business!” Scott rolls to his feet and walks towards the edge of the ring, raising his arms to deliver a double biceps pose, but the pain roaring through his ribs force him to lower both arms immediately! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! “How do you like that, King?” says LDP, as the crowd laughs at Pretzler. “Scott Pretzler wanted to give the fans a piece of his mind, but those ribs had something else to say!” Pretzler walks back over to Wildchild, but the Bahama Bomber surprises him with a headbutt to the stomach. As the stunned Critic staggers backwards, Wildchild rises to his feet and nails him with a forearm shot to the ribs, followed by another! He draws back to deliver a third shot, but Pretzler stuns him with a rake of the eyes, and whips him into the ropes, snatching him up as he rebounds… WHAM! … And grinding him into the mat with a tremendous powerslam! “Big time powerslam by Scott Pretzler!” cheers King. “Wildchild trying to mount a comeback, but once again, Pretzler is able to turn the tables on him!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and signals for another powerslam, whipping Wildchild into the ropes… WHAM! … But the Human Hurricane twists in midair as he explodes off the ropes, knocking Scott silly with a flying back elbow! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Wildchild! Out of nowhere with a big flying back elbow!” exclaims Pete. “And both men writhing in pain, but you can see Wildchild trying to get back to his feet!” “Well, with the rib injuries that Pretzler sustained early in the match, it’s obviously taken its toll on the Critic!” Wildchild clamors towards the edge of the ring, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes, and flipping forward to deliver a running Shooting Star Press! WHAM! … But Pretzler still has the presence of mind to bring the knees up, and all the air is driven out of Wildchild’s lungs as his midsection crashes into them! 13:20, 13:19, 13:18… “Tremendous counter by Scott Pretzler to get the knees up!” shouts Pete. “And even I have to give it up to him on that one, King! Great presence of mind by the Critic there!” “Damn right!” agrees King. “And that’s where Wildchild’s flashiness always costs him; if he’d have even gone for a regular splash, he might have been fast enough to hit it. Now, he’s back on the defensive again and, as we all know, defensive wrestling is the biggest chink in Wildchild’s armor!” Pretzler scrambles to his feet and immediately drops back down to the canvas, delivering a devastating elbow to the back of Wildchild’s head! He rolls him over for a cover: ONE! TWO! TH— But Wildchild gets the shoulder up! “Wildchild just barely able to get that right shoulder up,” says Pete. “And you have to think that those injured ribs factored into that weak cover, King!” “Well, Wildchild’s endurance has never been tested like this, in all the time he’s been in the SWF, and he’s surprised me with his ability to withstand punishment, but I’ll tell you what: he’d better be resilient, because he don’t dare go down FOUR falls to one, MacDougal! Not over half-way through the match!” “Quite frankly, King, it’s going to be hard enough for him to catch up now!” replies Pete, as Pretzler pulls Wildchild into a reverse chinlock. “And Pretzler now going for a resthold, just like you said he should, King; and the clock is now clearly on his side!” “Absolutely!” agrees King. “The longer he can keep Wildchild tied up, the better it is for him; he holds the three-to-one lead… It’s Wildchild who’s going to have to press things, pick up that intensity, and burn some more of what little energy he has left! It’s Wildchild who has to make up two falls… just to get to the tie!” Wildchild uses Pretzler to support his weight as he struggles to get back to his feet. He turns his body in towards Pretzler and buries an elbow into the ribs! And another! And another! Wildchild tries to run to the ropes, but an alert Pretzler grabs him by the back of the head, and pulls him down to the canvas by the hair! Red Herrington admonishes Pretzler for the dirty play, but the Critic merely smirks at him, knowing that the damage has been done. BOOOOOOOOOO! “Boy, listen to this crowd give it to Scott Pretzler,” says Pete. “Hey, in a match like this, you do whatever it takes to win,” replies King, as Pretzler pulls Wildchild up off the mat and drives him back down with a pendulum backbreaker. “Pretzler needs to pull out all the stops and keep Wildchild from getting his second wind… and there you see him giving the sign for the Tildebang! If he hits this, it’ll be four to one!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a reverse front facelock and grabs him by the trunks with his free hand, lifting him up to deliver the Tildebang, but the Tropical Tumbler fights against him for all he’s worth, and trying to lift so much struggling live weight puts a tremendous pressure on Pretzler’s ribs, forcing him to hesitate briefly before lifting Wildchild back up again… and that split-second’s hesitation is all the break that the Bahaman needs! “Pretzler’s holding Wildchild up for the Tildebang, trying to get him set,” says LDP. “But look at Wildchild fighting back! He’s pushing up Scott Pretzler; he’s literally using his body as a ladder! Walking with his hands up and over the back of Pretzler!” YEEEEEEEEEEAH! “And look at this reversal by Wildchild!” says an astonished King, as Wildchild traps Pretzler in an inverted front facelock. “He’s not gonna… no!” “Look at this!” exclaims Pete. “He’s got him up! He’s reversed the Tildebang!” WHAM! “Tildebang!” shouts LDP, as Wildchild collapses onto his back. “Wildchild just nailed Scott Pretzler with his own finisher!” “Is that insult to injury, or what?” asks King. RAAAAAAAAAAH! Wildchild struggles against the pull of gravity to get back to a seated position, and then leans forward onto Pretzler’s chest for the cover. The crowd chants along with Red Herrington’s count: ONE! TWO! THREE! “No!” shrieks King. “Foot on the ropes! Pretzler got the foot on the ropes!” “What unbelievable resilience on the part of Scott Pretzler!” agrees Pete. “You can’t help but wonder what it’s going to take for Wildchild to take him out if that’s not enough!” Wildchild slowly pulls Pretzler to his feet, only for the Critic to stun him once again with a thumb to the eyes! Scott lifts him off the canvas in a scoop slam, again slowing for a fraction of a second from the pain in his ribs, and as he drops him down, the Bahama Bomber hooks his legs, pulling him in an inside cradle! ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! “Ladies and gentlemen,” bellows Funyon, “the decision goes to the Wildchild! It is now three decisions to two, in favor of Scott Pretzler!” 11:38, 11:37, 11:36… “Unbelievable!” says King. “Scott Pretzler survives being hit by his own move, only to fall victim to an inside cradle! And that allows Wildchild to pull within one fall; had Pretzler hit that Tildebang, he’d have been up an insurmountable four falls to one!” “But he didn’t,” replies LDP, “and now the crowd is back into this match!” Wildchild walks over towards Pretzler to pick him up, but the Critic grabs him by the front of his trunks and pulls him into the corner, causing him to crash headfirst into the middle turnbuckle! Pretzler rolls out onto the apron and pulls himself to his feet, walking over to the corner and climbing to the top turnbuckle. “I gotta disagree with this,” says King. “Pretzler should be trying to preserve that lead, or maybe even trying to get it back to a two-decision lead; he should not be trying to go for a high-risk move while he still has the lead!” “Like you said before King,” replies Pete, and Wildchild stands up, “that fatigue may be affecting his judgment right now!” Pretzler positions himself on the top turnbuckle, but before he can fly off, the Bahama Bomber runs over the corner and grabs him… WHAM! … Throwing him off the top turnbuckle and into the ring! Wildchild quickly climbs up the turnbuckles and fearlessly springs backwards into the ring to deliver a moonsault! CRASH! … But Pretzler rolls out of the way, and the Tropical Tumbler crashes into the canvas! Scott pulls him into a standing headscissors before he can recover and snatches him into the air… WHAM! … Before planting him with a ferocious snap powerbomb! “Tremendous powerbomb!” screams King. “Pretzler folded him in half with that one!” The Critic holds on for the pin as Herrington delivers the count: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! BOOOOOOOOOO! “Ladies and gentlemen,” shouts Funyon, “the winner of the decision… the Critic, Scott Pretzler! It is now four decisions to two, in favor of Scott Pretzler!” 10:16, 10:15, 10:14… “Pretzler regains his two decision advantage,” says King, “and we’re rapidly approaching the ten-minute mark! It’s almost desperation time for the Wildchild!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and stand behind him, trapping him in a double chickenwing. “Twenty minutes have gone by in the match,” shouts Funyon, “There are ten minutes remaining!” “Only ten minutes left, and Pretzler has a two-decision lead! And it looks like he has some kind of double chickenwing going on here,” notes Pete. “I thought for a second that he was going for a Tiger suplex, but now, I have no idea what he’s doing!” Without warning, Pretzler lifts Wildchild up and slams him down to the canvas on his posterior! “I’m not sure what Pretzler had in mind when he went for this move, but it’ll definitely by him some time,” says King. “He’s inside of ten minutes now; all he has to do is milk the clock, and he’s going to come away with the win!” Instead of being satisfied with simply holding Wildchild in the double chickenwing, however, Scott suddenly flips forward into a bridge as he continues to hold on the double chickenwing, the back of his head pressing down into Wildchild’s head. “Wait a minute, King!” shouts Pete. “I recognize that… it’s Harmony!” “I’ll be damned,” says King. “You’re right; that is Harmony!” “Scott Pretzler pulling Fugue’s old finisher out of the mothballs to try and get a submission on the Wildchild!” “And the irony is beautiful!” adds King. “You know, a lot of people used to say that Harmony was the natural counter to the Wild Ride, and now Scott Pretzler is going to make Wildchild submit with that very maneuver!” LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! “Pretzler appears to have Wildchild locked in Harmony,” says LDP, as Herrington checks in on Wildchild, “but these fans here in St. Peter's Square are doing their best to try and bring the Bahama Bomber back to life!” “They can try all they want,” counters King, “but I can’t see any way that Wildchild can get out of this!” Unable to move towards the ropes in any direction, Wildchild realizes that he’s going to have to find a way to get free of this hold, and so he calls upon a lifetime of circus training, testing the limits of his flexibility as he fights the tremendous pressure on top of him to fold his legs inwards. LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! With his legs now underneath him, Wildchild tests his flexibility once more by leaning forward into Pretzler. The sudden shift in his body’s angle causes the Critic to lose his balance and slide backwards down Wildchild’s body! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! “Wildchild’s got the pressure off his head!” shrieks Pete. “It’s obvious that Pretzler didn’t have enough experience making use of this hold, and Wildchild was able to take advantage of that lack of experience!” “Uh-oh!” moans King, as Wildchild shifts his weight to the balls of his feet. “If Wildchild can stand up, Pretzler’s got no place to go!” “And, like you were saying a minute ago, King,” taunts LDP, “Harmony is the natural counter to the Wild Ride, but that would also make the Wild Ride the natural counter to Harmony!” “I can’t believe it!” groans King. “He got him up! “I can’t believe he had the strength to get him up!” “Wildchild calling on whatever energy he has left in his body to get Pretzler up for that Wild Ride,” shouts Pete, as Wildchild lets out a feral scream. “Pretzler had better try to roll through this, or he’s going to go…” WHAM! “Down!” finishes Pete, as Wildchild rolls over for the cover. “That’s it! The Wild Ride!” ONE! “He ain’t gonna get up from it!” says King sadly. “No way!” agrees Pete cheerfully. “He hooks the leg…” TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Ladies and gentleman, the winner of the decision… the Wildchild! It is now four decision to three, in favor of Scott Pretzler!” 8:40. 8:39, 8:38… “Wildchild is able to get it back to within one fall, but time is definitely not on his side!” shouts LDP, as Wildchild rolls back on top of Pretzler, trying to steal another pinfall: ONE! TWO! TH— NO! “No!” shouts King. “Kickout at two! And Wildchild should have known better than that! The Wild Ride is a devastating maneuver, but it ain’t THAT damn devastating!” Wildchild and Pretzler both struggle to get back to their feet, and Pretzler tries to lock up with Wildchild, but the Tropical Tumbler surprises him with an inside cradle! ONE! TWO! TH—KICKOUT! Pretzler scrambles back to his feet, only for Wildchild to trip him up with a single-leg takedown, and grab both legs as he flips over into a jackknife pin! ONE! TWO! THR—NO! “Wildchild with a flurry of quick pinfall attempts as he tries to tie this match up!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild races to the ropes. “He appears to have drawn a second wind from somewhere!” Wildchild leaps into the air just as Pretzler stands up… SPLASH! … And crashes into him with a flying cross-body block that knocks him back down to the canvas! Wildchild hooks the leg as Herrington dives into position to count the shoulders… ONE! TWO! THREEEEE— NO! “Two count!” cries Pete. “Boy, was that close!” Wildchild rolls to his knees and looks up and the referee, complaining about a slow count… WHAM! … And giving Pretzler just enough time to level him with a clothesline! Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the ropes, trapping him in a sleeper hold as he rebounds! Wildchild reacts immediately to the sleeper, backpedaling towards the nearest corner and slamming Pretzler hard back-first into the turnbuckles! In Pretzler’s weakened state, he can’t hold onto the sleeper and releases it, allowing Wildchild enough daylight to step out of the corner. He thrusts his leg back towards Pretzler’s face… … But Scott remembers what happened in the No Gravity match, and ducks to avoid the superkick! He steps out of the corner and spins around as Wildchild sets his feet down… SMACK! … Blasting him in the chest with a ferocious knife-edge chop! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Pretzler continues to lay into Wildchild with vicious chops before grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring. Wildchild crashes into the turnbuckles and staggers back towards the center of the ring, seeing Pretzler charging towards him, arm raised to deliver a lariat, and ducks to avoid it just in the nick of time! Scott spins around to try and keep Wildchild on the defensive… CRACK! … And walks right into a superkick! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! The fans erupt as Pretzler collapses against the canvas like a fallen tree! The Bahama Bomber scrambles over to his body and covers him for a pin as Herrington drops down to count the shoulders: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! “Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “the winner of the decision… the Wildchild!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “It is now tied at four apiece!” 5:42, 5:41, 5:40… “This crowd is going crazy!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild has tied the match at four decisions apiece, with a little over five minutes to go, and St. Peter's Square is about to explode!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet, only for the Critic to stun him with a kneelift into the midsection! He spins Wildchild around and traps him in a waistlock, lifting him off the canvas to deliver a German suplex, but the Human Hurricane rolls through and lands on his feet, trapping Pretzler in a waistlock and pushing him towards the ropes and pulling him backwards into a rolling cradle! ONE! TWO! But Pretzler grabs two handfuls of tights, and reverses it! ONE! TWO! THR— KICKOUT! Wildchild pushes Pretzler off with a sudden burst of energy and rolls to his feet, meeting Pretzler in the center of the ring and snapping his head back with a quick right jab! SMACK! Pretzler responds with a chop… BAP! … And Wildchild answers with another right jab! SMACK! BAP! SMACK! BAP! “Twenty-five minutes gone by!” shouts Funyon. “There are FIVE minutes remaining!” SMACK! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! SCRAPE! Wildchild and Pretzler continue to go back and forth, with Wildchild starting to get the better of it, until Pretzler takes control with a rake of the eyes! Pretzler pulls Wildchild into a front neck lock, and hops off the mat to try and hook in the body scissors… WHAM! … But the second his feet leave the canvas, Wildchild pops his hips and arches back, taking Pretzler over in a Northern Lights suplex! ONE! TWO! THR— NO! “Kickout at two!” shouts King. “He didn’t get it!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and traps him in a front facelock, pulling him up into a vertical suplex, and spinning 270 degrees before falling backwards, planting Pretzler into the mat! “There’s that patented Corkscrew suplex by the Wildchild,” says Pete, as Wildchild heads to the corner. “That’s usually the setup for the Andros Drop!” The Human Hurricane climbs up to the top turnbuckle and measures Pretzler before leaping back into the ring, extending his arms in a crucifix position and twisting in midair… SPLASH! … Before crashing into Pretzler with the Andros Drop! Wildchild hooks the leg as Herrington gets into position to count: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Unbelievable!” cheers King. “Despite all of the punishment Scott Pretzler’s taken to the ribs, he STILL had the wherewithal to kick out after that Andros Drop!” “There are four minutes remaining in the match!” shouts Funyon. “Four minutes!” “Four minutes left, MacDougal!” shouts King, “and the next guy to score a pinfall is probably going to take it; I think it’s come down to that!” Wildchild runs to the ropes and leaps into the air as he rebounds… CRACK! … Knocking Pretzler down with a flying forearm! He collapses atop Pretzler in an attempt to cover… ONE! TWO! THR—NO! BUT PRETZLER STILL GETS THE SHOULDER UP AT TWO! Wildchild pulls Pretzler back to his feet and whips him into the ropes, but the Critic reverses, and catches Wildchild as he rebounds in an abdominal stretch! “Abdominal stretch!” crows King. “And I didn’t even think about this, but with the condition that these two men must be in, if he can knock Wildchild out with this hold, Wildchild might be out for the final three minutes and some-odd seconds, and that would be it!” “Wildchild is fighting desperately to free himself from the abdominal stretch,” says LDP, “but Pretzler is like a pitbull; he won’t let go!” “I don’t know about you, Drain-Clogger, but my voice is just about shot! I feel like I’ve been yelling at the top of my lungs for thirty minutes!” “That’s probably because you have!” replies LDP. Pretzler cinches in on the abdominal stretch, cranking on it for all he’s worth, trying to hold Wildchild in long enough to squeak out a submission… “Twenty-seven minutes have elapsed!” bellows Funyon. “There are THREE minutes remaining… THREE minutes!” “Three minutes remaining in this one!” shouts Pete. “And counting! And you can see some of Wildchild’s resolve starting to slip away!” Edited June 14, 2005 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted June 14, 2005 “I’ll say one more minute,” adds King. “If Pretzler can hold on to this abdominal stretch for one more minute, that should be enough to get the submission!” Red Herrington looks down into Wildchild’s eyes and asks him if he wants to submit, to which the Bahama Bomber screams his refusal. “Wildchild fighting off the effects of the abdominal stretch with everything he’s got!” shouts Pete. “But he’s fading fast; he has a faraway look in his eye, no doubt about it!” The fans begin to scream out of anxious tension, fearing the worst for their hero. LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB-CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! Despite the frantic cheers of the crowd, Wildchild doesn’t appear to have any fight left in him, as his eyes fall shut. Red Herrington raises his free arm and lets it go, watching as it drops lifelessly to his side. “That’s once!” shouts a now-hoarse King. “If it drops three times, Pretzler’ll be up five to four, with just over two minutes remaining!” Herrington raises the arm a second time, and watches as it falls once more. “Twenty-eight minutes have elapsed!” roars Funyon. “There are TWO minutes remaining… TWO minutes!” “Well, if Pretzler gets the submission here,” says Pete, “Wildchild’s probably going to have to hope that he can force overtime to stand a chance!” Herrington lifts the arm a third time, and lets it go… BUT IT STAYS IN THE AIR! RAAAAAAAAAAH! Suddenly, Wildchild begins to swing back frantically with his free arm, jamming his elbow repeatedly into Pretzler’s ribs until he relaxes the hold, and then taking him over with a hiptoss! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! “We’re inside two, with the score tied!” shouts Pete. “We’re down to the nitty-gritty; the next two minutes will decide the Number One Contender to the World Cruiserweight Championship!” Wildchild approaches Pretzler as he gets to his feet, peppering him with right jabs, before knocking him down with a hard left hook to the side of the head! Wildchild runs to the ropes as Pretzler gets to his feet and leaps into the air, diving towards the Critic feet-first… WHAM! … And blasting him in the chin with a running dropkick! The Bahama Bomber pulls Pretzler back to his feet and whips him into the corner, but Scott reverses, sending Wildchild into the turnbuckles chest-first, and hooking the inside of his leg as he staggers backwards out of the corner, pulling him into a schoolboy pin! ONE! “Pretzler’s got the tights!” shouts Pete. TWO! “Pretzler’s got the damned tights!” THREE! “YES!” exclaims King. “He got it! Pretzler’s up five to four!” DING! DING! DING! NOOOOOOOOOO! The crowd screams in unison as Pretzler retakes the lead over Wildchild, with only seconds remaining in the match! “The winner of the decision… the Critic, Scott Pretzler!” shouts Funyon. “He now leads this match by a score of five decisions to four!” 1:21, 1:20, 1:19… “Wildchild suddenly finds himself behind again!” shrieks Pete. “And he doesn’t have much time left if he’s going to try and force overtime!” Wildchild beats Pretzler to his feet and immediately runs to the ropes, leaping off the canvas and flipping through the air, snaring Pretzler by the head as he falls back to earth… WHAM! … And grinding his face into the mat with a Whiplash! Wildchild scrambles over to cover Pretzler immediately for a pinfall: ONE! TWO! “Twenty-nine minutes have elapsed!” roars Funyon. “There is ONE minute remaining… ONE minute!” KICKOUT! Without a moment’s hesitation, Wildchild rolls back to his feet and runs to the ropes, exploding off the canvas as Pretzler stands up, and whipping his leg sharply through the air… WHAM! … Knocking Pretzler for a loop with his patented leg lariat! He covers Pretzler again… ONE! TWO! THR— BUT ONLY GETS TWO! “Wildchild pulling out all the stops to try and tie this match up,” shouts Pete, “but the clock is working against him!” The Human Hurricane runs to the ropes once more, bouncing off the ropes, and running past Pretzler as he stands up, leaping onto the top rope as he approaches the edge of the ring, and curling into a ball as he springs backwards… WHAM! … Splattering the Critic with his patented Pinball attack! ONE! TWO! THR—NO! “Forty-five seconds remain in the match!” shouts Funyon. “FORTY-FIVE seconds!” “Tremendous resilience on the part of Scott Pretzler!” praises King, as Wildchild exits to the ring apron. “Wildchild is going for broke with forty-five seconds left, but Pretzler refuses to be pinned!” Wildchild fidgets with anxiety while precious seconds tick away, as he waits for Pretzler to get off his back. The second Scott even begins to stand up, the Human Hurricane explodes off the top turnbuckle, wrapping his arms around Pretzler’s waist as he pulls him into a sunset flip! ONE! TWO! THR— KICKOUT! Wildchild just beats Pretzler to his feet, but the Critic stuns him with a rake of the eyes! “THIRTY seconds remain in the match!” bellows Funyon. “THIRTY seconds!” Pretzler backs Wildchild against the far ropes and delivers a fierce chop before whipping him across the ring, lowering his head to deliver a back-body drop as he rebounds, but the Caribbean Cruiser rises up off the mat and drapes his leg over the back of Scott’s neck… WHAM! … As he drives him face first into the canvas with a Caribbean Cutter! Wildchild frantically turns Pretzler over and goes for another cover: ONE! “FIFTEEN SECONDS REMAINING IN THE MATCH!” booms Funyon. “FIFTEEN SECONDS!” TWO! THREE! NO! “Only two and a half!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet. “But he’s giving the sign for the Wild Ride!” “He’d better not waste time getting it on him!” warns King as Wildchild whips Pretzler into the ropes and kicks him in the midsection as he rebounds, doubling the Critic over whilst Wildchild positions himself in front of him. “TEN SECONDS!” shouts Funyon. Wildchild hooks Pretzler’s right arm… “NINE!” He hooks the left arm… “EIGHT!” Wildchild spins underneath Pretzler… “SEVEN!” He stands up straight! “SIX!” He kicks his legs out from underneath him… “FIVE!” WHAM! WILDCHILD PLANTS PRETZLER HEADFIRST INTO THE MAT WITH THE WILD RIDE! “FOUR!” Wildchild rolls Pretzler onto his back, and hooks both legs to apply the cover! Red Herrington quickly dives into position to deliver the count: “THREE!” ONE! “TWO!” TWO! “ONE!” THREEEEEEEEE— DING! DING! DING! YEEEEEEEEEAH! Wildchild leaps to his feet, pumping his fist wildly through the air, and the fans crowding St. Peter’s Square erupt in unison, joyous in anticipation of Sudden Death overtime! … But as Wildchild turns back towards Red Herrington, he stops short. All the blood drains from his face… as he sees the referee sadly hold up two fingers! For, although his hand did strike the canvas three times… The timekeeper’s bell sounded first. “He didn’t get it!” shouts King, rising out of his seat and pumping his fist in jubilation. “That’s it! It’s over! Pretzler’s the number one contender!” A hush falls over the crowd as Herrington heads over to the edge of the ring, relaying his official decision to Funyon, who relays it through his microphone: “Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, “before referee Red Herrington’s hand could deliver the three count, the time limit had expired… Therefore… the winner of the match, by a score of five decision to four… and the undisputed Number One Contender to the World Cruiserweight Championship!” “No!” screams Pete. “I can’t believe it!” “The New Iron Man of the SWF,” continues Funyon, “The Critic, SCOTT… PUUUUUH-RETZLER!” Beethoven’s Ninth begins to play once more, and the referee raises the hand of the unconscious Scott Pretzler in victory. Wildchild falls to his knees in exhaustion, a mixture of anguish and disbelief on his face. “What just happened, King?” asks an incredulous Longdogger. “I could have sworn that I saw Red Herrington’s hand hit the mat for the third time, just as the bell rang! How could that possibly be negated?” “I don’t know about that,” replies King. “All I know right now is that Scott Pretzler was declared the winner, and I couldn’t be happier about that! I told you that this kid was going to be the future of the SWF, MacDougal, and he proved me right!” “Well, ladies and gentlemen,” says LDP, “I’m being told that we’ve received authorization to show the instant replay, so let’s go back and take a look at how this all ended!” The screen starswipes to a replay of the final ten seconds of the match, with King’s voice audible in the background: “There you see Wildchild getting Pretzler up in the Wild Ride… He swings the legs out… Drops him flat on his head… And rolls him up for a cover… But pay very close attention to the timer in the lower right-hand corner, MacDougal; as you can see, the timer is not quite in sync with the referee’s count… it’s a fraction of a second off… And there it is! The timer runs out with Red Herrington’s hand still a little less than an inch off the mat!” King pauses to illustrate the space with the help of his tele-strator. “So, in the end, Wildchild lost by less than a fraction of a second, but it all adds up to the same thing: a loss! And I, for one, couldn’t be happier about it!” Pretzler finally begins to come around, rolling feebly out of the ring, and looking around to regain his bearings. “Look at the look in Pretzler’s eyes, King!” notes LDP. “I don’t think he’s realized that he’s won yet!” “It doesn’t matter!” crows King. “A minute from now, and hour from now, or a week from now! Scott Pretzler is still going to be the Number One Contender to the Cruiserweight Title, and it’s only a matter of time before he regains the belt from the Luchadore!” Red Herrington hops through the ropes to the arena floor and walks over to Scott Pretzler, raising his hand in victory once again. As Pretzler watches the referee raising his hand, and becomes aware of the fact that his music is playing, it slowly begins to process in his mind that he actually won the match. With a sinister snarl, he looks into the ring at Wildchild, who still sits in the center of the ring in stunned silence, and lets out as hearty a laugh as his busted ribs will allow him. “I TOLD YOU!” he shouts at Wildchild. “I told that I was the better man! I told you that I’d win!” As he retreats back up the aisle, the crowd rains down on him with boos, but nothing they say can wipe the smile off his face. “What a phenomenal match up between two of the top superstars in the SWF!” shouts Pete, “Give credit to Scott Pretzler for coming up with a huge win, in what was, to date, the biggest match of his wrestling career! These two tremendous athletes were so evenly matched, that it’s an absolute travesty that somebody had to lose! Well folks, that’s going to wrap up a tremendous evening of wrestling from here at the Vatican! We’ll be continuing on with the European leg of our End of the World Tour, starting this Friday on Storm! For the Suicide King, and all of us here with the SWF, this is the Long-Doggah! Good night, and thanks for watching!” Wildchild finally drags himself to his feet and over to the edge of the ring, looking pitifully up the ramp at Scott Pretzler, who continues to taunt him by holding one finger in the air and shouting, “Number One! Number One! Number One!” As we: FADE OUT ===== SWF 13th Hour © 2005 – Riot Act Productions All Rights Reserved “The SWF: Raising Workrate by Typing Faster.” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
