SWF Smarkdown 7-25-05

[chirs3 0]

Earlier today…

 

Tom Flesher sits in his office, in the press box of the Croke Park Stadium in Dublin, Ireland. As he pages through the contracts and other paperwork in his portfolio, the ringing of a cell phone pierces through the silence. Flesher looks up at Allison Onita, who nods and grabs the phone off his desk.

 

“Tom Flesher’s office. … No, I’m sorry, Mr. Flesher is unavailable. … I’m sorry, but may I take a message, Mr. Peters?”

 

“It’s Joe?” Flesher asks. Allison nods. “I’ll take it.” After Allison hands him the phone, Flesher shoos her away, mouthing the word “Cigarettes” to her. She scurries off as he settles in. “Hey, Joe, what can I do for you?”

 

Flesher nods as he listens to the voice on the phone, looking slightly concerned.

 

“Really? Two? But I need to have access to - … Joe, you don’t understand. You’re a businessman, not a wrestler. … Yes, I know you’re my boss, but - … But the roster just isn’t - …” Finally, with a sigh, he says, “So the decision’s made? … Alright then. But know that I’m going to do everything in my power to get the top talent on board. I already have Pretz, you know that, and that means … Alright, Joe. I’ll let you know.”

 

With that, he hangs up. After a pause of no more than a few seconds, he dials the phone.

 

“Hey, Brian?” Flesher smirks as the picture begins to fade.

 

“I’ve got a proposition for you ….”

[chirs3 0]

The Croke Park Stadium is only about half full with many a patron still taking their seat when a deep baseline starts echoing throughout the arena.

 

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall!" Few people seem to take note, knowing this one won't be on the television broadcast.

 

"Introducing first, hailing from Bavaria and weighing in at Two Hundred and FORTY-NINE pounds, making his Smartmarks Wrestling Federation Debut....Marcus Ward"

 

As Funyon finishes his introduction, Marcus Ward comes out at a slow steady walk, looking straight ahead, not acknowledging anyone. About halfway down the walkway he stops and you can hear his voice speak over the music (Between the Wheels by "Rush") in a brutal sardonic tone “I'm in total control” as he glances from side to side with a knowing smile. He reaches the ring at the same leisurely pace he began slowly climbs between the top two ropes into the ring. He goes to each corner and climbs to the first rope and raises his arms staring down the crowd, challenging them, before stepping to the center crossing his arms at his stomach awaiting his opponent.

 

"And Introducing his opponent from Boone, North Carolina weighing in at 220 lbs, Martin "BIG COUNTRY" Hunt!"

 

Big Country comes down the aisle, baseball bat in one hand...and lifted up high in the other is a big bottle of irish whiskey which he doesn't hesitate to take a drink of as he walks to the ring. Tonight Martin Hunt is going to be playing crowd favorite, though he doesn't hesitate to mock a few fans before reaching the ring apron.

 

Martin slides into the ring and stands up, the ref patds down both competitors, warns Big Country about his bat and signals for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Wasting no time Martin quickly shoulder tackles the newcomer and starts wailing on him with vicious haymaker after haymaker. After he's seen enough, the referee intervenes between the two warning Big Country about the fists. He just flashes a smarmy smile and lets a vicious left boot to the face of Ward, who's been caught totally off guard by this bar-room brawl of a beginning.

 

Several more boots to the face follow the first, then a toe in the throat for a 4-count and yet another warning from the referee. Big Country jaw's to the official even as he lifts MW up by his hair and quickly gets him in a chinlock. From there he continues to talk to ref, distracting him as he begins to gouge at the eyes of Marcus Ward, then getting his thumbs in the throat to continue Wards warm welcome to the SWF.

 

Ward's air rushes out of his body as his sternum crashes to the canvas off of a brutal elbow to the back of his spine from Big Country. Hunt applies a reverse arm bar, leaning across MW's body for leverage, eliminating the opportunities for escape. With no ropes to grab onto for the break, the referee gets down and starts asking him for the signal to the bell, will he submit? The crowd gets a little interested at this point, a few people laughing that this rookie is going to get schooled by an arm-bar in his debut match.

 

Big Country increases the pressure some more, grinning as he has control over this match, wondering why this kid even bothered to come out. Marcus screams in pain, his shoulder looking ready to pop from the socket. He sets his free arm on the canvasand pushes. His only chance is to muscle his way out of this hold. A few front-row diehards laugh at the idea that this guy can simply push his way out with one hand.

 

The muscles and veins onm MW's free arm stick out at the strain. His stomach lifts off the canvas about an inch, and Big Country shakes his head, looking a bit panicked at this point as Marcus pushes again...and this time he gets it all the way up, tossing Hunt over his shoulder to the canvas.

 

Ward clutches his shoulder, clearly a bit damaged by that. But now he has an opportunity to go toe to toe with this guy. Even as he nurses his shoulder, Big Country rushes with a shoulder block again, attempting to catch Ward the same way he did to start the match.

 

Not this time for Martin Hunt, as he's easily lifted into the air By Ward, spun around tilt-a-whirl and right into a devastating backbreaker. The crowd watches on as Ward doesn't let go of Hunt after the backbreaker, instead lifting him high into the air and bringing him down on the same knee again. Holding Big Country chest high, Ward stares around at the crowd and lifts him a third time with his right knee thrusting deep into the spine of Hunt. Ward smiles lifts and tosses Martin "Big Country" Hunt right over the top rope to the outside, then tapping the side of his temple with his forefinger, showing everyone he knew what he was doing all along.

 

Big Country rolls around a few times, clutching his ribs and back in pain, as he looks up at the arena lights, and spots Ward out of the corner of his eye, standing with arms crossed in the center of the ring. Letting him back in. Hunt pulls himself up at the count of 7 and slides into the ring, circling Ward a bit more cautiously now.

 

The foes circle one another for several seconds, before both grappling into a lock up. Hunt pulls Ward into a side headlock, but is pushed off of it into the ropes. Hunt springs off the ropes, right back at Ward with arm outstretched for a momentum-swinging lariat. The crowd, a few more patrons into this match now, gasps as Ward is standing there waiting for Hunt and encloses his arms around his lower back tightly and lifts him up into a crushing bear hug.

 

Now Big Country finds himself locked in to a hold he may not be able to break, equidistant from each rope in no-man's land with this newcomer's forearms driving into his back and ribs, squeezing pain into his body, and precious oxygen out. Each second that pasts, the crowd grows quieter, the tension of the match drawing them in. Ward seems solid as a rock, not tiring in this hold, as Big Country grimaces and groans as his spine becomes more compacted and ribs reach the stress point.

 

Suddenly without warning, Ward grips tighter, leans forward a step then launches backwards into a belly to belly suplex tossing Hunt unexpectedly into the canvas, what little air left whooshing out of Big Country as the crowd gasps at the ferocity of that slam.

 

Ward rolls up and smiles, nonchalantly digging an elbow into Hunt's abdomen as a cover.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRE..

 

A shoulder lifted up at the last second saves hunt from the unexpected loss, but Marcus just shakes his head, pulls Big Country up and delivers a uppercut forearm to the chin that rocks

MH into the ropes where he leans trying to catch his breath. Ward casually walks up to him, pushes him further into the ropes then whips him across the ring. Springing off the other side of the ring, Hunt tries to lift his elbow to deliver a tide-turning shot but gets nothing but air as Ward ducks, lifts...into a spinning tilt-a-whirl again, this time he rotates big country around twice to the left while flipping him over so he's facing towards the ropes, even as Marcus is himself spinning, pivoting then

 

OOOOOooooHHhh

 

The crowd cries in pain for hunt as a devastating reverse spinebuster launches Big country neck-first into the top rope, where he then springs off to his back, clutching his throat for air.

 

Ward rotates his left arm a bit seemingly trying to get the leftover kinks out from that early match submission, then goes down to the face-down Martin Hunt with a reverse arm bar of his own. A few seconds into it, he changes position and puts a leg scissors on Big Country's arm to hold him down, and starts digging his elbow right into the lower back of his foe. The scream that comes from Hunt at the onset of the maneuver shows just how much damage has been done to his back already. Martin Hunt starts flailing his free arm, trying to get out of this unpleasant position, his legs kicking to distract himself from the pain, he pushes up with any leverage he can get...and rolls Ward onto his back, Hunt quickly clutches for MW's arm and gets it, spinning off of MW's stomach and lifting Ward up into a deep standing arm bar.

 

Big Country is pulled near the ropes by Ward who reaches and manages to get the rope break of the arm bar. Four-counts by the ref later he is forcibly separated from MW who clutches at his shoulder...just as Martin Hunt gives him a boot to the face. Martin gives a cocky half-smile and slings Ward off the ropes across the ring, then chases after to hang him out to dry with a brutal clothesline, as ward does a complete flip to end up on his stomach.

 

Hunt goes to the corner, takes a big swig of irish whiskey and gulps it down as he climbs the turnbuckles to the top, getting ready to "Donkey Punch" his prone opponent. Marcus shakes off the clothesline, spies Hunt getting ready to jump and taps his forehead. As Big Country jumps Ward climbs to his feet...but instead of getting out of the way he stands right where he was...and catches Big Country into another bear hug grip, holding his ground to the momentum of 220-lbs right on his stomach.

 

Marcus walks in a small circle with MH tightening his grip before launching another solid belly-to-belly suplex. Ward's normal smile shows up again as he paces around the ring, watching his opponent. Hunt seems woozy, holding his ribs and back and seeming totally out of sorts with this opponent, even as he tries to pull himself back up and into the contest.

 

MW has no plans for that to happen and begins launching knees into the gut of Martin, pushing him back into the corner and pushing his air out of his lungs once again. Ward gets his hands right under the ribs of Big Country grips with his fingers into those ribs (A painful hold in and of itself) and then lifts him up into the air, showing off his enormous lower body strength, as he turns around towards the center of the ring, holding Big Country by the ribs. Ward then rears his head back and SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMASH, SMACK. Five headbutts right into the sternum, each one audible in the arena, even over the now raucous crowd. A small smile by Ward then he drops Big Country stomach first onto an outstretched knee. Hunt's lungs having been bashed to bits he gasps for breath on the mat, a healthy stapping man sounding like a smoker having an asthma attack.

 

Marcus stands and waits for Big Country with his arms crossed, the crowd booing his sadistic smile, now fully against this cocky and torturous man. Hunt spots the smile out of the corner of his eye and shoulder tackles him, which Marcus does not see again, losing his footing and landing on his back, flailing his arms trying to avoid...the ARM BAR which Big Country locks in again, rolling Ward over to his stomach, getting the reverse arm bar locked in again, this time showing no signs of letting up...but Marcus has him this time, getting good push with his off arm and rolling the maneuver over and releasing the pressure on the joint, quickly standing up and backing away from Big Country...Who even faster launches a boot to Wards unexpectant face, stunning him.

 

Ward bends over clutching at his nose, checking for blood. Hunt takes the opportunity, slaps his thigh, springs off the rope running towards Ward with a running leaping scissor kick, aiming to decapitate the cocky newbie...before Ward lifts his head out of the way leaving him behind a confused Big country. Marcus grabs him with both arms from behind and lifts him right up onto his shoulders...and holds him there, spins around once and starts applying the pressure to the back and neck. A torture rack? The entire crowd hushes as Marcus Ward stands in the middle of the ring locked on with Total Control. Hunt screams, his back already in severe pain and quickly tells the ref to ring the bell.

 

DING!

 

DING!

 

DING!

 

The referee signals for the bell, then starts to inform Ward that he needs to release the hold. Marcus gives him that smile, and swings the contorted body of Hunt that rests on his shoulders right at the ref knocking him out. Ward applies the pressure for several more seconds to the disgust of the crowd. Then he stops with the pressure, Hunt lying on his shoulders limp.

 

Looking around the arena at all the jeering fans, Marcus Ward screams "THAT WAS TOTAL CONTROL". Then he grips Big Country again, lifts him up over his head in a military press and holds it for a few moments....then drops the already brutalized opponent right onto his shoulder, using the gravity momentum to feed into a furious spinebuster that silences the crowd.

 

Martin Hunt lies motionless in the ring as the victorius Marcus Ward walks off to the unfriendly stares of a silent crowd.

[chirs3 0]

Funyon stumbles into the ring, holding the mic in one hand and an unmarked flask in the other.

 

"Ladiesh and gentlemen," he burbles, leaning against the ropes, "pleash shtand for the national anthem."

 

As I was goin' over the Cork and Kerry mountains

I saw Captain Farrell and his money he was countin'

I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier

I said "stand and deliver or the devil he may take you"

 

I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny

I took all of his money and I brought it home to Molly

She swore that she loved me, no never would she leave me

For the devil take that woman for you know she tricked me easy

 

Mush-a rain dum a doo dum a da

Whack for my daddy-o

Whack for my daddy-o

There's whiskey in the jar-o

 

Being drunk and weary I went to Molly's chamber

Takin' my Molly with me but I never knew the danger

For about six or maybe seven in walked Captain Farrell

I jumped up, fired off my pistols and I shot him with both barrels

 

Mush-a rain dum a doo dum a da

Whack for my daddy-o

Whack for my daddy-o

There's whiskey in the jar-o

 

Yeah, yeah whiskey!

 

Now some men like the fishin' and some men like the fowlin'

And some men like ta hear, ta hear a cannon ball a roarin'

Me I like sleepin', 'specially in my Molly's chamber

But here I am in prison, here I am with a ball and chain yeah

 

Mush-a rain dum a doo dum a da

Whack for my daddy-o

Whack for my daddy-o

There's whiskey in the jar-o

 

Whiskey in the jar-o

Mush-a rain dum a doo dum a da

Mush-a rain dum a doo dum a da, hey

Mush-a rain dum a doo dum a da

Mush-a rain dum a doo dum a da, heyyy (fading)

 

The crowd applauds as Funyon concludes his drunken rendition of “Whiskey in the Jar”, and the applause carries us through to the intro...

[chirs3 0]

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...

 

SWF SMARKDOWN, JULY 25TH, 2005, LIVE FROM THE CROKE PARK STADIUM IN DUBLIN, IRELAND!

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

 

The SWF continues rumbling through Europe as it stops in the capital of Ireland, Dublin! The Emerald Isle will be overrun by Smartmark superstars as Toxxic is once again a de facto heel!

 

Protestant bastard.

 

MAIN EVENT - CRUISERWEIGHT EXTRAVAGANZA THE EPILOGUE!

SUBMISSION MATCH - NONTITLE

Toxxic vs. Scott Pretzler ©

~ This one’s back for another shot, after Spike Jenkins spoiled it the first time around!

Rules: Standard, with cruiserweight addenda, and the stipulation that the match may not end with a pin - countouts and disqualifications are in effect, but the only clean way to win is by forcing your opponent to submit.

 

CRUISERWEIGHT EXTRAVAGANZA THE LATTER!

El Luchador Magnifico vs. Zyon

~ Frustrated by his inability to take the duke, ELM turned on Wildchild in their last match, and the fans are definitely disapproving. Zyon, meanwhile, is still one of the hottest prospects in the SWF. Will ELM finally be able to win one, or will Zyon's hot streak continue? Only time will tell.

Rules: Standard, with cruiserweight addenda.

 

CRUISERWEIGHT EXTRAVAGANZA THE FORMER!

"Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. Wildchild

~ Spike is finally off his suspension, and in hot pursuit of two of his former Revolution Zero stablemates. Wildchild is just after a chance to reclaim some dignity after being hammered by El Luchador Magnifico. They face off in a Cruiserweight Match to see which one gets the moral edge going into Ground Zero.

Rules: Standard, with cruiserweight addenda.

 

ORBITAL BONE-SHATTERING FOR ALL!

Danny Williams vs. Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix

~ Landon requested this one, and seems to be getting a little big for his britches. Will Danny slap him back into place?

Rules: Standard.

 

NONTITLE MATCH

“The Dean of Professional Wrestling” Jay Hawke vs. “Urban Legend” Todd Cortez

~ What can we say? Todd sells tickets. Hardcore pure wrestling sells tickets. Todd wrestling a hardcore purist = RATINGS!

Rules: Standard.

 

OPENER

Manson vs. Ghost Machine

~ Manson was granted a title shot at Jay Hawke at Ground Zero, and tonight he’ll get a chance to tune up against a guy whose style has absolutely no overlap with Hawke’s. Why? Because Ghost Machine gets a chance to impress the booking committee. A win over Manson will surely put him in line for a shot at Hawke’s International Title.

Rules: Standard.

 

Opening Promo: El Luchador Magnifico. RUDORUDORUDO!

 

Also Appearing: Johnny Dangerous, and everyone else we’ve been shuttling around Europe! We’re not doing it for our health, guys. PLUS, a special appearance by Smarkdown Commissioner Tom Flesher!

[chirs3 0]

As the SWF Smarkdown’s intro winds down, an awkward hush comes over the Croke Park Stadium, as its eighty-two thousand inhibitants patiently wait for the start of the show. When the lights are suddenly cut, a few cheers can be heard from those that are anxious for something, anything, to happen.

 

“HEY HEY!”

 

So goes the intro to Atake FDD’s “Tu Final”, which is shouted over the PA as red, white and green sparks shoot upwards from the stage! A few fans have already caught on and begin booing, and they’re joined by the remained of the audience when El Luchadore Magnifico bursts out from behind the curtain, illuminated by a single spotlight. Expressionless, Magnifico quickly strides down the entrance ramp, his Mexican flag billowing gracefully behind him as he makes his way to the ring.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen...” Funyon begins, his vocal chords not quite warmed up yet, “Please welcome EL LUCHADOOOOOOOORE MAGNIFICOOOOOOO!!”

 

The fans will do nothing of the sort, redoubling their booing efforts as the luchadore approaches the ring. He rolls beneath its bottom rope, stands up, and steps into the center of the ring, where he looks out over the displeased audience with a disgusted scowl. Suddenly, he thrusts his Mexican flag high into the air as the lights go back up, revealing the gigantic crowd in all their glory. Magnifico, still holding his flag, walks to the side of the ring and is handed a microphone.

 

“Well, it looks like we’ve got an...interesting way to start this Smarkdown.” Pete states, trying to hide his disgust. “El Luchadore Magnifico, fresh off of a near killing of Wildchild, is out here hopefully to explain his actions on Lockdown.”

 

“What’s to explain?” King casually acts. “Magnifico snapped and took out his anger on the nearest Carribean guy. Wildchild was just unlucky, is all."”

 

Microphone in hand, ELM walks into the center of the ring, surrounded on all sides by irate Irishmen. As if suddenly becoming aware of the booing, Magnifico suddenly looks up and brings the microhpone to his lips.

 

“Shut the fuck up.” Magnifico suddenly snaps, which doesn’t really help matters any. The fans only grow louder and angrier than ever, but eventually quiet down to the point where ELM can continue speaking.

 

“Like I give a damn what you think.” ELM lectures. “You people will turn on someone at the drop of a hat. You’ve done it to me before, and you’re doing it to me right now.”

 

“The man’s got a point.” King concedes. LDP just scoffs.

 

“Every one of you is a goddamn hypocrite.” Magnifico accuses. “You all cheer for acts of unspeakable violence night in and night out. And I, being the fool I was, put my body on the line every night, trying to please you.”

 

ELM pauses for a moment before continuing. “But it wasn’t good enough for you, was it? None of you give a flying fuck about me unless I’m winning. Oh sure, you’ll show your support during the match, wanting to hedge your bets in case I should edge out a win, but once my shoulders are down on the mat, I’m worthless to you. You’ll just cheer for the guy who won and get on with your lives, not thinking for a second the hell I just went through trying to entertain you.”

 

“Well said!” King cries. “Thank God someone finally got the nerve to step up and say it.”

 

“This is no execuse for nearly killing Wildchild.” Pete counters, annoyed. “I can understand his frustration, but there’s no reason he couldn’t control his emotions.”

 

“I was sick and tired of being the good guy, of holding myself back just to please you.” Magnifico states. “And as I expected, the second I wrapped my hands around Wildchild’s neck, you all turned on me. You don’t give a damn about me. You want to cheer for the showmen, the acrobats, the people who pander to you.”

 

“You sons of bitches.” Magnifico suddenly snaps, unable to control his emotion any longer. The fans boo, but he shouts over them. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT I GAVE UP TO BE HERE?! WHAT I-“

 

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…

 

“RAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

 

The fans cheer jubilantly for both the interruption and for the telling entrance music, and only grow louder when Wildchild bursts out from behind the curtain, Tag Title wrapped around his waist and an angry scowl painted across his face. Not pausing for an instant, Wildchild quickly makes his way down the ramp, his eyes locked on Magnifico and vice versa.

 

“This won’t end well.” Pete predicts. “I can only imagine how Wildchild feels after ELM, the man who he encouraged during his rough return and the man he used to look up to, turned on him after their match on Lockdown.”

 

“Hey, Wildchild deserves what he got.” King defends. “Sticking around to help Magnifico to his feet, indeed. That’s even more of a slap to the face than using the Mexican Pride Press to get the win.”

 

Wildchild reaches the ring and rolls beneath the bottom rope. He pops to his feet and walks across the ring, staring coldly at Magnifico as he does so. The luchadore is more than happy to return the look, doing so as Wildchild is handed a microhpone. Mike in hand, WC walks right up to the luchadore and speaks.

 

“De only reason I’m not beatin’ de hell outta you right now,” Wildchild begins, “Is ‘cause I feel you’re owed a chance t’explain y’self.”

 

Magnifico scowls and stares right into Wildchild’s eyes. “Fuck you, Dominic.” The crowd boos and WC is visibly struggling to control himself as ELM continues. “How do you think it felt for me when you came to my locker room and tried to make me feel better? You’re nothing. I am a three-time World Champion, and you’re NOTHING. You were just rubbing my losses in my face, you heartless bastard.”

 

ELM pauses for a moment, actually smiling a bit as he sees Wildchild’s reaction.

 

“Do you think you were doing me proud by using the Mexican Pride Press?” Magnifico asks, immediately becoming serious again. “That was a direct slap in the face, and you know it. You were so happy to finally beat your idol than you didn’t give a damn how I felt, the struggles I’ve been through, the sacrifices I made to come back to this goddamned Federation.”

 

“I left my family behind!” ELM shouts, infuriated. “I left them in some shitty border town so I could come out here and make them proud! But it’s YOUR fault I failed, Dominic. It’s your fault and the fault of-“

 

“YOU’RE GOING T’TALK T’ME ABOUT FAMILY?” Wildchild suddenly snaps, pissed off beyond reason. “M’ENTIRE FAMILY’S DEAD, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

 

The crowd goes quiet. They’re not used to seeing Wildchild snap like that, and it seems to actually shame them into silence. Even Magnifico seems shocked, as his face softens and he leans back. He watches the incensed Wildchild for a second, expressionless, before leaning back in and bringing the microphone back to his lips.

 

“Boo fucking hoo.”

 

*CRACK*

 

*BRZZZZZZZT*

 

Wildchild slams his microphone into Magnifico’s forehead, knocking the luchadore to the mat as the fans raise a mighty cheer! WC immediately begins to stomp away wildly at Magnifico, but ELM manages to roll out of the ring before Wildchild can land very many strikes. A hand on his forehead, Magnifico backs up the entrance ramp, shouting and cursing at Wildchild in the process. WC just stares at the luchadore, his chest heaving and a furious scowl still painted across his face.

 

“Boo! Foul!” King cries. “That was totally uncalled for!”

 

“You’re insane, King.” Pete replies. “In any case, Wildchild is absolutely furious, and I can’t imagine this is the end of the conflict between these two.”

 

The last image shown before Smarkdown takes a commerical break is Wildchild, leaning over the top rope and looking out after Magnifico...

[chirs3 0]

The crowd buzzes impatiently as Funyon steps into the ring.

 

“Ladies and Gentleman, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Denver, Colorado, MANSOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!”

 

Mastadon’s “Crusher Destroyer” plays as Manson appears on the ramp and the crowd erupts.

 

“Why are they cheering him so loud?” questions Pete.

 

“All Irish people love Denver,” responds King.

 

“And why is that?”

 

“It’s actually quite simple. You see-”

 

“And his opponent, from PARTS UNKNOOOWN, GHOST MACHINE!”

 

EH!

EH BOO!

EH! EH BOO BOO!

 

The crowd boos viscously as Ghost steps onto the stage with JL Crunk.

 

“Wow, they’re really set against Ghost Machine in this one,” notes Pete.

 

“Obviously. During the second world war robots almost caused the destruction of Ireland by…”

 

King is drowned out by the screams of the surprisingly sober Irish crowd. Ghost climbs into the ring. He pauses on the apron and locks eyes with the Denver native.

 

“Manson is scary, but Ghost Machine is scarier. Manson can usually overpower his opponents but in this bout that’s not an option. I say with no exaggeration that Ghost can toss Manson around like a cruiserweight. He’ll have to acknowledge that. I say if Manson can take to the skies or stick to the mat he has a good chance of putting away the robot.

 

 

=DING DING DING=

 

Manson sizes up Ghost Machine, trying to feel out Ghost and determine where and how to start his attack. Ghost gives nothing, staring at Manson. Before he can decide, Ghost begins moving, albeit slowly, towards him. Manson runs at Ghost and delivers an elbow, but it just bounces off Ghost’s chest as if he were made of metal. Manson runs in again, but only fakes an elbow. He lunges at the legs. Ghost Machine buckles, and crashes to the mat.

 

YEAH!

 

Pete jumps to his feet. “He’s already brought this beast down!” he shouts excitedly.

 

King nods approvingly. “Whereas Ghost Machine is almost invincible on his feet, he is rather defenseless against submissions because it is so hard for him to lift his 312 pounds up to a standing position.”

 

Manson immediately locks on an STF. Ghost thrashes, trying to get to his feet, as if he doesn’t even notice Manson. Finally he begins smashing his fist against the bruiser. Still, Manson will not release the hold, knowing that he will not get many chances like this. Ghost Machine eventually bashes Manson off and gets to his feet, but not without considerable damage.

 

“He’s definitely nursing that neck,” says Pete.

 

Ghost Machine drags Manson to his feet and sets him up for a suplex. He lifts him high into the air…

 

“My god!” King cries out. “It’s almost as if that neck can’t hold Manson’s weight!”

 

….and completes the move. However, both men remain on the mat. Ghost is holding his neck in pain. The ref starts counting.

 

ONE

 

 

 

TWO

 

Manson finally comes to his senses and rises. He starts climbing the ropes, and the crowd buzzes. Ghost Machine gets up while Manson is climbing and approaches the turnbuckle. Manson turns around looking for the elbow, but instead finds a face full of Ghost Machine’s fist! Ghost throws the wounded bull to the mat. His 240 pounds crash violently, rendering him unconscious. Ghost Machine ascends to the top turnbuckle.

 

“Ghost Machine is on the top rope!” King declares.

 

“He could kill Manson!” Pete says in horror.

King considers this apprehensively. “Maybe that’s the plan…”

 

He thinks better of it and climbs down. He goes to the downed bull and applies a sleeper hold. Manson’s eyes widen and he lunges upward, only to be dragged back down by the challenger with machine-like intensity. Manson fights off the sleeper with constant motion, as Ghost has trouble keeping the hold on and applying pressure at the same time. Manson squirms around, leaving him face to face with Ghost Machine. Ghost stares at him for a few moments, then headbutts him with incredible force.

 

“AAAAAHHHHH!”

 

Manson lurches backwards, his face badly bleeding. Ghost Machine moves in for the kill. He sprints (slowly) to Manson and bashes the top of his head with a running double axehandle. Manson hangs in space a moment, then collapses to the mat. Ghost continues his unrelenting assault. He mounts the downed man and begins pummeling his stomach with punches. Manson manages to endure the viscous beating and reaches up to Ghost Machine. He wraps his fingers around the meaty neck. Ghost pauses to pry them off, and Manson kicks him in the face with both feet as hard as he can. Ghost’s head snaps back and he crumples.

 

“Ghost Machine has gone from a huge threat to a huge target!” King exclaims.

 

“Looks like Manson’s finally turned this match around,” says Pete, happy to see the Raging Bull gain momentum.

 

“Don’t speak too soon…..” King warns.

 

But it appears Manson has turned the match around. With some difficulty he rolls Ghost onto his stomach, then slaps on an STF to the neck he almost broke before. Every ounce of muscle on Manson’s frame is devoted to bending Ghost’s thick neck back into his spine. Ghost is screaming in pain, something unseen in the SWF up to this point.

 

“He’s about to tap!” Pete is on his feet again.

 

King shakes his head in disbelief. “Come on Ghost Machine! Hold on!”

 

Ghost, with incredible effort, lifts himself and Manson to his knees. Manson is now standing with the hold on, and can apply even more pressure. Laboriously, Ghost starts to push upwards.

 

“He’s on his feet!” says King.

 

Ghost breaks the hold and whips Manson into the ropes. Ghost prepares for something, but gets a Yakuza kick to the face! The sound of the boot smashing against Ghost’s forehead echoes throughout the arena. Ghost Machine gets up, and Manson wraps his arms around the man. He starts to lift him into the air…and with great effort, completes a belly-to-belly suplex into a pinning bridge.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

The force of Ghost’s kickout sends the bull flying across the ring. Manson crashes into the ropes and falls. The two competitors run towards each other. Ghost sticks out his arm for a lariat, but Manson hooks it and swings his momentum into an arm drag. He swings the arm around Ghost’s neck and locks on a neck wrench arm bar, and this time Ghost really does look ready to tap out.

 

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

He shakes his head and screams. Manson twists the arm a little more, and Ghost starts thrashing, or convulsing, against the ring.

 

“ARGHAARHGARH!!!”

 

“ARGHARAAA………………….”

 

He starts to drift off.

 

“Ghost Machine just passed out from the pain!” Pete says triumphantly.

 

The ref lifts Ghost’s arm. It flops to the ground.

 

ONE!

 

He lifts the arm again. It again falls to the mat.

 

TWO!

 

The ref raises Ghost Machine’s arm. It falls….

 

THR- No! Ghost Machine arm rises into the air!

 

The crowd gets frantic, fearing for their hero. TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP!!!

 

Ghost Machine rolls to the side, ending up right on top of Manson. He stands up, lifting Manson to his feet. DDT! He lifts Manson up again. Powerbomb!

 

“Looks like Ghost Machine has gotten his second wind!” Pete says, sounding worried.

 

“There’s no way a guy as small as Manson can survive this onslaught,” King pronounces confidently.

 

“He’s not that small…” says Pete, fully aware of Ghost’s imposing size.

 

Ghost Machine covers.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Shoulder up! Angry, Ghost puts an elbow into Manson’s face and covers again.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Shoulder up! Ghost Machine is furious now. He throws Manson to his feet, and elbows his back. Manson doubles over and Ghost grabs his belly. PILEDRIVER! Cover.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Shoulder up!

 

“AAAAAAAHHHHHRGHHHH!” Ghost Machine roars in rage. He lifts the bull over his head and starts walking to the ropes.

 

“He’s going to throw Manson over the ropes!” shouts King.

 

Manson comes to his senses and starts hammering Ghost’s head, but to no avail. He throws Manson towards the outside. Manson catches the rope in midair and swings his momentum around, to the delight of his fans. The normally grounded grappler shoots through the rope and plants his feet into Ghost’s midsection.

 

“OOF!”

 

Manson wraps an arm around Ghost’s neck and lifts himself up, smashing his knee into Ghost’s face repeatedly, using Ghost himself as support. Ghost staggers back, then right into a release northern lights suplex! The crowd goes into a frenzy as Manson hops onto the second rope. Smelling blood, he soars into the air, seems to hang there for a moment, then comes crashing down onto the helpless Ghost Machine with a devastating leg drop

 

MANSON! MANSON! MANSON! MANSON!

 

He hooks the leg.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Shoulder up!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Fuck you, ref!

 

Manson starts battering Ghost with no concern for technicality or finesse. Fist after fist crashes against Ghost’s skull. Each blow is more furious than the next, as Manson realizes he can’t hold the advantage for that long. He gets up and bounces off the ropes, then connects with a knee drop.

 

SMACK!

 

Ghost Machine tries to get up, but Manson kicks him sharply in the spine.

 

SNAP!

 

And again!

 

CRACK!

 

Ghost arches his back in pain, and Manson jumps up and kicks him in the back of the skull.

 

POP!

 

He stumbles forward on his knees for a bit, and ends up tangled in the ropes. Manson surveys his prey with a snarl, knowing that there is no escape from what is about to happen. He smashes a knuckle into Ghost’s head. Manson’s rabid fans count as he continues the brutal beating.

 

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FI- Ghost Machine somehow twists out of the way, and Manson’s momentum carries him through the ropes and onto the floor.

 

SMACK! Manson’s head hits the uncovered concrete and the sound reverberates throughout the stadium. Meanwhile, with great difficulty and the aid of the ref, Ghost Machine has escaped from the ropes. He steps onto the apron, and without giving it a second thought leaps over the prone Manson and lands on him with a crash.

 

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

 

“Holy shit!” screams King. “Pardon my language, but Ghost Machine just crushed Manson! He…he could be dead!”

 

Pete shakes his head incredulously. “Indeed! I don’t want to sound like a complete idiot, but this guy is like a robot!”

 

Ghost Machine is already up, but Manson is way out.

 

SIX! Ghost rolls Manson into the ring and follows before he can be counted out. Ghost rolls Manson into the center of the ring, then runs to the ropes. The ring quivers with each footstep, and the huge man rebounds towards Manson. He jumps into the air and connects with a picture-perfect legdrop. Manson rolls over in pain, and Ghost sits on his back.

 

“Camel Clutch!” King exclaims.

 

Manson’s body bends under the weight of Ghost Machine. He shouts in pain, but refuses to tap. Ghost releases an arm and continues the hold with just one hand, using the other to pat Manson cheerfully on the head.

 

BOOO!

 

Pete winces. “How humiliating! It looks like this could be Ghost’s second win over Manson, and t doesn’t even look like he’s trying.”

 

Manson looks as though he’s about to tap, but Ghost’s arrogance changes his mind. He grabs Ghost Machine’s free hand and twists it. Ghost shouts and rolls off of Manson, who capitalizes. He pounces, and the two men roll around the mat. Manson and Ghost struggle to stay on top while simultaneously trying to get an open shot. They trade blows, and blood begins to trickle. Punches fly and blood spatters the ring. Manson rolls away and hops to his feet, showing the crowd his face is not bloody.

 

YEAH!!!

 

Ghost pulls himself to his feet with the ropes, and he’s a mess. His mask is torn by the mouth and forehead, and he has a gash in his forehead. Blood is oozing down. Even with a mask on, everyone can tell that this man is angry. He jumps at Manson. He tries to dodge, but Ghost adjusts course and brings him down. They pop up and Manson gets a boot to the gut. He bends over in pain, and Ghost Machine kicks him full power in the face.

 

SMACK!

 

The bull lurches forward, and Ghost catches him. He tosses him overhead in a sort of distorted belly-to-belly. Exhausted from the exchange, Ghost falls to the ground next to his opponent.

 

LET’S GO MANSON, LET’S GO! The fans rally behind their man, and Manson responds. He staggers and stumbles to his feet, then spits on Ghost Machine and raises a middle finger.

 

YEAAAAHHH!

 

Ghost Machine tries to get up, but Manson skillfully and precisely kicks out his left leg. Ghost reaches out into space as he falls back to the mat.

 

“Now that Ghost Machine is grounded,” says Pete, “I don’t see how Mansoncan’t win this match.”

 

Manson applies a third STF.

 

YEEAAAAAHHH! The crowd, sensing blood, rises to see Ghost tap.

 

“That’s definitely the loudest cheer I’ve ever heard for that hold,” King says, impressed.

 

Ghost Machine is wild. He is whipping back against the mat, desperately trying to break the hold. The gashes in his forehead have blinded him with. Manson knows this could be his only chance to finish Ghost.

 

“Tap!”

 

“AAAAARRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

He refuses to give up. Manson finally releases the hold.

 

BOOOOO!

 

Ghost Machine bursts to his feet and clotheslines Manson. As he flies backwards, Ghost clotheslines him again with his other arm, this time in the back of the head: the incredible double clothesline.

 

“It’s the incredible double clothesline!” shouts Pete.

 

Manson’s neck snaps against the canvas so hard that he rebounds onto his knees. Ghost Machine is amused and pulls his opponents to his feet. He draws his hand back and slaps Manson as hard as he can across the face.

 

CRACK!

 

This wakes Manson up, and he returns the favor.

 

CRACK!

 

Ghost Machine is completely unaffected, and lifts the Raging Bull into the air with one hand. The ref rushes in to break the hold, but Ghost pushes him away. Manson gurgles and turns blue.

 

Pete pops up again. “Come on!” he shouts. “Break it up!”

 

“Sssh!” King chides. “Let the ref do his job.”

 

Ghost Machine sets Manson down on the top rope. He walks to the opposite corner and runs at him. Manson launches himself towards Ghost, who catches him in mid-air. Ghost stumbles back from the impact. Manson knows he has only a few moments, and hammers on his opponent’s head with elbows. He collapses unconscious against the ropes and Manson hops off.

 

King is impressed with the exchange. “Hm.”

 

Manson grabs the left arm he damaged earlier and twists it behind the behemoth’s back. Ghost grabs the rope.

 

“Break!”

 

Manson bounces off the ropes and dropkicks on the rebound, sending Ghost Machine on his back. He hooks the leg for the cover.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Kickout! Ghost launches Manson straight up in the air. Unfortunately, gravity brings him down, and straight onto the outstretched leg of Ghost Machine. Exhausted, Ghost rolls to the outside for a breather. Manson remains face down on the mat as the robot regains his wind.

 

ONE!

 

Slowly but surely, Manson brings himself to his knees.

 

TWO!

 

Ghost Machine reclines against a barrier, bloody and tired.

 

THREE!

 

Manson wilts like a dead rose against the ropes, but is on his feet.

 

FOUR!

 

Ghost Machine slugs a fan that pats him on the back.

 

FIVE!

 

Manson is on his feet and considering his next moves.

 

SIX!

 

Security breaks up the fight Ghost Machine has started.

 

SEVEN!

 

Manson bounces off the ropes.

 

EIGHT!

 

Ghost Machine turns towards the ring.

 

NINE!

 

Manson flies between the first and second ropes, dropkicking Ghost Machine square in the face and breaking the count.

 

“I don’t see where he’s going with this,” says King. “Manson is already worn down, and Ghost Machine’s neck is the real money maker.”

 

Manson quickly recovers and is on Ghost Machine like bees on bread. ONE! TWO! THREE! Manson’s fans chant with each punch. The ref tries to break up the two warriors, but can hardly be heard over the roar of the crowd. Ghost reaches up blindly, finds Manson’s neck, and holds on for dear life. The warrior immediately relents and tries to pry the sausage-like fingers from his neck. Neither man realizes the ref has resumed his count.

 

EIGHT!

 

Aware of the danger of count-out, drags Manson to his feet and hurls him into the ring.

 

NINE!

 

Ghost sprints towards the ring.

 

TE-No! Ghost dives into the ring, just in time.

 

“My god!” King shouts. “That was a close call!”

 

Ghost gets up to meet Manson. He attempts an irish whip, but Manson reverses the throw and sends Ghost into the ropes. He springs back and leaps into the air, but the bull has the presence of mind to duck. 312 pounds fall to the canvas. Manson sprints to the corner and leaps to the second rope. He rebounds off the turnbuckle and lands a perfect legdrop on Ghost Machine’s back.

 

YEAAAAH!

 

Manson bounds onto the back of the challenger and grabs the neck. Sensing what his about to happen, Ghost rears up on his legs, but Manson hangs on and wrestles him back to the mat.

 

“Now Manson is going for the Camel Clutch!” exclaims King.

 

Manson struggles but manages to hook the head. Ghost Machine, acting on impulse, snaps his head back into Manson’s. He manages to stay awake but releases his death grip on Ghost Machine’s wounded neck. Ghost Machine rises above him, furious.

 

“He’s going to make Manson pay for that trick,” Pete says.

 

Ghost Machine locks eyes with Manson. There is look of confusion in Manson’s eyes. He doesn’t know the challenger, hasn’t felt him out yet. He has no idea what will come next. More specifically, he does not know that Ghost Machine is going to stomp on his head.

 

Ghost Machine stomps on Manson’s head. Manson reaches out and catches the boot before it returns for seconds, and twists with all his might. Ghost Machine loses his balance for a moment, but doesn’t lose composure. He does, however, lose his shoe. Seeing his prize, Manson scampers backwards on all fours. Ghost approaches the helpless grappler.

 

He points at the boot, then at himself.

 

Manson hands him the boot. Ghost takes it cautiously, and starts to put it on…..

 

…..but Manson EXPLODES to his feet and damn near decapitates Ghost Machine with an elbow. He spins 180 degrees and lands straight on his head/neck.

 

K-RUNCH!

 

MANSON! MANSON! MANSON!

 

“Is he dead?” Pete asks anxiously.

 

“Don’t think so….” answers King.

 

Ghost suddenly springs to his feet, and the stunned arena actually applauds.

 

“Well, the fans finally giving Ghost Machine some credit,” notes King. “You sure as hell can’t fake something like that.”

 

Ghost Machine scoops up Manson like a teddy bear and deposits him in the corner. Manson attempts to run, but Ghost sticks out his foot, and the bull plummets flat on his face. He reaches down and grasps him with his meaty paws, then returns him to the corner. Ghost hooks his arm under Manson and lifts him to the top rope. Climbing up to meet him, Ghost hooks Manson’s arms under the ropes so there’s no escape. Ghost lifts his arms into the air, immersing himself in the boos, taunts, and jeers. He raises his hands in the unmistakable two-fisted FUCK YOU, then starts bashing Manson. His arms pounds Manson’s head and neck with hurricane fury and deadly accuracy. Manson has no way to hide as he is hit with elbows BAM, hooks BAM, uppercuts BAM, jabs BAM and forearms BAM. Ghost Machine pauses for a moment.

 

BOOO!

 

He looks at Manson with a look of withering contempt apparent even through his shredded, bloody, and masked face. He clasps his arms around Manson and lifts him into the air.

 

“Notice how hard it is for Ghost to lift Manson after all those STF before,” says Pete. “His neck can hardly hold his head up.”

 

King nods as Ghost Machine struggles to suplex Manson. “I don’t think he has the neck strength left to pull something like this off.”

 

WHOMP!

 

Ghost Machine somehow summons the strength to lift his opponent, and suplexes him to the mat with incredible force. He’s momentarily stunned, but makes the cover.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

MANSON! MANSON! MANSON! MANSON!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-No! Shoulder up!

 

YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

 

“How the hell did he do that?” shouts King.

 

“This is why Manson is so great,” says Pete. “He can survive an incredible beating.”

 

Manson can’t get up. His head was nearly caved in, and the superplex only made it worse.

 

Ghost Machine looks down at Manson.

 

How did this man ever beat me?

 

Manson takes advantage of Ghost Machine’s deep thought by sweeping his foot out and kicking Ghost Machine’s ankle. He loses balance and falls on his back. Before he can get up, Manson rolls towards Ghost Machine, over Ghost Machine, STF!

 

“He’s got that STF on, Pete! This one’s over!”

 

Ghost Machine reaches over with his other arm, but it just isn’t long enough.

 

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

Ghost starts clawing his way to the ropes, five feet away.

 

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

“He’s about to lose it!” says Pete. “And if he goes out again, there’s no coming back!”

 

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

The ropes are three feet away, Ghost Machine reaches out, almost tearing his arm out of its socket……

 

 

“Break!”

 

The disappointment in the arena is palpable.

 

“Manson has given Ghost Machine all that he has, but it just isn’t enough.”

 

Both men struggle to their feet, knowing the end is near. Ghost Machine wipes the blood off his face. Manson holds his head and neck in pain. They move towards each other. Manson takes the initiative and runs to the ropes. He jumps to the second rope and spins off in Ghost’s direction, elbow extended. Ghost ducks and turns around, shocked to see Manson running directly towards him. Quickly, Manson brings his arm up and swings it towards Ghost’s head.

 

“Western Lariat!”

 

NO! Ghost Machine catches the arm and twists so Manson’s back is to him. He presses forward, crashing to the mat. He struggles under Ghost Machine’s weight, but Ghost hooks Manson’s arms behind his legs and grabs his chin for the Camel Clutch.

 

“AAAAAAAAHHH!”

 

He clenches his teeth and screams, desperately trying to escape. Concentrate on something else[i/]. Manson reaches towards the ropes, only two feet away…but Ghost stands up and drags him to the middle of the ring.

 

“No escape!” screams King.

 

LET’S GO MANSON, LET’S GO!

 

Manson refuses to tap, but Ghost Machine applies more pressure to his wounded head and neck. His eyes bulge with the pain.

 

“GAR…AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

 

Manson slaps the ring.

 

“He tapped! He tapped!”

 

“He did it! He did it! I can’t believe it! He did it!”

 

=DING DING DING=

 

“Here is your winner…Ghost Machine!”

 

JL Crunk hops into the ring and Ghost falls towards him, using his friend for support. JL holds the ropes open and Ghost climbs out, utterly exhausted, having almost had his neck snapped.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, man.”

 

Manson lies in the ring, panting. He slowly rises to his feet, rubs his sore neck, and exits the ring.

[chirs3 0]

“Mr. Hawke,” says Tom Flesher, the camera trained on him, “it’s good to see you again.”

 

“Mr. Flesher, likewise,” says the grizzled International Champion, Jay Hawke, as the camera pulls back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“I thought I’d let you know that there are going to be some… interesting things happening as we lead up to the pay-per-view. Joe Peters called me a little earlier, and, well, let’s just say that I need to make sure that some of my top draws are going to stay loyal.”

 

“What’s the problem?”

 

“Don’t worry about it right now, Jay,” says Flesher with a grin. “You worry about Todd Cortez, and you let me worry about the business end of things. All I want is your word that no matter what happens, you’re going to stay true to the Smarkdown philosophy.”

 

“ ‘Wrestling fans watch a wrestling show because they want to see wrestlers wrestling,’ ” says Hawke, matching Flesher’s smirk. “Don’t worry, Tom. I’m ready for whatever you put in front of me.”

 

“Good,” Flesher says with a nod. He stands, offering Hawke his hand. Hawke shakes it, also standing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I need to go out and make an announcement.”

 

FADE.

[chirs3 0]

Pete: “And as Smarkdown continues, we get ready for another high profile pay-per-view caliber match! International Champion Todd Cortez will take on Jay Hawke in a non-title contest, and this should end up being a professional wrestling clinic!”

 

King: “And a professional wrestling clinic that Jay Hawke should win with no problem!”

 

Pete: “With no problem?”

 

King: “Look, these two men have met once before. In the first round of the inaugural International Title tournament, and Jay Hawke was the winner. And that was before he had this whole situation with Landon Maddix and Megan Skye driving him up an absolute wall. Face it. Cortez is simply facing too many distractions at this point to have any chance of gaining a victory here.”

 

Pete: “You don’t think Jay Hawke has his mind set on his match with Manson at Ground Zero?”

 

King: “I’m sure he does. But he doesn’t have a million other things going on to keep him distracted. Hawke wins it in less than five minutes.”

 

Pete: “I doubt it’s going to be that short, but the only way to find out for sure is to go up to Funyon for the opening introductions.”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest LIVE on SWF Smarkdown is a non-title contest scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit!”

 

"Learning to Fly" by Pink Floyd comes on the PA as the lights dim.

 

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

 

A spotlight shines on Jay Hawke as he makes his way to the ring. He looks around at the crowd in disgust as they begin their always familiar chant:

 

 

“JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

 

King: “Why is it that no matter where we go, the fans have no respect for Jay Hawke? This guy is one of the best pure wrestlers in the company today!”

 

Pete: “Maybe if he treated the fans with respect, he’d get a little bit of respect in return.”

 

King: “But where’s the fun in that?”

 

As Hawke makes his way onto the ring apron, he takes off his robe, folds it, and hands it to the ring attendant. Then he stands up on the turnbuckle, removing the International Championship belt from around his waist and holding it up in the air as the crowd boos. As the champion hops off the turnbuckle and hands the belt to the referee, “Oh No” begins to play over the PA. The first time Nate Dogg shouts "Oh No", a quick burst of pyro shoots up from both sides of the ramp, showering Todd Cortez in sparkles as he prepares to walk down the aisle.

 

Funyon: “And his opponent … from Hollywood Boulevard … weighing in at 226 pounds … he is “The Urban Legend” … TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODD CORTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZ!”

 

Todd Cortez quickly enters the ring, raising an arm in the air to salute his fans but making sure to keep one eye on his opponent.

 

Pete: “Both competitors are in the ring, and I can’t wait to see how this one develops!”

 

King: “I’m telling you, Funyon doesn’t even announce the five minutes call in this one. Trust me on that one!”

 

Referee Scott Ryder signals to the timekeeper…

 

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

 

Pete: “And what should be a tremendous wrestling match is officially underway.”

 

King: “I’m just disappointed that we’re not getting a look at old school rules tonight. I want to see what Manson’s going to be up against on Sunday night.”

 

Both men lock up collar-and-elbow in the center of the ring. Jay Hawke immediately wraps his arms around the side of Todd Cortez’s head. Cortez slips out, grabbing Hawke’s left arm and locking it behind his back. Jay Hawke bends forward, grabs a hold of Cortez’s foot, and trips Cortez up. Cortez uses his free foot to push Jay Hawke toward the ropes and quickly gets to his feet, but Jay Hawke hooks the top rope with his arms to prevent himself from rebounding into his waiting opponent.

 

 

CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP!

 

 

Pete: “And these fans are showing their appreciation for a tremendous opening sequence of wrestling, King.”

 

King: “Yeah, but these people cheer for beer and potatoes. Beer I understand, but potatoes?”

 

The two combatants lock up again. Again Hawke quickly locks Todd Cortez into a side headlock. Cortez lifts Hawke up as if to take him backwards, but Hawke kicks his feet and shifts his weight, taking Cortez down to the mat with the headlock still intact. Cortez is quickly out of the hold, and he scissors Hawke’s head between his legs. Hawke immediately slips out of the hold, landing with his back across the upper body of his opponent. The referee slides into position to count the Urban Legend’s shoulders down:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Todd Cortez bridges out of the hold, drawing a “oh” of appreciation from the Irish crowd, before spinning his opponent over and locking his arms, taking him over the back until Hawke’s shoulders are down on the canvas:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Hawke frees his left arm to slip out of the pinning predicament, and both men are quickly to their feet in the stalemate pose.

 

 

CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP!

 

 

Pete: “And another impressive wrestling sequence from the get-go here. These two men are sure showing exactly how to have a tremendous scientific wrestling match.”

 

King: “Yeah, so far, but I think Hawke knows he can beat Cortez whenever he damn well feels like it, so he’s just going to toy with him for a little while.”

 

Both men return to the lockup. This time it’s Todd Cortez locking in the side headlock. Jay Hawke quickly shoves Todd Cortez into the ropes and ducks his head, expecting a basic rebound off the ropes. Cortez thinks quickly though, and he springboards off the middle rope and spins in midair, flipping over the top of the International Champion and taking him down with a sunset flip:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. Jay Hawke looks bewildered as he makes his way to his feet, only for Todd Cortez to catch him in the side of the head with a picture-perfect dropkick that sends the Dean rolling to the arena floor. Hawke rolls to a seated position on the floor, looking up into the ring with a look of shock as Scott Ryder pushes Cortez to a neutral corner.

 

Pete: “And there’s the innovation of Todd Cortez coming into play. It started off as a technical masterpiece, but that springboard sunset flip has completely turned the tide of this one.”

 

King: “There’s nothing to worry about here, Richard. OK, the referee’s exercising a ten count on the International Champion right now, but if you think Hawke is going to use any less of the count than he needs to regroup, you’re absolutely crazy.”

 

FOUR!

 

Jay Hawke makes his way to his feet, looking at Cortez in the ring and plotting his next move. However, plotting his next move takes the Dean’s gaze away from his opponent momentarily, and his gaze returns just in time to see Cortez’s body twisting over the top rope and onto him with a plancha!

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

 

Pete: “Todd Cortez with a dynamite corkscrew plancha, and he’s got Jay Hawke discombobulated!”

 

King: “You mean that’s actually a real word? I always thought that was something Dusty Rhodes made up because he couldn’t think of the word ‘confused’.”

 

Todd Cortez grabs Jay Hawke and rolls him into the ring, then hops up onto the ring apron. Jay Hawke slowly makes his way to his feet, but Cortez uses the ropes to springboard onto the top rope, then immediately leaps off of it, taking Jay Hawke down with a beautiful flying body press.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

T -- kickout. The Dean of Professional Wrestling is quickly back to his feet, only for the Urban Legend to wrap up his head and take him down to the mat with a side headlock. Hawke decides to relax for a second and think of a way to regroup, but he doesn’t realize his shoulders have fallen to the mat:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- Hawke barely lifts the left shoulder.

 

 

Pete: “Whoa. Todd Cortez almost caught Jay Hawke napping right there.”

 

King: “A rare mistake for Jay Hawke, and he’d better not make too many of those. He doesn’t want to be on a downslide of momentum heading into his title defense with Manson at Ground Zero.”

 

Jay Hawke grabs Todd Cortez’s tights and turns him onto his shoulders:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Todd Cortez lifts a shoulder and regains his positioning, still hanging on to the headlock. Jay Hawke once again grabs the Urban Legend’s tights and takes him over onto the shoulders:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

And Cortez regains his positioning again. This time the crowd is beginning to scream at Ryder for not noticing the tight pulling, but he ignores the screams and checks to see if Jay Hawke wants to submit.

 

King: “Has anybody ever submitted to a side headlock since Ed ‘Strangler’ Lewis used to use it?”

 

Jay Hawke again uses the tights to roll Todd Cortez over to his back:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

The crowd begins screaming again.

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Scott Ryder looks over and sees Jay Hawke using the tights. He begins a five count, and Hawke lets go of the tights, only for Todd Cortez to regain his position on the headlock. Jay Hawke’s had enough of trying to counter and reaches out with his right foot, putting it over the bottom rope and forcing the break.

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke using the ropes for the break, something he won’t be able to do against Manson.”

 

King: “Well, he can do it three times per fall, but it’s something he’ll need to avoid doing if at all possible.”

 

As Jay Hawke uses the ropes to pull himself up to his feet, Todd Cortez immediately runs into the ropes, hoping to catch Jay Hawke off-guard.

 

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

 

However, Jay Hawke sees him coming and grabs him by the waist, lifting him and dropping him throat-first onto the top rope. Cortez turns around instinctively while clutching his throat, and Jay Hawke drives a knee into the back of the Urban Legend that sends him sliding under the bottom rope to the arena floor.

 

Pete: “And just after the five minute mark that my colleague swore we would never reach, the International Champion has regained control of the match!”

 

King: “OK, so Cortez is having a lucky night. But if you’ll remember back to that first meeting between these two men, it was the back that Jay Hawke focused on for most of the contest. And what does he do? He drives a knee square into the back and sends his opponent tumbling to the concrete. That’s a great lesson for the kids out there.”

 

Jay Hawke remembers that as well, and against Scott Ryder’s wishes, he immediately follows the Urban Legend out to the arena floor. As Ryder begins his ten count, Hawke stands in front of Cortez, leans forward with his shoulder around navel level, and drives Todd Cortez’s back into the side of the ring apron.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

And again.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

And again.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

SIX!

 

Hearing the count, Jay Hawke rolls into the ring, then quickly rolls back out of the ring to force Scott Ryder to start his count over again. He then picks up Cortez, looking as if to body slam him, before driving Cortez’s back square onto his knee.

 

Pete: “And that back is definitely the target of the International Champion! Unusual strategy for him, as he usually works the shoulder to set up the Wing Span!”

 

THREE!

 

As Cortez struggles to get to his feet, Jay Hawke hooks the head and spins, driving the back and neck of Todd Cortez into the hard concrete.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

Pete: “Oh my God.

 

King: “And that swinging neck breaker isn’t going to do the Urban Legend any favors, is it?”

 

SEVEN!

 

Jay Hawke struggles to pick up the lifeless body of Todd Cortez, rolling him back into the ring. Hawke slides into the ring underneath the bottom rope and quickly goes for the cover, hooking a leg for added leverage:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- NO! Todd Cortez barely manages to get his free leg over the bottom rope to prevent the fatal three count.

 

King: “Cortez is lucky there, Pete! If Hawke rolls him another six inches, this match is over and I can break out this bottle of champagne I have on the table here to celebrate!”

 

Undaunted, Jay Hawke turns Todd Cortez onto his stomach. He begins to drive a knee repeatedly into the small of the Urban Legend’s back. Cortez cringes with every knee to the spine, and Hawke leaves the knee on the spine while pulling back on his resilient opponent’s chin.

 

Pete: “And there you see it. All the weight of the International Champion is on the neck and back of the former tag team champion.”

 

 

“LET’S GO TODD!

LET’S GO TODD!

LET’S GO TODD!”

 

 

King: “And not even the cheers from this Dublin crowd are going to save him anytime soon! Brilliant work as always from the Dean of Professional Wrestling!”

 

Jay Hawke lets go of his chinlock, but he drives another knee drop into the spine of his fallen opponent. This one has Cortez bending backwards, and he rolls over just enough for Hawke to push him onto his back and cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH -- kickout. The crowd cheers for their hero as he kicks out, but Jay Hawke immediately drops a leg across the neck and chest of the Urban Legend. Hawke is quickly into the cover again, hooking the leg for additional leverage:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Pete: “Todd Cortez refuses to give in, King!”

 

King: “He’s either too stubborn or too stupid to know when he’s in there with a better man. I vote for the latter myself.”

 

With Todd Cortez still down, Jay Hawke once again rolls him onto his stomach. Jay gets a couple of stomps into the small of the back, then grabs hold of the chin and locks in the hold that makes the executives of UPN cower in terror…

 

Pete: “Camel clutch!”

 

Todd Cortez reaches forward, his right hand out as if to tap out, but he clenches his fist as he tries to fight the pain. Jay Hawke leans back with as much force as he can muster, going for the tapout that will send him into Ground Zero with all the momentum in his favor.

 

King: “And this shows you how stupid Todd Cortez really is. The match he really wants is coming up next week on pay-per-view, but he’s so concerned with winning this match that he’s willing to go in too weak to have any shot of winning that one too!”

 

The Urban Legend gets one arm free and begins to crawl toward the ropes, but Jay Hawke releases the hold just long enough to sit down on the small of Cortez’s back. Hawke goes right back to the camel clutch, and this time it’s Longdogger Pete who says, “I’m not sure Cortez has enough left to come back after that.”

 

King: “This is what I’ve been saying for ten minutes or so already. If you’d pay attention to me once in a while, maybe you’d actually become a good broadcaster.”

 

As Jay Hawke continues to pull back on the camel clutch, Todd Cortez’s eyes begin to roll into the back of his head. With the arms going limp, Scott Ryder leans in to check on the Urban Legend as the crowd rallies the only guy they like in this match:

 

 

“LET’S GO TODD!

LET’S GO TODD!

LET’S GO TODD!”

 

 

King: “Yeah yeah, let’s go Todd, we love you even though you knocked up that slutty chick.”

 

Pete: “Knock it off, King.”

 

King: “What? This isn’t Lockdown, I can get away with saying stuff like that here.”

 

Cortez once again gets an arm free and begins crawling toward the ropes. With the crowd’s cheers inspiring him, he makes his way closer to the side of the ring. He’s two feet away…

 

 

…

 

 

One foot away…

 

 

…

 

 

Six inches away…

 

 

Funyon: Ten minutes have gone by, ten minutes remain.

 

 

Jay Hawke releases the hold long enough to attempt to jump onto Cortez’s back, but Cortez is quick to spin around and lift a foot that catches Jay Hawke about six inches too low to feel even remotely good.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

LET’S GO TODD!

LET’S GO TODD!

LET’S GO TODD!”

 

King: “I dispute that! That was a blatant low blow and should be an automatic disqualification!”

 

Pete: “It wasn’t intentional, and Scott Ryder is making a judgment call here by allowing the match to continue!”

 

King: “And he’s clearly making the wrong judgment call by allowing the match to continue!”

 

Todd Cortez pulls himself to his feet, his hand laying against his back as he winces in pain. Jay Hawke, still dazed from an “unintentional intentional” low blow, makes his way to his feet as well, only for Todd Cortez to level him with a stunning forearm uppercut. Hawke staggers backwards, then comes forward again, only to be leveled with another European uppercut. Hawke staggers backwards, then comes forward yet again. Cortez levels him with a third European uppercut that sends spit flying as Jay Hawke falls flat on the mat like he’s been shot. Cortez then instinctively falls on his opponent:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- shoulder up.

 

 

“YA--BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

 

Pete: “What a tremendous move that was, King! A series of European uppercuts, and he almost had enough to pin Jay Hawke right there!”

 

King: “Yeah, but the only time almost ever works is in horseshoes. And personally, I think horseshoes make for a better weapon than a game to play at family reunions!”

 

As both men pull themselves to their feet, it’s Cortez up first. He levels Hawke with a series of martial arts kicks that eventually spin him around. He then grabs the Dean of Wrestling and takes him down with a Russian legsweep, then rolls through and drops a leg across Jay Hawke’s chest.

 

Pete: “A beautiful Russian legsweep/leg drop combination by Cortez, and that could be enough.”

 

King: “But he’s holding his back! It’s forcing him to take too much time to follow up!”

 

Cortez slowly goes for the pin, only barely hooking the leg due to the pain shooting through his back:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout. Cortez puts his head down, not believing Hawke could kick out of that after twelve minutes of grueling action. Cortez slowly pulls Jay Hawke to his feet, and he levels him with three more European uppercuts that back the International Champion into the turnbuckle. Cortez slowly moves in and uses as much force as he can muster to Irish whip Jay Hawke into the opposite corner. He runs in and handsprings toward the corner, looking for an elbow to the face, but Hawke lifts his knee, catching the Urban Legend in the small of the back.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

King: “Look familiar, Pete? This is how Hawke won their first meeting a few months ago!”

 

Jay Hawke rolls Todd Cortez up into a schoolboy cradle:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

Jay Hawke puts the feet on the ropes for leverage.

 

 

TWO!

 

 

The crowd screams at the referee to look up at the ropes.

 

 

THRE -- Todd Cortez rolls to his right and just barely gets the shoulder up.

 

Pete: “But it didn’t get the three count this time, King!”

 

Todd Cortez rolls over to his feet, but Jay Hawke is already charging him, and he takes him down with a leg lariat that would have probably decapitated Cortez if it were possible for one leg to decapitate a human being.

 

King: “But that lariat’s going to put him away for sure! A human head is not supposed to snap completely back like that!”

 

Jay Hawke goes for the cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- kickout!

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

Pete: “And Cortez kicks out again! How is he doing this, King?”

 

King: “Why are you asking me? I expected this match to be over about ten minutes ago!”

 

Although technically still in the match, it’s clear Cortez is in a lot of pain. Jay Hawke climbs onto the middle rope, ready for one big move that can put this match away. As Cortez gets to his feet, Hawke leaps, doing a forward flip and bringing Cortez to the mat with a neck breaker.

 

Pete: “Jay Hawke with the blockbuster, and he’s going for the pin yet again!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- Cortez just barely lifts the left shoulder off the canvas as Hawke slaps the mat in frustration. Jay Hawke positions himself so he’s behind Cortez, who is barely coherent enough to make his way to his feet. Jay Hawke grabs him into a waistlock, lifts him up, and drives him backwards, holding a bridge as Scott Ryder slides into position:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR -- kickout.

 

King: “You know, Pete, I’m starting to be really glad that I didn’t put money on this one.”

 

Pete: “Afraid you’d lose it?”

 

King: “No, but I’d sure be a lot more nervous than I already am at this point.”

 

Frustrated, Jay Hawke stomps at Todd Cortez’s head as he makes his way to his feet. He grabs him from behind again, going for another German suplex, but Todd Cortez flips forward to cradle Jay Hawke into a Victory roll:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- kickout!

 

 

“YAAAAAA--BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

THAT WAS THREE!

THAT WAS THREE!

THAT WAS THREE!”

 

Pete: “Only a count of two, but this crowd sure didn’t think so!”

 

King: “Great call by Scott Ryder! His first good call of the match!”

 

Both men get to their feet, but it’s Jay Hawke getting in a couple of hard forearm smashes. He runs into the ropes, but Cortez catches him coming in by lifting him up and driving him spine first into the mat as he falls into a seated position.

 

Pete: “Sitout spine buster!”

 

Cortez clutches his back, but quickly recovers and goes for the pin:

 

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

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE -- Jay Hawke just barely gets the left shoulder up.

 

King: “This is all beginning to get to be too close for comfort!”

 

Todd Cortez pulls Jay Hawke to his feet again, and he backs Hawke into the ropes with a series of martial arts kicks. Cortez whips Jay Hawke into the opposite set of ropes and takes him down as he rebounds with a super kick. Cortez immediately covers again and hooks a leg:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH -- kickout. Todd Cortez slaps the mat in frustration, then pulls Jay Hawke to his feet yet again. This time it’s Cortez who wraps Hawke around the waist from behind, going for a German suplex. Jay Hawke throws a couple of hard elbows, but Cortez ducks underneath each one of them. Cortez lifts Hawke up for the suplex, but this time it’s Jay Hawke rolling forward into the Victory roll:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Jay Hawke reaches forward and grabs the middle rope for leverage.

 

 

THREE!

 

 

*DING DING DING!*

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

BULL-SHIT!

BULL-SHIT

BULL-SHIT!”

 

King: “Yes! Justice is served, and all is right with the world!”

 

Pete: “You’ve got to be kidding!”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, in 15 minutes 48 seconds, your winner of this match … the SWF International Champion … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

As Jay Hawke rolls out of the ring, he grabs his title belt off of the timekeeper’s table and raises it up into the air, taunting the crowd with it. Meanwhile, Todd Cortez argues with the referee about the use of the ropes, but Scott Ryder insists he didn’t see it.

 

Pete: “I can’t believe that’s going to go down in the record book as a victory for Jay Hawke.

 

King: “You’d better believe it, Pete. All that matters is that you find a way to win, and Jay Hawke found a way to win.”

 

Pete: “And we’ve still got plenty of action with men who want to find a way to win! We’ll have more of that action following this commercial break!”

[chirs3 0]

It’s a decent enough afternoon in Dublin, the grey overcast has some people worried but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. The temperatures are at least in the moderate 60s, still a little cool to be running around in the ring in nothing but skimpy wrestling tights. Needless to say, the Croke Park Stadium is an overflowing madhouse of humanity. Thus far the Irish fans have been a predictably vocal crowd and they’re only going to get louder as the night progresses. The next match may not be the Main Event but there’s still a great deal of anticipation floating in the damp air, not so much because they will be witnessing a spectacle but a much deserved royal ass kicking.

 

“PREPARE FOR LANDON!”

 

WAAAAAAAAAH!

 

DUM! DUM!

 

The fans are prepared alright, prepared to boo him back to the states. While the post riff of Incubus’ “Megalomanic” plays, Maddix emerges from the locker room. Swinging his arms out to his sides, the maniac poses like he’s expecting cheers, but all he get’s are some jeers and a few colorful four letter words.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the final contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at 222 pounds, hailing from Huron, South Dakota.......he is LANDON “LA CUCARACHA MADDIX!”

 

Even though some believe he’s walking into certain doom, Maddix proudly struts down the ramp like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s literally radiating arrogance, rubbing everyone in it’s path the wrong way, agitating the hell out of everyone around him, inspiring violence in the thoughts of people who are normally peaceful.

 

Pete: Landon Maddix is on a mission for respect.

 

King: And getting killed in the ring will do just that...for most people, I personally find it to be a stupid act from a desperate loser.

 

Pete: Unfortunately, Maddix’s goal is a little more difficult than that. Not only does he want to defeat Williams, he wants to make him submit.

 

King: It’s good to have a plan or several, however it’s idiotic to reveal said plan to your opponent before the match.

 

Pete: I guess he’s just that confident.

 

By the time Maddix finds his way to the ring, security is already restraining fans, who look like they would like nothing more than to rip the cocky heel apart. Removing his jacket and shuddering in the cool weather, Maddix frantically warms up to keep the cool air off of him. Williams’ entrance is drawing near and yet Maddix still hasn’t shown any visible signs of fear or worry, it’s as if he believes he really has a shot at winning this.

 

“And his opponent, weighing in at 265 pounds, he hails from Louisville, Kentucky.........”

 

The Irish crowd explodes into raging chants and war cries! They know that Williams is a no nonsense tough guy and that the ass kicking he’s gonna unleash on the annoying Maddix will be immense. Not to mention they know that Williams is half Irish and that “Williams” is just his stage name.

 

“DANNY WILLIAMS!”

 

The entire island shakes from the deafening applause. Emerging from the locker room, Williams steps out into the dreary Dublin weather. With Maddix’s arrogant words ringing in his ears, Williams marches down the aisle with a purposeful stride. As he passes by the fans, they shout such encouraging words as,”Go kick dat fairy’s arse!”

 

Pete: When asked to comment on Maddix’s boasts, Williams was annoyed to say the least.

 

King: Good, maybe we’ll finally see somebody shut that little punk up for good. Crushing Maddix shouldn’t require too much brainpower.

 

Pete: Despite finding himself in some of the most feared submission holds in the SWF, Williams has yet to submit since his return. It will be interesting to see how Maddix will attempt to break that trend.

 

Williams slides into the ring, when he is greeted by another round of applause. Staying in his corner, Maddix cowardly taunts Williams from the other side of the ring. Williams goes about his pre-match warm ups, letting Maddix say what he wants now because once the bell rings he’s dead meat. That moment doesn’t come soon enough as Soapdish calls for the bell.

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Making sure he looks his best, Landon annoyingly gives his blonde mane one more quick toss before leaving his corner. Set on tearing Landon limb from limb, Williams comes stomping out of his corner, stalking his surprised prey, who behaves as if he’s not ready yet. Not having anywhere to go, Maddix turns a few circles but to his disappointment, he can’t shake the massive beast from his tail. Looking for a restart, Landon ducks his head underneath the top rope. With rolling eyes, Soapdish comes to his aid, blocking Williams’ path. Lowering their thumbs, the fans angrily jeer Maddix’s stalling.

 

“Booooooooooooo!”

 

Obeying the rules, Williams backs up, giving Maddix some much needed space. Fixing his messed up hair, Maddix cautiously leaves the safety of the ropes. Now that he’s ready, Maddix instigates a grapple with a very eager Williams. Confident that he can control his much larger foe, the arrogant heel swiftly gains the advantage with a side headlock. Proud of this simple achievement, Landon smiles at the angered Irish crowd, letting them know he’s in the driver’s seat. Far to strong to be contained in such lackluster fashion, Williams easily turns out from underneath his captor, prying his hands off his head. Maddix screams in pain as Williams painfully bends his arm back into an overhead wristlock. Knowing that he can’t possibly over power Williams, Landon reaches behind his opponent’s head with his free hand and snatches a handful of hair. Using the thick brown hair of his captive, Landon tries to drag Williams back into a headlock, but the 265 pounder won’t budge. Suddenly, Landon can feel a tug on his own hair, Williams is fighting fire with fire! With the aid of Maddix’s golden locks, Williams dominantly throws his captor to the canvas!

 

King: Nice move from Williams but he needs to conceal the hair pulling better.

 

Pete: Williams has got to be careful, he can’t get too caught up in beating Maddix at his own game, no good can come of it.

 

Angrily jumping to his feet, Landon complains to Soapdish, who instead issues a warning to both men. Even though both wrestlers get chastised, the fans loudly vent their disapproval as Williams gets warned, after all it was Landon who instigated it. Williams tries to plead his case but Soapdish won’t hear him out, both men are in the wrong and that’s that. With that mess sorted out, Soapdish gives them the clear to continue. Really getting angry, Williams goes right at Landon who seems a little too eager to lock it up. Williams finds out why when he walks into a surprise kick! Landon’s boot connects with Williams’ bread basket, briefly stunning the big man. But a follow up chop bounces off Williams’ well developed chest without inflicting any ill effects! Insulted by such a pussified strike, Williams snarls at Maddix with contempt. Since Danny’s chest is too muscular for his meager chops, Maddix decides to go upstairs with a forearm! Brushing off the pitiful blow, Williams mocks his helpless attacker with a glaring smile. Frustrated, Maddix runs into the ropes, using the added momentum to drill the statuesque Williams with a flying forearm! Maddix bounces off Williams like a human pinball, flopping on his back in un-ceremonious fashion. Despite a comical monster effort from Maddix, Williams doesn’t move an inch, sending the fans into gut bursting hysterics.

 

Pete: They say when you run into Williams, it feels like he runs into you.

 

King: Element of surprise or not, Landon trying to out forearm Williams is as stupid as a lug like you trying to beat me in a game of Chess.

 

Pete: I’m still better at checkers.

 

Finding that Williams is still standing tall, the vulnerable Maddix backs himself into a corner, begging his stalker to look into his heart and have some compassion. Williams is kind enough to let him get to his feet but his courtesy ends there. Grabbing the extended arm of his pleading victim, Williams leads him out of the corner and into the center of the ring, where he begins to painfully twist it. Landon shamelessly begs Williams not to complete the arm wringer but it’s no use. Williams contorts Maddix’s arm with the agonizing hold but a thumb to the eye is his only reward. Free from Williams’ powerful clutches, Maddix ignores Soapdish’s tirades and traps his blinded opponent in a 3/4 headlock. Thrusting himself forward, Maddix plants Williams’ chest and face into the canvas!

 

Pete: And a dirty Landon Maddix takes the advantage with a Snapmare Driver!

 

King: Now that was actually a smart move by Maddix, too bad I hate the guy with a passion.

 

Displeased with this turn of the events, the fans bombard the ring with a hailstorm of “boos.” Exposing his teeth with a grin that a world class supervillain would envy, Maddix triumphantly raises his arms in the air. Williams had got him worried but he in the end, he knew he could get the best of him. Looking to capitalize on the opening he gave himself, Maddix spins around....only to find that Williams is alive and waiting for him. Behaving as if he’s seen a ghost, Maddix’s eyes cartoonishly fly out his skull in terror. Once more overwhelmed with fear, Maddix back paddles into the ropes, trying to create as much distance between himself and his seemingly invincible opponent. Not letting his cornered prey get away, Williams grabs Landon by the arm and whips him off the ropes! Maddix rebounds into the waiting hands of Williams, who effortlessly suspends him over his head! Kicking his feet and screaming, Maddix begs Williams not to drop him.

 

Pete: The view from up there must be terrifying.

 

King: Drop him on something painful!

 

The crowd roars with glee as Williams mercilessly tosses Maddix into the air like a ragdoll! Crash landing on the other side of the ring with a booming a thud, Landon sits up, screaming in agony. Pulling his wounded opponent up for more punishment, Williams fires Landon into the ropes a second time. Boom! A thunderous Powerslam leaves Maddix a twitching corpse. Deciding it’s time to put Maddix out of his misery, Williams links his hands over his head. Knowing what that means, the fans leave their seats with excitement, hoping to get a better view of Maddix getting murdered. Williams hastily positions Maddix for the Powerbomb when his knee’s suddenly buckle! Struggling to breath, Williams mysterious crumbles to the canvas in agony. Seeing the low blow that the ref missed, the hostile Irish crowd threatens to riot.

 

Pete: Maddix was a goner but with a single maliciously aimed strike he’s successfully killed all of Williams’ momentum.

 

King: That’s the beauty of the low blow, which I invented by the way.

 

Leaving Williams to wallow in pain, Maddix rolls to the ring apron. Suspicious, Soapdish assists Williams, who in between gasps complains about a low blow. Not an idiot, Soapdish believes Williams but there’s nothing he can do at the moment. He can’t stop a match for something he didn’t see. Hoping that he can get the drop on his stunned opponent, a somewhat recovered Maddix begins to ascend the turnbuckles but Williams catches him out of the corner of his eye. Pushing the ref aside, a snarling Williams forces himself to his feet. Not letting Maddix reach his goal, Williams violently shakes the top rope, causing the heel to slip from his perch and crouch himself on the top turnbuckle! Frozen in pain, a wide eyed Maddix sits on the turnbuckle like a sitting duck. The men in the crowd recoil in pain but they also can’t help but cheer, it may not be pleasant but Maddix brought it on himself. Williams may be justified but Soapdish isn’t gonna let this go. Once more, the official lets Williams get off with a warning but the rule infractions are starting to pile up, leaving Soapdish with fewer and fewer options.

 

King: Williams is gonna have to be sneakier with those low blows.

 

Pete: I know Danny is justified in his actions but once again, he shouldn’t be trying to beat Maddix at his own game.

 

Showing no mercy on his crouched opponent, Williams charges with a growling battle cry. Stepping up on the bottom rope, Williams blasts Maddix with a jumping forearm, knocking the impaled heel from his nest and down to the floor! Adjusting his cup, Williams hobbles to the far side of the ring, where he leans into the ropes and waits. On the outside, Maddix begins to stir. A total mess, Maddix doubles over from the pain in his lower abdomen while struggling to nurse his busted jaw. Suddenly, flash photography lights up the stadium like a disco as Williams sprints across the ring at full speed. Threading the needle, Williams glides through the ropes with a spectacular dive, slamming his forearm into the rising Maddix’s jaw!

 

Pete: Elbow Suicidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!

 

The dazzling move sends the impressed crowd into an ear bleeding ovation. Rolling back into the ring, Williams celebrates with a brief arm raise. Trying to shake the cob webs loose, Landon pulls himself up with the guardrail and paces around a little. Realizing that he’s close to being counted out, Maddix raises a knee to the ring apron when he sees Williams headed his way. Jumping back down, Maddix backs away, he’s not ready to be jump right back into the thick of the action quite yet. Still not all together, Maddix takes a stroll around the ring side area, taking more time to regroup and rethink his strategy. Rolling his eyes, Williams rests his hands on his hips in a gesture of boredom, he wasn’t even going to attack Maddix.

 

King: That idiot is letting Maddix recover, Williams needs to keep the heat on him.

 

Pete: After those two warnings, Williams is trying to stay within the rules but your right, he’s gonna have to be a little more aggressive.

 

Wanting to see some action, the impatient front roll fans respond to Maddix’s stalling by hurling a variety of insults at him as he paces by their seats. Not in Ireland to make any friends, Maddix ignores the taunts and cautiously climbs on the ring apron. Williams gives him his space, he doesn’t need to blind side this stooge to get the upper hand. Maddix ever slowly peeks his head into the ring when he leaps back down again, whining about Williams being to close. Fed up, Danny pushes Soapdish aside and slides to the floor. Not wanting to face the powerful brawler on the outside without an edge, Maddix makes a run for it. The fans cheer Williams on as he makes chase, following Maddix around the ring. Fearing that Williams is gaining on him, Maddix dives into the ring. Williams follows but the trap is already set! Letting Williams’ rise to his feet, Maddix thrusts out his leg for a nasty Maddix Kick! That’s caught! Pitifully jumping up and down on one leg, Landon begs for his life while the fans encourage Williams to show no mercy. Listening to the blood thirsty fans, Williams drops the leg and spins in place! Crack! A single bionic elbow drops Landon like a bad habit!

 

King: Maddix needs to leave the cat and mouse games to the pros.

 

Pete: Landon does not have an answer for Williams, he’s completely overmatched.

 

King: It’s gonna be pretty hard to make Williams submit while he’s getting beaten from pillar to post.

 

Peeling Landon off the floor, Williams stuffs the punch drunk heel into a standing head scissors. The crowd goes crazy as Danny hoists the much smaller cruiserweight over his shoulders for the Powerbomb! Doubling over, Williams slams Maddix into the canvas with superhuman power, shaking the ring to it’s very foundation! Leaning forward on his tippy toes, Williams pushes the neck and shoulders of Landon’s folded carcass into the mat for the pin attempt. Believing that the match may already be over, the jubilating fans jump out of their chairs and count along.

 

 

“One!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Two!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...............

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THRE–ooooooooooh!” sighs the crowd in disappointment as Maddix reaches up and grabs the bottom rope in front of him.

 

Not really frustrated, Williams sits up and snaps his fingers. Getting the most out of his brief freedom, Maddix sluggishly rolls to the floor, where he rests on his back for as long as he possibly can. Not letting his prey get away this time, Williams climbs out on the ring apron, watching Maddix as he pitifully drags himself up with the corner guardrail. Letting Landon get to his feet and turn around, Williams gets a little running start and dives off the edge of the ring apron, winding up his arm for a jumping forearm! But nobody’s home! Grotesquely belly flopping on the hard steel, Williams flips over the barrier, landing at the feet of the shocked fans!

 

“Oooooooooooooooooooooooooh!”

 

Echoes throughout the arena in unison, even the most blood thirsty of fans are repulsed by the grisly spectacle, how could Williams survive such a nasty spill?

 

King: I knew it wouldn’t take long for Williams to screw up.

 

Pete: Good gosh, Williams could be seriously injured.

 

Rolling back into the ring, the still weary Maddix sits up on his knees. He may be broken and sore but he can’t resist stroking his own ego. Letting everyone know he outsmarted their hero, Maddix arrogantly taps his temple in the timeless gesture.

 

“Booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

 

The pain in his ribs is searing but Williams can’t give up and let his fans down, he has to shut Maddix up and the first step towards doing that is getting back in the ring. Cradling his sternum and ribs, Williams slithers his way over the guardrail, his face a mask of torturous pain. Without a second thought, Williams bravely rolls back into the ring. Like a kid at Christmas, Maddix accepts the gift with youthful enthusiasm, this has turned out to be better than he’d ever hoped, not only has he stopped Williams’ snowballing momentum he’s conveniently injured his ribs. Guiding Williams to his feet, Maddix shoots him into the ropes, catching him on the rebound with a low forearm! Grabbing at his ribs, Williams deflates and sinks to his knees.

 

King: What a lucky break, it seems that Williams injured his ribs during the fall, which as we both know plays right into Maddix’s hands.

 

Pete: Indeed, softened ribs makes the Land of a Nod a much more effective submission hold.

 

 

Body slamming Williams into position, Maddix leaps on his stomach, crushing his brittle ribs with a mean spirited Double Stomp! A crunchy Senton follows! Thrashing about in agony, Williams crawls to a nearby corner in hopes that it can provide some kind of sanctuary. Smelling blood, Maddix stays on Williams, tauntingly scraping his boot in his face, not because it’s gonna help him earn the submission but because it reinforces the fact that he’s superior for the moment.

 

“Landon’s an Arse-Hole!” stomp!stomp! stomp!stomp!stomp! “Landon’s an Arse-Hole!”

 

Soapdish thinks so too, ordering Landon to knock it off or he’ll start a count. Not wanting to get d.qed when he can make Williams suffer the ultimate humiliation by submitting to his favorite finisher, Maddix ceases the boot scraping and drags his wounded prey to his feet. Taking Williams by the arm, Maddix swings him out of the corner as hard as he possibly can. Pulling so hard that he skids to the canvas, Maddix successfully sends his muscle bound opponent rocketing out of the corner! Blam! Williams crashes into the cross corner sternum first, nearly dislodging the ring from it’s location! Springing backwards into the canvas, Williams rolls off his neck with the momentum, ending up belly down. Rolling the barely conscious Williams over, Maddix confidently ascends the turnbuckles of the closet corner. Making sure his hair looks it’s best, Maddix soars high into the air, bringing his limbs in before spreading them out to their fullest length! Landon crash lands on Williams, squashing the remnants of his ribs into dust!

 

Pete: Frog Splash!

 

Williams goes into pain induced spasms, coughing and gagging as if every breath is an unbearable struggle. Grinning at his once invincible enemy’s glaring vulnerability, Maddix signals to the crowd that it’s all over. Confident that Williams is finished, Landon tauntingly turns circles around his laid out foe, flicking the toe of his boot into his ribs, putting just enough on the kicks to cause him short stabbing bursts of pain. Unable to watch their hero endure such a beating, the fans do the only thing they possible can, rally behind him in the hopes their cheers can spur him on.

 

“DAN-E!” “DAN-E!” “DAN-E!”

 

Williams tries to get up and make a fight of it but the soccar kicks successfully keep him grounded, leaving him no other option but to suffer Maddix’s humiliation. Landon can’t help but cackle as the taste of victory teases his tongue, the fans may hate him but they will respect him, especially after just such a dominating victory.

 

King: Landon needs to quit fooling around and go for the kill while he can.

 

Pete: Your right, King. Hurt or not, Williams cannot be taken lightly.

 

Dragging Williams the rest of the way up by his hair, Maddix steps behind him, bringing his arm around his head for the Land of the Nod! Seeing such a casual submission attempt coming a mile a way, Williams wraps his mighty hand around Landon’s thin wrist, preventing his arm from hooking his chin. This small glimmer of hope is enough to ignite the cheers of the masses. Holding Maddix at bay, Williams rises to his feet, almost but not completely ignorant of the burning pain in his sides. Turning out from underneath Maddix, Williams spins around and clocks him with an elbow smash! Wobbled but not out, Landon goes to the sternum with a kick! Williams hunches over with pain but not before answering Landon’s kick with one of his own! A spinning mule kick obliterates Landon’s abdomen, leaving him doubled over and open for an attack. Knowing what he has to do, Williams bounces off the ropes, steam rolling at Maddix with bad intentions! Approaching his target, Danny swings out his bulky arm for the...

 

Pete: Axe Bombaaaaaaah!!!

 

but it’s ducked! Trapping Williams’ head and arm, Maddix snaps backwards, planting his captive’s chest into the canvas!

 

Pete: No, it’s the Complete Shot!

 

King: This is the second time tonight that neanderthal has ran himself into trouble!

 

Balling up, Williams hugs his aching chest as if he’s trying to keep it together. No longer in a playful mood, Maddix drags Williams to his knees and aggressively slaps on the inverted facelock, trapping him in the Land of Nod! Leaning back, Maddix twists Williams’ head and torso from side to side, putting an incredible amount of pressure on his spine and ribs! For the first time tonight, the strong willed wrestler cries out in pain, inspiring fear in the fans, who believe he may be on the verge of tapping.

 

Pete: He’s got it locked in!

 

King: Their close to the ropes though!

 

Soapdish asks Williams if he wants to call it a night but the stubborn hero refuses to give in. He didn’t quit when the Franchise nearly broke his arm, he didn’t quit when Toxxic nearly gave him brain damage, and he’s not gonna quit now. Even though it feels like his ribs are being grounded into bread, Williams frantically scoots to the nearby ropes, bringing his torment to an end. Not ready to close the curtain on Williams’ nightmare just yet, Maddix drags Williams back to the center of the ring, where he viciously reapplies the hold. Fighting for what he believes to be the respect he deserves, Maddix puts everything he has into the hold, working it like his career depends on it. Even in the cool Irish air, Landon has worked up an impressive sweat.

 

“Tap! Tap! Tap!”, howls the deranged heel as he adds as much torque to the hold as his body will allow.

 

For Williams, every breath is a struggle and once he can suck in what precious air he can, the swelling of his lungs puts unwanted pressure on his bruised ribs and sternum, creating a hellish lose/lose situation. Now he knows why Magnfico tapped so soon, this is without question the most painful situation he’s ever found himself in. The only remedy within reach is a few quick taps on the mat.

 

Pete: This looks like the end!

 

King: Rake his eyes Williams, he’d do the same to you!

 

The temptation of submission is great and the ropes keep looking further and further away.

 

“The hell with that!” thinks Williams.

 

Could Williams really live with himself if he let this blonde headed pretty boy get his way and make him submit? Of course not, Williams’ is not gonna let this punk make a name for himself at his expense. Too many bastards have already done that throughout his entire career, it’s time to take a stand and make his own name. If he can fight the pain and not tap out, he’ll be the victor regardless of what Funyon announces when the dust settles. Moving with unrivaled determination, Williams epically drags himself to the ropes one scoot at a time. Moved by Williams’ bravery, the fans show their support with a thunderous chant!

 

“DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E!”

 

Maddix struggles to keep the big man anchored but it’s no use, Williams has reached the ropes and there’s nothing he can do about it. Refusing to believe that Danny could reach the ropes not once but twice, Maddix clings to the hold in defiance, forcing Soapdish to administer a count. Waiting till three, Maddix breaks the hold and collapses with a combination of exhaustion and frustration, Williams has bested him and he knows it.

 

Pete: Normally the Land of Nod is a death sentence but Williams isn’t an ordinary man.

 

Threatening to throw a temper tantrum, Maddix storms to the nearest corner, where he starts angrily tearing at the top turnbuckle, untying it so that he may expose the cold steel beneath. This is in clear view of Soapdish who orders him to quit but it doesn’t do any good.

 

Pete: He’s snapped, Maddix has lost it!

 

It’s not until Maddix gets most of the turnbuckle off that Soapdish succeeds in pulling him out of the corner. Sick and tired of Maddix’s crap, Soapdish gives him one more warning. As Soapdish tries to repair the damaged buckle, a sneaky look appears on Landon’s face. Reaching into his tights like some kind of sexual pervert, a sinister looking Maddix maliciously unravels a balled up chain.

 

King: He isn’t crazy, it was a trick to distract Soapdish. The bastard has created his own interference.

 

Pete: I guess he’s finally adapting to the absence of his manager and partner.

 

Wrapping the chain around his knuckles, Maddix looks behind his shoulder one more time, making sure that Soapdish is still busy in the corner. The frustrated crowd is going crazy but it’s no use, Soapdish won’t turn around until he has the ring safe and tidy again. Clinging to the ropes with one hand while he tightly cradles his chest with the other, Williams labors to reach his feet. Letting Williams stumble within his reach, Maddix winds up and swings!

 

...................

 

But it’s blocked, ironically by the same arm Williams was using to hold his chest!

 

Pete: He was playing possum!

 

King: I knew there was a reason I never used the turnbuckle trick, it’s too damn time consuming.

 

It’s pandemonium in Croke Park Stadium as Williams drops the shocked Maddix with his trademark Rolling Elbow! With his enemy laid out, Williams resumes holding his side, he was really hurt, he just wasn’t as helpless as he made out. By this time, Soapdish has fixed the buckle and turned around. The official spots the chain in Maddix’s hand but Williams is already prying it from his fingers like a grave robber. Dangling the weapon from his hand, Williams struts around the ring, asking the fans if he should give Maddix a taste of his own medicine. Satisfied with the overwhelming response, Williams ignores Soapdish’s pleas as he carefully wraps the chain around his fist.

 

King: What’s this moron doing, he’s gonna get disqualified. The ref needs to be distracted, you dummy!

 

Pete: I don’t think Williams cares, win or lose he wants to teach Maddix a lesson.

 

Allowing Maddix to drunkenly rise, Williams pushes the scrawny official out of the way, winds up and takes a big swing!

 

.............

 

 

 

Terrified, Maddix ducks his head and cowers!

 

But nothing happens. Pulling the punch, Williams casually hooks Maddix in a front facelock and rolls him up with a well executed inside cradle!

 

 

 

 

“One!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Two!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...................

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THREE!”

 

 

 

Soapdish calls for the bell and the fans burst into laughter!

 

 

Ding! Ding! Ding!

 

Outraged and embarrassed, Maddix harasses Soapdish, insisting that he d.q. Williams for having the chain. Of course the offiical can’t, since he never saw him use it. It seems that irony has bit Maddix right in the arse. Meanwhile, Williams has already left the ring, smiling and joking with the fans as he makes his way down the aisle. Spotting the chain laying in the ring, Maddix angrily kicks at it before making his exit.

 

King: Bahahahahahaha! Maddix got outsmarted by Williams!

 

Pete: All night, Williams fought fire with fire but instead of lowering himself to the point of d.q inducing weapon use he won the match cleanly. Fans, we have to take a short commercial break, stay tuned!

[chirs3 0]

FADE IN

 

“We’re just about ready for our next match,” says Longdogger Pete, “which will see Spike Jenkins, in his first match since coming off suspension, against the Wildchild! And King, I still haven’t gotten over what happened last week on Lockdown!”

 

“Not to mention what happened earlier tonight,” says the Suicide King. “But, you know what? Magnifico’s lost nearly every one of his matches since beating Wildchild just after 13th Hour, and then, losing to Wildchild last week was clearly the last straw. Now, I’m not saying that I would have necessarily choked him myself, but I understand!”

 

“That’s terrible!” scolds Pete. “What El Luchadore Magnifico did was deplorable, King! He let his fans down, and I can’t believe that you can sit here and condone what he did last week!”

 

“Well, obviously you weren’t listening to Magnifico early on in the evening, or it would make perfect sense to you,” replies King. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand, MacDougal, because you’ve never been in the position that Magnifico is in!”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“That’s right,” continues King. “You don’t know what it’s like to fall from greatness, because you’ve never had greatness to begin with! You never held the Heavyweight Championship of the World, so you don’t know what it’s like to feel the pressure of falling from such a high pedestal! Here you have El Luchadore Magnifico, a three-time former World Heavyweight Champion, hasn’t wrestled in over two years, and he tries to make a comeback, only to feel the tremendous pressure and frustration of not having the immediate success that was expected of him!”

 

“Well, King,” says Pete, “I’m not going to comment on your remarks about greatness…”

 

“That’s because you can’t!” interrupts King.

 

“However, be that as it may,” continues Pete, “there’s no shame in realizing that the level of competition has continued to increase since Magnifico retired, but that doesn’t give him the right to do what he did to Wildchild last week; like I said, King, he let millions of his fans down around the world!”

 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” says King. “You can sit here and pay lip service to the fans all you want, but those fans couldn’t do anything but sit on their hands as Magnifico faced disappointment after disappointment. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, the fans are a detriment; they coerce you into taking unnecessary risks, and they’ll turn on you in an instant!”

 

“What are you talking about?” asks Pete incredulously. “The fans never turned on Mags; he’s the one who turned his back on them!”

 

“The fans turned on him!” insists King. “They kept pushing him and pushing him to put himself at greater risk with each passing match, and when he started losing, they turned their backs on him!”

 

“King, there isn’t enough time left in the program to explain how completely wrong you are,” sighs LDP, “but suffice it to say that Wildchild has been very distraught since Lockdown.”

 

“Well, everybody’s waiting to find out what Wildchild’s response will be to Magnifico’s challenge,” says King, “but I’ll tell you, he’d better not look past Spike Jenkins tonight, because Jenkins is definitely not going to cut him any slack!”

 

“Absolutely not!” agrees Pete. “Spike Jenkins is fresh off a thirty-day suspension; he’s eager to get back in the ring, and he doesn’t care who it is!”

 

“That’s right,” adds King. “There’s never been any love lost between Spike Jenkins and Wildchild, even in the best of times, and I just can’t see Jenkins showing any sympathy here tonight!”

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

The chime of the bell calls the fans attention to the center of the ring, where Funyon stands ready to speak into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall!”

 

Suddenly, the Croke Park Stadium is flooded with intense white light, and the SmarkTron whites out. A hush falls over the crowd, which is quickly broken up by the obnoxious sound of a record needle scratching across an LP…

 

BAM!

 

… And leading into “Black Label” by Lamb of God. Just as the song begins to pick up the pace, a silhouette can be made out underneath the SmarkTron. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X.”

 

“Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “from Hollywood, California, weighing two hundred twenty pounds… ‘Hollywood’ SPIIIIIKE JENKINS!” Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike stops on his belly and then rises to one knee, resuming the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free.

 

“There you see ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins,” says King. “The first-ever two-time World Cruiserweight Champion in the history of the SWF, and also the longest-reigning World Cruiserweight Champion ever!”

 

“Jenkins’ credentials speak for themselves,” adds LDP, as Spike’s music fades out. “And he definitely has something to prove tonight; he’s looking to go into Ground Zero on a high note, but he’s going to have his hands full with the Bahama Bomber!”

 

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 wild Irish fans go crazy as “Let’s Get Dirty” kicks into full blast! A solitary spotlight shines down on the head of the ramp, flashing intermittently in time with the beat, but the Caribbean Cruiser remains conspicuous by his absence.

 

“What’s going on here?” Pete wonders aloud. “We’ve got Wildchild’s theme, but we’ve got no Wildchild!” Fans look around in confusion trying to locate Wildchild, to no avail.

 

“Well, like we said earlier, he was clearly bent out of shape over the betrayal by Magnifico,” says King, “but I can’t imagine that he’s already left the building after that exchange earlier with Mags; he wouldn’t go so far as to forfeit, would he?”

 

“Wait a second,” shouts Pete, as Wildchild finally meanders onto the stage, “there he is! He’s coming out now… but look at how he looks, King!”

 

“He looks like he didn’t even bother to get changed,” notes King. “He’s still in his street clothes… and look at that: he doesn’t even have his facepaint on today!” Wildchild steps out onto the stage with his head held down and his shoulders slumped. He continues on down the ramp without fanfare, never once raising his head, and not even acknowledging the fans at ringside.

 

“His opponent,” booms Funyon, “hails from the Bahamas! Weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, one-half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

“This is unbelievable,” says Pete. “I’ve never seen Wildchild in such a state of disarray before, King; Mags has clearly gotten under his skin!”

 

“Well, that comment about family got him worked up, but that’s definitely not going to help him against Spike Jenkins,” adds King, as Wildchild enters the ring. “Jenkins is desperate to get a win, and I don’t think that he cares who he’s got to go through, or what their state of mind is!” Jenkins, perturbed by Wildchild’s apparent lack of preparation, protests loudly to referee Red Herrington as Wildchild’s music fades out, finally deciding to pace back and forth across the ring, waiting for Wildchild to make the first move, as Herrington orders the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match:

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Bell’s gone,” says Pete, “and we’re underway… but it looks like Wildchild’s still lost in his own world!” Spike, becoming increasingly more perturbed by Wildchild’s lack of activity, heads over to the edge of the ring and demands the house microphone from Funyon.

 

“Hey Wildchild,” he shouts into the mic, “I don’t know if you heard it, but that was the bell that just went off! The match has started, so let’s go!” He tosses the mic aside casually and crouches into a ready position as he waits for Wildchild to take action, but the Bahama Bomber continues to remain motionless, his head still held down.

 

“Spike is ready to go!” remarks Pete. “He wants to work out some of the frustration of that thirty-day suspension, but Wildchild still seems unwilling to get the match started!” After a few more seconds of this, Spike demands the microphone once more:

 

“Hey,” he bellows, “you’re not going to get any sympathy from me over what happened to you! Just because your little hero broke your little heart doesn’t mean that I’m going to take it easy on you!” Spike’s words cause Wildchild to raise his head, a mixture of anguish and rage flashing in his eyes.

 

Satisfied that he’s finally seen signs of life from his opponent, Spike carries on. “I mean, just because you got a little sand in your man-gina doesn’t mean that you get a free pass, so you might as well come over here and take this (bleep!)-whippin’ like a man!” With that, he tosses the mic away once more, and then heads over to Wildchild, getting right up in his face!

 

“Well, from the look of things, it appears that Spike Jenkins is going to get himself a match, even if he has to take it!” exclaims LDP. “Wildchild still hasn’t shown any indications that he intends to fight back, but I don’t think that Spike cares anymore!”

 

“Wildchild had better start defending himself soon, or Jenkins is going to make him pay for it,” says King, as Wildchild looks back down towards the canvas. “I think he’s made it pretty clear by now that, even if Wildchild doesn’t fight back, that’s not going to stop him!”

 

Spike grabs Wildchild by the face with one hand, squeezing both sides of his jaw fiercely before shoving him backwards with a pieface-like push! Wildchild once again looks up briefly at Jenkins before he turns around and begins heading towards the ropes!

 

“What is this?” asks Pete incredulously. “Wildchild’s walking off!” This only serves to enrage Jenkins further, and he grabs Wildchild by the shoulder as the Bahaman reaches the edge of the ring, spinning him around violently!

 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” roars Spike furiously, his screaming able to be heard through the camera’s microphone. “I’m Spike Fucking Jenkins! Don’t you EVER turn your back on me!”

 

SMACK!

 

Spike concludes his little tirade by slapping Wildchild across the face! The Bahama Bomber looks up at Hollywood, his eyes once again flashing with rage, only for him to lower them once more. His patience having long since abandoned him, Spike shoves Wildchild back into a corner and begins to choke him out with both hands while referee Herrington barks at him to break the hold:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

“I don’t know, King,” says Pete, as Spike continues to apply the choke, “I think that Spike is taking this a little too far!”

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Before Herrington can reach a count of five, Spike releases the choke and walks towards the center of the ring, pleased with himself for finally getting something going, but he fails to notice Wildchild behind him, trembling with rage as he steps away from the corner!

 

“Jenkins better turn around!” warns King. “It looks like that choke finally woke up Wildchild!” Spike turns around to check on his opponent…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Only to be knocked to the canvas with a tremendous spear! Wildchild assumes a mounted position over Jenkins and begins to batter him with piston-like right hands!

 

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

“Oh! He’s gone and done it now!” shouts Pete, referring to Spike Jenkins. “Choking Wildchild out managed to snap him out of whatever depression he was stuck in, and now Wildchild is running on raw anger!”

 

“Well, obviously he had a flashback to getting choked out by Magnifico last week,” offers King, “and it set off something deep inside him!” Wildchild whips Spike into the ropes and explodes off the canvas as he rebounds, blasting him in the throat with an incredible leg lariat! Wildchild pulls Spike to his feet and immediately leaps off the canvas, nailing Spike with a standing dropkick that sends him tumbling through the ropes and out to the arena floor! The fans begin cheering in earnest now as Wildchild cuts loose with a feral howl!

 

“Wildchild’s on fire!” shrieks LDP. Red Herrington motions for Wildchild to go to his assigned corner while he administers a count on Spike, but the Human Hurricane ignores him, racing across the ring to gain momentum from bouncing off the ropes, and leaping off the canvas as he returns to the edge of the ring, flipping through the air as he sails out to the floor…

 

 

SPLASH!

 

 

… And crashing into Jenkins with a sensational tope con hilo! Wildchild straddles Spike and resumes punching him in the face as Herrington begins to count both men out of the ring:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Wildchild pulls Spike to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him towards the ring barricade, but Hollywood reverses, sending Wildchild into the hard rubber wall instead!

 

SIX!

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

Spike charges in after him to follow up, only for Wildchild to lift his left leg up at the last split second, jamming his foot into Spike’s face!

 

 

NINE!

 

 

TEN!

 

As Jenkins turns and staggers away, Wildchild climbs up onto the barricade and leaps off, alighting for a split second atop Spike’s shoulders, and then shifting all his weight forward as he executes a modified headscissors takeover that sends him sliding halfway across the arena floor!

 

 

THIRTEEN!

 

 

FOURTEEN!

 

 

Wildchild rolls back into the ring, and immediately scrambles to his feet. He looks out to the floor, measuring Spike’s location before making a break for the ropes. Wildchild picks up speed as he rebounds, and charges towards the corner on the opposite side of the ring. He leaps onto the middle turnbuckle and then seamlessly springs off, breaking Herrington’s count as he sails over the top rope and out of the ring…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Where he crashes into Jenkins with a phenomenal springboard suicide headbutt!

 

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

 

“Good grief!” shrieks Pete. “That was just about the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” Wildchild crawls back over to the edge of the ring and uses the apron to pull himself back to his feet, before rolling back into the ring, where he receives a rousing cheer as he stands back up:

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

 

“Listen to these fans go crazy for the Wildchild!” exclaims Pete. “Spike Jenkins may have made the biggest mistake of his career when he got Wildchild all fired up!” Wildchild walks back over to the edge of the ring as Spike climbs back onto the apron and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him over to the corner and smashing him face-first into the top turnbuckle! The Tropical Tumbler climbs to the top turnbuckle as Jenkins staggers across the apron, leaning heavily on the top rope for support, and then leaps off without warning!

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Nailing Spike in the back of the head with a guillotine legdrop that knocks Jenkins over the top rope and back into the ring!

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

 

“Tremendous legdrop by the Wildchild,” shouts LDP, as Wildchild goes for the cover, “and this could be it!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

“Referee shouldn’t even be counting that!” exclaims King.

 

 

 

THR— NO!

 

 

“The referee never should have even counted that,” repeats King, as Herrington holds up two fingers. “This is Smarkdown; that means that attacking someone on the outside of the ring constitutes an illegal maneuver, and Red Herrington never should have counted that!”

 

“King, you’re taking the whole ‘pure wrestling’ paradigm entirely too seriously,” replies Pete. “I’m sure that the referee is entitled to some latitude in these matters.”

 

“Latitude, huh?” asks King. “Well, he’d better be consistent in his latitude, that’s all I have to say about it!” Wildchild pulls Spike to his feet and whips him towards the corner, but Hollywood reverses, sending Wildchild crashing into the turnbuckles instead! Spike runs to the ropes as Wildchild staggers out of the corner…

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

… And nearly turns him inside-out with a devastating lariat! Spike collapses to the canvas in exhaustion as lies motionless beside him.

 

“Wow! What a clothesline!” shouts Pete. “Spike nearly took Wildchild’s head off with that one!”

 

“Give credit to Spike Jenkins,” adds King. “He’s displayed tremendous resilience in coming back from that beating, and still managing to turn the tables on Wildchild like that!” Spike crawls over to Wildchild and falls atop him in a lateral press as Red Herrington gets into position to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR—

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

 

Spike takes a step back as Wildchild gets to his knees, and then suddenly thrusts his leg forward, blasting the Bahaman in the chest with a stiff kick! He kicks him again and then backs away, only to step back towards his opponent and drills him with a kick to the face that knocks him on his back! Spike goes for another pinfall:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

BUT ONLY GETS TWO!

 

 

“Another near fall for Spike Jenkins,” says Pete, “as it appears that Jenkins has found his stride in this match!”

 

“Well, you’d be surprised by how significant a thirty-day layoff can be,” explains King, “but once he got back into the swing of things, it clearly didn’t take him long to take control!” Spike pulls Wildchild to his feet and delivers several crisp Shotei to the chest, before running back towards the ropes and raising his arm as he rebounds to deliver a running lariat… but Wildchild ducks and begins hammering him with quick right hands!

 

 

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

BAP!

 

Wildchild backs Spike into a corner and then whips him across the ring towards the other corner, but Jenkins reverses, sending Wildchild rocketing into the corner…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Where he crashes chest-first into the turnbuckles at an unbelievably high velocity! Wildchild bounces off the turnbuckles like a jet ball and collapses onto his back! Spike staggers over to his opponent and falls atop him with a pinfall attempt:

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE— NO!

 

 

“Two count only,” says Pete, “but Spike seems to be getting stronger with each passing move, and those kickouts are becoming less and less forceful on the part of the Wildchild!”

 

“That tends to happen when you get your man worn down,” explains King. “Now, we’ll need to see whether or not Spike Jenkins has the killer instinct to extend this advantage.” Spike pulls Wildchild back to his feet and whips him towards a nearby corner, racing to the ropes as Wildchild staggers backwards towards the center of the ring, and leaps into the air as he rebounds, reaching for Wildchild’s neck to hit him with the Phantom Neckbreaker, but the Caribbean Cruiser sidesteps him! Wildchild whips his leg through the air as Spike turns around to deliver a roundhouse kick, but Hollywood catches his leg in mid-move…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Only for the Human Hurricane to whip his other leg through the air and blast Jenkins in the face with a Gamengiri! Wildchild stands with his back to Spike and springs off the canvas, crashing down onto his chest with a backflip splash!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

BUT ONLY GETS TWO!

 

 

“Boy, I thought that Wildchild had him after that Gamengiri!” says Pete. “These two continue to go back and forth, and you have to wonder who will be able to come away with the win!”

 

“Well, I’m going to have to consider Wildchild to be the favorite,” replies King. “He’s been wrestling extremely well in recent weeks, better than I ever thought he was capable of. Between that, and the fact that Spike is just coming off suspension, I have to believe that Wildchild holds a little bit of the favorite!” Wildchild pulls Spike back to his feet and whips him across the ring into a corner. He charges in after him, but Jenkins lowers his shoulder and lifts him out of the ring, only for the Bahama Bomber to land on his feet on the apron. Wildchild turns Spike around and grabs him by the back of the head, slamming him face-first into the top turnbuckle! He then leaps onto the top rope as Jenkins staggers away, before springing back into the ring, body extended to crash into Spike with a cross-body block!

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But Jenkins snatches him out of the air and plants him with a ferocious powerslam!

 

“Oh my word!” shouts Pete. “Spike with a terrific counter! And he’s going for the pinfall!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

“This could be upset city!” exclaims King.

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREEE— NO!

 

 

“That was extremely close!” cries Pete. “Wildchild was about four inches away from getting beat there!” Spike lifts Wildchild up off the canvas and plants him with a scoop slam. He then runs to the ropes, measuring Wildchild as he rebounds, before planting a kneedrop between his eyes.

 

“Spike Jenkins scoring with another big move here,” says Pete, “but he could be making a big mistake in not going for the cover here!” Spike pulls Wildchild to his feet and places him in a Uranage position before dropping to his knees, jamming the Bahaman’s throat across his shoulder with the Minor Threat! He quickly scrambles to his feet and runs to the ropes, lifting his leg as he rebounds to nail Wildchild with a Yakuza kick, but the Caribbean Cruiser shows great resiliency of his own, as he ducks underneath…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… And knocks Spike senseless with a shuffling sidekick!

 

 

RAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Superkick out of nowhere!” shouts Pete. “Wildchild still has some fight left in him!” Red Herrington begins to count both men down:

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

“This match looks like a pick-em at this stage, King,” notes LDP.

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

 

“Definitely,” agrees King. “The next person to score a big move will probably be the winner!”

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

SIX!

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

Around the seven count, both men begin to stir. Wildchild crawls over to Spike and applies a weak lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

That only gets two! Wildchild and Spike then each roll to their knees, and begin to exchange blows as they fight to their feet, with the Bahama Bomber trading hard right fists with Spike’s Shotei.

 

BAP!

SMACK!

BAP!

SMACK!

BAP!

SMACK!

 

Spike eventually takes control, backing Wildchild up against the ropes and whipping him across the ring. The Human Hurricane ducks underneath a rolling elbow attempt as he bounces off the ropes, and then leaps into the air as he rebound a second time, crashing into Jenkins with a cross-body block, only for Hollywood to roll through it and roll him into a cradle, hooking the tights as Herrington falls into position to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

NO!

 

 

“Man, was that close!” sighs Pete. “I thought for sure he’d get it after hooking the tights!” Spike beats Wildchild to his feet and stuns him with a kneelift to the midsection. He whips Wildchild into the ropes once more and lowers his shoulder to deliver a back-bodydrop, only for Wildchild to catch him in an inside cradle as he comes off the ropes!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR— NO!

 

 

“And that was another close near-fall,” mentions King. “Spike thought that he had firmly established control, but Wildchild’s lightning-fast reflexes were almost able to get him the victory!” Wildchild sidesteps a charging Jenkins and leaps into the air as he bounces off the ropes, blasting him in the face with a flying back elbow!

 

“Another nice counter by the Wildchild,” says Pete. “And it looks like he’s going up… that’s high-risk territory, King, but not for this guy!”

 

“And the thing about it is that you never know what he’s going to do up there!” adds King. Wildchild leaps from the top turnbuckle and dives into the ring to deliver a flying elbow smash…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… Only to get caught flush on the chin by a Spike Jenkins superkick!

 

 

“The Last Dance!” shouts Pete. “He caught Wildchild out of the air with the Last Dance! What a brilliant, heads-up counter!”

 

“I gotta give Spike credit on that one,” concedes King. “I didn’t think that he was fast enough to catch Wildchild like that! Now, we’ll have to see if he can put him away for good this time!”

 

“Well,” says Pete, “he just gave the sign for the Ratings Crash; if he can hit it, Wildchild will definitely be put away!” Spike pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a standing headscissors. Wrapping both hands around Wildchild’s waist, Spike lifts him up, trying to hold him in position to deliver the Ratings Crash, but Wildchild rolls through all the way to a seated position Spike’s shoulders, and then locking his legs behind Hollywood’s neck and taking him through the air with a rana! Both men roll to their feet simultaneously, and Jenkins charges towards Wildchild, but the Bahama Bomber stuns him with a kick to the midsection…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

“Cutter!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild got the Caribbean Cutter!” Wildchild rolls Jenkins onto his back and applies a lateral press as Herrington drops down to count:

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

“Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play again, and the crowd erupts as Herrington raises Wildchild’s hand in victory.

 

 

“Here is your winner,” booms Funyon, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!”

 

 

“Tremendous win for the Wildchild,” praises LDP. “Clearly with a lot on his mind, Wildchild was still able to dig deep and hold off a determined Spike Jenkins, and folks, when we come back from commercial, we hope to have some comments from the Wildchild, regarding ELM’s earlier remarks. Stay Tuned!”

 

Wildchild pulls himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the ropes for support…

 

 

As we:

FADE OUT

[chirs3 0]

When I was back there in seminary school…

 

The Irish crowd bursts into cheers as Jim Morrison’s voice blasts over the speakers, trumpeting the arrival of the Smarkdown commissioner!

 

… there was a person there who put forth the proposition that you can petition the Lord with prayer.

 

Petition the Lord with prayer…?

 

Petition the Lord with prayer?!

 

YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER!

 

With that, the Croke Park Stadium lights up with an explosion of blue smoke and pyro, and Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” detonates over every speaker in the building. As the smoke clears, Tom Flesher steps through the curtain, clad in a cream-colored linen suit, a blue shirt and an open collar. Flesher strides confidently to the ring as the fans cheer him, finally making it into the squared circle and grabbing a microphone.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, as the crowd quiets, “as you know, the SWF has been on a world tour since the end of April. We’ve had some great times, but, sadly, the trip has to come to an end. That’s why, in just six days, you’re going to see the SWF’s Ground Zero 2005 pay-per-view broadcast from LONDON, ENGLAND!”

 

The fans cheer, despite their distaste for Britain generally.

 

“… and LAS VEGAS, NEVADA!”

 

Flesher pauses.

 

“I’ll repeat that. Ground Zero is going to be held at two separate venues, with one show taking place in the evening in London, and the second show to follow immediately from the good old US of A. Why? Because even a Smarkdown can sell out one of the biggest arenas in the world. Why waste a pay-per-view on only one venue? If I know one thing that will sell out in London, England, it’s a show with Toxxic…”

 

The fans boo.

 

“Scott Pretzler…”

 

The fans cheer loudly for Toxxic’s nemesis.

 

“ ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ Jay Hawke…”

 

The International Champion gets a strong pop from the Smarkdown crowd.

 

“… and all the other real talent in the SWF.”

 

POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPOPPOPPOP!

 

As the machine-gun pyro goes off, the crowd bursts into cheers and Ejiro Fasaki steps through the curtain in a yellow ‘EF’-logo t-shirt and jeans with the SWF World Heavyweight Championship strapped around his waist. With the Crazy 88 theme from Kill Bill blaring over the speakers, Fasaki walks to the ring with a no-nonsense look on his face. The fans cheer for him, but Fasaki barely even acknowledges them as he steps into the ring and motions for a microphone.

 

“Jerry,” Flesher says with a smirk, “it’s good to see you.”

 

“Don’t give me that crap,” Fasaki says in clipped tones. “Do you remember what main-evented 13th Hour, Tom?”

 

“Of course I do,” Flesher says with a glare. “The best damn match on the card, the one that had been building all month, and the one the fans were there to see. Wildchild against Scott Pretzler.”

 

“And Tom, do you know what’s going to main-event Ground Zero?”

 

“Well, the London show will be headlined by Toxxic, that’s for sure,” Flesher says. “I mean, it’d be kind of stupid to –”

 

“Tom, I just want you to know… all this nonsense about me not being ‘ready’ for the top of the card, from not getting the top spot to 13th Hour right up to not even being booked on this show… it’s over. At Ground Zero, you’re not keeping me down any longer. Ejiro Fasaki defending his SWF World Heavyweight Championship against Johnny Dangerous is a main event anywhere in the world. It’s a main event in the United States, and it’s the last match of the night, the main event of the Vegas half of Ground Zero!”

 

The fans cheer as Fasaki stares at Flesher.

 

“Oh, is that how you want to play the game, Jerry?” Flesher glowers at his former stablemate. “You want to try to go over my head just so you can get your ego stroked? Well, go right ahead. You’ll get to the top of the card in Vegas and you’ll choke. You know, there’s a reason I was trying to keep you out of the limelight. You choke every time Bill’s not there to hold you up.”

 

“All except December 2003, right, Tom?” Ejiro glares. “I put you off your game, hit an Orange Crush bomb, and won the World Title from you the first time. Face it, Tom, you were never the same again. I did it to Toxxic, and now I’m going to make sure Johnny Dangerous never comes knocking again. Whether you’re too caught up in your own ego to realize it or not, I am the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, and I’m coming out of Ground Zero on top!”

 

Flesher stares at Fasaki, who glowers back. The staredown continues for several seconds before the show fades to commercial.

[chirs3 0]

As SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial break, it begins with a somewhat jarring shot of eighty-three thousand Irishmen packed into the Croke Park Stadium. They anxiously murmur amongst themselves in anticipation of the next match, and said murmuring only grows louder when the lights are suddenly cut out and the Smarktron is illuminated. The phrases “I’m Born” “I’m Alive”, and “I Breathe” appear on the ‘Tron as the massive crowd already begins to cheer in anticipation of Zyon’s entrance. Their cries only grow louder as Zyon pops out from behind the curtain, just as Incubus’ “Vitamin” begins blaring over the stadium’s speakers.

 

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and follows CRUIS-erweight rules!” Funyon proudly announces. “Introducing first, from Elkhart, Indiana, weighing in at two hundred pounds even...he is the SWF HARDCORE CHAMPION...ZYYYYOOOOOOONNN!!”

 

Zyon’s already all the way down the entrance ramp as Funyon finishes his introduction. He hops onto the apron upon reaching the ring, pausing only briefly before pulling himself and flipping over the top rope, drawing a quick pop from the impressed crowd. Once inside the ring, Zyon pauses, listening intently to the chorus of “Vitamin”.

 

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 suddenly thrusts his arms into the air and bangs his head, doing so as the lights go back up all around the arena. He retires to a corner and begins to prepare for the upcoming contest, much of the crowd still cheering for the Unique Youth.

 

“And welcome back to SWF Smarkdown, everyone!” LDP greets. “We’ve had an amazing show here so far in Dublin, and it’s about to get even better.”

 

“For once, you’ve made a good point, and did it without an incomprehensible Southern slang.” King replies. “We’re the first ones to see the new, insane Magnifico in action. And what’s more, we get to see him beat the piss out of that goddamn spot monkey, Zyon.”

 

Once again, the stadium’s lights are cut, though this time, the fans aren’t quite sure how to react. They sit in darkness for a moment, until...

 

“HEY HEY!”

 

*BOOM*

 

The intro to Atake FDD’s “Tu Final” is shouted over the stadium’s PA as red, white, and green sparks shoot upwards from the stage. By now most of the crowd’s caught on and begin to boo, and the rest join in when they see Magnifico stride out from behind the curtain, illuminated by a single spotlight. His head bobbing to the thumping bass of his entrance music and his Mexican Flag billowing gracefully behind him, Magnifico quickly strides down the entrance ramp, his eyes locked solidly on Zyon.

 

“And now, from Mexico City, Mexico, weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds...” Funyon takes a deep breath. “EL LUCHADOOOOOOOOOOOOORE MAGNIFICOOOOOOOO!!”

 

Funyon’s announcement only intensifies the booing, which drowns out all other sound as reaches the ring and rolls beneath its bottom rope. He pops to his feet and shoots a quick, cold glare at Zyon, who’s all too happy to return the nasty look. Magnifico finally takes his gaze off of his opponent as he steps into the center of the ring, his eyes looking over the gigantic crowd. Suddenly, he thrusts his flag high into the air, doing so as the lights go up around the arena, revealing eighty-three thousand jeering Irishmen in the process.

 

“Christ, the fans sure turned on Mag quick.” King comments. “You’d think that they were mad about ELM nearly choking Wildchild to death or something.”

 

“Yeah, go figure.” LDP mutters.

 

Magnifico turns away from the crowd and to the ref, who he hands his Mexican Flag to. The luchadore’s attention turns back to Zyon, who he keeps his eyes locked on as he executes a few cursory stretches. Seeing that everything is in order, the ref turns to the timekeeper and signals for the bell.

 

DING DING DING

 

“And here we go!” Pete enthusiastically cries. “Zyon’s been incredibly hot since joining the fed, but he needs to be extremely careful with Magnifico. He’s facing not only one of the SWF’s greatest Cruiserweights ever, but also a man who seems desperate to earn a win.”

 

Magnifico and Zyon promptly end their pre-match warmups and begin circling each other around the ring. They get closer to each and the center of the ring, until they’re within arm’s reach of each other. At that point, they lunge at each other and lock up in the middle of the ring, pushing each other back and forth as each struggles to gain control over the other. After a few seconds, ELM pulls Zyon into a Front Headlock and begins wrenching away on his neck. Zyon counters the hold by walking backwards and into the ropes, bouncing off of them as he pushes Magnifico forward, using his momentum to break ELM’s hold and send him rushing across the ring. Magnifico bounces off of the far ropes and charges back towards the Unique Youth, thrusting his shoulder out as he does so and knocking Zyon to the canvas with a Shoulderblock! Immediately after hitting the Block, ELM makes a dash for the perpendicular ropes, bouncing off of them and rushing back towards Zyon. However, Zyon rolls towards the charging luchadore, forcing himto hop over his opponent and rush towards his third set of ropes on the night. Magnifico bounces off of the ropes as Zyon pops to his feet and leaps into the air, his legs extended for a Hurricanrana! Zyon manages to hook his legs around ELM’s head, but the second he does, Magnifico reaches up and grabs him by the waist, trapping the Unique Youth on his shoulders!

 

“Well, that was quick.” King comments. “Coming up next, we have-“

 

“King, he hasn’t even landed a move yet.” Pete snaps. “Knock it off.”

 

However, before ELM has a chance to do anything with that, Zyon begins hammering away at Magnifico’s forehead with his fist! With ELM sufficently dazed, Zyon is able to thrust his body and legs backwards, using the limbs to jerk Magnifico down to the mat with a Hurricanrana! And as ELM hits the mat, Zyon sits on his chest before reaching back and hooking both of Magnifico’s legs, turning the move into a Hurricanrana Pin! The ref falls to his knees and begins counting as Magnifico struggles to break free of the pin.

 

ONE!

 

TWO! No! ELM breaks free of the pin and immediately scrambles to his feet while Zyon does the same.

 

“Very nice counter from Zyon.” LDP notes. “ELM didn’t move fast enough, and Zyon took advantage of it.”

 

Zyon stands a split second before Magnifico and has time to grab him by the arm and pull him to his feet, right before using that grip to whip ELM across the ring and into the far corner. Zyon dashes after the luchadore immediately after whipping him, closing in on the luchadore as he lands back-first against the corner’s turnbuckles. However, ELM manages to leap out of the way just in time, leaving Zyon to crash into an empty corner! The Unique Youth, dazed, stumbles backwards and out of the corner. Meanwhile, Magnifico ducks behind Zyon, wrapping his arms around Zyon’s waist as he stumbles and pulling him into a Rear Waistlock. He immediately attempts to lift Zyon into the air for a German Suplex, but is foiled when the Unique Youth wraps his leg around Magnifico’s, preventing the luchadore from hoisting him off the mat! Magnifico struggles in vain to lift Zyon, until he takes one arm off of him, apparently giving up on the Suplex...but instead uses the arm to drive an elbow into Zyon’s neck! The crowd OHHH!s in surprise as Magnifico continues to hammer away at Zyon’s neck with the elbow, just bashing away at it until the Unique Youth falls to one knee, breaking under the relentless force of the strikes. ELM then reapplies the Rear Waistlock and immediately lifts Zyon into the air, right before falling back and slamming his neck into the canvas with a German Suplex! Magnifico holds the bridge after landing the Suplex, drawing the ref down to the mat to make the count as the fans heartily boo the luchadore.

 

ONE!

 

TWO! No! Zyon breaks free of the pin, causing both men to fall unceremoniously to the mat as the fans cheer the escape.

 

“That’s something we saw from Magnifico in his contest with Wildchild.” Pete grimly notes. “When he was unable to pull his opponent off of the mat, he just beat the hell out of him until he was unable to resist.”

 

“And like I said when he did that against Wildchild, it’s a great sign for the Mexican.” King cheerfully adds. “He’s not screwing around with his opponents anymore; his motive is to win, regardless of how he has to do it.”

 

ELM quickly rolls back to his feet, leaving Zyon dazed on the canvas. The Unique Youth begins pushing himself back to his feet, but is discouraged somewhat when Magnifico begins stomping away at his neck, knocking Zyon back down to the canvas every time he gets even a little bit off of it. After landing a good many stomps, Magnifico tires of this and helps Zyon to his feet, right before throwing the Unique Youth into the nearby corner. As Zyon leans up against the corner’s turnbuckles, dazed, ELM rears back with his arm, right before driving it forward and...

 

CHOP!

 

*SMACK*

 

“WHOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

The crowd releases the requisite cheer despite themselves as Magnifico’s arm slices into Zyon’s chest with a Knife-Edge Chop. Zyon grips his chest and starts to stumble out of the corner, but ELM pushes him right back into it. He then pulls his arm back again and...

 

CHOP!

 

*SMACK*

 

“WHOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

Zyon once again feebly attempts to escape the corner, but Magnifico again shoves him back into it, growing frustrated with the Unique Youth. ELM draws his arm back once more and...

 

 

 

 

 

 

...miss! Magnifico goes for another Knife-Edge Chop, but Zyon manages to duck beneath it! ELM’s momentum carries him a step forward and gives Zyon a second to recover. As such, when Magnifico turns towards him, Zyon is ready and immediately unloads on the luchadore with a flurry of stinging Forearm Strikes, drawing an encouraging cheer from the gigantic crowd!

 

“Listen to this audience!” Pete happily commands. “They’re giving their full support to Zyon!”

 

“Meh, that’s not that impressive.” King dismissively replies. “Once the whiskey buzz wears off they’ll see that Zyon’s nothing but an overhyped spot monkey and immediately go back to not caring.”

 

Convinced he’s thoroughly stunned ELM, Zyon grabs the luchadore by the arm and tries to whip him across the ring. However, a couple more strikes might have been in order, as Magnifico manages to reverse the whip, sending Zyon rushing towards the far corner. ELM immediately rushes after him, and as such, is forced to skid to a halt when Zyon unexpectedly runs up the corner’s turnbuckles! The Unique Youth pushes himself off of the top turnbuckle and flies back at Magnifico, twisting his body as he does so and turning the move into the No Regard! ELM attempts to catch Zyon, but he’s too heavy and moving too quickly, and the No Regard easily knocks Magnifico to the mat! As ELM crashes hard to the canvas, Zyon lands right next to him, resting for only a split-second before rolling onto the luchadore and hooking his leg! The ref slides into position and begins counting as the fans cheer for the incredible maneuver and for the possible pinfall.

 

ONE!

 

TWO! No! ELM kicks out at two and a half, effectively ending much of the crowd’s cheering.

 

“Magnifico can be aggressive as he wants, but that doesn’t mean he can match Zyon’s speed.” Pete reports. “ELM had no chance to counter the No Regard.”

 

“Maybe not.” King concedes. “But it’s not like Zyon’s flips and flops are particularly devastating moves. One slip up and he’ll fall into the Mexican’s grasp, and that’ll be the end of that.”

 

Undeterred by the lack of a pinfall, Zyon rolls off of Magnifico and pulls him to his feet. Zyon attempts a whip, but ELM’s not too dazed to reverse it, and he does just that. Zyon is sent rushing towards the far ropes, and as he bounces off of them, he sees Magnifico charging up at him and lashing his arm out for a Clothesline! However, Zyon manages to duck beneath ELM’s arm, which just grazes Zyon’s hairline! Magnifico’s falls into the ropes and takes a second to gather himself before spinning back towards Zyon. When he does, the first thing he sees is the Unique Youth leap into the air and kick his feet out! Zyon drives said feet directly into ELM’s chest with a perfect Flipping Dropkick that drives him backwards and over the top rope! The fans release an impressive pop as Magnifico tumbles over the top rope and to the outside, hitting the thinly-padded floor shoulder-first and with a cringe-inducing thud.

 

“Beautiful Dropkick from Zyon!” Pete declares. “His speed has really served him well in this match!”

 

“Grrr.” King growls. “What’s most annoying about this is I just know he’s going to follow that up with some ridiculously acrobatic yet useless move. I just know it.”

 

The ref begins his count as Magnifico writhes on the outside, trying his hardest to shake off the effects of the nasty fall he just took.

 

“ONE!”

 

After a few moments, Magnifico begins to laboriously push himself to his feet. Zyon takes that as his cue to suddenly make a break for the ropes furthest from ELM, bouncing off of them as the luchadore reaches one knee. Zyon rushes back across the ring, rapidly approaching the luchadore as he slowly stands.

 

“TWO!”

 

As Magnifico reaches his feet, he slowly turns back towards the ring, scowling angrily as he does so. His mood doesn’t improve any when he sees Zyon leap over the top rope and flip forward, flying at the luchadore with a Tope con Hilo! Zyon’s body slams into Magnifico’s, knocking ELM back to the ground with a ridiculous amount of force! Another mighty wave of cheers rise from the crowd as Zyon tumbles to the ground next to the luchadore, not completely unharmed from the fall either.

 

“THREE!”

 

“Goddamnit. What’d I tell you?” King grumbles.

 

“Tope con Hilo!” LDP cries, ignoring King, “Zyon perfectly executes a Somersault Body Attack Suicida, and he is in complete control of this contest!”

 

Zyon works through the haze of the impact after a few moments and begins working his way to his feet, doing so as Magnifico lays motionless beneath him. Seeing that he has a second before ELM’s going to be a concern, Zyon rolls into the ring and then immediately rolls back out to reset the count. Once that’s done, he grabs Magnifico and pulls him to his feet...only to have ELM drive his elbow backwards and into Zyon’s gut the second he’s standing! Caught off guard, Zyon immediately doubles over in pain from the unexpected blow, which allows Magnifico to grab the Unique Youth by his tights and the nape of his neck.

 

“ONE!”

 

Holding him in that position, ELM runs forward with Zyon in tow and then suddenly releases him, throwing him head-first at the nearby guardrail! Zyon manages to duck a little bit before impact, avoiding having his skull cracked by the steel barrier, but in doing so shifts the point of impact square on the back of his neck! The fans seem to cringe as one as Zyon crumples to the floor, cradling his neck as the audience quickly switches their reaction to upset booing.

 

“TWO!”

 

“Christ!” LDP shouts, wincing. “Though I’m sure being thrown into wouldn’t have felt good in any situation, Zyon’s lucky that he was able to shift the impact from his skull to his neck.”

 

“Which was a ridiculously amateur move.” King snaps. “The Mexican had already weakened Zyon’s neck with a German Suplex and the stomps that followed it. Now he’s got a clear target to focus on for the rest of the match.”

 

Magnifico takes a second to gather himself before walking over to Zyon. He has a few select words with the irate Irishmen at ringside before grabbing Zyon by his hair and pulling him to his feet, right before leading the Unique Youth over the ring and rolling him inside. ELM dives in after Zyon and immediately covers him, drawing the expected wave of boos from the audience for the action. The luchadore leisurely hooks Zyon’s leg as the ref slides into position and begins counting.

 

ONE!

 

TWO! No! Zyon gets a shoulder up at two and a half, drawing a few hopeful cheers from the gigantic crowd.

 

“Magnifico’s underestimating Zyon.” LDP pointedly remarks. “He could have really taken advantage of Zyon’s condition, but instead tried for the pinfall. ELM’s overconfidence is going to get the better of him if he’s not careful.”

 

Visibly annoyed at the lack of a pinfall, ELM climbs back to his feet and immediately begins stomping away at Zyon’s neck, drawing a fresh wave of boos from the irritated audience. After landing five or six good stomps, Magnifico suddenly leaps into the air and extends his legs, allowing one to fall across Zyon’s neck as he falls! The Unique Youth writhes on the mat and chokes for breath as the Leg Drop crushes his windpipe and makes it extremely hard for Zyon to get any oxygen into his body. A bloodthirsty grin on his face, Magnifico grabs Zyon by the hair and painfully pulls him to his feet, right before throwing the Unique Youth into the nearby corner. ELM takes a step back, grabs the top rope, and then plants a foot on Zyon’s neck! The fans jeer Magnifico mercilessly as he presses his foot into Zyon’s throat, doing so as the Unique Youth struggles to breathe and tries his hardest to pull ELM’s foot away. Eventually, Magnifico drops the foot after a quick five count and a threat of disqualification from the ref. ELM grabs Zyon and whips him across the ring, sending him rushing towards the opposite corner as he still struggles to breathe properly. Zyon crashes back-first against the corner’s turnbuckles, wearily leaning against them as Magnifico suddenly breaks into a run on the other side of the ring. ELM quickly closes in on Zyon, but whatever he had planned is foiled when the Unique Youth throws his foot into the air, slamming it into the charging luchadore’s face! Surprised, Magnifico turns and stumbles away from the corner as Zyon quickly hops up onto the second turnbuckle behind him. The fans are already cheering in anticipation when Zyon leaps off of the turnbuckle and at Magnifico, who’s still stumbling away from the corner! In mid-air, Zyon wraps his arms around ELM’s head, which allow him to pull the luchadore down to the mat as he falls and slam his face into the canvas with a Flying Bulldog! A mighty pop is released from the audience as Zyon immediately rolls over and covers the luchadore, hooking his leg while the ref slides into position and begins counting.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH-Noo! Magnifico gets a shoulder up at two and three quarters, drawing a disappointed OHHH! from the crowd.

 

“Beautiful Flying Bulldog from Zyon that catches Magnifico completely off guard!” Pete gleefully reports. “Smart move from Zyon by not waiting for ELM to turn back towards him before attempting anything off of the second rope.”

 

“Yeah, sure, why give your opponent a fighting chance to counter your moves?” King scoffs. “Zyon’s cheating.”

 

Zyon rolls off of his opponent and takes a second to catch his breath before grabbing Magnifico by the arm and standing up, pulling the luchadore to his feet as he stands. Zyon wearily whips the luchadore, who’s too stunned to resist, and sends him rushing towards the far corner. Before Magnifico even hits the corner, Zyon’s running after him, and as such, is right on top of the luchadore when he crashes back-first into the turnbuckles! Before ELM has a chance to react, Zyon leaps into the air, kicks his feet out, and slams them into Magnifico’s chest with the Snap! Zyon lands on his back, but is only there for a split-second, as he immediately kips to his feet to the delight of the crowd! What’s more, he pops to his feet right in front of Magnifico, who’s staggering out of the corner. As such, Zyon is able to easily lift the luchadore into the air, as if for a Scoop Slam! A rousing wave of cheers rise from the audience in anticipation, but they’re quickly and efficently silenced when ELM slithers out of Zyon’s grip and over his shoulder! Magnifico lands on his feet behind Zyon, facing the same direction as him. When Zyon spins to face the luchadore, ELM greets the Unique Youth by throwing a knee forward and slamming it into his gut, doubling him over in the center of the ring! Not wasting a moment, Magnifico immediately hooks both of Zyon’s arms, hoists him into the air...and then drives him downwards, slamming the skull of the Unique Youth into the canvas with the Cancun Crunch! The fans wince as one as they watch Zyon flop to the mat, his neck compressed by the force of the Double Underhook Brainbuster. Their sympathy quickly changes to anger, however, when they see Magnifico roll onto Zyon and hook his leg, drawing the ref down to the mat to begin his count.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR-Nooo! Zyon gets a shoulder up just before the three count, drawing a wave of hopeful cheers from the capacity crowd. Annoyed, Magnifico rolls off of Zyon and has a few choice words with the referee, basically cursing him out as he begins pulling Zyon to his feet.

 

“No! Zyon went for the Aero Driver, but Magnifico managed to break free of his grip and reverse it into the Cancun Crunch!” Pete unhappily reports.

 

“That’s what Zyon gets trying a weaker and overall stupider version of La Dia de los Muertos.” King smugly counters.

 

Once Magnifico has Zyon on his feet, he spins behind the Unique Youth and traps him in a Rear Waistlock, right before ELM sticks his head beneath his opponent’s arm. ELM then lifts Zyon into the air and spins him around, looking to slam the Unique Youth into the canvas with La Bomba Fantastica! But as Zyon is spinned around, he wraps his legs around Magnifico’s head, right before jerking said legs backwards and yanking ELM to the mat with a Hurricanrana! The fans release a surprised pop for the reversal, and only grow louder when ELM pops back to his feet, just to be knocked back to the mat when Zyon slams a quick Forearm into his chest! Magnifico jumps to his feet once more, only to eat another Forearm and be knocked back to the canvas once more! The fans are as hot as they’ve been all night as ELM rises again, this time having his arm grabbed by Zyon for a whip. However, Magnifico manages to reverse it, sending Zyon rushing across the ring and into the far ropes. Zyon bounces off of the ropes and charges back towards Magnifico, who responds by lashing out with his arm for a Lariat! Zyon manages to duck beneath the arm, though, and runs at the ropes behind Magnifico! He bounces off of said ropes and rushes back at the luchadore, leaping into the air as Magnifico spins to face him! In mid-air, Zyon wraps his legs around ELM’s head...right before Magnifico reaches up, grabs him by the waist, and then sits out, slamming Zyon’s back into the canvas with a quick and dirty Powerbomb! The fans release a surprised and disappointed OHHH! as Magnifico immediately floats onto Zyon, hooking his leg as the ref slides into position.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRRRRRRRNOOOOO! Zyon gets a shoulder up just before the three count, drawing a raucous pop from the delighted crowd! Infuriated, Magnifico rolls off of Zyon and immediately gets in the ref’s face, insisting in curse-laced Spanglish that he got the three count.

 

“Goddamn referee!” King cries. “That was a three count!”

 

“Not quite, King!” LDP refutes, all too happy to do so. “Magnifico surprised Zyon with that Sit-Out Powerbomb, but it wasn’t enough to garner the pinfall!”

 

After a second, Magnifico turns his attention back to Zyon, still cursing the ref out as he does so. ELM grabs the stunned Zyon by the arm and painfully pulls him to his feet, right before shoving the Unique Youth into the nearby corner. Magnifico begins to wildly stomp away at Zyon’s gut, just kicking away at his stomach as the Unique Youth slumps further and further down in the corner and the fans boo ELM mercilessly. After about a dozen stomps, Magnifico grabs Zyon by the waist and hoists him into the air, before sitting him on the top turnbuckle. With Zyon sitting dazed on the turnbuckle, ELM climbs up after him and reaches the top rope. Magnifico grabs Zyon by the hair and pulls him to his feet, so that both are standing up on the turnbuckle. ELM then pulls Zyon into a Front Headlock and hooks one of his legs, setting the Unique Youth up for a Super Barrio Buster! The fans immediately begin to shout and curse at the luchadore...but their reaction quickly changes to encouraging cheers as Zyon begins slamming his fist into Magnifico’s gut, desperately trying to break free of ELM’s hold! Zyon eventually does just that, as Magnifico’s hold weakens enough for him to free his leg and his head! The second Zyon is emancipated, he thrusts his hands into Magnifico’s chest, shoving him and sending him flying off of the top turnbuckle! ELM lands flat on his back, crashing hard into the unforgiving canvas as the fans cheer jubilantly!

 

“For Christ’s sake.” King grumbles, rubbing his temples. “ELM was two seconds away from breaking Zyon’s neck, but the little bastard had to go and ruin it.”

 

“And now he’s got ELM in perfect position for the Final Flash!” Pete excitedly adds.

 

With every fan in the building cheering encouragingly, Zyon slowly stands up on the top turnbuckle, looking down on the motionless luchadore. Suddenly, the Unique Youth leaps off of the top turnbuckle, sending his body flying at Magnifico’s! Az Zyon falls at ELM, he leans forward, looking to land the Final Flash...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...right as Magnifico rolls out of the way, leaving Zyon to crash neck-first into the canvas! The fans release a disappointed OHHHHH! as Zyon flops to the mat and onto his stomach, motionless save for the occasional spasmic jerk of a limb.

 

“No! No! Zyon misses!” Pete grimly reports. “Magnifico rolls out of the way, leaving Zyon to fall right on his damaged neck!”

 

Both men lay motionless for a few moments, both seemingly still reeling from their respective injuries. Suddenly, Magnifico rolls towards his opponent and wraps his feet around Zyon’s legs, right before reaching up and wrapping his hands around the Unique Youth’s face! ELM then pulls back, locking in the Sangria Stretch to the dismay of the live audience! The Unique Youth immediately cries out in pain as Magnifico wrenches away on Zyon’s damaged neck with all his might, tearing it apart with the deadly submission!

 

“Whoo, here we go!” King exclaims. “Zyon’s dead in the water!”

 

“Magnifico manages to lock on the Sangria Stretch!” Pete reports, distraught. “And with Zyon’s neck having taken a beaten throughout the match, it might only be a matter of time before he has to submit!”

 

The ref drops to his knees and gets in Zyon’s face, asking him if he wants to submit. He receives an emphatic “NO!” in reply before Zyon cries out again in agony. The crowd, wanting to do something to help, begin to cheer Zyon on encouragingly, shouting for him to break free of the hold. Slowly, determinedly, Zyon reaches out with his trembling hand, trying his best to grab the nearby ropes! His arm is completely extended, but his fingertips just barely graze the ropes! Seeing how close Zyon is to breaking the submission, Magnifico pulls back on the Unique Youth’s neck with even more force! Zyon can feel the tendons in his neck being torn apart and his bones cracking as he reaches out as far as he can with his hand, mere centimeters from the ropes...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...before slapping the mat wildly, the pain overcoming his body and forcing him to submit. As the crestfallen audience immediately stops cheering, the ref pops to his feet and signals for the bell.

 

DING DING DING

 

“Your winner, by submission...” Funyon begins, “EL LUCHADOOOOOOOOORE MAGNIFICOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

The fans take the hint and begin booing noisily, easily drowning out the strains of Atake FDD’s “Tu Final”. Magnifico rolls off of Zyon and begins pushing himself to his feet. As he rises, the grin on his face grows larger and more frightening, Magnifico completely jubilant at having won the match. Magnifico reaches his feet and begins laughing out loud, clutching his hair as his howls ring out loud and clear from the center of the ring.

 

“Look how happy he is!” King joyfully announces. “Isn’t it great to see the Mexican overcome his problems and get a win?”

 

“Yeah, just fantastic.” Pete snaps. “Well, stick around, folks, ‘cause we’ve still got a fantastic main event for you. Toxxic and Scott Pretzler go at it in a submission match and their fourth contest of their best-of-five!”

 

The final image shown before commercial break is El Luchadore Magnifico, laughing hysterically in the middle of the ring as Zyon lays motionless below him...

[chirs3 0]

“Hey, Tom?”

 

Allison Onita slides into view as Tom Flesher shuffles through a pile of contracts, conspicuously sorting them into two piles. “Alli, I’m a little busy right now. Can it wait?” He takes a drag from a Camel, then taps it lightly into the ashtray in front of him. His suit jacket hangs on the back of his chair, his sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is messy.

 

“No… I don’t think it can.”

 

“Damn, girl,” he says, sounding tired. “You’ve just been insatiable lately.”

 

“It’s not that,” she says, sounding concerned. “I, uh, just got a phone call.”

 

“Was it Peters again?”

 

“No….”

 

“If Peters calls, you know to tell him to go to Hell, right?”

 

“Yes….”

 

Flesher looks over his shoulder, sensing something’s wrong. He sees Allison behind him, her face a mess of concern. “Alli, what’s eating you? Besides….”

 

“I’m not in the mood for joking right now, Tom. My mother just called… she was saying how wonderful it’s going to be… when….”

 

Flesher raises an eyebrow. “Is… she….?”

 

Allison nods. “She just got the ticket.”

 

“Just coming out to see the show?”

 

Onita shakes her head. “Peters paid for the ticket… she’s going to be… at the table.”

 

Flesher sighs.

 

“Damn it… I didn’t think I’d ever have to see that bitch again….”

 

Allison drops down and wraps her arms around Tom, who stands up and hugs her tightly. They embrace as the picture fades out.

[chirs3 0]

“Well folks, it’s that time again!” Longdogger Pete shills. “We’re live on Smarkdown from the Emerald Isle, and we have Toxxic vs. Scott Pretzler, Instalment IV lined up for you! Should Toxxic win this match then he wins the Best of Five Series 3-1...”

 

“…and we all know that’s not going to happen, so let’s get on with Scott Pretzler stretching the limey bastard,” Suicide King cuts in.

 

“You seem rather confident King, given that Toxxic’s submissions have scored victories over many well-known wrestlers,” Pete argues, “including Johnny Dangerous at Genesis V and former three-time World Champions Danny Williams and El Luchadore Magnifico.”

 

“I am confident,” King shoots back. “Pretzler has got this one in the bag, and not even Spike Jenkins can save Toxxic this time!”

 

“Oh please,” Pete snorts, “I don’t think Spike was trying to save Toxxic last Smarkdown!”

 

“You don’t think. Period.”

 

The bickering of the commentators is cut off as the cameras sweep down to the ring where Funyon stands, mic in hand. The veteran ring announcer raises it to his lips as the several thousand Irish fans start to pick up the noise…

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall and will be contested under Cruiserweight rules!” he booms. “Introducing first, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada; he weighs in tonight at 226lbs and is the reigning SWF Cruiserweight Champion; he is ‘The Critic’… SCOTT… PUH-RETZ-LEEERRRRRRR!!”

 

The stirring opening notes of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony ring out over the arena and prompt an immediate and reflexive round of booing from the crowd. With the Smarktron showing images first of Pretzler reading excerpts from his Workrate Report and then applying the Snowflake Clutch and executing the Tildebang on various unfortunate opponents, The Critic finally steps out from behind the curtain and raises his arms in an ironic salute of the crowd as the Cruiserweight Title sits snugly around his waist.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Ah, I see the Irish reputation for stupidity is well-deserved,” King remarks as the fans tell The Critic exactly what they think of him.

 

Borderline racism aside, the crowd are certainly getting on the case of Scott Pretzler as he takes his own sweet time in getting down the entrance ramp to the ring. With a smug smirk, Pretzler soaks in the derision and struts up the ring steps before stepping through the ropes and unfastening his title belt which he hands to the officiating referee, Brian Warner. Blissfully unconcerned by the boos of the crowd Pretzler begins a few pre-match stretches to loosen up, the possibility of losing the series 3-1 apparently not bothering him at all.

 

“Supremely confident,” Suicide King proclaims.

 

“Supremely arrogant,” Longdogger Pete argues.

 

“Scott Pretzler has a right to be arrogant,” the Gambling Man fires back, “because he is the best wrestler - with the possible exception of Jay Hawke - in this company today.”

 

Suddenly the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire rolls out through the PA system and the Smarktron first whites out, then begins to fade to black as jagged white letters start to flash up a familiar slogan, almost in response to the Suicide King’s last statement…

 

‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’

 

The Smarktron changes and begins to show notable highlights of Toxxic’s career as the spiky guitars start up; the Irish fans come to life and start making some noise, although it is a mixture of both cheers and boos for the notorious Englishman who is about to make his entrance. Finally the Smarktron changes again to show Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the-

 

*BOOOM!!*

 

-stagewide blast of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! The main riff thunders out of the speakers and for a moment all that can be seen is smoke and pyro after-image… but then a familiar spiky-haired shape explodes out and tears down the entrance ramp towards the ring!

 

“And his opponent, from Nottingham, England,” Funyon booms, “weighing in tonight at 218lbs; he is the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!”

 

Toxxic reaches the ring in only a few seconds, then slides under the bottom rope before popping upright in front of Pretzler. The Brit quickly rips off his ‘World Champion Tour 2004-05’ T-shirt and hurls it into the crowd, then without waiting for his signature pyro or any signal from Brian Warner he launches himself straight at Scott Pretzler!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“Foul! Foul!” King bellows. “He jumped him before the bell!”

 

“You tended to jump people with the bell,” Pete snaps, “so quit yer whining!”

 

Toxxic has barrelled into Pretzler and is already raining right hands onto the Critic as Pretzler is backed into the ropes, apparently too surprised or perhaps too cornered to employ any of his vaunted mat skills. Toxxic shifts the nature of his attack and drives a knee up into Pretzler’s midsection to blast the breath from his opponent’s lungs; now the Critic’s instincts kick in and he desperately grabs the limb, looking for a takedown, but Toxxic hammers both fists into the back of the Canadian’s neck and he lets go. The Straight-Edge Sensation then grabs his doubled-over opponent and hurls him out between the top and middle ropes to the floor!

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

This early offensive flurry seems to have got most of the crowd on Toxxic’s side, and the Brit backs off to see how quickly Pretzler will recover.

 

“He threw him over the top rope!” King yells. “Disqualify him!”

 

“King, I think your eyesight has been affected by all those nights alone with the SWF Divas Calendar,” Pete remarks. “In terms of match strategy however, Toxxic might be on the right track here; the 20 Count on the outside in Cruiserweight Rules means that he can exploit his brawling advantage even more than usual in an environment where Scott Pretzler is definitely not at home.”

 

‘ONE!’

 

Scott Pretzler rises to his feet, rubbing his head and his ribs as he looks around for Toxxic. The straight-edger is nowhere in sight… until, that is, he comes flying over the top rope with a Tope Con Hilo!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

‘ONE!’ Brian Warner bellows again from inside the ring.

 

The Irish crowd have exploded in delight once more as Toxxic crushes the Critic beneath him; the Straight-Edge Sensation responds by pushing himself back to his feet and flipping them a quick salute, then reaches down and grabs Scott Pretzler to pull his opponent to his feet as well. Pretzler stands up rather groggily and Toxxic takes hold of his wrist before Irish whipping the Canadian towards the guardrail… but Pretzler reverses the move and Toxxic is sent careering towards the steel instead! The agile straight-edger jumps up and balances on the top, sending Pretzler crashing to the deck as the Critic anticipates a Role Reversal. However, after a quick look over his shoulder Toxxic just hops down into the crowd and begins shaking hands with the vocal front row!

 

“TOXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

‘TWO!’

 

“Brown-nosing sycophantic asshole,” King growls, “I never trust anyone who shakes hands with a fan!”

 

Scott Pretzler has realised that the anticipated aerial assault has not materialised, so he pushes himself to his feet slightly shamefacedly and hurries towards where Toxxic has his back turned to him. The Critic reaches the guardrail and stretches over it, trying to catch hold of his opponent… and Toxxic whirls around, leaping into the air to catch Pretzler on the side of the head with a jumping gamengiri!

 

*CRACK!*

 

‘THREE!’

 

After slapping a few more hands, Toxxic evidently decides that it’s time to follow up on his stunned opponent. With Pretzler on his back and trying to shake off the cobwebs Toxxic simply jumps straight over the guardrail, landing with both feet on the Critic’s chest in a double stomp! Scott Pretzler gasps for air as Toxxic bounces off grinning and Brian Warner yells at the Straight-Edge Sensation to bring the match back into the ring…

 

‘FOUR!’

 

“I don’t get what Toxxic is trying to achieve here,” Suicide King complains as the Brit chooses to ignore Warner’s count and turns to pick Pretzler up again, “he can’t win the match on the outside; all he can do is get counted out!”

 

“He’s not trying to win the match outright on the floor,” Longdogger Pete explains, “but if he can rough Pretzler up enough in this environment then the Critic will become easy prey for a submission in the ring. Only a fool would want to trade wrestling holds with Scott Pretzler if he didn’t have to. ”

 

‘FIVE!’

 

“What happened to the noble art of grappling, one-on-one in a fair and sportsmanlike environment?” King demands.

 

“Well, you came along King. It’s sort of gone downhill since then.”

 

‘SIX!’

 

Toxxic has pulled the breathless Scott Pretzler back to his feet now, and first rams the Canadian’s head into the ring apron, then Irish whips him into the ring steps!

 

*CRRRAAAASSSSHHHHH!*

 

Pretzler flips right over and lands on the arena floor on the other side, and Toxxic follows up by jumping onto the top of the ring steps, then somersaulting off to land the Hangover across his opponent’s throat!

 

‘SEVEN!’

 

Rubbing his tailbone (even padded, those arena floors are hard you know) Toxxic gets back to his feet and then pulls Scott Pretzler up after him. The Critic seems dazed and confused, so Toxxic finally heeds referee Warner’s demands and rolls his opponent back into the ring under the bottom rope before following him. Unfortunately for the Straight-Edge Sensation the return to the ring seems to kickstart some of Pretzler instincts, and before the Brit can follow up on his advantage the Critic has lunged for him and clamped on a front facelock.

 

“BORRRRR-ING!”

 

“BORRRRR-ING!”

 

Scott Pretzler doesn’t bask in the derision of the crowd this time; instead, the Canadian is too busy hanging onto his hold and trying to clear his head, not to mention getting his breath back. Meanwhile Toxxic is struggling towards the ropes, but Pretzler suddenly rolls the other way and yanks his opponent away from the cables, not to mention giving Toxxic’s neck a nasty tweak in the process.

 

“What did I tell you?” Suicide King asks. “As soon as they’re actually in the ring, Scott Pretzler is on top.”

 

Toxxic is grabbing at Pretzler’s arm and trying to unlock the grip that’s clamping down on his neck. The Critic is fighting as hard as he can to hold on but Toxxic manages to prise Pretzler’s fingers off where they’re gripping his other arm, then takes the newly-vulnerable arm in both hands and tries to wrench it free. He’s only partially successful, but the Brit is able to squirm out of his opponent’s grip and roll sideways to come up with Scott Pretzler’s arm stretched out to one side. Pretzer yelps in pain but doesn’t wait for Toxxic to apply the Fujiwara armbar that is beckoning; instead he rolls forward on the mat to release the half-twist that Toxxic has applied, then brings his legs up and around to snare the Brit in a headscissors. The surprised Toxxic releases his hold on Pretzler’s arm and this allows the cocky Canadian to bring Toxxic down to the mat again.

 

“BORRRRRRR-ING!”

 

“BORRRRRRR-ING!”

 

Toxxic attempts to kip up out of Pretzler’s grip but the Critic has his legs firmly wrapped around the straight-edger’s head and the only result is a truncated spasm. Scott Pretzler smirks at his former leader’s failure, but Toxxic starts pushing with his arms and legs and manages to twist around so that Pretzler is on his front. In this position the straight-edger is better able to lever Pretzler’s legs apart, then hurriedly extricate his head. Once free Toxxic wastes no time in jumping forward and looking to apply a side headlock on his opponent but almost before the hold is locking in Scott Pretzler has brought his legs up again to look for another headscissors. Toxxic dodges that but Pretzler wraps his arms around his opponent’s waist and heaves to bring the Brit over onto his shoulders…

 

…which of course isn’t a pinning predicament in this match, but Toxxic instinctively kicks out and rolls away, freeing Scott Pretzler! Toxxic makes a lunge for his opponent the moment he realises his mistake but Pretzler is quick enough to catch him with a blast double-leg takedown that would have made Tom Flesher proud, then retains his grip on Toxxic’s lower limbs and begins trying to turn the Brit over. Toxxic fights it as best he can but within a few seconds Scott Pretzler has a Boston Crab applied, and the Canadian sits back with an air of pure smugness.

 

“CA-NUCK FUCK-WIT!”

 

“CA-NUCK FUCK-WIT!”

 

The Irish fans are getting less and less impressed with the man from Toronto and a new and highly offensive chant begins to fill the arena. Pretzler sniffs in derision at the coarseness of the Guinness-drinkers, while Toxxic’s main concern is making the ropes. Pretzler is doing his best to prevent Toxxic from escaping him but the Critic simply isn’t heavy enough to deny his opponent any movement, and the straight-edger is gradually inching towards safety. With a sigh, Pretzler stands up whilst keeping hold of Toxxic’s legs and drag his former leader back into the middle of the ring, then releases one leg and kneels down in the centre of Toxxic’s spine. Before the Straight-Edge Sensation can come up with a counter Pretzler reaches down to wrap a hand around his opponent’s chin, then rocks backwards and brings Toxxic up with a bow and arrow backbreaker.

 

“Impressive strategy,” King notes, “Toxxic can’t reach the ropes if he can’t touch the mat!”

 

“And in this submission match, Scott Pretzler doesn’t have to worry about his own shoulders accidentally being counted down,” Longdogger Pete agrees reluctantly. “But then, I’ve never argued that Scott Pretzler isn’t a good wrestler; just that he’s not a decent human being.”

 

“Ever heard the saying that ‘nice guys finish last’, Pete? Well you’re living proof, and you’re not even that nice.”

 

“Excuse me? I was Hardcore Champion!” the Longdogger protests angrily.

 

“So was Jimmy Liston.”

 

However, despite Scott Pretzler not having to worry about falling victim to a surprise count he does have to worry about holding on to his opponent, and it is this that is proving tricky. Toxxic is thrashing about like a mad thing, partially from pain and partially in an attempt to get free. Pretzler holds on for as long as he can but eventually even a technical master like the Critic has to release his hold, and he does so; however, Toxxic is in no condition to launch a counter-attack as the former World Champion is too busy nursing his back.

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

The chants of the fans don’t seem to be doing much good, and Pretzler fires a kick into Toxxic’s ribs before bending down and hauling the Brit back up to his feet. Before the man from Nottingham can begin much of a fightback Pretzler manages to thread Toxxic’s right arm through his own legs, then reaches forward to lock onto the straight-edger’s left and lifts the Brit from a pumphandle position, then dumps Toxxic down across one knee!

 

“You see, Dogger?” King asks in satisfaction as the pumphandle backbreaker hits home. “Scott Pretzler doesn’t rely on brawling on the outside or flashy and ultimately useless high-flying - just good, solid wrestling that targets a body part. In this case the back, to set up his feared Snowflake Clutch.”

 

The back of Toxxic certainly seems to have acquired a bullseye as far as the Critic is concerned; he drags Toxxic back up off the mat, then scoops the Straight-Edge Sensation up again and drops him with a pendulum backbreaker to inflict further damage on his opponent’s spine. This time Scott Pretzler dusts off his hands, prompting a further round of boos, then brings Toxxic back up to his feet and Irish whips the straight-edger into the turnbuckles. However, Toxxic manages to gain control of his momentum and jumps into the air, braces himself against the top rope with his hands and reaches back with his legs to ensnare the onrushing Pretzler in a headscissors. Toxxic then throws his body to one side and takes the Critic over before rolling back to his feet and launching himself into the air again to take the dizzied Canadian back down with a spinning heelkick!

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Now it’s Toxxic’s turn to grab Pretzler, and he instantly attempts his own Irish whip into the ropes. Pretzler reverses the momentum and ducks his head for a back body drop, but that’s never a good idea against Toxxic…

 

*CRUNCH-WHAM!

 

…and he first mashes Pretzler’s face into his knee, then completes the Sobering Thought by dropping backwards with a DDT and spiking the Canadian’s skull into the canvas!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Scott Pretzler seems to be stunned by this move and Toxxic staggers up to his feet holding his back, then points to the turnbuckles (raising another cheer from the Irish fans). The straight-edger climbs as quickly as possible to the top rope, then raises one black-nailed fist in the air and leaps off-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-to drive a flying fistdrop into Pretzler’s forehead!

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

The Critic spasms on the mat from the impact and Toxxic shakes his own hand out, but nevertheless gets back up and heads for the top rope once more. The straight-edger measures the distance, then goes flying out into the air again…

 

*WHAM!*

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Toxxic seems to get to his feet a little easier this time, the effects of Pretzler’s submission holds and backbreakers perhaps starting to wear off a little. He points to the turnbuckles again…

 

“ONE MORE!?”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

With the unanimous approval of the Irish fans Toxxic jogs over to the corner of the ring and begins to climb. Once at the zenith the Straight-Edge Sensation pauses to kiss his fist for luck, then coils his legs under him and leaps off…

 

…but Scott Pretzler, even with his head ringing, could hear Toxxic’s question and the crowd’s response. He knows what’s coming this time, so he moves.

 

*BANG!*

 

Toxxic drives his fist into the canvas rather than Scott Pretzler’s forehead and proceeds to swear violently as the pain in his hand is not offset by any damage done to his opponent. The mat really isn’t that much harder than Pretzler’s skull, but as Toxxic desperately shakes his hand out to try and rid himself of the pain the Critic is able to grab him from behind and hook him into an abdominal stretch!

 

“BOR-ING FUCK-WIT!”

 

“BOR-ING FUCK-WIT!”

 

Toxxic cries out in pain as Pretzler starts trying to bend him into an attractive pretzel shape, but the straight-edger continues to tell referee Brian Warner ‘no!’ when the official asks him if he wants to give it up. Undeterred, Pretzler continues to wrench away at his hold and even uses his right hand to fire a couple of punches into Toxxic’s ribs despite the referee’s admonishments. However, even this additional punishment isn’t enough to make Toxxic relinquish the match and after about a minute of having his opponent in the hold Scott Pretzler seems to be at risk of boring even himself. Accordingly the Canadian releases his hold and drags Toxxic up to his feet before the Brit can fight back, then hoists him up in a Fireman’s carry. Pretzler turns on the spot, letting the entire arena take in the spectacle, before shucking the Straight-Edge Sensation off his shoulders and dropping to one knee, letting Toxxic crash and burn with a dropping gutbuster!

 

“This is truly a beauteous thing to behold,” Suicide King says, smiling. “Scott Pretzler has weathered all Toxxic’s attempts at a comeback and has controlled this match through the use of crisp, clean wrestling. Tom will be proud!”

 

“Yes, very clean,” Longdogger Pete mutters as Pretzler ‘accidentally’ steps on Toxxic’s face and scrapes his bootheel across the straight-edger’s eyes. Brian Warner leaps in to admonish him and Pretzler immediately apologises for his clumsiness. “I’m not disagreeing about Flesher being proud, though…”

 

With Toxxic’s eyes watering, Scott Pretzler brings the straight-edger back up to his feet. The ribs and chest seem to be the Critic’s new target, and he draws back his right hand before-

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOO!”

 

Toxxic grimaces in pain and wraps both arms around his chest as he doubles over while Pretzler smirks… but then the Brit’s expression turns to one of furious anger, and he explodes upwards with a European uppercut!

 

*WHAM!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Pretzler staggers back, caught off-guard, but he doesn’t seem to know how to react except by retaliating…

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOO!”

 

Toxxic has to grit his teeth, but the Straight-Edge Sensation knows damn well that he’s not going to be beaten in a straight-up brawl by some poncey Canadian…

 

*WHAM!*

 

Pretzler staggers again, and this time doesn’t offer a comeback. Toxxic steps up to him again and-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-rattles the Canadian’s jaw for a third time, then reaches out and grabs Pretzler’s head in both hands before-

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

-delivering an almighty headbutt! Pretzler staggers back again and this time falls backwards as the crowd begins to find their voice again!

 

“LET’S GO TOXX-IC!”

 

“LET’S GO TOXX-IC!”

 

Toxxic shakes his own head to clear it, then points at the nearest turnbuckles before twirling his index fingers over his head backwards…

 

“Toxxic’s calling for the Inglorious,” Longdogger Pete shouts as the Straight-Edge Sensation begins to climb to deliver the Shooting Star Legdrop, “it’s not a submission move, but if he can do enough damage to Pretzler’s head and neck then something like the Repeat To Fade could give him an easy victory!”

 

Unfortunately for Toxxic, he seems to have underestimated Scott Pretzler’s resilience. The Canadian has already rolled onto his front as Toxxic is halfway up the turnbuckles, and when the Brit reaches the top -now perhaps preparing for a missile dropkick or similar- Pretzler suddenly lurches forward and collides with the ring ropes, causing Toxxic to land crotch-first on the top buckle!

 

“OOOOooohhhh…”

 

The Irish fans are understandably sympathetic at the straight-edger’s plight, but Scott Pretzler has no time to either wince or laugh. Instead the Critic, still slightly groggy, heads for the ringpost where Toxxic is currently so uncomfortably perched and begins to climb.

 

“Well, this is unusual!” Longdogger Pete exclaims as Scott Pretzler’s feet voluntarily leave the ground. “How many times have we seen Pretzler climb the turnbuckles in the last six months, King?”

 

“Once, maybe twice?” Suicide King replies. “It’s good to know he’s so confident about this match that he’s willing to try new things!”

 

Scott Pretzler has reached the second rope, where he pauses to deliver a right hand to Toxxic’s jaw to make sure the Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t try anything. Toxxic still seems concerned at the fate of his testicles but the punch doesn’t hurt Pretzler’s cause any, and now the Critic goes even higher as he places one foot on the top rope… then the second…

 

…the entire arena involuntarily holds its breath at this uncharacteristically daring display from the man from Toronto…

 

…and Scott Pretzler jumps up, wraps his legs around Toxxic’s head and snaps backwards to execute a picture-perfect hurricanrana from the top rope!

 

*WHAM!*

 

Toxxic lands hard on his back but the cameras focus on Scott Pretzler whose disbelieving grin quickly changes to a more usual smug one as he picks himself up. The Critic then grabs Toxxic and brings him up to a sitting position before placing a knee in his back and crossing the straight-edger’s arms in front of his chest…

 

“Snowflake Clutch coming up!” King crows.

 

…Toxxic has other ideas however as the Brit manages to bridge up, using Pretzler’s knee as a fulcrum despite the pain in his back, then before the startled Canadian can react he twists around and reverses the crossing of their arms as the two men come face-to-face! Toxxic then tugs Pretzler up to a standing position and pulls him into deliver another headbutt-

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

-before twisting around again so the two men end up back-to-back with Pretzler’s arms crossed over his own throat. Toxxic holds the position for a moment before dropping straight down to execute a goku-raku neckbreaker on the Critic!

 

“LET’S GO TOXX-IC!”

 

“LET’S GO TOXX-IC!”

 

Toxxic doesn’t release his grip upon landing, instead starting to roll over. However, Scott Pretzler knows very well what’s coming next and even through the pain in his neck he sprawls his legs as wide as possible to prevent himself from being turned onto his front.

 

“Toxxic’s looking for that inverted bridging goku-raku, a variation on Scott Pretzler’s Snowflake Clutch, but the Critic is blocking it!” Pete explains as Toxxic tries unsuccessfully to get Pretzler in position for the move.

 

“Which considering he helped Toxxic develop it, isn’t really surprising,” King points out. “Honestly, does Toxxic really think he can catch the master of the move with a cheap knock-off?”

 

With Scott Pretzler blocking him Toxxic seems to come to the same conclusion; he releases his grip and instantly turns over, then grabs a reverse headlock before Pretzler can roll away. With this new hold locked in Toxxic starts to try and bring his opponent up to a vertical base, and despite the Canadian’s attempts to throw him off the Straight-Edge Sensation begins to succeed in his endeavour. With Scott Pretzler now arched backwards and trapped in a Dragon Sleeper Toxxic tries to grab the Critic’s right wrist, but the man from Toronto is fighting him all the way…

 

“LET’S GO TOXX-IC!”

 

“LET’S GO TOXX-IC!”

 

“Toxxic is going for the Repeat To Fade!” Longdogger Pete shouts over the crowd noise. “If he locks this in…”

 

But Scott Pretzler has no intention of letting that happen as he manages to keep his right arm out of Toxxic’s grip. Frustrated, the Straight-Edge Sensation abruptly drops to one knee and drives the other into the back of Pretzler’s neck, then pops back up to a vertical base. However, instead of dropping all the way down to the mat with an inverted DDT to complete the Detoxx he instead twists around again, this time bringing Scott Pretzler into a ¾ headlock and setting off at a run for the nearest turnbuckles!

 

“INTOXXICATION!” Pete roars…

 

…but Scott Pretzler has his own ideas about that as well. With a desperate surge of energy the Critic pushes Toxxic forward faster, breaking the straight-edger’s grip and sending him stumbling chest-first into the buckles. As Toxxic rebounds Pretzler wraps his arms around his opponent’s waist from behind, then bridges backwards to deliver a German suplex…

 

*whump*

 

…but Toxxic flips through the move and lands on his feet! Scott Pretzler realises that something hasn’t gone according to plan and turns around as fast as he can, only to find Toxxic’s foot flashing towards his face in a superkick-

 

*whap*

 

-that the Critic catches! Pretzler throws Toxxic’s foot away and grabs another rear waistlock as the straight-edger spins, then as Toxxic reaches down to try and unlock his opponent’s hands Pretzler takes hold of Toxxic’s wrists and pulls the Brit’s arms into a crossed position before bridging backwards-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-and landing a straight-jacket suplex! However, despite the submission-only stipulation Scott Pretzler holds the bridge as Toxxic’s shoulders are both down on the mat for one, two, three seconds… before finally releasing it and allowing the Straight-Edge Sensation to slump sideways, clutching his neck!

 

“Well, I think that’s made a fairly good point,” Suicide King laughs, “not only did he land a German suplex variation after all, but in any normal match that move would have won it for Scott Pretzler and Toxxic could do nothing about it!”

 

Pretzler grabs Toxxic by his spiky hair -ignoring the admonishments of Brian Warner- and brings the straight-edger up to his feet, then grabs Toxxic’s wrist and Irish whips him towards the ropes. However, the Brit manages to reverse the move and then as Pretzler rebounds he launches himself feet-first at the Canadian’s shins in a soccer tackle!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Pretzler flips forward with a yell of pain, and Toxxic wastes no time in scrambling across the canvas towards his downed opponent where he proceeds to begin locking Pretzler’s right foot into the crook of his left knee, then traps it there with his own legs and starts to reach forwards…

 

“Toxxic’s going for the Regal Stretch now!” Longdogger Pete exclaims. “This has won him the World Title!”

 

…and Scott Pretzler knows it. He didn’t spend four months in the Revolution Zero dressing room without picking up on his stablemate’s favoured moves and holds, and how people have countered them in the past. Accordingly he lashes out backwards with his right elbow as Toxxic tries to hook in the ¾ nelson facelock part of the hold, trying to catch the Straight-Edge Sensation in the face and knock him off his back. For his part Toxxic tries to catch Pretzler’s arm and thread his own left arm underneath it to lock around the Critic’s head, but Pretzler just isn’t giving him the space or time he needs. Toxxic tries to change angles, looking to hook the left arm instead, but the shift in weight give Pretzler an idea and he rolls, ending up on top of the startled Toxxic. After a moment’s confusion Toxxic continues with his attempts to apply in the ¾ nelson facelock but Pretzler’s legs are no longer trapped, and the Canadian pushes off the mat to roll backwards over Toxxic’s body, ending up with a reverse headlock applied on his prone opponent!

 

“Come on Scott, you’ve got him!” Suicide King yells.

 

Toxxic tries to fight it, but Pretzler has his grip locked in and he manages to bring Toxxic up, then slowly turns the former World Champion over… and sits down in a back-mounted Dragon Clutch. A back-mounted Dragon Clutch that is positioned quite high up the spine…

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“That’s the Superior Stretch Beta!” Longdogger Pete shouts in astonishment. “This must be why Scott Pretzler was working the back and the ribs rather than the neck; he knew Toxxic could probably counter the Snowflake Clutch, so he was planning on using something different to get the win!”

 

Toxxic knows the back-mounted Dragon Sleeper, of course. Spike Jenkins used it all the way through their time together in Revolution Zero. Landon Maddix used it to score the first ever submission win over Toxxic in the SWF. Toxxic can counter this move… if he knows it’s coming. But Scott Pretzler has caught him off-guard, and with the ropes nowhere in reach Toxxic is left with two options. Fight it as long as he can, hope he can get to the ropes but run the risk of lasting damage resulting from the move… or tap out now, allow Pretzler to level the series and go into the last match with a body relatively free from nagging injuries. A year ago, it would have been no question at all and Toxxic would have fought until he could fight no more.

 

These days, he’s a little smarter.

 

*TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!*

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner to level the Best of Five Series at 2-2,” Funyon booms, “SCOTT… PUH-RETZ-LERRRRRRRRR!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The Irish fans are distinctly displeased at Pretzler’s win, but the Canadian is already raising his arms in victory. Meanwhile Toxxic is clutching his ribs, but the Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t look quite as distraught at his loss as might be expected.

 

“Well, Scott Pretzler has every reason to be proud of himself,” Longdogger Pete admits grudgingly, “because he is the first person to ever score two winning pinfalls or submissions over Toxxic in singles competition.”

 

“I tell you Dogger, this man is the future of wrestling,” King laughs, “but now what I want to know is; when is the final match going to be for Pretzler to finally defeat Toxxic for good? And what will the stipulation be, if any?”

 

‘When I was back in seminary school…’

 

“Don’t look now King, but I feel we might be about to find out!” Longdogger Pete says, unable to quite contain his excitement.

 

‘There was a person there who put forth the proposition

that you can petition the Lord with prayer.

 

Petition the Lord with prayer?

 

Petition the Lord with prayer?!

 

YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER!’

 

With that, Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” bursts out over the speakers, and to a loud reaction, Tom Flesher steps through a cloud of blue smoke and pyro and into the arena. Some fans cheer, and some boo; all of them, however, know that they’re about to see something important. As he walks to the ring, Flesher holds a glass of scotch in one hand; his Camel cigarettes are visible in the front pocket of his blue collared shirt as he takes his spot on the ramp.

 

“Well done, gentlemen,” Flesher says, taking a sip from his scotch, “although of course Scott deserves my praise rather more; an excellent choice of move to finish it, by the way.” Scott Pretzler inclines his head in acknowledgement and Flesher smirks. “I’d clap, but as you can see, ” the Superior One continues, indicating the scotch glass and a microphone, “I have a lot on my hands right now.”

 

In the ring, Toxxic pulls a face at Flesher’s appalling pun while Scott Pretzler merely smiles.

 

“Now then,” Flesher continues, “it is obvious to me that the Best of Five Series that I set up for you both has been drawn at two victories apiece, which to be honest suits me fine.” Another sip of scotch. “After all, it saves me having to find you opponents for Ground Zero. So, Scott Pretzler and Toxxic, you will be facing each other on the Pay-Per-View.”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“This leaves me with one important decision to make,” Flesher begins again as the cheer dies away, “and that is what stipulation to attach to the match. After all, since we’ve had Hardcore and Submission it would seem a little anti-climatic to go back to a regular singles match, don’t you think?” Without waiting for an answer, Flesher forges on. “If Peters were here he’d undoubtedly sign something like a Hell in a Cell, but thankfully for us all he’s not, and I am. Therefore, without any further ado I would like to announce that the stipulation for the final match in the Toxxic vs. Scott Pretzler Best of Five Series, to take place at Ground Zero will be…”

 

Tom Flesher swigs down the last of his scotch before beaming down at the two men in the ring.

 

“…a CANADIAN DEATHMATCH!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“A Canadian Deathmatch!?” Longdogger Pete repeats in disbelief as Flesher smiles at the response his words got from the crowd. “That’s going to be…”

 

“Brutal?” Suicide King finishes as Pretzler and Toxxic turn to look at each other. Neither man’s expression gives much away, but both have a look of determination.

 

“Now then gentlemen,” Tom Flesher adds, “I want to make it very clear what this match will not involve, and that’s any sort of spine-shattering innovation from either of you. Toxxic, we all know what lengths you’re prepared to go to in order to keep someone down for ten counts,” the Superior One says, pointing his scotch glass at the Straight-Edge Sensation. “However,” the Smarkdown Generalissimo continues, turning his attention to Scott Pretzler, “I haven’t forgotten that you broke Kaine’s neck in your first match, Scott. So I’d like to warn both of you that while the booking committee will take into account your desire to win the contest and the series, any action from either of you that we consider to be above and beyond the, shall we say, ‘Call of Duty’ will result in a very severe penalty. In fact, you’ll be lucky to wrestle anywhere in North America again, let alone the SWF.” Flesher takes one final sip of scotch to empty his glass, then raises it in salute to both men - a rather mocking one in the case of Toxxic.

 

“Toxxic, Scott… I’ll see you at Ground Zero. Try not to disappoint me.”

 

“Well fans, what an announcement!” Longdogger Pete says excitedly as the crowd roars while Flesher turns and disappears again. “What a card we have for Ground Zero! As well as Johnny Dangerous challenging Ejiro Fasaki, we now have Toxxic vs. Scott Pretzler in a Canadian Deathmatch! Join us this Sunday for GROUND ZERO~!”

 

 

 

FADE OUT

 

 

©2005 Smartmarks Wrestling Federation

‘Raising Workrate By Typing Faster’