SWF Lockdown, 11/16/06!

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Opening promo forthcoming.

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SWF
LOCKDOWN

Live, Thursday, November 16th, from the ARCO Arena in Sacramento, California!
(7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)




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THE MAIN EVENT - SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Michael Stephens ©©© and Landon Maddix © vs. The Predators (Jay Hawke and Nighthawk)
-> Michael Stephens will get a chance to meet his next World Title defense early, and Landon gets a chance to test a potential CFC opponent early as well! The Predators won Tag Title contendership a few weeks ago, but scheduling errors prevented the match from taking place until after A2A! Well, unless my calendar is a liar, it's after A2A! Could the events of this match foreshadow the results of these competitors' future battles?
Rules: Standard tag team match. Use the tag ropes, you whores!


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COLD FRONT CLASSIC - FIRST ROUND MATCH
"The Superior One" Tom Flesher (3) vs. Johnny Dangerous © (6)
-> The second match of the night with more history than you can shake a stick at! Really, I've tried! You cannot possibly shake a stick at all of the history here. After taking a bit of a post-Genesis Tumble, the CFC could be just what Tom Flesher needs to get back on track! But I think we all know there are few things the Barracuda would love more than to get his hands on the gold once again...
Rules: Standard singles match.


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COLD FRONT CLASSIC - FIRST ROUND MATCH
"Hollywood" Spike Jenkins (5) vs. "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu (4)
-> No history here, folks. Nosiree. Nothing to see. Move it along. Just two ordinary Joes duking it out to see who's the best! Certainly no animosity- oh who am I kidding. This would be brutal even if it wasn't a first round matchup in the CFC - a potential shot at the World Title will just make it worse. Worse for them, that is - better for us.
Rules: Standard singles match.


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Pure Rules Exhibition
JJ Johnson vs. Devin Benson
-> JJ Johnson's return at the Cold Front Classic Battle Royale was moderately successful. I mean, he won and all.

But still, Battle Royales and real matches are very different things - with his first round opponent tied up, JJ Johnson gets a chance to shake off the ring rust against a man who didn't make it to the top 8 but still managed to impress, Devin Benson!
Rules: Each competitor gets 3 ropebreaks. Once you run out, you're screwed. Closed fists to the face will result in the deduction of one rope break, or if you have no more, you will be disqualified. Outside count goes to 20.


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HARDCORE MATCH (non title)
"The Beast" Gabriel Drake vs. Jimmy the Doom ©
-> I imagine if we were to rank people on how they felt the Battle Royale turned out, Gabriel Drake would top the "Mad as hell" list. I'm not sure Jimmy even noticed, since he voluntarily eliminated himself! Such an arrogant display of apathy offends The Beast! At least, we're hoping it does. It would make much better television.
Rules: Hardcore. Or, if you'd prefer, Hradcore.


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CLASH OF THE COMEBACKS
Insane Luchador vs. Zyon
-> Two men missing from the Cold Front Classic, but not forgotten - the winner of this match will get something for their troubles. An NDA prevents me from disclosing what until the show airs. FEEL THE MYSTERY~
Rules: Standard singles match.

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SWF Lockdown returns to the ARCO Arena located in sunny Sacramento, California where the fans proceed to jump around, hoping they can be lucky enough to be seen on television. Since most people despise professional wrestling anyway, they would be luckier if they didn’t make it on to their best friend’s tube by mistake…which begs the question.

 

Why are you watching?

 

“I must admit, despite his lack of pleasantry, I am glad to hear JJ Johnson’s voice again in the SWF. His triumphant return last week in the Cold Front Classic Battle Royal was a sight to behold. However, the first contest of the night is between two warrior who were conspicuously left out of the Cold Front Classic.” The Franchise opens this segment of Lockdown with a minor recap.

 

“Conspicuous?” The King of Hearts questions, “Are you shitting me? Insane Luchador should stick to stabbing himself with nails and his opponent, the man that’s on the edge of breaking into the main event, should probably just retire now. If you ask me, Zyon’s more on the brink of getting fired, and he should be. The kid complains about not getting fair treatment and when Joseph Peters gives him another shot at the big time, he fucks it up…again. Face it, both of these attractions are failed experiments.”

 

“King, I disagree with you every account.” Mak responds unsurprisingly, “The Ill One has been a staple of the SWF for years…hell he even cheated death, like two times. And we all saw how Zyon got duped by Michael Stephens. While it was an intelligent maneuver on our World Champ’s part, you can’t help, but feel for the Unique Youth. I personally, can’t wait for this encounter.” The Franchise signs off.

 

And Funyon signs on, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the opening bout of tonight’s episode of SWF Lockdown is a standard singles match!”

 

“Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains thumps the ear drums of every individual in attendance tonight as a surge of red and black…yeah black, pyro goes off causing a blind excitement to rummage through the audience. Emerging through the smoke, energetically tossing his arms into the sky, our favorite psychopath takes part in the second Kodak moment of the night.

 

“First, hailing from Easton, Pennsylvania, and weighing in tonight at 223 lbs!! Your Psychotic Hero, INSANE LUCHADORRRRRRRRRR!!!!”

 

Funyon booms before quickly getting out of the way as the hyper psychopath sprints down to the ring, slapping fans’ hands on his way to the squared circle. Nervously, pacing around the ring with that unstable grin shadowing his face, the Ill One suddenly comes to a halt as the lights in the arena dim…and the smile grows.

 

I’M BORN…

 

I’M ALIVE…

 

I BREATHE…

 

Erupting to the distinct sound of “Vitamin” by Incubus, the Californians that pack the ARCO Arena bum rush the safety barrier, allowing the security to use “reasonable” force to compel the crowd into a retreat. Despite the securities scare tactics, the Sacramento species of wrestling fanatics continue to anticipate the Unique Youth’s arrival, and then the anticipation ends…

 

…And the man appears.

 

“And his opponent, hailing from Elkhart, Indiana, weighing in tonight at an even 200 lbs. He is the Unique Youth, ZYYYYYYON!!!”

 

Funyon shouts before leaving the ring as Zyon sprints down the ramp, smacking the hands of the frenzied audience, that scratches and claws their way back to their original seats.

 

“He came up short in the Main Event of Ashes to Ashes and was then left out of the Cold Front Classic extravaganza, Zyon has got to be a man on a mission tonight.”

 

“For once Mak, I agree with you. His mission is simple…don’t get fired. Of course, a victory tonight along with his recent teaming with equally worthless Akira Kaibatsu may not save him in the long run.”

 

As the announcers continue to treat this match the way it deserves to be treated since it is the opening bout, both Zyon and the Insane Luchador realize that opening bout or not, they can steal the show on any given night. Will tonight be one of those nights?

 

Fuck it, let’s find out.

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

The opening bell tolls, eliciting a deafening cheer from the packed ACRO Arena as the two competitors circle each other, waiting for the other to make the first move like any good tactician would do.

 

Too bad they both tactically suck.

 

Pivoting off their individual outside foot, both men charge at one another with fists held high. Hooking his right hand at the head of the Ill One, Zyon transitions the strike from a regular boxing punch to a slicing elbow that IL narrowly dodges with a simple lowering of his form! Noticing the opening in the youth’s midsection that just scream “hit me,” IL thrusts himself at his opponent, barrowing his shoulder into Zyon’s sternum. Retreating to a fallen state, gasping for breath, Zyon pushes himself back to his feet, only to be knocked backward with a straight left to the face! Shaking his head around, attempting to regain feeling in his face, Zyon circles away from the ropes giving himself more space to work with…

 

*CRACK!*

 

…However, what Zyon really should have planned was to distance himself away from the Insane Luchador, more specifically, IL’s right elbow that strikes him dead in the jaw. Ignoring the stinging sensation in his jaw, Zyon looks to retaliate with a sharp forearm that IL TAKES LIKE A CHAMP!!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“OHHHH! What a shot! The ultra tough Insane Luchador is forced to rub his face after that strike!” Mak calls the action, proving that IL didn’t really take the strike like a champ, but more like a human that just got hit in the face.

 

Latching on to IL’s right arm, Zyon stomps his foot, using his momentum to send the Ill One sprinting across the ring with an Irish whip. Rebounding off the ropes, IL regains control over his muscular function while in mid stride, tossing his foot toward the youth in the form of a Yakuza Kick! Luckily, the youth is able to react by throwing his hands up, palms facing outward, enabling him to snatch the former Hardcore Champion’s foot out of the sky! Shocking his opponent, IL sweeps his grounded boot off the canvas, punting the former Cruiserweight Champion in the side of the head with a brutal enziguri…complete with front flip back bump!!!!

 

“Now that I like! Not just because I adore any moment Zyon is suffering, but that kick to the side of the head had some mustard behind it…and you know I love me some mustard.”

 

“You know King, I heard Landon Maddix enjoys mustard as well.”

 

“That bastard. First Pepsi and now mustard. Ok, well at least he isn’t a fan of ketchup.”

 

“Ummm, King…”

 

“NOOOOOOOO!” Darth King shouts to the nether.

 

Back in the ring, Zyon has found his way back to his wobbly feet, vision blurring ever so slightly, with the static like sculpture of his opponent standing before him…with his fist pulled back.

 

*CRRBLOCK!*

 

Deflecting the meat of the strike away from his face, Zyon responds with a simple boot to IL’s sternum, doubling him over into a front face lock! Swinging the Ill One into the horizon, Zyon swiftly descends to the canvas, slamming the Insane Luchador with a speedy snap suplex! Floating over on to his opponent with a lateral press, Zyon watches as referee Ken Masters drops down for the count.

 

ONE…

 

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

It’s going to take a lot more than that to take the psychopath out, which Zyon is aware of as he quickly forces the hardcore menace to his feet by his wildly spiked hair. Driving his knee into the sternum of his foe, Zyon tosses his opponent across the ring with another Irish whip. Using the energy behind the Irish whip, IL leaps onto the middle rope, spring backward with a surprising no look springboard elbow that pierces Zyon in the chest…BULLSEYE!

 

“Brilliant counter by a man that I believe is a lot smarter than we give him credit for. He’s a lot more athletic as well.” The Franchise compliments the Insane Luchador on the fundamentals.

 

Using the near ropes to pull himself back to his feet, Zyon charges the hardcore oddity, foolishly falling into another fundamental maneuver brought to us by our Psychopathic Hero. The move in question, a simple yet embarrassing hip toss that grounds the youth once again!! Slapping the canvas furiously on his way back to his feet, Zyon aggressively lunges at his most recent nemesis, who is more than ready to topple the Unique Youth with ANOTHER upsetting hip toss!!!

 

“HA! This is fantastic! Zyon the supposed next great main eventer is getting absolutely schooled by a man who specializes in matches with light tubes.” The Gambling Man belittles the youth who is currently on the defensive.

 

Hurrying to his feet, albeit with a bit more caution that his previous ascension, Zyon grinds the bitterness between his teeth, while the emerald eyes of one Insane Luchador continue to stalk him. Arrogantly, the Unique Youth gathers himself, and much to the astonishment of his opponent, Zyon challenges the hardcore maniac to “bring it on” with a simple flick of his wrist. Something in the youth’s taunting gesture sets the Ill One off as he jets toward the flustered competitor with a decapitating lariat!!!

 

*SWISH!*

 

A decapitating lariat that slices the oxygen, but leaves the flesh intact. Pivoting to face his opponent’s back, Zyon applies a reverse waistlock on the Psychopathic Hero…only to catch a startling elbow to the face! Shaking away the cobwebs, Zyon suddenly loses his grip as the Ill One performs a crisp standing switch, wrapping the youth up in a waist lock of his own!! Hoisting Zyon into the air, IL looks to drive the youngster into the canvas back first with a high angle back drop, but the youth with momentum on his side, easily escapes with a flip, landing sloppily on his feet. Staggering backward away from his opponent, Zyon regains his center of gravity before bouncing off the ropes, and galloping toward his enemy. Turning to face the lightning bolt heading his way, the Insane Luchador reaches out for the young disaster, only to watch in horror as Zyon slides under the narrow split in IL’s current stance. Popping off the ground, Zyon immediately captures the Ill One in an inverted reverse face lock! Struggling with all his might to get free of this awkward choke, IL quickly realizes that his feet is no longer on the canvas…

 

…And that his back hurts…it hurts a lot!

 

“Nice! Lately, Zyon has performed a slew of innovative offense that has nothing to do with jumping off towering heights. The 3.0 back breaker would be one of those moves.” Mak is pleased to see Zyon using maneuvers that could keep him in the wrestling business for a few more years than his usual up-tempo attacks.

 

Clutching his back for a moment, the Insane Luchador is momentarily powerless to fight the youth off as he is forced back to his feet. Stunning the immobile cruiserweight with a series of relatively weak forearm shivers, Zyon leaps on to the nearest ropes, springing backward with an elbow of his own! Looking to embarrass the chump he’s in the ring with by using the mimicking technique, Zyon might just learn a few things.

 

One, and most importantly. Insane Luchador is not a chump.

 

And two…

 

…Applying a reverse waistlock on a competitor that is in mid air would be completely feasible, especially if the one in flight weighs a light 200 lbs. After snatching the bewildered youth from the skies, IL struggles to hold the youth in check, until he simply tosses him into the air with a reckless release German suplex! Everyone in the ARCO arena allows their eyes to follow the youth as he collapses to the mat!!!

 

“YEAAAAAHHHHH!”

 

Feet first that is! Spinning the wide eyed maniac around, Zyon scoops the surprised competitor into the air for what has to be the Aero Driver!!! Stealing a page from his Houdini like opponent, IL shimmers down the youth’s back as the pace of the match has most definitely picked up!!! Trapping the youth in another irritating waist lock, the Psychotic Hero wastes no time in hoisting the youth into the air, and releasing at the very peak of the apex with another attempt at the always deadly release German suplex.

 

*BANG!!!*

 

If you don’t believe those Greco throws are fatal, just ask the youth who landed DISTGUSTINGLY ON HIS NECK!!! Unfolding the crinkled cruiserweight, IL falls on top of the youth for the cover.

 

ONE!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

 

 

KICKOUT!!!

 

“Damn! I was sure the spot monkey was done for. I should know by now that unless it’s a main event caliber match that Zyon might have some slither of a chance. Otherwise, he’s in over his head.” The King denounces the claims made by some that Zyon could be the next great main event wrestler.

 

Hoisting the youth back to his feet, IL could be making the potentially lethal mistake as he chooses to size the youth up as opposes to sending the youth to hell with a blaze of high impact moves. Pivoting on his foot, IL spins around, tossing his fist out of his twister dance, looking to remove Zyon’s face with a beautiful spinning back fist! However, not only does the youth dodge the apocalyptic strike, but he is able to roll away from his opponent, and under the bottom rope. Returning to a calmer stance than that of his tornado like spinning, the Ill One’s eyes slowly rise into the sky, focusing on what looks to be a mysterious figure.

 

“YEAHHHHHH!”

 

The shadow is only mysterious to one man though and that will only be a mystery for about three more seconds.

 

Three…

 

Two…

 

One…

 

*BANG!*

 

Plunging his feet deep into the chest cavity of his ruthless opponent with an awesome springboard missile dropkick, Zyon hurries over to the fallen luchadore, covering him for the pin attempt.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWKICKOUT!!!

 

Refusing to remain a carcass (again) for another second, IL pops his shoulder off the canvas much to Zyon’s chagrin. Lifting the disoriented hardcore luchador back to his unsteady base and knocking him even more so off balance with a STIFF forearm strike! Declining his often brutal opponent the chance for redemption, Zyon easily dodges IL’s retaliating wild right hand before sending him on his way with a swift Irish whip. Leaping off the ground in timing with Insane Luchador’s arrival, the Unique Youth spins horizontally through the air, unleashing a wicked spinning wheel kick that downs the former Hardcore Champion!!!

 

*CRACK!!!*

 

Popping off the canvas and back to his feet, sporting a noticeable bruise across his face, IL desperately reaches for the momentous youth, who drives his opponent backward with a harsh knee to the sternum. Positioning the doubled over psycho’s head in the crevice of his knee, Zyon latches on to Insane Luchador’s near arm to set up the rolling neck breaker!

 

*BANG!!!*

 

“It seems the youth has taken full control of this match. At this rate it would seem as IL may not have prepared accordingly for what Zyon has thrown at him tonight.” The Franchise questions the Ill One’s strategy going into this encounter as Zyon goes for the cover.

 

ONE!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

 

KICKOUT!!!

 

“Mak, while I might agree with your assessment that IL has been outclassed so far, I’ll never admit that Zyon has this match won. Hell, I still think he’ll lose this thing. He already showed early on that if IL can somehow regain the advantage that the youth’s spirit will indeed be broken…along with his neck hopefully.” The Gambling Man recalls.

 

Exiting to the ring apron, Zyon impatiently stomps his feet, waiting for the injured Insane Luchador to reach a vertical base once again. The audience behind the youth claps their hands, pounds their laps, and just all around makes a cluster of noise as the dazed IL makes it back to his feet. Grinning…no, smirking from ear to ear, the Unique Youth returns to his nature as he springs off the top rope with the safety off, and his arm loaded…ready for annihilation! Bright white flashes surround the Superman Forearm as the youth swims through the air on his way down to the target known as the Psychotic Hero…

 

…And like any other hero, it’s imperative that even the brightest stars realize should realize that it’s not over until it’s over.

 

*BANGMAFUCKA!!!!*

 

As the dead on arrival Unique Youth falls out off the sky after having the Insane Luchador destroy him with a vicious MMA style flying knee to the chest, the crowd can’t help, but applaud Mr. Rickmen who was once though to not only be a corpse in life, but in this match as well.

 

“CLAP CLAP CLAP!!”

 

“SEE!!! See, I told you Mak! That careless fool would go to the well too many times, and the Insane Luchador is on his way back into this match.”

 

“On his way back. Christ, did you not see that knee to the chest? That folks was the intent to murder!!!” The Franchise freaks out as Zyon’s prone form smacks the canvas.

 

Wheezing, sweating, chewing on his tongue, and searching the earth with wondering eyes as his mind wonders what dimension he is apart of, Zyon tries his damnest to pull himself up, but that knee wasn’t just damaging. It was fucking critical! On a second attempt the youth not so triumphantly rises to the occasion, just in time to meet the emerald eyes of his opponent…

 

…Who just happens to be a psycho. Unsure on the way to take a psycho down, Zyon drags himself into battle, and back down into the canvas via another Insane Luchador hip toss. For some reason that will remain undetermined, the youth isn’t nearly as aggravated by this particular him toss. Along with a lack of aggravation comes a lack of oxygen as the reason that will remain undetermined, floats to the surface due to IL double stomping the youth’s wounded chest! Chaining a sudden splash with the deadly chest stomping, IL lies across his opponent, pinning his shoulders to the canvas.

 

ONE!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

THRKICKOUT!!!

 

“YEAHHHHHH!!”

 

Lifting the youth up by his sweat soaked hair, the schizophrenic competitor who may not have a psychological disorder and perhaps just not understand common logic. Kicking your opponent in the leg does not affect their chest in any way, shape, or form.

 

But DAMMMNNNN does it hurt. Loving the vibration in the youth’s quivering right leg, IL delivers another swift shot that nearly drops the youth to one knee. Boggling the minds of wrestling purists everywhere, IL deviates from both the chest and the right leg, attempting a knock out high roundhouse kick to the Unique Youth’s head.

 

*SWISHHHHHHH!*

 

Barely avoiding the spinning roundhouse, Zyon proceeds directly into a SPINNING BACK FIST FROM HELL that sends the youth crashing into the nearest rope!

 

*CRRRRRRACKKKKK!*

 

“He never saw that one coming!” Mak points out the obvious, “I bet that hurt…sooooo bad!”

 

Slowly, removing his disgruntled frame from the ropes, Zyon isn’t quite ready to see his life flash before his eyes, then again nobody is. Rather he wants to see the timeline or not, isn’t his decision to make, that title would go to Insane Luchador who lunges at and through the youth’s inadequate defense…

 

…AND HAMMERING HIS KNEE INTO THE UNGUARDED FACE OF THE YOUTH!!!

 

“KNEE YO FACE!!!” The ghetto side of the King of Hearts shines through at the perfect moment.

 

While Zyon could be unconscious, he is most definitely a lucky fellow. A murder, death, kill, KNEE YO FACE is deadly, but it would be much more fatal if the youth’s limp corpse remained in the ring where his fate would be sealed in three seconds as opposed to ten.

 

“Well that’s the end off that. All Insane Luchador has to do now is let Zyon get counted out…oh fuck.” The Gambling Man just realized who he is talking about.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

FIVE!

 

Zyon isn’t moving one bit, but the impatient fellow in the ring is…and let’s not forget. He’s a psycho.

 

SIX!

 

“BOOOOOOOO!”

 

SEVEN!

 

The audience continues to jeer the proceedings.

 

“YEAAAHHHHH!”

 

That is until the Insane Luchador’s more cannibalistic desires come to the forefront as he casually wonders past the confused ref, stopping the count.

 

“Ok, they are both dumb fucks!”

 

“And King you can’t be too bright yourself since you probably just earned yourself a beautiful fine.”

 

“…Fuck!”

 

Pulling the youth back to his feet, IL decides that it would be good to hook the Unique Youth up on a date with steel steps. Whispering to the barely conscious former Cruiserweight Champion to “pucker up” the former Hardcore Champion attempts to shove Zyon face first into the steel steps. However, the steps simply aren’t the youth’s type as he switches the roles, and sends the Ill One face first into the steel steps!

 

*CLANG!!!*

 

Rolling into the ring, while IL remains on his feet on the outside, Zyon begins to work through a strategy. Disregarding Zyon’s knack for strategizing, the Ill One hurries into the ring, and gives chase to the crafty youth, who runs up the nearest turnbuckle, preparing to put his body on the line again.

 

Actually, he needs no preparation. It’s not even a problem. He simply has NO REGARD for human life…and that includes his own. Of course, for the spectacular maneuver to take effect, the opponent has to at least stop sprinting, and that is something that IL refuses to do. Blinded by rage, the Ill One shoves the youth’s legs in opposite directions, which shifts his weight in a common direction…down.

 

“That was not a ginger landing.”

 

“Well Mak look on the bright side. That could save us from a possible spawn from that foolish kid.”

 

Clutching the lower regions of his form, before Zyon can regroup, he instead finds himself hanging upside down in the tree of woe. Striding to the opposite corner, IL takes a second to hesitate, letting the youth imagine the pain that is coming his way…

 

…And that makes it IL’s duty to multiply that pain ten fold. Sprinting toward the upside down victim, the Insane Luchador baseball slides into his customizes home plate!

 

*CLING!*

 

Too bad, Zyon doesn’t find amusement in the American pastime. Lifting himself back to the top rope, narrowly dodging the low dropkick to the face, Zyon pulls himself to a standing position on the top rope. Below the sky, IL crawls out from under the ropes, thankful the soles of his feet smacked the unforgiving post. Scanning the horizon for the youth, he notices the same mysterious figure descending on to his with a familiar corkscrew moonsault!

 

*CRASH!*

 

Devastating the mat below him, Zyon clutches his back as the Insane Luchador proves to be different from the norm.

 

Yeah he’s psycho.

 

Yeah he could be a legitimate zombie.

 

But the more important fact is that unlike many others before him, Andrew Rickmen wasn’t even a tad bit impressed by the youth’s suicidal nature. Hell he scoffed at it, right before he moved out of the way of danger! The inhabitants of the ARCO arena continue to sit on the edge of their seat, unsure who will leave this match the victor. Leaping over the youth, IL reaches into his cruiserweight heritage, springing off the middle rope, and changing direction in mid air to crush the youth’s windpipe with a guillotine leg drop followed by the cover!

 

ONE!

 

 

TWOOOO!!!

 

 

 

 

 

THRKICKOUT!!!

 

Yanking at his already spiked hair, IL isn’t transferring back to his overly psychotic self. If anything he’s being human. He’s irritated. Hoisting the youth back to his feet, IL pulls the young one into a starling front face lock, and with a quick lift, looks to jam the youth into the perspirated canvas with an Implant DDT! Outstretching his arms, the youth pushes off, breaking free of IL’s relatively weak grip. Noticing the youth’s unbalance position, the Ill One nervously leaves his feet once more for a quick hurricarana!

 

And one power bomb later, you’d realize why he would be nervous. Fatigue weighing the youth’s hopes down, Zyon exits to the outside, and ascends the top rope.

 

“YEEEEAAAHHHH!”

 

With the Earth around him spinning, IL can hear the familiar cheer, and by rolling his eyes upward, he can see the familiar finisher that has racked up quite the kill count…

 

FINNNNNAAAAALLLLLL FLASSSSHHHHHH!

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

All flash, but on this night, it lacks substance.

 

*CRACKKKK!*

 

Literally bouncing off his opponent’s knees, Zyon clutches his back as he somehow manages to stand back up. Leaping on to the youth’s shoulders, hoping to catch the former Cruiserweight Champion off guard with a victory roll. Avoiding the roll by ducking his head, Zyon shoves the Insane Luchador safely to his feet. Twisting to meet the youth face to face, IL Irish whips the tired youth across the ring, looking to add perpetual insult to a pending death; IL tosses the youth to the side with a hip toss!!

 

All substance, lacks impact.

 

Flipping through the air, mimicking the luchador by landing safely on his feet, Zyon immediately reaches backward…

 

…And you can forget about the substance…this shit is going to end in a flash.

 

BIG SHOT!

 

“WHOOO! Zyon just hit his uber dangerous cutter, and the Insane Luchador never saw it coming.”

 

“One damn hip toss too many. It was no longer cute…c’mon kickout damn you!”

 

ONE!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

THREEE!!!!!

 

DING DING DING!

 

“The winner by pinfall, the UNIQUE YOUTH, ZYYYYYOOOONNNN!”

 

Funyon hollers through the blasting music of “Vitamin” by Incubus as a wounded Zyon rolls out of the ring, thanking the wrestling gods for that opening.

 

“What an opening bout. Big win for the youth after losing the Elimination Chamber in what claim to be a screw job. And not a bad showing for the hardcore icon, Insane Luchador. Both stars brought it tonight. And it was the will to not longer be embarrassed that overcame the intention to embarrass the individual.”

 

“Mak…the kid got lucky. That’s it. None of that other noise made any sense. My god I miss Pete.”

 

The rival announcers continue to bicker as the youth still hurting from his loss at Ashes 2 Ashes wonders back up the ramp. Slapping the hands of his fans and even through the pain can flash that innocent grin that just tells you, that everything will be alright in the end.

 

FADE

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“I’m Ben Hardy,” says Ben Hardy, backstage, “and I’m backstage with the number-three seed in the Cold Front Classic and the brains behind the brawn, Tom Flesher and James Matheson!” Sure enough, Flesher and Matheson are standing beside Hardy, leaving the interviewer with a perfect four-for-four record thus far. “James, what’s the plan for tonight?”

 

Never mind.

 

“Cheese and rice, Hardy,” screams Matheson, his blood pressure rising to three or four times its normal level as he begins the interview, “what the heck are you thinking, asking a question like that? Why would you come out here and expect a man as brilliant, as talented as Tom Flesher, a ring general like Tom Flesher, the sort of man who’s come out here night after night and put his body on the line, the kind of guy who goes home every night and makes sure your wife and your daughter are satisfied, a person who’s willing to disjoint his opponents just to make the rubes happy, why would you want him to give away his strategy? That’s just stupid on a bunch of different levels, Ben!”

 

Hardy sputters, “Well, I, uh...”

 

“I mean, first, it’s a security risk. Don’t you remember when Geraldo gave away the position of the unit he was embedded with? Didn’t you learn anything about that? Tom Flesher’s job is to protect himself, and you’re trying to set it up so any legitimate contender, or Johnny Dangerous, he could come out and stop everything Tom’s planned on doing! Don’t you read any of the darn ethics bulletins?!”

 

“But I...”

 

“Now are you gonna try to conduct this interview like you know what you’re doing, or do I have to pretend I got the same Cs at journalism school you did and ask the stupid questions myself?”

 

“Well,” Hardy mumbles, clearly trying to recoup from the verbal whipping Matheson has given him, “I’m only asking because Johnny Dangerous has won all of their recent meetings...”

 

Matheson slaps his forehead in disbelief. “Good lord thundering blue, Ben, have you been listening to a word I said? Who the heck do you think you are, Sacha Barton Cohen, trying to come out here and get me angry like Andy Rooney on the Ali G show? What on earth do you think you’re doing? What numbnut in the SWF head office keeps you on the payroll when there are perfectly qualified people like Emma Dumas or Joe Peters’ third cousin who just flunked out of the GED class who could come in here and take your job and do it better every time?”

 

“I really don’t think...”

 

“Clearly,” says Tom Flesher, stepping to the forefront as Matheson takes a deep breath and begins counting backwards from 10. “You know, Ben,” says Tom, visibly calmer than his manager, “the past couple of months, since I faced Michael Stephens at Genesis, haven’t been the best or most productive time I’ve spent in the SWF. But you know what? The number-three finish in the Cold Front Classic Battle Royal showed something, Benny. I’ve never been a battle royal wrestler, but I lasted to the very end there. I’ve been training since my loss to Jay Hawke, because as good as Hawke is, he’s not the sort of guy who can beat me. My suplexes are quicker, my submissions are tougher, and my Yakuza kick is like being hit by...” Flesher pauses, unable to come up with a good analogy.

 

“A truck?” offers Hardy helpfully.

 

“It’s not a truck,” snaps Matheson. “It’s a series of tubes!”

 

“Exactly,” says Flesher. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a match to prep for.”

[chirs3 0]

Jimmy-Drake forthcoming.

[chirs3 0]

JJ vs. Benson forthcoming. Blame LDP.

[chirs3 0]

SWF Lockdown returns live to the ARCO Arena in Sacramento, California! The crowd comes alive as the television cameras light up.

 

“Welcome back, live, to SWF Lockdown!” shouts the Franchise. “We have had an eventful night so far, but we are about to pick up the action!”

 

“If you mean that we are starting the Cold Front Classic tournament by saying that we are about to ‘pick up the action’, then yes, the action will be brought up!”

 

“I’m so confused.”

 

“You’re also in a wheel chair!”

 

“The Suicide King, folks,” Francis mockingly applauds. “He’ll be here all week.”

 

“I need a drink of the alcoholic kind.”

 

“Anyway, lets go to the ring!”

 

Funyon stands in the middle of the ring, microphone in hand as he prepares his introductions.

 

“The following contest is a first round match in the Cold Front Classic Tournament! First, making his way to the ring…”

 

“Protect Ya Neck” by the Wu-Tang Clan hits and “The Divine Wind” Akira Kaibatsu strolls through the curtains, onto the stage.

 

“From Sendai, Japan,” bellows Funyon. “Weighing in at one hundred-ninety five pounds; he is ‘THE DIVINE WIND’ AKIRAAAAAAAAA KAAAAAIBATSUUUUUUU!”

 

Akira charges down to the ring and slides in under the bottom rope. Jumping to his feet, he poses for the crowd.

 

“AND HIS OPPONENT!”

 

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

 

 

And then *BAM*

 

The heavy drumming of Norma Jean’s “Creating Something Out of Nothing, Only to Destroy It” blasts through the arena as the lyrics pierce the ears of everyone listening.

 

“Like bringing a knife to a gun fight…

 

Like Bringing A Knife To A Gun Fight…

 

 

LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT!”

 

Bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. As the growls hit the crowd, Spike walks out wearing a black “POSH” hoodie, the hood covering most of his face. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X”, symbolizing his Straight Edge life style. Spike rises to his feet and begins to make his way down the isle towards the ring.

 

“Making his way to the ring,” begins Funyon. “Weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Twenty-five pounds…hailing from Hollywood, California and representing the Kingdom of Cambodia…he is “HOLLYWOOD” SPIIIIIIIIIIIKE JEEEEEEEEEEENKINSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!”

 

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 rises to one knee and resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. He puts his arms together, forming an “X” across his chest, again promoting his Straight Edge life style.

 

“A rematch from this years Genesis where Spike Jenkins not only defeated Akira Kaibatsu by reversing a top rope hurricanrana into a powerbomb…but humiliating Akira’s father and family name!”

 

“Yeah…that was a funny couple of weeks.”

 

“Jackass.”

 

The referee checks with both men and when satisfied, calls for the bell.

 

*Ding Ding Ding*

 

“The first match of round one of the Cold Front Classic has officially gone underway!”

 

“Yippie?”

 

Jenkins and Akira both enter the center of the ring, ready for combat. Akira immediately charges at his rival…but Jenkins drops down with a go behind and grab a waist lock. Akira tries to shake Spike off, but the bigger cruiserweight is able to pull Kaibatsu into a side headlock and then roll over into a cravate!

 

"Oh God…here come the cravats," moans King.

 

"How are you not use to this yet, King?”

 

“How come you still can’t walk?”

 

“I’m paralyzed.”

 

“So am I…of cravats!”

 

Spike wrenches at the neck, twisting the spine of the Divine Wind. Akira yelps in pain, but is quick to attack. He places his foot on the back of Spike's knee, bringing the Hollywood Superstar down to one knee. Akira glides his body over the back of Jenkins, forcing Spike to break the cravate and allowing Akira to grab a front face lock! Spike rolls through to his side, bringing Akira down to the mat chest first and grabbing his arm for an armbar! Akira climbs up to his feet, not giving Jenkins a moment to use. He drops down, bringing Jenkins over with an arm drag! Pulling himself up to one knee, Akira holds onto Spike's arm for an armbar of his own! Spike grabs at his arm, but isn't able to break free. He rolls backwards onto his feet, reversing the armbar into one of his own and dragging Akira down to the mat with his own arm drag! Both men immediately get to their feet and stare off, getting the approval from the crowd inside the ARCO Arena around them!

 

"And a stare off between the two enemies," remarks Francis. "Akira Kaibatsu has a lot going into this match. Not only a shot at the World Title and advancing in the Cold Front Classic, but also to gain a measure of revenge against the man that defeated him at Genesis and disgraced his family name!"

 

Jenkins backs up into a corner, displeased that he let the youngster get some shots in on him, but keeps his cool. Akira seems more excited then usual, obviously revenge is one of his intentions going into this match. Both men circle the ring and enter the center. Spike shoots low once again with the go behind, and grabbing a waist lock. Akira struggles to break free, but realizes he is at the disadvantage in the strength department and instead opts to drop down, bringing Spike over onto his back with a takedown. Akira puts all his weight down on Spike's arm and locking it in an armbar. Akira climbs up to his feet, pulling Spike up with him. Akira wrenches on the arm, twisting Spike's shoulder into the wrong direction. Spike kneels over, patting at his arm to try and fight it off, but Akira has a firm grip. Spike, a master of chain wrestling and a true veteran inside the ring, knows he can counter this move into another maneuver…but instead just opts for…

 

 

 

*SMACK*

 

 

 

…Smacks Akira across the face!

 

"YEE-OUCH!"

 

Stunned from the strike, Akira doubles over clutching his face. Spike takes the opportunity to drive his forearm into the back of the neck of the Divine Wind! The force of the blow knocks Akira down to one knee, but Spike pulls him back up for a second forearm to the back of the neck! Akira pushes himself away from his attacker, trying to work through the pain. Jenkins proceeds to follow Akira, not wanting to let the damaged cruiserweight get away, but Akira shoots up to a full stance and…

 

 

 

*CHOP* [

 

 

"WOOOOOOO!"

 

 

…Knife-edge chops Spike! Spike stumbles back, but goes to return with a chop of his own, that Akira waits for…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but instead grabs Akira around the neck with a cravate!

 

"Spike seems to enjoy boring us to death with this move!"

 

"It looks to me like Spike's strategy is to upset the youngster to take him off his game," notes Mak.

 

Spike drops down to one knee, adding more pressure to the back of Akira's neck with the cravate. The youth begins to get frustrated, as he drives an elbow into the sternum of Jenkins. Spike rises to his feet, giving Akira the opportunity to go lower with his strikes, driving an elbow into the gut. Once again, using the same strategy as before, Akira drops down to the mat, throwing Spike forward out of the cravate with an arm drag! Spike rolls onto his feet and quickly turns around…

 

 

 

 

 

*CHOP*

 

 

 

…To receive a knife-edge chop by Akira! Jenkins falls to the mat and quickly crawls off into a corner. He gets to his feet, doubled over and still holding his chest, ducking in between the middle and top rope to keep Kaibatsu away from him!

 

"Big chop by Akira!"

 

Akira follows Spike into the corner, pulling him out from in between the ropes and pushing him up against the turnbuckles. Akira leans back and crushes Spikes jaw in with a solid left jab! Akira pulls back; ready to continue his strike…when Spike rakes him across the eyes! Akira stumbles out of the corner, doubled over as Spike charges out, grabbing Akira by the neck and slamming him into the mat with a swinging neckbreaker! Akira clutches the back of his head as Spike covers him with a lateral press and hooks the leg. Referee Harry turns around and drops down to make the count.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

TH---No! Akira kicks out!

 

"Jenkins raking the eyes and almost scoring the win!”

 

Spike stands on his knees, allowing Akira to roll over onto his stomach, still holding onto the back of his head. Spike lifts both of his arms into the air and begins clubbing at the back of the neck of Akira, keeping the smaller cruiserweight on the mat!

 

"Spike with those clubbing forearms to the back of the head, really trying to wear down the neck!"

 

"Well, King. One of Akira's strong points is his speed, so keeping him grounded and using the cravate to frustrate him only gives Spike the advantage."

 

Spike grabs the back of Akira's head and pulls him up to his feet. Locking his arms around the neck for another cravate, Spike pulls him over with a snapmare. With Kaibatsu sitting prone in the middle of the ring, Spike drives his elbow into the neck of his opponent, sending a sting straight down his spinal cord! Spike stands up and quickly drops the elbow back into the neck again, causing Akira to roll over onto his stomach and shout in pain. He climbs up to his feet, reaches down and pulls Akira up, as well. He grabs a front face lock, turns his and Akira's body around and drops to the mat with a neckbreaker! Kaibatsu spasms as Jenkins floats over for the cover!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR---No! Akira gets a shoulder up! Spike jumps to his knees and figuratively down the referee's throat as he slaps his hands together fast, saying that it was a three count.

 

"Spike Jenkins desperately trying to put away Akira," says Francis. "He continues to target the neck which has drastically slowed down Akira!"

 

Spike climbs up to his feet, confidentially walks back into the ropes, bounces off, leaps up, and drives his knee into the throat of Kaibatsu! Akira begins coughing as he tries to roll away, but Jenkins pulls him back and gets the lateral press!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

THR---NO! Akira kicks out!

 

"Spike is throwing out everything he has against the youngster!"

 

Spike stands on his knees, catching his breathe from the punishment he has been dealing out. Slowly rising to his feet, he grabs Akira by the back of the head and lifts him off the mat. But as Akira peels off the ground, he grabs his second wind and elbows Jenkins square in the gut! Jenkins stumbles back and receives a second elbow to the gut! Akira, now free from the clutches of Spike, charges into the ropes. He bounces off and comes full speed towards Spike, ready to get some revenge on his opponent…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…when he gets caught right in the jaw with a back elbow! Akira fumbles back, doubled over and holding his jaw. Spike stands straight up; staring straight into the camera with his back turned from Akira, and pulls his elbow pad off, throwing it to the side.

 

"Spike Jenkins is going to go for the lariat!" shouts King, "If he hits this on the already injured neck of Akira, it'll be the end of the match!"

 

Spike shoots off into the ropes, bouncing into them as hard as he can to get the most amount of momentum behind him. He blasts off, charging at Akira with full speed…

 

 

 

 

 

…His arm extended out…

 

 

 

 

 

 

…Ready to take Akira's head off…

 

 

 

 

 

 

………

 

 

 

 

 

 

*SMACK*

 

 

 

 

 

 

…But Spike doesn't get a chance to hit the lariat, as Akira bursts forward with a quick-as-lightning roundhouse kick to the gut, that echoes throughout the ARCO Arena!

 

"WHAT A KICK!" shouts Mak.

 

Jenkins doubles over, coughing as he tries to get oxygen back into his lungs. Akira now has his back to Jenkins, points into the crowd and up into the air, posing for the California fans!

 

"AKIRA! AKIRA! AKIRA!"

 

 

Ready to take off into the ropes, Akira gets ready to sprint…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…only to be knocked to the ground by a HEY-YOU-DON'T-YOU-GOD-DAMN-TURN-YOUR-BACK-ON-ME-LARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIATTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-TO-THE-BACK-OF-THE-NECK!!!!!

 

"LARIAT! "

 

Akira crumples to the mat, following behind by Jenkins. Both men lie on the mat, exhausted from the battle with the other. The referee checks on both competitors, realizing what he has to do.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

 

"The referee is going to count both men out!" cries Francis.

 

"And disqualify both men? And send the crowd home in an uproar? I'm all for it!" laughs King.

 

FIVE!

 

 

 

SIX!

 

 

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

"AKIRA! AKIRA! AKIRA!"

 

Spike is the first of the two men to show movement, as he pushes himself up and crawls over to Akira, placing his arm over his opponents chest!

 

 

"It's all over after that lariat!"

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE---NO! AKIRA GETS A SHOULDER UP! AND THE CROWD GOES NUTS!

 

"AKIRA! AKIRA! AKIRA!"

 

"Akira kicked out of the lariat to the back of the neck!" says Mak.

 

Spike rolls off of Akira, still having trouble breathing after the massive kick to the gut. Kaibatsu also rolls over, holding the back of his head as he turns onto his stomach and lifts himself up onto his hands and knees. Spike, seeing the perfect opportunity to continue with his strategy, crawls over to Akira once again, this time, locking his hands around the neck for another cravate!

 

"Again with the cravats?" The Suicide King asks.

 

Spike wrenches at the neck, continually twisting it into shambles. Akira fights up to his feet, with Spike following right behind him, refusing to let go of the hold. Akira pulls back and slams his elbow into the gut of Jenkins once again! Spike, still feeling the effects of the kick to the gut before, releases the hold and doubles over. Both men exhausted, Akira is the first to move as he grabs Spike by the wrist and Irish whips him across the ring into the ropes. Spike hits the ropes and bounces back…into a dropkick! Spike crashes to the mat, as does Akira. Spike immediately rolls over to the ropes, holding his jaw. Akira uses his arms to push himself up and both men begin to climb to their feet!

 

"Both men are up to their feet," cries Mak, "It looks like we are about to have a face off!"

 

Both Akira and Spike make it to their feet at the same time. Spike, still dazed off the dropkick, doesn't want to lose his advantage in the match. He charges at Akira, ready to strike…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…But Akira grabs him by the arm and brings him back down to the mat with a Fujiwara Armbar!

 

"Fujiwara Armbar!"

 

"Desperation submission move by the young Japanese superstar!” notes Mak.

 

Spike hits the mat with a thud, as Akira attacks the arm like a wounded animal. Tearing back at the shoulder, Jenkins screams in pain as he tries to move himself over towards the ropes. The referee jumps into position, asking Spike if he gives up! Spike just yells out in pain, using his free arm to rotate his body over towards the ropes!

 

"Akira is trying to rip Spike's arm off!" shouts Mak.

 

"Then use it to smack Spike around, ha!"

 

Akira keeps pulling back on it, literally trying to rip it off. Spike rotates his body towards the ropes…reaches back with both of his feet…

 

 

 

 

 

…and gets a foot on the bottom rope! The referee calls for Akira to break the hold, who immediately does. He smacks the mat in frustration, as Spike rolls towards the ropes and onto the ring apron.

 

"Akira almost got the submission with the fujiwara armbar! Spike Jenkins just barely got to the ropes!"

 

Akira struggles up to his feet, but lets loose a war cry as he catches his third wind of the match. He is the Divine Wind, after all. Akira walks over towards where Spike is laying on the apron, pulls him back into the ring and lifts him up to his feet. Jenkins holds onto his now damaged shoulder as Akira backs him up into the ropes, grabbing him by the wrist of the bad arm and Irish whipping him across the ring…except Spike stops in mid-motion, holding onto the hand of Kaibatsu. Before Akira can do anything, Spike pulls him into a knee to the gut. Using his left arm, (the arm that wasn't locked in the fujiwara armbar) he grabs Akira in a front face lock and drops backwards, driving Akira head first into the mat with a DDT! Akira's body ricochets off the mat and he lands in a heap. Spike quickly turns over, still holding his shoulder, but covers Kaibatsu to the mat!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRE---NO! AKIRA GETS A SHOULDER UP!

 

"Akira kicks out of the DDT! The youngster is all heart, let me tell you!"

 

"Yeah, but soon enough, he'll be all heart with no neck."

 

Spike rises to his knees, grimacing as he holds his right shoulder. He grabs Akira by the back of the head and lifts him into a sitting position. Grabbing Akira's right wrist with his left hand and the left wrist with his right hand, Spike forms an X over Akira's throat with his own arms and pulls back, trying to choke out the Divine Wind!

 

"A Japanese stranglehold on the Japanese sensation!”

 

"He has the Japanese kid in a Japanese stranglehold? How ironic?"

 

Spike pulls back on the stranglehold, but Akira isn't just going to sit there and take it. After a few seconds of suffering in the hold, Akira pulls his left arm away from Spike's weaker right arm. To make up for the loss of one arm, Spike uses both of his to choke Akira with his right arm. Having his left arm free gives Kaibatsu the ability to push himself up to his feet, which Spike follows right behind, not letting go of the half Japanese stranglehold. Now on his own two feet and having more balance than a graceful cat, Akira slips under his own arm and breaks away from the hold. Still holding onto the right wrist, Spike tries to not let Akira follow up. He pulls Kaibatsu towards him, looking for a clothesline…but Akira ducks underneath! As he ducks underneath of Jenkins, he is able to free his captured hand and is now in the motion of charging towards the ropes. He leaps up, jumping onto the middle rope and springboarding back…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…just as Jenkins turns around…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and connects with a springboard gamenguri!!!

 

"A springboard gamenguri! A kick to the face of Jenkins! Akira might be able to pull the upset off and advance in the tournament!"

 

Jenkins crashed to the mat, dazed from the kick to the head. Akira lands on the mat, grabs at his neck, but doesn't want to miss the opportunity and quickly crawls over and covers Spike!

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE---NO! SPIKE GETS A SHOULDER UP! Spike pushes Akira off of him and quickly rolls over onto his stomach. Akira rolls over onto his stomach and pushes himself up to his feet, feeling the energy of the crowd flow through him.

 

"AKIRA! AKIRA! AKIRA!"

 

"The crowd is clearly behind Akira Kaibatsu!"

 

Akira gets to his feet, balling his hands up into fists and waving them around. Spike Jenkins climbs to his feet as well, still clutching his face. Akira moves in on Jenkins…

 

 

*CRACK*

 

 

*CRACK*

 

 

 

 

 

*CRACK*

 

 

…and connects with three forearm shots to the face~! Spike stumbles back as Akira backs up a foot, slapping his elbow as he spins around, looking to connect with Spike's jaw with a roaring elbow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…But as he spins around, Spike steps forward and grabs another cravate!

 

" He stopped Akira dead in his tracks with ANOTHER cravate," laughs King.

 

But Akira has had enough of the cravats. He grabs Spike's right arm and with all his strength, breaks the cravate!

 

"Akira broke the cravate by going after Spike's weak arm! That must be why he went for the arm! He realized Spike's strategy and is trying to stop him from using it!"

 

Akira spins out of Spike's grasp and to his opponent's side. He grabs Spike's left arm and hooks Spike up for a Russian Legsweep…but instead, rolls forward! He pulls Spike forward to the mat, locking both of his legs around Spike's left leg! Spike turns over onto his stomach, not sure of where to go as he frantically reaches for the ropes!

 

"CROSS KNEELOCK! The same move that won him the Cruiserweight title!”

 

Spike knows where he is and what is capable of happening. He digs his fingernails into the mat as he claws his way towards the ropes…

 

 

 

…But Akira plans on making him work for it! Akira sandbags himself to the mat, forcing Spike to carry not only himself but also Kaibatsu himself towards the ropes!

 

Spike scrapes towards the ropes, trying to hold on for dear life. Spike holds his hand out, reaching for the bottom rope as Akira tries to pull his leg out. Just inches away, Spike literally dives for the ropes…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…AND MISSES!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…But his hand ends up underneath the rope, which technically is a rope break! Referee Harry calls for Akira to break the hold, which he does.

 

"Spike Jenkins BARELY making it to the ropes and breaking free!” says Francis. “Akira almost advanced to the second round of the Cold Front Classic right there!”

 

Akira rolls backwards onto his feet and stands up. Spike uses the bottom rope to pull himself towards the outside of the ring, but Akira grabs him by the ankle and pulls him into the center!

 

"Akira looks ready to finish Spike off!"

 

He grabs Spike by his long hair and pulls him up onto his feet, quickly kneeing Jenkins in the gut to double him over. Grabbing a front face lock, Akira uses his thumb to cut across his throat, signaling for the Brainbuster!

 

"How is Akira going to hit the brainbuster with a bad neck?" asks King.

 

"I don't know if this is a smart move, but if he hits it, it may be the end of this match!"

 

Akira hooks Spike up for a suplex and lifts the Hollywood Superstar up into the air for the Brainbuster!

 

 

 

 

 

 

…But Akira's neck quickly gives out and Jenkins falls to his feet behind the Divine Wind. Collapsing to one knee, Spike instantly grabs Akira with a rear waistlock, pulls himself up to a full stance and lifts Kaibatsu up into the air…

 

 

 

 

 

…AND DROPS HIM ONTO THE BACK OF HIS HEAD WITH A BELLY-TO-BACK SUPLEX!

 

"DANGEROUSSSSSAHHHHHHH!" shouts Mak Francis.

 

The crowd groans in unison as Spike holds onto a bridge for dear life, hoping his leg won't give out from under him…like it did when he first won the Cruiserweight Title from Austin Sly.

 

ONE!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

NO!!! AKIRA KICKS OUT!

 

"Akira kicks out of that HUGE suplex by half a second!"

 

Akira kicks out, rolling backwards and onto his stomach…but Spike is not going to let it end there. He quickly floats over, tying up Akira's arm behind his neck; he locks his fingers around Akira’s face and pulls back with the modified Crossface!

 

"Strong Island Stretch! Spike has been working on Akira's neck the whole match and now has him locked in the Strong Island Stretch!" shouts Francis.

 

"But he is near the ropes! Damn it, Spike! You've been a ring general all night with staying near the ropes when Akira hits his big moves and now you put him in a submission NEAR the ropes?" shouts the King.

 

"Spike is just trying to do anything to put Akira away."

 

Akira shrieks in agony, as he now begins to claw towards the ropes. Shifting his body around, his feet just barely reach the ropes…not quite, but he is able to graze them. Akira uses his free hand to tear at Spike's…and he is able to break the grip Spike has by tearing at the bad arm of Jenkins! But Spike refuses to break the hold and with his good arm that is still gripping the mask, he sticks his fingers through the slit in Akira's mask and fishhooks the Divine Wind!

 

"Fishhooks are illegal, damn it!" cries Francis.

 

Akira, now in even more pain, pushes himself back, getting his foot on the bottom rope and forcing Spike to break the hold! Spike releases the hold and crawls away, grabbing at his arm.

 

"Both men are throwing everything they have at the other! Spike Jenkins is going to limitless bounds to advance in this tournament!"

 

Spike forces himself to his feet, trying to work the kinks out of his shoulder. He limps over towards Akira, who also begins to show weakness as he clutches the back of his neck. Spike grabs him by his mask and pulls him up to his feet…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…But Akira has a burst of energy and pushes Spike backwards…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…spins around…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…AND FINALLY CONNECTS WITH THE ROARING ELBOW!

 

"Roaring Elbow by Akira!"

 

Spike, stunned by the blow, stumbles back. Before he can fall to the mat, Akira grabs him in a ¾ headlock and turn towards the corner.

 

"Akira is going for The Divine Wind! If he hits this, the match will be over for sure!"

 

Akira, with Spike locked behind him, charges towards the ropes…but before they make it a quarter of the way, Spike pushes Akira off of him and into the corner…

 

 

 

 

 

…But Akira leaps up onto the middle ropes! The crowd awes at the momentum and cat-like reflexes of the Divine Wind as he springboards back towards Jenkins…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…Who is waiting for him and catches him underneath the jaw with a European Uppercut!!

 

"European Uppercut, catching Akira coming off the middle rope!" shouts Mak.

 

Akira, stunned by the strike, stumbles back, but is quickly pulled into a front face lock. Spike yells out for the Brainbuster, planning to hit his and finish Akira for good!

 

"Spike is going for his own brainbuster," says King, "Maybe he'll have better luck than Akira!"

 

Spike hooks Akira for a suplex, lifting him straight into the air…but Akira moves his body around and falls behind Jenkins, landing on his feet. Startled, Spike goes to turn around, but Akira cuts him off…but chopping down on Spike's injured right arm! Spike yelps in pain, as Akira steps in front of him, grabs him in a ¾ headlock, charges towards the ropes, springboards off the top rope and flips in mid-air…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…DRIVING SPIKE JENKINS INTO THE MAT WITH THE DIVINE WIND!

 

"AKIRA HIT THE DIVINE WIND! IT'S ALL OVER!" shouts Mak in excitement!

 

 

The crowd buzzes as Akira floats over into a lateral press, hooking the leg for the cover!

 

 

 

ONE!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! SPIKE JENKINS GRABS THE BOTTOM ROPE!!!!!!

 

"Spike grabbed the bottom rope?" questions King whose mouth just hit the ground. "I…WOW!"

 

"I don't know how he did it, but Spike Jenkins is still in this thing!"

 

Akira sits up, looking at the referee and questions the call. Spike crawls towards the ropes. Akira gets to his feet, grabs Spike by the ankle and tries to pull him towards the center of the ring…but Spike refuses to let go of the bottom rope!

 

"He is holding onto it for dear life!"

 

Akira is finally able to pull Spike off of the ropes and drags him into the center of the ring. He grabs Jenkins by the hair and pulls him up to his feet. With Spike nearly out on his feet, Akira grabs the right arm and tries to bring Spike down with another Fujiwara! Spike tries to push Kaibatsu off, but Akira refuses to let go. Both men doubled over, they fight for control of the armbar.

 

"If Akira gets Spike in the fujiwara armbar again, this match will be over!”

 

"Spike has been using his ring awareness to dominate this match…there has to be something he can do!"

 

Instead of falling onto his face, Spike rolls forward onto his back. Still holding onto Akira's arm, he twists his body around underneath his standing opponent. Finally in position, Spike lifts his legs into the air, locking them around Akira's arm and bringing him to the mat with an arm scissors!

 

"What the…"

 

Not sure of what to do, Akira tries to pull away towards the ropes, but he gets caught in the one thing Spike has been catching him with all night…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…a cravate!

 

 

"HANGMAN'S CLUTCH! THE CRAVATE WITH THE ARMBAR!"

 

"ANOTHER cravate?"

 

Akira now realizes he is in trouble as Spike pulls back on the neck. He tries to struggle to get to the ropes, but with his arm trapped underneath both his and Jenkins' body weight, he doesn't have the option of moving around much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

His neck is already on the verge of snapping…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And he knows his opponent won't stop until it does snap…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*TAP TAP TAP*

 

"SPIKE JENKINS ADVANCES IN THE COLD FRONT CLASSIC!"

 

*DING DING DING*

 

Spike releases the hold and rolls over onto his stomach. The referee raises his arm in the air, as SWF Lockdown goes to a commercial break.

[chirs3 0]

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the following non-title matchup is scheduled for one fall, and is the second match in the 2006 Cold Front Classic!” The crowd pops, and Funyon continues, “The winner of this match will face either Landon Maddix or Michael Cross in the semifinals for a chance to advance to the Cold Front Classic Finals!” The fans continue cheering as the lights dim, and Funyon says, “The first competitor...”

 

The SmarkTron shows the familiar fuse to a stick of dynamite burning down as the crowd cheers, with the stick finally exploding as the “Mission Impossible” theme starts to play over the speakers! Johnny steps through the curtain, his black trench coat flowing behind him. The fans continue cheering as the Barracuda makes his way down the aisle, his sunglasses mirroring the enormous crowd and his International Title belt shining from around his waist.

 

“What you have here is an oddity,” says the Suicide King, as Johnny stops by a particularly attractive female fan. He lifts his sunglasses up just far enough to show his eyes, and with a wink, dazzles her with his smile. “Ordinarily, any champion will be introduced last, as a show of respect for his accomplishments. However, given that we’re within a tournament framework, the entrances are deferring to seed order. Since Johnny Dangerous is the number-six seed, he’s coming out first, and the number-three seed, Tom Flesher, will be introduced second.”

 

Johnny grins at his admirer, then quickly turns back toward the ring. He sprints toward it, sliding under the bottom rope and rolling effortlessly to his feet. The Mission Impossible theme fades out as Johnny shakes his trench coat off.

 

“Currently in the ring,” announces Funyon, “hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at 225 pounds... the reigning International Champion, and the number-six seed in the Cold Front Classic... ‘The Barracuda,’ JOHNNY DANGEROUS!!!!”

 

The crowd cheers as Johnny acknowledges them, holding his belt high in the air before setting it in the corner. Senior official Eddy Long approaches him, and as they converse, Johnny removes his sunglasses. This, of course, allows us to see him cringe when he hears...

 

“AND... HIS... OPPONENT...”

 

Instinctively, the crowd boos as James Matheson’s grating voice rings out over the speakers. “You know something,” he begins at his standard machine-gun pace, “they call this thing the Cold Front Classic, but have you ever thought about what that means? In Las Vegas, a cold front’s an inconvenient rainstorm. In Sacramento, if it snows, the whole damn town shuts down! But do you know what you’ll see in Buffalo, New York, in the middle of winter? You’ll see guys like this man pushing cars out of seven-foot drifts single-handedly. Why? Because they just breed the boys better in Buffalo, and if you’ve got beef with that, begone, you bastard! Now get up off your seats and give it up for the man who knows cold fronts better than anyone else, the man who’s held more belts than you can count, and the NEXT Cold Front Classic Champion... TOM FLESHER!”

 

With the crowd suitably warmed up, the lights go dark, and the concussive opening of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” rings out through the ARCO Arena, the blue pyro lighting the stadium and the accompanying smoke rolling through the seats. Tom Flesher steps through the curtain and, with a quiet confidence, struts past the fans and to the ring.

 

“You have to admire that,” says King, “that sort of cockiness that pervades everything Tom Flesher does. You remember training with him, back when you could walk, and how he’d just get in there and run through his drills like no one could stop anything he does.”

 

“I’ll tell you who can stop him,” says the Franchise. “Johnny Dangerous. I don’t even know if Tom’s beaten him since the first time they met, when the result was... uh...”

 

“Shoe-phone related,” says King.

 

“Yep. A shoe phone.”

 

With that, Flesher strips off his warm-up suit and steps to the center of the ring. Being just as careful as he was with Johnny, Eddy Long drops to one knee as “Kashmir” fades and begins checking Flesher’s kickpads. Flesher rolls his eyes, but lets Long check each kickpad, his entire singlet, and both bands of wrist tape. Long eyes Flesher’s heavily taped left thumb suspiciously.

 

(“I’ve got a doctor’s note,” Flesher says.

 

“Chris Belcourt’s not a doctor.”

 

“No, no, a real one this time. It’s on file in Peters’ office.”)

 

Finally satisfied that Flesher would have had to hide any foreign objects in a place where carrying them would be punishment enough, Long steps away and calls for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

As the two circle around each other in the center as they have so many times before, the ARCO Arena goes almost silent. What can these two perennial foes do that they haven’t before? How can one gain an advantage that he hasn’t tried to gain before?

 

Tom thinks he has an idea.

 

“AUGH! DAMMIT~!” shouts Johnny Dangerous, reaching up to cover his right eye socket.

 

Oh, right. The thumb to the eye.

 

BOOOOOOO!

 

“Flesher hits an absolutely thrilling move to start the match,” says the Suicide King, as Tom drops down and shoots past Eddy Long, mid-admonition, and snags Johnny’s left leg with a low single-leg takedown. As Johnny spills to the mat, Flesher hooks his head and tries to cradle him for a quick pin. As Long rolls his eyes, Johnny quickly kicks free and rolls to his stomach. Flesher, having predicted just this development, applies a half-nelson and moves to Johnny’s side. The Barracuda gets to his knees, trying to build a base and get out of a mat-wrestling predicament with Tom Freaking Flesher. This is, however, Tom Freaking Flesher we’re talking about, and so he quickly slides a hand around Johnny’s waist and uses the half-nelson to pull his head forward, breaking him down with a variant on the American sprial ride! Flesher keeps his tight-waist grip and uses the half-nelson to grind Johnny’s face into the mat as the fans continue booing him.

 

“Technically brilliant opening to the match,” says King, “and Tom Flesher is demonstrating dominance over an opponent who’s had his number lately.”

 

“Well, sure,” says Francis, “poking someone in the eye is going to distract them long enough to get the jump on them, but what’s Taamo going to do when Johnny gets his bearings again? Tom’s lost almost every time these two have met. The last time he won was almost three years ago!”

 

“Quiet, you!” hisses King. “Flesher said earlier tonight that he’s back and he’s better than ever. Who are you to question him?”

 

As Dangerous tries to free himself from the vise-like half-nelson, Flesher slides back a few inches and tightens the arm he has around Johnny’s waist. The Barracuda reaches up and peels Flesher’s hand off his head, then slaps it down onto the mat as he tries to escape. Flesher, though, slides the arm that had been applying the nelson down Johnny’s side and locks his hands together around his waist. Flesher leans back into a catcher’s crouch, then stands up, and before Johnny Dangerous even knows what hit him, Flesher throws him over his head and slams him to the mat with a German suplex! He releases Johnny as they hit the mat, knowing he won’t get a pin this early in the match, and Johnny rolls over and comes to rest on his stomach as Flesher gets to his feet.

 

“There’s that positional awareness that got Tom Flesher everywhere he wants to be,” says King. “He’ll fight with you and make you wrestle anywhere you are on the mat, whether it’s in the corner, on the mat or in mid-air.”

 

Flesher grabs Johnny by the head as he tries to get up. As he tries to pull the International Champion into a front headlock, Johnny quickly grabs his wrist and twists Flesher’s arm, spinning out to the side and extending the arm. He throws a stiff kick, hammering Flesher’s left biceps, and then pulls Tom toward him to nail him with a short-arm chop to the throat! The crowd cheers as Flesher staggers backwards, disoriented by the throat attack. Johnny steps toward Tom, throwing a stiff palm strike that nails him in the chest and thrusts him back into the corner. As Flesher steps forward out of the corner, Johnny grabs his wrist and pivots, taking his attacker to the mat aikido-style and following up with a boot to the back of the head! Flesher collapses to his back, and Johnny drops down onto him for the cover... but not before Flesher rolls out to the apron, and then to the floor.

 

“Johnny Dangerous changes the momentum of the match,” says Francis, “and he’s taking it where we’re more used to seeing it. He’s got that speed advantage, and if he keeps the match in the neutral position where Tom has a harder time grappling with him, he’s going to come out the winner just like he has over and over again.”

 

On the outside, Flesher confers with James Matheson, apparently about match strategy, as Eddy Long counts.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

FIVE!

 

SIX!

 

SEVEN!

 

Matheson pats Flesher on the back and sends him back into the ring, with the Superior One looking much more confident as he returns to the squared circle. He reaches around, adjusting his singlet, and then motions for a lock-up with Dangerous. Johnny leans in, and immediately, Flesher ducks to the side and slides by him. The fans boo as Johnny turns around, trying to get his lockup back, and walks straight into a bitchslap to the face! The crowd boos Flesher’s antics as he steps forward, following the smack up with a stepping palm strike of his own. The shotei sends Johnny back on his heels, and Tom takes advantage by stepping in and grabbing the International Champion around the waist, then arching back with a standing railgun suplex! Johnny falls to the mat, and Flesher rolls over onto him for

 

ONE!

 

 

Johnny kicks out, and as he sits up, Flesher grabs his head and applies a reverse chinlock.

 

“Here’s something we haven’t seen in a while,” says Francis dryly.

 

“Don’t roll your eyes, kid,” says King. “I’d think you of all people would be sick of rolling things.”

 

Before Flesher can get the chinlock sunk in, though, Johnny Dangerous grabs him by the wrist and starts to spin out the same way he escaped from Flesher’s attempt at a front headlock. Instead of letting him escape, Flesher stands up behind him, as Dangerous twists out with his arm extended, and boots Johnny stiffly in the stomach! As Johnny doubles over in pain, Flesher grabs his head and a handful of his tights, then tosses him back with a vertical suplex. He rolls through, letting Johnny go and getting back to his feet as the Dangerous One grabs the ropes to pull himself up. With Dangerous’ back turned, Flesher takes the easy pickings and charges at him, hammering the spy with a Yakuza kick to the back of the head!

 

“That’s like getting hit by a truck,” says the Suicide King, as Johnny collapses to the mat.

 

“Weren’t you listening?” asks Mak facetiously. “He said it’s not a truck, it’s a series of tubes.”

 

“I’ve got a series of tubes for you,” grumbles King as Flesher grabs Johnny by the shirt and lifts him to his feet, with one hand holding the collar of the shirt and the other grabbing Johnny by the waistband of his tights. With his opponent under his control, Flesher walks Johnny toward the corner and throws him head-first into the buckles! The crowd boos Flesher mercilessly, but Tom merely pulls Johnny back out of the corner and throws him right into the turnbuckles again! Johnny tries to stagger backwards out of the corner, but Flesher just sighs heavily, clearly tired of Dangerous putting up any sort of fight whatsoever, and headbutts him at the base of the skull.

 

Johnny, understandably, slumps down and stops fighting.

 

“Well, that was effective,” says Suicide King chipperly.

 

Flesher grabs Johnny by the tights and rolls him over onto his back, then grabs the top rope and slowly, deliberately place his Asics wrestling shoe on Johnny’s trachea. Immediately, Eddy Long orders Flesher to stop chocking the International Champion, but Flesher looks at him as if he had just asked permission to pick his nose. The banter continues for a few moments

 

(“GET OFF HIS NECK!!”

 

“Zuh?”

 

“STOP CHOKING YOUR OPPONENT!”

 

“Silly girl, why would I want to do something like that?”)

 

before Long decides he has to begin his count.

 

ONE!

 

Flesher holds up one finger.

 

TWO!

 

Flesher holds up another finger, nodding.

 

THREE!

 

A third finger, and Flesher looks Long squarely in the eye.

 

FOUR!

 

Flesher holds up four fingers, then raises an eyebrow. Enraged, Long starts to make the fifth count, but Flesher quickly steps off Johnny’s neck. Johnny, though he can’t participate in the discussion, is clearly relieved simply to be a fly on the wall.

 

(“If you do that again, I’m going to disqualify you!”

 

“Do what?”)

 

Exasperated, Long backs away as Flesher grabs Dangerous by the leg and pulls him to the center of the ring. Relieved to be returning to his natural coloration, Johnny allows Flesher to relocate him, but begins fighting as soon as Tom starts trying to pull him into a half-crab. Johnny kicks his legs back and forth, trying to free himself, and finally Flesher decides the hold isn’t worth his trouble and frees Johnny’s leg. The Dangerous One backs away and gets to his feet, making sure to keep an eye on Flesher to avoid having his brains scrambled by another Yakuza kick. Instead, Flesher backs into his corner, still watching Johnny, and James Matheson hops up onto the apron to talk with his charge.

 

“There’s a sign of a good manager,” says King. “After Johnny Dangerous was able to gain some ground on Tom, James Matheson is right up there on the apron to help guide him back into the match. He’s giving him advice, I’m sure, and helping him find a plan of attack.”

 

As King says that, Eddy Long drops down to check on Johnny and make sure he’s still in the match. With Long’s back turned, Matheson reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a chain. Flesher quickly grabs the chain and stuffs it into his kickpad, drawing a round of boos from the crowd before Eddy Long turns back around.

 

“What do you call that?” snaps Mak Francis.

 

“Management.”

 

Once Johnny gets back to his feet, Flesher meets him in the center of the ring, shuffling around in an amateur-style stance. Johnny steps back, and Flesher follows him, trying to keep the pressure on. Johnny, however, sidesteps, allowing the off-balanced Flesher to overshoot and stumble forward. With Tom staggering, Johnny grabs him by the collar and pivots on one foot, slamming him to the mat with a Sambo suplex! Tom hits the mat hard, and Johnny quickly makes the cover for

 

 

ONE!!!

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

 

but no more, as Flesher kicks out and bellies down to avoid being covered again. Dangerous stays on top of him, throwing a stiff palm strike down onto the back of Flesher’s head. Tom covers up, trying to crawl toward the ropes and force a break. Johnny continues pummeling him with strikes, but before he can do any serious damage, Flesher manages to grasp the bottom cable. Eddy Long begins his mandatory count.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

Obligingly, the spy releases Flesher and backs away to the center of the ring. Flesher takes his time getting back to his feet, and when he manages to get up, a loop of tape on his right wrist is visibly loose.

 

“What’s happening with Tom’s wrist tape?” cajoles Francis.

 

“Nothing,” King snaps. “Eyes on your own paper.”

 

Flesher reaches out, grabbing Johnny in a collar-and-elbow tie. As Johnny backs away, Flesher grips his wrist and steps back, then sends Johnny to the ropes with an Irish whip! As Johnny rebounds, Flesher drops to the mat. Johnny hurtles over Flesher and hits the opposite ropes, only to taste canvas when he mysteriously trips and falls flat on his face! (I say ‘mysteriously,’ of course, because surely James Matheson had nothing to do with it and certainly didn’t trip Johnny. That’s made clear by his immediate and forceful protestations of innocence.)

 

“Oh, come on!” shouts Francis. “James Matheson can’t be allowed to interfere in the match like that!”

 

“Like what?” asks King innocently.

 

“He just tripped Johnny Dangerous, and now Flesher’s moving in for the kill!”

 

“Listen, Mak, James Matheson didn’t trip Johnny Dangerous. Johnny Dangerous tripped Johnny Dangerous.”

 

Mak rolls his eyes.

 

“And don’t you forget it!”

 

Flesher dives in and nails Johnny with a falling elbowdrop, keeping him on the mat for the time being. Tom then mounts Johnny, reaching down and trying to apply a camel clutch. The fans immediately begin booing, but, curiously, Matheson shouts, “His foot’s on the ropes!”

 

Eddy Long walks around, checking to make sure that Johnny’s foot is not actually on the ropes. When he does, Flesher unravels the loose end of his wrist tape and pulls it taut across Johnny’s neck, choking him mercilessly! Matheson hops up on the apron, talking to Long for a few seconds

 

(“Eddy, is this match being conducted under cruiserweight rules?”

 

“Of course not. Why would you even bother asking?”

 

“Well, both guys, they’re under 230, so I just figured it might be cruiser rules.”

 

“It’s a tournament in the heavyweight division, coach. Heavyweight rules.)

 

with Flesher choking Johnny the whole time! Finally, Matheson hops down off the apron and shouts “THANK YOU!” at the top of his lungs. Frantically, Flesher pulls the tape off Johnny’s throat and resumes his camel clutch grip, the end of the tape now suspiciously dangling almost a foot lower than it was. As he walks back to the front, Long sees the dangling tape and says, dryly, “His foot’s on. Break.”

 

“Oh, come on!” shouts Suicide King. “Long just established that Johnny’s foot’s nowhere near the ropes!”

 

“Give him some leeway,” says Mak. “Sounds like a judgment call to me.”

 

“Oh, you’re so full of shit,” says Flesher, as he stands up. He starts to set up another elbowdrop, but Eddy Long stops him.

 

“Loose tape’s gotta come off,” he says, and he reaches out to grab the dangling end of the tape. Flesher pulls away, allowing Long to unravel the rest of the tape around his wrist. Scowling, Flesher turns back toward his opponent... only to take a Johnny Kick straight in the chops! The crowd bursts into cheers as Flesher hits the ropes, then staggers forward. Tom collapses to the mat, and Johnny sprints over to the nearest cornerpost!

 

“And here comes the money!” shouts Francis.

 

Johnny leaps off the top rope, soaring through the air with flashbulbs popping, and finally landing on Flesher with a flying guillotine legdrop! The fans scream their approval as Johnny rolls over onto Flesher, and the referee counts

 

ONE!!!

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

 

THREE!!!!

 

 

NO! Long points toward Flesher’s foot, which is draped over the bottom rope!

 

BOOOOOOOO!

 

“Johnny Dangerous is ROBBED!” Mak says, as Flesher rolls to the outside to collect his thoughts. “Tom Flesher has barely done one thing tonight that’s within the rules of wrestling, and he’s getting away with all of it! I can’t believe Eddy Long’s letting this kind of crap go!”

 

“Letting what go? If you ask him what he saw, he’ll probably tell you the same thing I will... nothing.”

 

Dangerous, frustrated, sprints toward the ropes. Matheson shouts, “WATCH OUT! YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO CATCH HIM!” as Johnny charges back toward Tom. Flesher extends his arms and yells, “I’VE GOT HIM!” as Johnny launches himself over the top rope. He floats toward Flesher, who shuffles around, trying to position himself to catch his adversary...

 

... and then sidesteps, letting the International Champion fall impotently to the concrete floor.

 

BOOOOOOOO!

 

“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” says King, “is why you never trust your opponent.”

 

Flesher quickly rolls back into the ring, and Eddy Long obligingly begins to count Johnny out of the ring.

 

ONE!

 

Johnny doesn’t move.

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

He raises his head, and comes to the realization that he needs to get back into the ring.

 

FOUR!

 

He reaches up, trying to pull himself to his feet using the apron.

 

FIVE!

 

“I bet Johnny wishes this was a cruiserweight match with its 20-count,” says King spitefully. “And Long wondered why Matheson asked.”

 

SIX!

 

Johnny’s head pokes up over the mat, and Eddy Long uses his body to block Flesher from attacking the Barracuda before he makes it back into the ring.

 

SEVEN!

 

The Dangerous One strains to get into the ring, heaving as he tries to pull his aching body up onto the canvas.

 

EIGHT!

 

He pulls on the bottom rope for leverage, trying to do everything in his power to beat the count back in!

 

NINE!

 

Finally, Johnny Dangerous makes it back into the ring, his chest rising heavily as he only barely avoids being counted out and eliminated from the Cold Front Classic! Small comfort, though, as Tom Flesher dives onto him like a shark in a feeding frenzy, hammering him with a falling elbowdrop before grabbing his head and pulling him into a front headlock on the mat. Still, Johnny is able to avoid being tied up in the potentially deadly hold by rolling onto his stomach and keeping his chest glued to the mat. Flesher tries to pull him up, but to no avail. Getting visibly frustrated, he reaches into his kickpad and pulls out the chain that he stashed in it earlier in the match! Though he tries to hide it in his fist, the chain is clearly visible to the official. The crowd begins booing Flesher, and Eddy Long quickly charges over to him to stop the imminent illegality.

 

“I can’t believe he’s injecting himself into this match!” fumes King. “This is unacceptable!”

 

“I agree,” Mak says. “He should just let Tom get himself disqualified and get it over with.”

 

Pregnant pause.

 

“Come on, Long, do your job!” shouts King.

 

Long grabs at the chain, and Flesher sighs and lets him take it, but continues arguing with him.

 

(“I have done NOTHING WRONG.”

 

“You know this isn’t a hardcore match, right?”

 

“What on earth are you talking about? I’m as clean as a Mike Stephens piss test!”)

 

As Flesher continues his debate, Johnny gets to his feet, and then suddenly slams into him with a dropkick! The fans burst into cheers as Flesher staggers backwards, and Johnny hits him with a shotei, then another, and then another, hammering him backwards into the corner as he goes! Flesher tries to fight back, but the angry International Champion continues hammering him with shoteis, adding in an occasional chop or closed fist for flavor.

 

“That’s a closed fist!” protests King. “Disqualify him! TAKE HIM OUT OF THIS TOURNAMENT!”

 

Faced with no other option, Flesher tries to protect himself by ducking down and covering his head with his hands. This brings another cheer from the crowd, but Johnny doesn’t pause to drink in the adulation. Instead, he grabs Tom’s head and pulls him off the mat, throwing him back with a vertical suplex! The crowd continues cheering as Johnny rolls over, pulling Flesher with him, and hoists the two-time World Champion off the mat once again! He pulls Flesher into the air and throws him backwards, slamming him down with a second vertical suplex! With the crowd going absolutely crazy, Johnny rolls through one more time, and one more time he pulls Tom off the mat! The third suplex is the hardest drop, and Flesher’s back arches noticeably when he hits the mat. Johnny rolls with the momentum and floats over, covering Tom! Eddy Long counts

 

 

ONE!!!

 

 

TWO!!!!!

 

 

 

THREENO!!!!!!!!!! Flesher gets a shoulder up, narrowly avoiding elimination!

 

“So close,” cringes Francis.

 

“And yet completely not a fall,” gloats King.

 

Flesher rolls through to his stomach, then to his knees. Johnny Dangerous steps back, knowing better than to grapple with Tom Flesher while he’s still conscious. As Tom stands up, however, Johnny sees an opening and dives in, hooking Tom by the head and the thigh, then standing up with a fireman’s carry! The fans cheer wildly as Johnny struggles to get Tom placed on his shoulders and Tom struggles to free himself. Before Tom can slide off, though, Johnny jumps and rolls forward, slamming Tom back-first to the mat with the Spinal Explosion!

 

The crowd, simply put, explodes!

 

“SPINAL EXPLOSION!” shouts Mak, completely devoid of any sense of irony.

 

Flesher writhes in pain on the mat, and Johnny seems to be debating how best to proceed. He decides to reach down, grabbing Flesher by the leg and trying to wrangle him into a half-crab just as Tom tried earlier.

 

“Johnny’s going for the Barracuda crab,” says Mak, “now that he’s got Flesher’s back all blown to hell. He’s been lumbar-jacking, King, and Tom’s back’s about to go Tim-BER!”

 

“Lumbar-jack?” King asks, incredulous. “Are you serious? That’s got to be the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”

 

Flesher wriggles, trying to free himself before Johnny can flip him over into the over-the-shoulder crab that just doesn’t seem very comfortable. He sits up, grabbing at Johnny’s shirt to try to pull him into a small package, but the Secret Agent sees the pinning combination coming and quickly releases his heel hook to let Flesher escape. As Tom gets up to his knees, though, Johnny jumps up and hammers him in him in the chest with a basement dropkick!

 

“Johnny’s not about to let this one go,” beams Francis. “He may be the number-six seed, but he’s been wrestling like it’s in it to win it.”

 

“‘Like he’s in it to win it?’ Christ, Mak, didn’t they ever send you to Commentator School? Everyone’s in it to win it! That’s like saying one of the teams at the Super Bowl wants to score more points than its opponent. This is the Cold Front Classic! Up your game, would you?!”

 

And up his game is what Johnny’s about to do. He grabs the recovering Flesher by the arm and pulls him to his feet, then slips a half-nelson in before sliding behind him. The fans scream their approval as Johnny snakes in the other arm, trying to sink in the full nelson that bodes the arrival of the Dangerous Driver! Immediately, Flesher drops to one knee to sandbag it, bringing a groan from the crowd, but Johnny drives a knee into Flesher’s tender lower back and pulls him back up to his feet! Tom struggles, reaching up to try to peel Johnny’s hands apart, and Johnny fights to keep his grip! Suddenly, Tom reaches up and grabs Johnny’s head with both hands, using Johnny’s slight height advantage to tuck his own head in under the Barracuda’s chin, and again drops to one knee! Dangerous, his bell rung, loosens his grip.

 

Tom senses an opening and clamps down on the full nelson, then executes a picture-perfect go-behind into a waistlock. He struggles, trying to lift Dangerous off the mat for a German suplex, only to have Johnny block by hooking his thigh! Flesher sets Dangerous down again, and then almost immediately tries to lift him again, but the Barracuda is ready and hooks the leg again to avoid being thrown! This time, Flesher sets him down hard enough to jar him, and then drives him forward into the ropes. Tom keeps his waistlock and rolls backwards, gripping Johnny’s shirt hard enough to pull him back into a reverse rollup!

 

“Flesher adapts, and Johnny doesn’t know what to do!” shouts King.

 

Tom comes out on top, pinning Johnny down with a rolling prawn hold and both hands pulling on his tights to keep him in place! Long counts

 

 

ONE!!!

 

 

“He’s got a handful of tights!” shouts Mak, as Johnny kicks and convulses to try to push Flesher off.

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

“TWO handfuls!” corrects King.

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

Johnny finally succeeds in kicking Tom off after the Number 3 Seed releases his grip on his adversary’s tights and finds himself propelled to the ropes.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

Flesher throws his arms into the air as Johnny, visibly enraged, complains to Long that the pin was illegal. Nevertheless, Funyon makes the announcement:

 

“The winner of this match, and advancing to the Cold Front Classic semi-finals.... TOM FLESHER!!!!!!”

 

James Matheson jumps up onto the apron, applauding his protege’s work, as Johnny looks on with anger. Tom pumps his arms in the air, celebrating his victory even as the crowd showers him with insults and garbage.

 

“Well, Johnny should have known not to try to grapple with him,” says King.

 

“Grappling isn’t a handful of tights,” Francis says, “and it’s not choking a guy with wrist tape or standing on his neck. Tom’s a great wrestler, but when he has to start with the cheap crap, you know he’s up against a guy who’s got his number.”

 

“So what? Right now his number’s 3, and he’s going to have either 2 or 7 come next week, when we’ll find out whether he has to face Landon Maddix or Michael Cross in the semis. I’ll tell you, Mak, this is one classic tournament!”

 

As King makes the obvious pun, the show fades out to commercial.

[chirs3 0]

"And we come to main event time here on Lockdown, as the World Tag Team Championships are put up for grabs on this, the first available opportunity since this match was finalised. With Michael Stephens holding three titles, it's a juggling game for our esteemed head honcho Joseph Peters to get all the contenders all the shots and keep everyone happy. But finally, it's the Tag Titles' time. And it's time for The Predators, Jay Hawke and Nighthawk to receive their title shot."

 

"Wait... Hawke and Hawk. The Predators." muses King, as if coming to a sudden realisation. "Oooohhhh! Hehe. I get jokes!"

 

"Evidently. A big chance for Jay Hawke here, on the run-in to his shot at Michael Stephens' World Title on November 30th, to get a one-up on the Champ and to take one of his belts in the process."

 

"And how I hope he does." King butts in, not impartial in the least. And proud of it. "Not just because of my strong loathing of both of the Champions you understand, oh no. But because it'd be nice to see a belt around someone else's waist, besides that quasi-heterosexual spot monkey for a change. Holding three belts at once, it just seems... greedy."

 

"Maybe he should give his Cruiserweight Title to Landon. Would that placate you?"

 

"Oh God no! I meant around the waist of someone good!"

 

"Of course."

 

The typical pre-match banter is brought to end by the dimming of the lights in the Arco Arena. Apparantly the sale of those SWF programmes has been good tonight as the crowd boo right from the off, even before "Learning To Fly" by Pink Floyd begins to play. Lightning strikes hit the top of the stage before the robed Jay Hawke and his larger partner Nighthawk, with manageress Falcon, step into the spotlight which follows them down to the ring.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your main event of SWF Lockdown, scheduled for one fall and for the SWF World Tag Team Championships!" booms Funyon in a typically overstated way. "Introducing first, coming down the aisle are the challengers. Accompanied to the ring by FALCON. At a total combined weight of five hundred and fifteen pounds... they are the team of NIGHTHAWK and "THE DEAN OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING" JAY HAWKE... TTHHHHEEE PPRRRRREEEEDDAAAAATTOOOORRRRSSSS!!!"

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"Now here's a real team." announces King. "Two contrasting but complimentary styles, vast team experience, veterans of the game. Would you not be proud to call these men Tag Team Champions, Mak?"

 

"Well, sure." Mak replies, wondering why he's being rounded on. "Probably not as proud as you, but still. I'm sure The Predators would make fine Tag Team Champions."

 

Hawke hands off his robe to the ring attendant while Nighthawk stands in centre ring, surveying the crowd. In enters Hawke and he gives his partner an encouraging pat on the back efore going through some pre-match stretches in his team's corner.

 

 

"Woo - ooaahh woo - ooaahh!

Woo - ooaahh woo - ooaahh!

Vengabus is back in town"

 

"What the he - "

 

"Boom Boom Boom" by The Vengaboys pumps through the arena and like any human beings alive, the crowd can't help but bop and jive along. Apparantly Michael Stephens is unlike any other human being though as he trudges through the curtains, glaring up at the arena's speakers and shaking his head. Amy Stephens doesn't seem enamoured with the selection of theme music either, but at least one half of the foursome is, as Landon Maddix and Megan Skye follow out with beaming smiles.

 

"And, their opponents. Accompanied by MEGAN SKYE and AMY STEPHENS respectively... at a total combined weight of four hundred, fourty two pounds. The team of LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MADDIX and the SWF Cruiserweight and World Heavyweight Champion MICHAEL STEPHENS... the reigning and defending SWF WORLD Tag Team Champions... TTHHHEEEE GGAAAAAALLLAAAAACCTTIIIIIICCOOOOOSSSSSSS!!!"

 

"YYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

"When you're alone and you need a friend

Someone to make you forget your problems

Just come along baby take my hand

I'll be your lover tonight"

 

Leading the way, the Stephens clan don't waste time with posing and posturing. Amy takes her station in The Galacticos corner while Mike rolls into the ring, tossing his customised England shirt out in the direction of those darned heavy eyeliner wearing girls who are at every SWF show, who promptly fight over it. Meanwhile Landon trails behind, singing along with the "BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM" of the song before jogging up the steps. Megan follows and holds the ropes open for Landon, who spins into the ring in typically grandious manner.

 

"Well, if there's any hard feelings left over from the Elimination Chamber then it's not showing as Landon Maddix is in high spirits as ever."

 

"I guess a requirement for being a part of this team is a testicular bypass, because Landon's obviously lost what little balls he had when he cared about being World Champion. All because of his newfound friendship for the guy who damn near broke his neck a year and a half ago. At least when he was chasing singles titles, you could maybe understand his motives, no matter how dumb or misguided. Now? I don't know, he's turned into Toxxic's lackey."

 

"I thought that was Spike's job?"

 

"You're a bitter man Mak, you know that?"

 

Entrances out of the way, it's down to business. Jay Hawke has elected to start for the challengers as The Galacticos talk things over in their corner. Eventually, the champions decide the only fair way to pick a starter is the time-tested rock, paper, scissors. On three the hands come down and Landon confidently plumps for rock, giving Megan the thumbs up with his free hand before looking down.

 

 

Paper.

 

 

"Typical."

 

Out onto the apron exits Stephens, leaving Landon to start, turning around to be confronted by 'The Dean Of Professional Wrestling'.

 

"How about this for a face-off," Mak enthuses, as a stand-off ensues. "Former stable-mates in Cucaracha Internacional and former World Tag Team Champions together, their reign ending one week short of a year ago. Former training buddies too, Jay Hawke, responsible for re-inventing Landon's wrestling style from the ground up... at least briefly."

 

"Exactly. Jay taught Maddix everything Maddix knew. And nevermind that he didn't teach Maddix everything Jay knows, but everything he DID teach Maddix is now forgotten anyway!"

 

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

The bell sounds and just like that, the Arco Arena turns into training camp for Landon Maddix, facing off with his one-time sparring partner and mentor of sorts. Hawke drops into a crouch as he waits on Landon, The Next Generation stalling for time in his corner as he discusses the outcome of England's friendly international with Holland last night. But, annoyed by his partner (and his national team, miserable 1-1 draw that they managed) Stephens encourages him to "bloody well get on with it".

 

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

"LAN - DON!"

 

"Well, the fans are clearly right behind Landon here in Sacramento."

 

"Like that ever makes a difference," scoffs King, "especially when you're as hopelessly outclassed as Landon is right now."

 

Finally Landon cautiously makes an approach towards Hawke who remains crouched in the middle of the ring, keeping his centre of gravity low as he anticipates an attack from Landon. Which is exactly what's coming. Sure enough, Hawke is ready and sweeps out the legs of the rushing Maddix, diving across an grabbing a front facelock as Maddix tries to come back up. Getting an up close view of the ring canvas, Landon pushes up onto all fours ready for an escape but Hawke quickly drops the hold, capturing the arms and twisting him over with a modified crucifix pin...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

No.

 

Landon is able to kick out, but he finds himself right back in the front facelock just a second or so later. From the apron Stephens tries to coach his partner into an escape. But his partner's former coach just shoots him a look... before shooting the half on Landon, turning him into another pinning predicament...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

No.

 

Maintaining the front facelock, Hawke comes up to his feet with Maddix in tow and cranks away on the neck a little, knowing how easily flustered his former 'student' can get. For now he's keeping his cool though and looks for an fair escape, twisting out of the facelock and levering Hawke's arm up towards his head, looking for a top wristlock. But power is on Jay's side. And he quickly pulls back down, right into a headlock, taking Landon over with it for another cover...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

Shoulder up!

 

Hawke quickly tightens up on the headlock, as Landon tries to keep his shoulders out of danger, shuffling over onto his front a little more. Which prompts Hawke to bridge up, pulling back on the head with a more obtuse angle of pressure.

 

"This is a wrestling exhibition from The Dean," enthuses King, "and Michael Stephens is getting a firsthand look of what to expect, November 30th."

 

"To be fair, Hawke isn't really doing anything extraordinary here."

 

"He doesn't need to! Not with the likes of Toxxic and Maddix. He can school them with the simplest of holds and because he's so technically sound, even the simplest of holds is a weapon in his arsenal. He's not just throwing on a headlock to catch his breath or buy time."

 

Climbing back to his feet, despite the headlock still tightly applied around his ears, Maddix goes with the tried and tested method of firing the point of his elbow into the ribs of Hawke to try and weaken the grip of his opponent. And after the fourth elbow it seems to have worked, as Landon backs into the ropes and shoots Hawke off for the ride. Maddix ducks his head as Hawke then shoots back. But he ducks too early, allowing Jay time to slow a little before leapfrogging over top! A moment of confusion halts Landon before he realises what's happened and where Hawke must be, not waiting around any longer than he has to as he hits the ropes himself. Hawke is waiting on him though and quickly closes the gap as Landon rebounds, taking the surprised La Cucaracha up and around with the tilt-a-whirl, DOWN into the backbreaker to the despair of his World Champion partner.

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"Jay Hawke staying one step ahead on that exchange," Mak admits.

 

"That's the crucial thing, Mak. Jay can do everything Toxxic and Maddix can do, but they can't do what he can. That's why they're so outmatched."

 

With Maddix down and hurting, Hawke quickly laces fingers with the grounded Spaniard and pins his arms down to the mat...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Up comes the right arm! Being pinned down on the canvas doesn't give Landon much leverage to work with though and after some brief resistance, his arm and therefore shoulder is powered right back down...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

No, left arm up this time, Hawke putting a little too much focus on the other side. Hawke angrily pins the arm back down though, demanding the count again...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Landon BRIDGES up this time! Hawke is tired of playing around now though and keeps the hands pinned down before springing off the canvas, looking to take out Landon's bridge. Landon bridge ain't falling down though. Not by Jay Hawke's doing anyway, as Maddix puts his feet up and plants them on Hawke's thighs, pushing him off and using the knucklelocks to soar to his feet in the lucha catapult! Again Landon's feet land on the thighs of The Dean Of Professional Wrestling and he falls back, executing a monkey flip to send Hawke soaring. The knucklelocks stay locked too, allowing Landon to float back and pin down the shoulders with his knees for the pin...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

No! With Landon posturing, Hawke throws his feet up and hooks under the arms, pulling Landon down into a sunset pin...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Kickout by Landon, both men scrambling back to their feet...

 

 

 

 

...where Hawke applies the cravat!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"Haha!" King laughs as the crowd around him groan. "You know, I really wish Jay hadn't taught Maddix this damn hold at all. But I've no problem with him teaching him how it SHOULD be applied, firsthand, like this!"

 

Amongst the groans, one of the loudest is from Michael Stephens' direction. I'm sure he's not a fan of the cravats, but it's mainly because his teammate's brief window of opportunity to tag out was wasted. And now The Predators are in control, Hawke dragging Landon by the 3/4 headlock as he moves towards his corner. With his hands all tied up, Hawke reaches out a foot, which Nighthawk quickly tags.

 

"Perfectly legal." King is quick to point out.

 

In comes the big man, measuring Maddix...

 

"ONE!"

 

...still trapped in the cravat...

 

"TWO!"

 

...which Hawke isn't going to release...

 

"THREE!"

 

...until he's good and ready.

 

"FOUR!"

 

Finally Nighthawk goes to the ribs with a kick and Hawke scuttles out of the ring before the referee can reach his count of five. Another kick finds the mark from Nighthawk meanwhile, before a clubbing blow across the back knocks Maddix down to the canvas with ease.

 

"Maddix giving up a lot of weight to Nighthawk here." points out Mak. "So too, for that matter, is Michael Stephens, although we've seen in the past that that won't bother our World Champion in the slightest."

 

“It’s nothing to do with weight,” King argues, “it’s the fact that Hawke and Nighthawk are simply a better tag team than Two Skinny White Guys.”

 

Although that assessment may seem doubtful at the moment Nighthawk is intent on proving it correct. He drags Landon up from the mat and grabs La Cucaracha’s right arm by the wrist, then starts to Irish whip Maddix one way before stopping and hauling him back in to deliver a brutal short clothesline! Landon hits the mat again with a good deal of force, but Nighthawk still has a hold of him and uses his grip on the Tag Champion’s arm to bring him upright once more, then twists Landon around and applies a Cobra Clutch!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Nighthawk locked that in with astonishing ease,” Mak Francis notes, “I can tell you that the Cobra Clutch is a devastating hold, one both myself and Tom Flesher have had occasion to use before-”

 

“-and Nighthawk is continuing that proud tradition,” King finishes. “The one of it being used by high-class athletes,” he continues after a momentary pause, “not paraplegics.”

 

Landon Maddix doesn’t need anyone to tell him it’s a devastating hold - if he didn’t know it before, he’s experiencing it firsthand now. The thing about Landon though, is it’s never a good idea to get him in a submission hold where he has one arm free. The damn thing might look like it’s waving about desperately, but what it’s actually doing is heading-

 

‘YAAARRRGH!’

 

-right for Nighthawk’s eyes.

 

“King, how much practice do you need to be able to poke someone in the eye with deadly accuracy when they’re behind you and you’re locked in a Cobra Clutch?” Mak asks the Gambling Man in a spirit of pure enquiry.

 

“Took me, oh, a month to get it so I could do it eight times out of ten?” King responds, “and that was with a good hour dedicated to it on every day of training, mind you.”

 

“You spent an hour a day training on eyepokes?” Mak asks, surprised despite himself.

 

“Nah, of course not.”

 

Mak grins, realising he’s been made a fool of, and gets ready to return to calling the action.

 

“It was a good four hours a day. The one hour was for that specific scenario which, let me tell you, is damn tricky,” King continues conversationally, “leading me to believe that Maddix managed it by purest accident.”

 

Regardless of Landon’s proficiency in this area, it didn’t actually have the desired effect. Nighthawk’s eyes are screwed up against further attack and are visibly watering but the big man still has the Cobra Clutch locked in, having managed to tighten his grip again just as Landon was about to escape. Maddix is doing a fair impersonation of a freshly-landed fish what with all the puffing and flailing, and with his usual go-to of dirty tactics having failed him he has to resort to desperate measures.

 

Actually doing a damn counter.

 

“Is Landon going for the eyes again?” Mak asks as Landon reaches back again, “if so he’s missed…”

 

“Told you it was a fluke!” King exclaims triumphantly.

 

However, Landon’s grip tightens on Nighthawk’s hair. The big man grins nastily even as referee Brian Warner moves in to admonish Landon, Nighthawk well aware that it’s going to take more than a painful tug on his hair to make him let go…

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

Sitout jawbreaker though? That’ll do it.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Nighthawk’s arms have indeed become disentangled from Landon’s after that move, mainly so the big man can clutch his jaw with an agonised expression on his face. Maddix, on the other hand, is rolling around on the mat clutching the top of his head, and overall doesn’t seem to have come off any better from the exchange than his larger opponent. In the Galacticos’ corner Michael Stephens rubs one black-nailed hand over his eyes in an expression of worry, or possibly frustration.

 

“Maddix needs to get back up and make the tag here,” Francis explains, “otherwise he’s going to be… ah, what the hell. You’re smart enough to work it out.”

 

“You get paid for that?” King snorts.

 

Landon Maddix starts to push himself up, dizzy and in pain and overall not quite with all his wits about him. This may explain why, when confronted with Nighthawk’s large form he doesn’t try to dive, sneak or otherwise get past the big man to his own corner where Michael Stephens is waiting to tag in, but instead attacks with knife-edge chops!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOOOO!”

 

“Yeah, like that’s gonna work,” Suicide King laughs.

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOOOO!”

 

Well… it is working, to a given degree of ‘working’. As in, Nighthawk is driven slowly back by the chops and winces in pain when they strike home, but they’re far from being a debilitating attack. Landon quickly realises that the moment he stops chopping he’s going to get pasted into the canvas, so all he can do is keep chopping desperately…

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOOOO!”

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOOOO!”

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOOOO!”

 

*CRACK!*

 

“WHOOOOO!”

 

But Maddix isn’t Kenta Kobashi (so, SO not Kenta Kobashi) and he has limits - as his right arm starts to go numb he’s forced to resort to other measures, so he leaps up and plants his feet into Nighthawk’s chest with a Dropsault… and the big man goes over!

 

‘C’mon!’ Stephens yells from the Galacticos corner, and Landon makes to go and tag… but is cut off as Nighthawk rolls back up to his feet! The larger Predator is a bit winded but in a position to block Maddix’s escape route, so Landon turns and runs for the ropes behind him to rebound with a flying forearm to send the big man down for a longer duration-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-or he would have done, if that pesky spinebuster hadn’t happened. Honestly, some people have no consideration.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Landon fires a shoulder off the canvas! Nighthawk growls in irritation and clamps one hand around his opponent’s throat to choke the life out of him, prompting Brian Warner to step in and intervene…

 

‘ONE!’

 

 

‘TWO!’

 

 

‘THREE!’

 

 

‘FOUR!’

 

 

‘FI-’

 

…and predictably, Nighthawk can count just as well as the referee. He lets go at the last moment and gets back to his feet, then raises his arms to invite applause from the crowd-

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

-well, that went well. Not deterred, the big man turns towards the vaguely forlorn figure of Michael Stephens on the apron and flips him the bird! Stephens snarls in response and starts to climb through the ropes, prompting Brian Warner to rush over and restrain the irate Triple Champion. This of course means he has his back turned to the rest of the ring and allows Nighthawk to advance on Maddix as La Cucaracha gets up to his knees, the Predator able to do whatever dastardly deed he has in mind without fear of retribution…

 

*CHING!*

 

…although granted, it seems unlikely that plan included taking a low blow from Maddix.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“CHEAT!” King roars as Nighthawk doubles over in pain.

 

“Uh, Maddix,” Mak points out. “Duh.”

 

“But Toxxic was in on it!” King spits, “he distracted the referee!”

 

“Actually I think that was Nighthawk’s plan, and it just backfired on him…” Mak surmises.

 

Nighthawk is stationary in the middle of the ring as Brian Warner turns back around. It looks suspicious as hell but he never saw Landon do anything and so can’t prove it; Maddix responds by taking a deep breath and rising back to his feet, then wrapping his arms around Nighthawk’s shoulders before dropping backwards with a Complete Shot to drive the bigger man’s face right into the canvas!

 

*BANG!*

 

“LAN-DON!”

“LAN-DON!”

“LAN-DON!”

 

Disorientated and in pain, Maddix looks around for his tag team partner to tag out to. He sees Jay Hawke leaning over the top rope with hand outstretched and instinctively starts to crawl towards his Cucaracha Internacional team-mate…

 

‘LANDON YER BLOODY IDIOT, GET YER ARSE OVER ‘ERE!’

 

…scratch that. Maddix blinks, remembers where and more importantly when he is, and turns around. He comes face-to-face with Nighthawk, also making his way towards the Predators’ corner.

 

…and both men poke each other in the eyes simultaneously.

 

“It’s like a smorgasboard of cheating in there,” Mak Francis says in wonder.

 

Landon and Nighthawk are rolling on the mat in pain; however, both still have a good idea of where their respective partners are and they start crawling again, reaching out blindly ahead of them to try and tag out. Nighthawk has the greater reach but Landon is moving a bit quicker…

 

*smak*

 

*smak*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“It’s Hawke vs. Stephens, and it’s breaking down!” Mak Francis shouts as Hawke steps through the ropes and the World Champion vaults clean over them, then both men head for each other at a dead run. Stephens takes off from the mat and spirals through the air to deliver a spinning wheel kick that flattens his soon-to-be challenger, then pops back up to his feet and hits a dropkick to send Nighthawk (who has just got back to his feet) into the corner. Stephens is back up in a moment, but so is Hawke; with both men to deal with the Englishman positions himself between the Predators and lashes out with a

 

RIGHT! (to Hawke)

 

 

LEFT! (to Nighthawk)

 

 

RIGHT! (to Hawke)

 

 

LEFT! (to Nighthawk)

 

 

With the crowd roaring their support Stephens flips a v-sign to both men…

 

 

…DISCUS CLOTHESLINE TO HAWKE!

 

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

“TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

The World Champion ended up on the mat as well from the momentum of his own move; Nighthawk is slightly dazed but realises that his opponent is in a vulnerable position and starts to lumber forwards…

 

*whump-CRACK!*

 

“Kip-up enzuigiri!” Mak Francis shouts as Stephens explodes off the mat and leaps into the air to kick the larger Predator in the back of the head, “it gets them every time!” Nighthawk topples forward and lands on top of his own partner, crushing Jay Hawke beneath him; Stephens kicks him in the head to knock him off the Dean of Professional Wrestling, then rolls Nighthawk towards the ropes and drops to make a cover on Hawke…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Jay Hawke kicks out!

 

“Typical Toxxic,” King spits, “he waits until Hawke is worn out by the match before bothering to step into the ring!”

 

“Uh, I think Stephens would have got in earlier if he’d had his way,” Francis points out mildly, “only the Predators seemed to want to keep Maddix in there…”

 

Stephens drags Hawke back to his feet and places him in a front facelock, then holds his right arm out to the side to signal for the Unfinished Business. He swings his arm around and down, looking to drive Hawke’s face into the mat, but the Dean of Professional Wrestling slips out of his opponent’s grasp and as Stephens’s momentum carries him around the man from Cleveland reaches up…

 

“Wing Span!” King shouts, “that’s it! New Tag Champions!”

 

Not yet. Hawke has the World Champion trapped in his signature submission move, but he hasn’t yet dragged Stephens down to the mat where he can scissor the Englishman’s other arm, and before he does so Stephens sees something and ducks…

 

*CRACK!*

 

…it’s difficult to duck while in a Crossface Chickenwing; all Stephens manages to do is lean forward and down a bit. However, this pulls Jay Hawke’s head right into the line of fire of the flying forearm that Landon has just launched!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Stephens glares up at Landon as if to ask him what would have happened if he hadn’t managed to get out of the way; Landon returns the look with one that suggests hey, he did get out of the way, what’s the problem? It’s at this point that Nighthawk announces his return to the fray with a roar and a charge and a lariat swung full tilt at Landon’s head, but La Cucaracha manages to duck in his turn and the big man comes lumbering to a halt. He turns back to focus on Maddix but the plucky(?) South Dakotan pops him in the jaw with a right hand. Nighthawk wobbles away slightly and turns around to find Michael Stephens waiting for him. The World Champion delivers a right hand of his own that sends Nighthawk stumbling back in the direction of Landon… and a wide grin splits Maddix’s face.

 

‘PEPSI!’

 

The shout accompanies another punch to the jaw. As Nighthawk spins around Stephens’ brow creases in confusion for a moment, then as realisation dawns he evidently figures ‘what the hell’.

 

‘COKE!’

 

Nighthawk goes back…

 

‘PEPSI!’

 

…and forth…

 

‘COKE!’

 

…between the two…

 

‘PEPSI!’

 

…Tag Team Champions…

 

‘COKE!’

 

…until Landon gets bored and makes a throat-cutting gesture. This time as Nighthawk wobbles back in his direction La Cucaracha adjusts his stance slightly as Stephens does the same…

 

*KER-RACK!*

 

…and Nighthawk gets pasted by superkicks from the front AND behind!

 

‘SLICE OF LEMON?!’ Landon bawls as Nighthawk topples to the mat. Stephens just looks at him for a long second, then shakes his head in quiet despair. Unfortunately, this means he misses Jay Hawke behind him until the Dean grabs him in a rear waistlock and starts to heave him over for a German suplex…

 

…but Landon dashes forwards and grabs his partner’s hands and hauls him back down to the mat! Stephens ducks again and Landon, with the most delicate of touches, pokes Jay Hawke in the eyes!

 

“This is outrageous!” King splutters.

 

“This is actually pretty funny,” Mak argues, chuckling.

 

Hawke is staggering around blinded; Maddix and Stephens look at each other for a second, nod, then each one charges off for different sets of ropes. They rebound at the same time with Landon heading for the front while Stephens approaches from the rear, and take Hawke out with a Cucaracha Kick/rear soccer tackle combo!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Professional Foul!” Mak hollers, “this could be it!”

 

Stephens covers Jay Hawke as Landon finally succumbs to the orders of Brian Warner and turns to head for the arpon…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

-broken up by Nighthawk!

 

“NIGHT-HAWK SUCKS!”

“NIGHT-HAWK SUCKS!”

 

Landon, who had been ready to celebrate, turns around to find that his team has not only not won the match yet, but his partner has just been kicked in the head. La Cucaracha prepares to re-enter the ring, but as Nighthawk starts to bring Stephens up the World Champion grabs his opponent’s head and sits out with a jawbreaker to send the big man staggering away, then turns and scrambles for his own corner. Landon extends his hand to take the tag and as Stephens rolls under the bottom rope and, indeed, onto the arena floor the Next Generation prepares to return to the match completely legally by climbing to the top rope; once there he leaps off, stomping the doubled-over Nighthawk on the back of the head as he passes over and mashing the big man’s face into the canvas!

 

*BANG!*

 

The crowd rise in applause and Landon spreads his arms to soak in it; this leaves him completely open to Jay Hawke appearing behind him and snaring him in a reverse facelock, then dropping down to one knee and driving the other up into the back of Maddix’s neck! With Landon momentarily incapacitated Hawke starts trying to roll his larger partner out of the ring; the reasoning behind it becomes clear when Nighthawk gets under the ropes and Hawke slaps him a couple of times to bring him round; although dizzy, the big man gets back up to his feet and stretches out a hand to let himself be legally tagged in.

 

*smak*

 

Nighthawk steps back into the ring and helps his partner bring Landon up to his feet, then bends down and squats. Hawke shoves Landon into position, making La Cucaracha straddle Nighthawk’s shoulders, then delivers a stunning palm strike to the head that causes Maddix to wobble crazily. Nighthawk stands and elevates Maddix into the air, while Jay Hawke steps out to the apron and begins to climb to the top rope!

 

“This could be the Crash Landing,” Mak calls, “many a team has fallen to this over the years!”

 

Hawke is indeed setting up for the hurricanrana off the top to Landon… but just as he’s about to leap Michael Stephens comes tearing past the towering form of Maddix-on-Nighthawk and jumps to the second rope, then springboards off and up to deliver a mighty enzuigiri to Hawke! The Dean topples forward off his perch, and as Nighthawk gapes in amazement Landon hammers a double axe-handle down into the big man’s face, then grips with his legs and snaps backwards. It’s not as clean or as crisp as it might be, but the big man comes over into a reverse hurricanrana, and the crowd leaps up in delight!

 

“LAN-DON!”

“LAN-DON!”

 

Stephens grabs Maddix and hauls him up, checks his partner is OK (or as well as can be expected), and then turns his attention to Nighthawk. Maddix joins him a second later and the two haul their large opponent up, then turn to face the nearest turnbuckle… and both grab a ¾ headlock.

 

“Oh no, not this,” King moans, “someone stop this!”

 

Too late. Maddix and Stephens charge forwards with Nighthawk in tow, and run up the turnbuckles before flipping backwards at the top. Stephens comes down ribs-first while Landon opts to land on his ass…

 

*BANG!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“LABERINTO’S SUNNY REVENGE IN ENGLAND!” Mak shouts as the back of Nighthawk’s skull gets driven into the canvas, “that’s got to be it!”

 

Maddix makes the cover. Stephens sees Hawke about to re-enter the ring from where he rolled outside to regroup, and elects to grab the top rope and fly over to deliver a plancha to the hapless Dean.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners,” Funyon booms, “and STILL~ SWF World Tag Team Champions… the team of Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix and Michael Stephens… THE GA-LAC-TICOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“What a match!” Mak says with appreciation, “the experienced team of the Predators put in a good showing, but Stephens and Maddix were just too good. Jay Hawke will be hoping that this doesn’t herald events to come on November 30th-”

 

“-there’s no reason why it should!” King cuts in quickly, “did you see Hawke and Toxxic in the ring at the same time, Mak? For one thing they hardly got any one-on-one action at all, due to Toxxic’s reluctance to enter the match; for another, Hawke kept getting the upper hand and Toxxic had to rely on Landon Maddix to bail him out!”

 

“Personally King, I saw enough to whet my appetite for the World Title match without enough to give me any clue which way it might go,” Mak replies sagely, “but before we even get to November 30th we’ve got lots more action in the SWF; I’d expect a Cruiserweight Title defence at some point, and don’t forget the Cold Front Classic which Landon Maddix is involved in again!”

 

“Everything will be fine; Tom will win, Tom will win,” King repeats like a calming mantra. “Or hey, JJ might win. As long as it’s not Landon everything will be fine, and I won’t have to go apeshit and start screaming in Old Norse.”

 

“…I’d like to see that.”

 

In the ring Hawke tries to bring Nighthawk around; outside the ring Landon and Stephens exchange a casual high-five, then turn to make their way up the ramp. Everything’s OK…

 

…for now.

[chirs3 0]

Aside from the no-show - Benson and Johnson got sent in, trust me - this show was iller than Kim Jong. If Raynor hasn't come back to life by the time I get home from school, I'll put the card up myself.