JHawk 0 Report post Posted December 2, 2006 Francis: "We have had some fantastic action this evening, but it is now time for the match we all came here to see. The World Heavyweight Championship is on the line. Four-time champion Michael Stephens faces what might be his toughest one-on-one task since his current reign started as he defends against the man with the longest uninterrupted title reign in SWF history, Jay Hawke." King: "And this is truly a fresh matchup, Mak. These two men have never faced each other in a singles match." Francis: "And the only time they've been on opposite sides of the ring at all was the tag team title match two weeks ago, which was won by Stephens and Landon Maddix." King: "Yeah, but that was a tag team match, Mak. And that match doesn't necessarily translate into anything that happens here tonight. In fact, I don't see the result repeating at all." Francis: "The wild card in all of this could be Gabriel Drake. Remember, as Storm went on the air last week, cameras caught Jay Hawke offering Drake the shot at the title at the Christmas pay-per-view should he win the gold here. Could that lead to Drake interfering in this contest, or are those simply mind games on the part of the challenger?" King: "Believe me when I tell you this, Mak. Jay Hawke doesn't need the help of Gabriel Drake, or anyone else for that matter, to win this championship here tonight. But he'll certainly take advantage of the help if he gets it." Francis: "The time is now. The biggest prize in wrestling is on the line. Let's go to the introductions and the World Championship match." The lights dim, and the sound of children saying an all-too-familiar line begins coming over the public address system... "We don't need no education..." And with that, the opening strains of Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)" begin coming over the PA as the crowd boos. Emerging through the curtain is Jay Hawke, decked out in a sequined purple and black robe as purple lights emanate along the sides of the aisle. As the challenger makes his way to the ring, he keeps his eyes focused on the ring as the crowd begins its familiar chant: "JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!" The challenger shows no emotion as he climbs up the steps. He wipes his feet clean on the ring apron, then steps through the ropes, making his way to his corner and doing one last set of stretches to keep warmed up. As he stretches, every single light in the arena hits full, and the Smarktron whites out. For a few long moments there is silence, until a looped track of a crowd chant suddenly blasts over the PA System: "COME AND ‘AVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!" "COME AND ‘AVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!" This fades into the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire, and as the Smarktron starts to fade to black jagged white letters flash up one after another to form a familiar phrase: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ As the spiky guitar riff starts Stephens’ face appears smiling his distinctive lopsided grin before the Smarktron cuts into clips from his matches - the Super Intoxxication on Flesher to win his first World Title, the Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas, the All-Show Brawl with the Insane Luchador - along with clips of him grinning or smirking on the mic. Finally it cuts to footage of him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BOOOM!* -explosion of red pyro all along the soundstage! As the drums kick in Stephens strides through the smoke and remaining sparks, head down with his hair hiding his eyes. Stephens, World Title belt around his waist and tag team title belt draped over his shoulder, makes his way down towards the ring while the fans chant his name... “TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” ...then reaches the bottom of the ramp just before the verse kicks in. He crosses his arms briefly in the straight-edge ‘X’, then throws them wide, palms holding title belts. *bap-bap* *BOOOM!* More red pyro erupts, this time from the ring posts, and Stephens rolls into the ring under the bottom rope. From there he takes off his coat, removes his shirt and throws it to the crowd, at which point two girls in heavy eyeliner fight over it. This almost always happens. ’I never thought this could be me, I guess you never do until it’s happening to you Like all the fun turns into shame And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’ With both men in the ring, Funyon puts the mic to his lips, getting ready to bust out the old school ring intros. Funyon: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening. It is scheduled for one fall with a one hour time limit, and it is for the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!" The crowd gives a moderate cheer that gets louder for a few seconds before Funyon continues. Funyon: "Introducing first, in the corner to my left, the challenger. From the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio. Weighing in at 215 pounds. 'The Dean of Professional Wrestling' ... JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!" Funyon: "And his opponent, in the corner to my right. From Nottingham, United Kingdom. Weighing in at 218 pounds. One-half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions and the reigning and defending SWF Heavyweight Champion of the World. 'The Sensation' ... MICHAELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL STEPHENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNS!" "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” Francis: "The introductions have been made, King, and this is the one we've all been waiting for." Michael Stephens hands the World Title belt to senior referee Matthew Kivell, who shows it to Jay Hawke. Hawke briefly places the palm of his right hand over the center plate, then nods as Kivell raises it above his head to show it to the capacity crowd. King: "And this has the potential to be among the greatest title matches of all time. Get ready for this one. It's going to be a classic." Matthew Kivell then reaches outside the ring, handing the championship belt to a ring attendant before signaling for the opening bell… DING DING DING! “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Francis: “And here we go with one of the biggest matches in SWF history!” With neither man willing to make an early mistake, they slowly circle each other, cautious about making the first move. After a moment, they lock up collar-and-elbow. Jay Hawke has a slight strength advantage, so he uses that to push his opponent into the corner. Matthew Kivell calls for a break and begins his count, and the challenger surprises the crowd by breaking cleanly at the count of four. Francis: “And a clean break. A bit of a surprise from Hawke there.” King: “I’d be more surprised to see Toxxic breaking clean in a similar situation there.” Francis: “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Both men move into the center of the ring again. Again they move in slowly, and again they lock up. Once again, Hawke uses his strength to push the champion into the corner. Kivell breaks into his count again: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Hawke tries to throw a forearm, but Michael Stephens side steps it and moves to the center of the ring. Hawke shakes the arm, trying to fight the pain of it hitting the top turnbuckle pad. Francis: “And the champion wound up being just a little bit too quick for the challenger there.” King: “I’d say Toxxic has a slight edge in speed, but it’s still early yet. Let’s see if he’s still that fast about ten minutes from now.” Hawke shakes his head in frustration, then moves in. They lock up for a third time. This time, rather than push his opponent toward a corner, the challenger decides to lock in a side headlock. Before he can cinch it in, the Sensation grabs a wrist and floats behind him, trying to turn it into a hammerlock. Hawke refuses to let him cinch it in though, spinning around and taking Stephens over with an arm drag. The champion quickly gets to his feet, and as the challenger moves in, Michael Stephens catches him off guard with a European uppercut that sends him stumbling back into the corner. Hawke shakes off the cobwebs as Stephens looks at him, with the crowd already getting into the match: “TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” Francis: “What a shot by the champion there, and I think we know who this capacity crowd is pulling for here.” King: “The wrong guy as usual. I mean, Hawke’s a champion you can be proud of. Why wouldn’t these people want to cheer for him?” Francis: “This coming from a guy who’s been waiting months for Stephens to cheap shot his tag team partner.” King: “Good point. Except I’d like to see anybody cheap shot Toxxic’s tag team partner.” The Dean of Professional Wrestling moves in, and once again they lock up. Hawke uses his strength advantage to push the champion into the corner. Once again, the referee calls for the break, and there’s a break alright…courtesy of a knee into the ribs of the champion. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Jay Hawke levels Stephens with a European uppercut of his own, then locks in a front facelock and drags him to the center of the ring. Jay Hawke puts Stephens’ arm over the back of his neck and goes for a suplex, but the champion hooks his leg behind Hawke’s to block it, then takes the challenger over with a suplex of his own. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Michael Stephens immediately floats into a cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Hawke sits up, and Michael Stephens immediately locks in a front facelock. Francis: “The first near fall of the contest goes to the champion, and at least early on, he looks as if he wants to try to keep this match on the mat.” King: “And that is probably a mistake. Very few men in this industry are better technicians than Jay Hawke. I’d probably do anything but keep him on the mat.” Jay Hawke makes his way to his feet, grabbing the champion’s wrist and turning it into an arm wringer. Hawke pushes Stephens’ shoulder until he drops to his knees, then wrenches the wrist as Kivell moves in to see if Stephens wants to give up. Stephens shakes his head no, then stands, grabs the wrist, and spins, reversing the hold and dropping the challenger to his knees. Francis: “Nice counter by the champion, and it looks as if Hawke might have underestimated the scientific skills of Michael Stephens.” King: “But for every countermove, there’s another countermove, and Hawke knows counters that haven’t even been invented yet.” Jay Hawke gets to his feet and pokes the champion in the eye. King: “And then he knows counters that everybody should know as well.” Being temporarily blinded, Stephens doesn’t see the two feet that catch him in the side of the head and knock him down, courtesy of a dropkick from the challenger. Hawke immediately stands up and extends both arms, palms up, in celebration. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” As Michael Stephens moves to his feet, Jay Hawke grabs the wrist and once again twists it. He positions himself so he’s facing away from Stephens, then he pulls down on the arm, slamming it over his own shoulder. He goes into the arm wringer again, but Stephens spins around, and with his free arm, he snap mares the challenger to a seated position. Instantly, he unleashes a basement dropkick, hitting his opponent in the back of the head and slumping him down to the mat. The champion quickly moves into a cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Another near fall for the champion, and a smart move going for the quick cover.” King: “But a mistake here. He should be following up, but instead he’s allowing the challenger to get to his feet.” As the Dean of Wrestling stands up, Michael Stephens levels him with a European uppercut that brings him right back down to the mat. King: “Um…OK, never mind.” Jay Hawke brings himself back to his feet. Stephens moves in, but Hawke drives a knee into the midsection to double him over. Hawke quickly goes into a front facelock, locking his hands together and tightening the grip. Michael Stephens tries to pull the arms apart, but is unable to. Stephens throws a couple of elbows into the ribs of the challenger, doing just enough to release Hawke’s grip of the head. With that, he grabs Hawke’s head and locks in a front facelock of his own. Hawke lifts Stephens into the air, but Stephens flails his legs until they land safely on the mat. Sensing a new strategy is needed, Michael Stephens spins Hawke around, dropping him to the mat with a swinging neck breaker. He goes for the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. “TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” Francis: “Another near fall, and the challenger just can’t seem to get any sort of offense going here tonight!” King: “It’s early yet, Mak…” As Hawke gets to his feet, Stephens rocks Hawke with a European uppercut, staggering the Dean backwards. King: “…but he can’t take too many shots like that either!” Hawke moves forward again, but Toxxic is waiting for him. He catches Hawke with a right, then a left, then a right, then a left, then, after giving Jay Hawke an old-fashioned two-finger salute, spins around, arm outstretched for a clothesline. The challenger ducks, simultaneously grabbing a hold of the arm and driving the champion to the mat. He then maintains his grip on the arm and leans back on it, putting all his weight on the upper arm and shoulder. Francis: “And a tremendous counter into a Fujiwara armbar by the challenger, and Michael Stephens is in a lot of pain here!” King: “And you know Hawke loves to work the arms to soften his opponents up for that Wing Span! Might as well start early when the champion sets you up for it!” The champion fights the pain and pulls himself forward, reaching out and grabbing hold of the bottom rope. Matthew Kivell calls for the break, and Hawke releases the hold at four, only to pull Stephens to the center of the ring. The Dean of Wrestling levels the champion with a couple of forearms, then goes for an Irish whip, but Stephens reverses it and catches him coming in with a soccer tackle to the shins. Hawke places his hands on the mat to maintain his footing, but Stephens floats forward with a somersault, taking Hawke down with a modified neck breaker. The champion again goes for the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Another count of two, and Stephens is still keeping the challenger off his game!” Jay Hawke pulls himself to his feet. Michael Stephens catches him with a standing dropkick, and the challenger hits the mat and rolls toward the corner. He uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, and Michael Stephens charges. While this scene takes place in real time, it feels like slow motion to the champion. As he reaches his full momentum, he sees Jay Hawke moving to his left. He has enough time to see this and tell himself “Oh bloddy ‘ell” before he smacks the top turnbuckle shoulder first and falls to the mat. The pain shooting through his left arm is anything but slow motion, and the challenger immediately moves in, stomping away at the shoulder repeatedly. King: “There you go! That’s the advantage the challenger needed right there!” Michael Stephens weathers the force of those stomps and pulls himself to his knees. As he does, Jay Hawke unleashes a roundhouse kick to the shoulder, then another one to the side of the head that forces the challenger to slump down to the canvas. The challenger immediately drops down into a pin attempt: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Jay Hawke immediately hooks Michael Stephens’ left arm into a key lock, yanking at it with as much force as he can muster. Francis: “The challenger gaining his first near fall of the contest, and now he’s got a death grip on Stephens’ left arm.” King: “And the more he works on it, the sooner the champion’s title reign is going to end, Mak!” Michael Stephens makes his way to his feet, and he somehow summons up enough leverage to arm drag Hawke to the mat to release the hold. Instinctively, he tries to drop the elbow, but Hawke rolls out of the way. King: “That’s the arm that just hit the turnbuckle a moment ago!” Hawke immediately drops a fist across the forehead of his opponent, then another. He drops down for the pin, hooking the right leg for leverage: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Jay Hawke then grabs a hold of Michael Stephens’ arm and extends it across the canvas. He drops a leg across it, then wraps it up until he scissors it. Francis: “A short arm scissors after the near fall, and Hawke is clearly trying to soften the champion up for that Wing Span!” King: “And a move like this is also good for getting a quick pin, as you have to watch where your shoulders are at while you’re trying to find a way out of the hold.” Almost as if on cue, Michael Stephens’ shoulders fall to the canvas: ONE! TWO! Stephens gets the free right shoulder up but has made no headway in getting out of the hold. King: “If I wasn’t universally known as a genius already, people would begin thinking so right there.” Michael Stephens’ shoulder falls to the canvas again: ONE! TWO! Stephens again gets the shoulder up. Francis: “I doubt Michael Stephens is going to lose the title this way, but the fact that he’s just come close twice while locked in this hold shows that anything can happen!” King: “Only a matter of time, Mak. Only a matter of time.” Michael Stephens locks his hands together and begins to try to get to his feet. He does so, putting the challenger’s shoulders onto the mat: ONE! TWO! Jay Hawke kicks forward, putting Michael Stephens right back into the position he was already in. “TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” Francis: “This capacity crowd here in Albuquerque is trying to rally behind the champion!” King: “But no matter how many people chant his name, they can’t get in there and help him out of the hold!” Michael Stephens finally begins using his feet to kick himself toward the ropes. Jay Hawke tries to tighten the grip of the hold, but Stephens is able to drape one foot over the bottom rope. Matthew Kivell calls for the break: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FI-- Jay Hawke breaks a fraction of a second before he would have gotten disqualified. Francis: “That was close. Had Kivell finished that five count, he would have been forced to disqualify the challenger!” King: “But that’s what makes Hawke the Dean of Professional Wrestling. He knows all about how to manipulate the rules to his advantage!” Jay Hawke locks in an armbar, driving in a series of elbows into the insertion of the shoulder as he does so. He then drapes Michael Stephens’ arm over the top rope and yanks back on it, using the rope as leverage for a modified hammerlock. Hawke holds it until the referee’s count of four, only breaking it by dropkicking the top rope. The champion falls to the mat, screaming in pain while clutching at his arm. Hawke immediately covers, barring the arm at the same time: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Only the count of two there, but after that move with the top rope, tears are nearly coming out of Michael Stephens’ eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in this much pain!” Jay Hawke picks Michael Stephens up, hammerlocks the already-injured left arm, then body slams him. Stephens’ arm is trapped underneath his body as he lands, and his screams echo through the sold-out Albuquerque Convention Center. “TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” King: “Chant his name all you want to, rubes, but that won’t prevent your hero’s arm from falling completely out of the socket.” Jay Hawke rolls Michael Stephens onto his stomach. He grabs Stephens’ arm and lays it on the canvas, then drives a series of knees into the shoulder. Stephens screams a little bit louder with each knee, and Hawke quickly locks in another Fujiwara armbar, this time bending the champion’s wrist into an awkward position at the same time. “TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” Francis: “All the pressure is on the arm and shoulder, and now the wrist as well. Could we actually see Michael Stephens give up the championship tonight?” King: “If he’s smart. He’ll get a rematch at some point when the arm heals, but if he wants two arms at the end of the night, he’d better submit while he has the chance.” Michael Stephens continues to fight the pain, but he is slowly crawling toward the ropes. Jay Hawke pulls back on the hold again, stopping the champion’s momentum. Stephens extends his arm, missing the ropes by at least a foot, then closes his hand into a fist and pounds on the mat four times, seemingly to fight the pain. King: “That’s it! He tapped!” Francis: “No! A tapout has to be with the palm of the hand!” King: “A technicality!” With the crowd rallying him on… “TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” …Michael Stephens again crawls toward the ropes. He reaches for the ropes, missing it by six inches or so. Jay Hawke again yanks back on the hold, and Stephens screams before making one last lunge for the ropes. This time he’s able to grab them, and Matthew Kivell is forced to ask for a break: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIV-- Jay Hawke releases the hold, then he begins to stomp on the champion’s shoulder again until Matthew Kivell physically pulls the challenger away from the ropes. Francis: “Matthew Kivell overstepping his bounds a little bit there, but he could easily disqualify Jay Hawke right there!” King: “I think the referee wants to see a clear winner too, Mak. After all, there’s a lot rid--” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” King: “Why are they cutting me off?” The camera cuts down the aisle to see Gabriel Drake slowly making his way down to ringside. Francis: “What is he doing out here?” King: “Hey, Jay Hawke’s already offered him the first shot at the title, Mak. Drake is obviously out here to scout for the Christmas pay-per-view.” Francis: “You honestly believe that, King?” King: “Sure, why not?” Jay Hawke sees Drake stopping at ringside and smiles. He then lifts Michael Stephens, seemingly for a body slam, but he stops short and drops the champion’s shoulder over his knee. Hawke goes for the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Slightly frustrated, Hawke covers again, this time hooking the far leg: ONE! TWO! Kickout. More frustrated, Hawke covers again, not only hooking the leg but using his legs to hook the other leg: ONE! TWO! THR -- kickout. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Jay Hawke slaps the mat in frustration, then yells at the referee as if the count is the reason the match isn’t over. Francis: “A series of near falls there, and Hawke better careful and not let his temper get the best of him.” King: “He fell just a bit short in his only other opportunity at this title! It’s his pride getting to him moreso than his temper, Mak!” Jay Hawke pulls Michael Stephens to his feet, but Stephens uses his good arm to catch Hawke with a European uppercut. Hawke staggers backwards but quickly stops the champion with a knee to the gut that doubles him over. Hawke runs into the ropes, but Stephens takes him down with a drop toehold on the rebound, then locks in the inside stepover toehold before he floats into a ¾ nelson facelock. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!” Francis: “Regal Stretch! Submission move applied, seemingly out of nowhere, and the champion has his challenger wrapped up!” Michael Stephens tries to tighten the hold, but he releases the facelock portion of the hold as his left arm falls to his side. King: “No! The damage that has already been done to the shoulder prevented him from getting the full effect of the hold!” Stephens tries to lock the hold in again, but Jay Hawke catches him with a series of elbows to the face. Freeing himself from the toehold, Jay Hawke levels him with an elbow to the side of the head, and Stephens falls face first to the mat. Jay Hawke gets to his feet and waits for Stephens, who is slowly making his way to his feet with his back to the challenger. King: “Here we go, Mak! We know what he’s setting up for here!” As Stephens reaches his feet, Jay Hawke moves in for a crossface chickenwing, but Stephens scurries forward and makes it to the ropes before Hawke can lock his hands. Francis: “Jay Hawke went for the Wing Span right there, but nothing doing as Michael Stephens made his way to the ropes.” King: “Only temporarily saving the title, Mak! If he locks the hold in, there’s no way Toxxic survives!” The challenger reluctantly lets go, but quickly grabs the champion around the waist and falls backwards, taking the champion over with a picture-perfect German suplex: ONE! TWO! Kickout. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” Jay Hawke audibly yells “Dammit!” and pulls the champion to his feet. He drives a knee into the midsection to double him over, then locks in a front facelock. He flips off the crowd, then falls down, driving Stephens’ head into the mat with a thunderous DDT. Stephens’ body goes limp, and Hawke smiles as he rolls his opponent onto his back and goes for the pin: King: “Good night, sweet prince, and thanks for being here.” ONE! TWO! THR -- Michael Stephens barely gets the right shoulder up. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” King: “Now how the hell did he kick out of that?” Francis: “I don’t know, but Jay Hawke is not happy about it!” Jay Hawke grabs Matthew Kivell by the collar of his shirt, protesting that the DDT should have been enough for three. The referee insists the shoulder was up in time, and Hawke lets go, shaking his head in disappointment and disbelief. He turns around, unaware that his argument has allowed Michael Stephens to get to his feet…. SMACK! “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Francis: “Stephenskick, and the champion simply falls on top of his challenger!” ONE! “ONE!” TWO! “TWO!” THRE -- kickout. “THREE! YAA--BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Francis: “Only a count of two! My God, I thought he had it right there!” King: “Toxxic would have literally stumbled into the victory had he gotten the three count there, Mak!” “TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC… TOXXXXXXX-IC…” Stephens gets to his feet, the reaction of the capacity crowd seemingly fueling a rush of adrenaline. Jay Hawke reaches his feet, and the champion rocks him backwards with a European uppercut. He follows that up with a kick to the midsection, then hooks Hawke’s head, seemingly for a neck breaker. He positions him for a hangman’s neck breaker, then twists his body, driving the challenger face-first to the canvas. Francis: “Pressure drop, and Michael Stephens is going for the pin again!” ONE! “ONE!” TWO! “TWO!” Kickout. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Francis: “But again, only the count of two!” King: “I’ll give the champion credit for being resilient, Mak, but you’ve got to give Jay credit as well!” As Jay Hawke pulls himself to his feet, the Sensation slips behind him and attempts to lock him in a full nelson. Hawke throws some elbows to fight it off, not getting in more than a glancing blow at any one point. Stephens improvises, grabbing the tights of his challenger and lifting him up, driving him face-first to the canvas as he sits out. Francis: “Half-nelson face buster, and another cover!” ONE! “ONE!” TWO! “TWO!” T -- kickout. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Francis: “And again, only the count of two!” King: “He can’t beat him, Mak! He can’t beat him tonight!” Francis: “He still has a few moves in his arsenal, King. It’s not over yet!” The champion waits for his opponent to get to his feet. Hawke is slow to, but does, albeit in a bent-over position. With that, the wrestler formerly known as Toxxic hooks both arms, lifts, and swings, driving him down to the mat with a modified face buster. Francis: “Stephens Shock Syndrome! This one is over!” Michael Stephens grimaces in pain, shaking the left arm before rolling Hawke over and going for the pin. ONE! “ONE!” TWO! “TWO!” T -- kickout. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” King: “No! Toxxic hesitated just a fraction of a second to check his injured shoulder, and that might have cost him the title.” Sensing he’s just one move away from victory, he once again waits for his opponent to get to his feet. As Hawke does, Stephens levels him with a solid European uppercut that drops him to his knees. He then hooks the Dean of Professional Wrestling into a ¾ headlock, runs up the turnbuckles, and backflips over, driving the back of Hawke’s head into the mat. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Francis: “Sunny in England! That’s the finishing move!” Michael Stephens rolls around the mat, grimacing in pain as he clutches at the left shoulder. King: “But he didn’t quite land right! I think he landed more on his left shoulder than flat on his front, Mak!” Fighting the pain, Michael Stephens slowly crawls into the cover, confident he’s got it won anyway. ONE! “ONE!” TWO! “TWO!” THRE -- kickout. “YAAAAAA--BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THAT WAS THREE! THAT WAS THREE! THAT WAS THREE!” Francis: “Only the count of two, and I don’t think these fans agree with that call, King!” King: “They don’t have to agree with the call, Mak. As long as that’s Matthew Kivell’s call, the match continues.” Now it’s Michael Stephens who shows frustration on his face. He tries to ignore it though, and runs into the ropes as soon as he sees Hawke standing. As he rebounds, all he sees is Hawke’s foot hitting him in the chin… SMACK! …and Jay Hawke falling on top of him for the pin: ONE! TWO! THR -- kickout. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Francis: “Superkick by the challenger, and how much closer can you get to a pin than that?” King: “Toxxic nearly won earlier with that very move, and Hawke nearly got him with the same thing!” Jay Hawke looks down at Michael Stephens and, seeing that he’s barely moving, begins making his way to the corner. He starts climbing the inside of the turnbuckle. King: “What is he doing?” Francis: “He might be going for that Hawke Swoop. We’ve only seen this move once in his SWF career!” King: “But he turned his back to Toxxic!” Hawke loses his balance just a bit on the top turnbuckle, allowing Michael Stephens just enough time to get to his feet and dive forward, catching the top rope. Hawke falls crotch-first onto the turnbuckle, then rolls backwards onto the mat below. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Francis: “Hawke went for one big chance there, and that might cost him the championship!” Stephens looks down at Jay Hawke, then decides to climb the turnbuckles himself. Francis: “Now this could be a mistake.” King: “Toxxic hasn’t been up the ropes the entire match though, and at this point one big move should finish it off!” As Michael Stephens balances himself on the top rope, Gabriel Drake hops up onto the ring apron. Francis: “Wait a minute! Get him down from there!” King: “What? He’s probably just shouting encouragement!” Stephens looks over at Drake to make sure he’s not going to interfere, but the distraction allows Hawke to regain his feet and shake the top rope, dropping the champion crotch-first onto the top turnbuckle. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” King: “And again, turnabout is fair play! What an incredible match!” The job done, Gabriel Drake hops off the apron. Meanwhile, Jay Hawke steps through the ropes and begins climbing the turnbuckle behind Michael Stephens. Francis: “What is he doing?” When he gets there, he locks Michael Stephens into a crossface chickenwing, then scissors the free arm, all with both men perched on the top turnbuckle. Francis: “Wing Span!” ONE! King: “But it’s not legal!” TWO! King: “He’ll be disqualified at five!” THREE! FOUR! At four, Hawke releases the arm scissors and pushes forward, driving Stephens’ head and shoulder into the mat while landing on top of him. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!” Francis: “MY GOD!” King: “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Mak.” Jay Hawke rolls Michael Stephens over, needing a second effort with the champion’s body as limp as it is. He then falls into the cover: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING DING DING! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” King: “He did it! History is made here in Albuquerque!” Matthew Kivell asks for the title belt, and once received, he hands it to Jay Hawke, who clutches it to his side with his left arm as he raises his right arm in victory. Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen! In 19 minutes 49 seconds … the winner of this match … and new SWF World Heavyweight Champion … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Fireworks go off along the arena ceiling as confetti begins to fall from the rafters. Francis: “An absolutely incredible matchup here tonight, and we have crowned a new World Heavyweight Champion, but you have to wonder if the result would have been different without Gabriel Drake standing at ringside.” King: “No you don’t. Drake didn’t interfere in this contest, and if Toxxic actually allowed himself to be distracted, that’s his own fault. There’s no guarantee he would have hit whatever move he was going for.” Francis: “Well, the story tonight is that we do have a new World Champion, and if he has a reign even remotely like his International Title reign, we could be in this one for the long haul.” King: “But there are going to be some awesome matches in the meantime.” Francis: “We’ll see you on Smarkdown, everybody, and I’m sure the new World Champion will have something to say!” Jay Hawke climbs onto the middle turnbuckle, holding the belt over his head as the confetti falls behind and we fade out. ©2006 Smarks Wrestling Federation Raising Workrate by Typing Faster Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
