SWF Stoooooooooo-

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SWF
STORM

Live, Saturday, December 9th, from the P-MAC in Baton Rouge, Louisiana!
(7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)
(Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3)



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THE MAIN EVENT - TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Michael Stephens ©© and Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix © vs. Wild and Dangerous
-> With a solid victory over ZyKira, Wild and Dangerous showed us that after all this time, they've still got it. But you don't get to be a triple champ and dominate the tag division without having some it yourself, Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix. Seperate, they are four of the most dominant men in the fed - united, they are two of the most successful teams we've seen in ages. Can Wild and Dangerous capture their record-breaking 3783783264326th Tag Team Title Reign?
Rules: Use the tag ropes OR DIE. Standard rules.

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JJ Johnson vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke
-> The CFC's last match has been pushed back to the Pay Per View, but that doesn't mean JJ's just going to slouch around! We've set up some tasty matches to help keep him in shape, the first of which is a bout against the recently-foiled Jay Hawke! After coming oh-so-close-but-not-close-enough to the World Title, Hawke's gotta be itching for another chance. A victory of Mr. Cold Front Classic could go a long way in getting him that chance.
Rules: Standard singles.

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TAG TEAM MATCH
Team ZyKira (Zyon © and Akira Kaibatsu ©) vs. Team CrArk (Michael Cross and Alan Clark)
-> I think this is supposed to go down, but last I heard was "I think", so I'll leave this open in case it needs to be amended or removed. Real description will be edited in at that time.
Rules: Standard tag. ROPES AER UR FREND.

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Let's Screw With Jimmy Some More (non-title)
Devin Benson vs. Jimmy the Doom
-> If Jimmy is just shy of a God in the hardcore division, it stands to reason that removing Hardcore from the equation should remove his awesomeness as well. WHAT reason it stands to is debateable - the point is, Peters is has seen a whole lot of Jimmy winning, and very little of Jimmy losing, and this is something he'd like to fix. As much as he tried, though, he couldn't justify putting Jimmy's title on the line with the rules so... there's no delicate way to say this - with the rules so blatantly stacked against the Doomtopian.
Rules: Devin may fight under Hardcore rules - he can use any weapons, the countout does not effect him, he cannot be disqualified. Jimmy, on the other hand, must fight clean - he cannot use weapons, the countout DOES apply to him, and he CAN be disqualified. Mwahahaha!

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Another In A Long Line of "Winner Gets a Prize" Matches
Insane Luchador vs. Nighthawk
-> Last year, the Christmas PPV's "Random Multiman" winner got the chance to book the very first match of the New Year. I like this, so let's do it again, but this time let's make the Multiman a little less random. You gotta EARN your shot at this shot, and we start right here! Winner of this match gets a spot in that match! Unless they already have PPV plans, in which case they'll get... something else.
Rules: Standard singles.

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IL vs. Nighthawk to be edited in.

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All is quiet in Baton Rouge as SWF Storm rolls on, moving toward Two Skinny White Guys’ Tag Team Championship defense against Wild and Dangerous. In fact, things are so quiet that for once, the backstage area is completely calm.

 

 

“OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!”

 

 

Well, that didn’t last very long.

 

 

“You’re telling me,” shouts Tom Flesher, “that because my PLANE was delayed, and I couldn’t make it in last week, I’m forfeiting any chance I had to win the Cold Front Classic? Joe, that’s bull!”

 

Joe Peters, magnanimous as always, shrugs. “Tom, you and Spike didn’t show. What do you want me to do, delay the match even further?”

 

Flesher rolls his eyes. “YES! Delay it until me and that little prick can settle things in the ring like men, instead of letting Johnson and Maddix dick around over it for two weeks! For god’s sake, Joe, I SELL TICKETS!”

 

“And you’ll sell tickets in undercard matches, too,” says Peters curtly. “Come on, Tom, quit your whining and go find someone else to bother.”

 

Flesher glares. “Joe, this isn’t going to go well for you. I could ask anyone – Andrea Montgomery, Bill Hearford, anyone – and they’d tell you it’s not fair for me to be out of the Cold Front Classic over this.”

 

“Are you done?”

 

“Here,” Tom protests. “I’ll ask the first person I see, and if he agrees with you, then I’ll quit complaining.”

 

Peters turns to his iPod, clearly not paying attention to Flesher’s ranting. (After all, the Tag Team Champions are defending tonight and they need theme music.) Flesher, for his part, stalks up to the catering table and taps the shoulder of the tall, blond wrestler currently fiddling with the bagels. “Listen, fella,” Tom says, “I need you to come tell Peters he’s full of – ”

 

“SALUTATIONS!”

 

Victor Herzog turns around to greet Flesher, who merely continues glowering at him.

 

“Hi to you to,” he spits. “Now come with me and tell Peters he needs to pull his head out of his – ”

 

“Easy, easy,” says Mister Swiss. “I don’t think you quite understand my philosophy, Herr Flesher.”

 

“Jesus,” Flesher growls, “first Craven whining about his BA in psychology and now you with your philosophy. I don’t give a damn what your undergrad major was, Vic. Just get over here and tell Peters his position is – ”

 

Herzog looks on as Flesher stops, waiting to be cut off. After an uncomfortable silence, he says, “... wrong.”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, I’m... neutral.”

 

Flesher’s eyes narrow to slits. “Neutral? Don’t they teach you schmucks to respect their elders in whatever two-bit school you came out of? I’m Tom Goddam Flesher! I was the World Heavyweight Champion twice! I was the Cruiserweight Champion twice! I’ve held more titles than you’ve ever seen! Where the hell do you get off?”

 

Herzog smiles. “I have no strong feelings on the topic.”

 

“How about this? Do you have any damn strong feelings about settling this in the ring like men?”

 

Herzog shrugs. “All I know is that my gut says maybe.”

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

Flesher storms off, leaving a noncommittal Victor Herzog standing by the table sipping coffee.

 

“Ah, veterans,” he murmurs. “So fiery.”

 

~fin~

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DING DING!!!!

 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the following special challenge match is scheduled for one fall! The first contestant....”

 

The P-MAC lights up with a single red pyro, and the crowd goes wild as confetti scatters through the arena!

 

CHANGE MY PITCH UP!

SMACK MY BITCH UP!

 

Victor Herzog steps through the curtain and, in recognition of the warm reception he receives from the Baton Rouge crowd, waves and shouts, “SALUTATIONS!” The crowd continues cheering him as he walks to the ring, and he makes his way into the squared circle.

 

“This is an interesting match we have coming up,” says the Suicide King. “On the one hand, you have a technical wizard and two-time heavyweight champion in ‘the Superior One’ Tom Flesher. On the other, you have a goofy Swiss guy.”

 

“Come on, King,” says Mak Francis. “Are you really telling me you don’t like Victor Herzog after what he did to Ced Ordonez last week?”

 

King shrugs. “I have no strong feelings on him. I do know, though, that when a veteran like Tom Flesher comes up and asks for your support on an issue like the Cold Front Classic, you don’t say no to him.”

 

“But Vic didn’t say no,” Francis prods. “He just didn’t say yes. He’s got a policy of neutrality.”

 

“I can take him or leave him.”

 

“Currently in the ring,” says Funyon, “hailing from Geneva, Switzerland, and weighing in at 255 pounds... he is ‘Mister Swiss,’ VICTOR HERZOG!”

 

Herzog waves and acknowledges the crowd, which politely continues cheering him as “Smack My Bitch Up” fades out. Funyon says, “And his opponent...”

 

“Oh, come on,” says James Matheson, stepping through the curtain to break up Funyon’s introduction. “You’re announcing this? They hired a referee for it and everything? That’s incredible. You’re really going to cheer for that big lug while he struts to the ring and then act disappointed when he gets systematically destroyed by a guy as accomplished as my client, the one, the only, TOM FLESHER?!”

 

With that, Flesher pushes the curtain aside, forgoing his usual entrance music and walking purposefully to the ring. James Matheson follows behind him. Flesher, not having bothered to change after issuing his challenge, has his blue collared shirt untucked and is still wearing his dark jeans and wingtip shoes. Matheson, as always, wears a dark suit and carries his Halliburton briefcase. Tom rolls into the ring and starts toward the center, pointing and shouting at Herzog. Referee Blaine Kalem stops him, pushing him back to the corner, while Herzog relaxes in his corner. Kalem says, “I need to check you.”

 

“Come on,” Flesher says. “I’m in street clothes. What could I be packing?”

 

With that, Kalem drops to one knee and starts checking Flesher’s pantlegs. Flesher reaches into his right pocket and pulls out a roll of coins, which he holds in his cupped right hand as Kalem makes it up to his pockets. Kalem slides a hand into the left pocket and withdraws a Bic pen.

 

“Yeah, you got me,” says Flesher disgustedly. “A Bic’s a great foreign object, and something I’d NEVER carry with me in street clothes, you stupid piece of crap.”

 

Satisfied that Flesher doesn’t have any foreign objects, Kalem turns and calls for the bell as Flesher slides his roll of coins back into his pocket. With that, he circles toward Herzog, who waits for him in the center.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

As Herzog turns toward Flesher, the Superior One reaches up and lets fly with a bitchslap, catching the Swiss ambassador across the face! The crowd immediately begins booing Flesher, who drops down and snags Herzog by the ankle and trips him to the mat. Flesher drops down onto his opponent and hammers him with a palm strike before reaching down and grabbing his wrist. As Herzog tries to pull back, he rolls onto his stomach, and Tom extends the arm before slapping it back down with a hammerlock.

 

“Flesher’s showing some dominance here,” says the Suicide King, as Tom reaches down and throws a half-nelson under Herzog’s free arm. Flesher pulls him up and slaps on a bodyscissors grip, then rolls Herzog over and puts his shoulders to the mat with the freestyle tilt. Kalem counts

 

 

ONE!

 

 

Herzog, though, throws a shoulder off the mat, and Flesher pulls him back to his face-down mount. He reaches down, pinning the hammerlock against Herzog’s back with his chest, and throws a stiff forearm across Victor’s face to pull him into an improvised katahajime! Before Flesher can sink it in, though, Herzog throws out a long arm and grabs the bottom rope, prompting Blaine Kalem to break up the hold. An angry Flesher backs away, and Herzog quickly rolls to his knees, and then gets back to his feet.

 

“Tom Flesher was just trying to have some fun,” says King. “There’s no reason to break up that hold.”

 

“Hazing the newbie isn’t fun,” Francis says. “It’s the kind of crap that ends with people breaking their contracts. We’ve lost so many promising rookies, and Candice Okimurra, to that kind of junk.”

 

As Herzog gets back up, though, Flesher drops down and hammers his knee with a basement dropkick! Herzog collapses back to the mat as Flesher rolls out from under him, and then grabs him in a front headlock. Immediately, Herzog starts trying to back away, but Flesher pulls him to his feet. The lanky Swiss superstar tries to slide out, but Flesher holds the headlock tightly. As Herzog pulls back once more, Flesher releases him. Herzog backs away, off balance, having expected more resistance, and Flesher takes advantage of his confusion by hammering him with a knee to the jaw! The Schweizer collapses, and Flesher arrogantly drops down onto him for the cover.

 

 

ONE!!!

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

 

NO! Herzog kicks out, but Flesher stays on him in side control. He grabs Herzog’s left arm and once again pulls it into a hammerlock, but this time, he doesn’t bother doing anything with it for a few moments.

 

“What’s he stalling for?” asks Francis. “This crap’s unnecessary. He’s just trying to embarrass Vic Herzog.”

 

“Kind of answered your own question there, didn’t you, Mak?”

 

Flesher reaches up, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it to the side of the ring before standing up and baiting Herzog to get to his feet. As Herzog starts up, Flesher charges at him, hoping to nail him with a Yakuza kick... but Herzog ducks it! Flesher staggers forward, and Herzog stands up, spinning around into a lariat! Flesher collapses to the mat, stunned at the rookie’s offensive flurry, but Herzog grabs him before he falls. He whips Tom to the ropes, and as Flesher rebounds, Herzog jumps up and hammers him with a dropkick! Tom falls to the mat and rolls to the outside, pausing to collect himself by dabbing his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. Herzog, for his part, merely looks to the outside.

 

“Offensive flurry by the big man from Switzerland,” says the Suicide King, “and Flesher’s caught by surprise. Although even the chimp hits a bullseye once in a while.”

 

Flesher rolls back in, and immediately, Herzog starts stomping on him. Tom grabs the bottom rope, but the monstrous Swiss grabs him by the head and pulls him into a front facelock, then quickly tosses him over with a snap suplex! Flesher’s back arches up, and he is in obvious pain as he tries to roll away. For his part, Herzog grabs Flesher around the waist and lifts him up. He turns the Superior One in the air and slams him down across his bended knee with a gutwrench backbreaker that sends Flesher to the mat clutching his spine. Herzog backs off, waiting for Flesher to get up to his feet.

 

“What’s Tom going to do now?” asks Francis. “He’s gonna have to find some way to keep Herzog from hitting him as hard as he’s been, or else Mister Swiss is about to go neutral on his ass!”

 

Flesher slowly gets back to his feet, and Herzog comes in to grab him with a collar-and-elbow tie. Flesher thrusts his right hand into his pocket and, continuing to grapple, brings his hand around to hammer Herzog with a stiff palm strike to the jaw! As he makes impact, a handful of coins scatter across the ring! As Herzog collapses to the mat, Blaine Kalem looks up and sees the split roll of quarters in Flesher’s hand. He calls for the bell!

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

Kalem drops down to check on Herzog, who wasn’t expecting the foreign object any more than Kalem was. Flesher, for his part, merely shouts, “That’s what you get, you piece of crap!”

 

“Tom Flesher hits the neutral Victor Herzog with economic sanctions!” shouts the Suicide King, as a bevy of referees run down to the ring and hold the Superior One back. “This is NOT going to be good for Herzog’s ability to keep time.”

 

“So is that what this was all about?” snaps Mak Francis. “Tom just wanted to get Herzog out here to embarrass him by hitting him with a foreign object?”

 

“I believe those are US quarters, Mak.”

 

“Tom’s going to pay for that one. Not only is it going to go as a loss on his record, but I have a feeling Joe Peters is going to impose some economic sanctions of his own. He’ll hit Tom where it hurts – in the wallet!”

 

“Oh, bitch, bitch, bitch,” says King. “Clean up that Swiss melt while we’re on commercial and let’s see what else we have on the docket.”

 

As the referees tend to Herzog, we fade.

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Jimmy vs. Benson to be edited inzzz.

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“It’s been a wild ride so far tonight, ladies and gentlemen, and up next things are looking to get even crazier. First, let’s take you back to last week, we were just getting ready for an International Title defense…”

 

The screen changes to the Smarktron, where just as Akira Kaibatsu and Michael Cross were about to let months of torment explode in violent fury, a seemingly accidental musical miscue occurred…

 

“We thought it was Alan Clark, and indeed it…sort of was, but we found out later on that Bloodshed seemed to be asserting himself into the International Title division for reasons we are still unsure of…”

 

“And let’s not forgot how Alan Clark cheated his way to victory early that night! It’s the only time I was ever proud of anything that Disney idiot ever did!” The Suicide King interrupts Mak Francis’ narration, and just as Bloodshed dropkicks Michael Cross from the ring to the floor, the video shifts to earlier that night, as Alan Clark grabbed the ropes en route to a win against newcomer Pierre Donette.

 

“Yes, we really can’t forget that, but thanks to that little run in by Bloodshed, Alan Clark is being forced to tag tonight against a man he attacked a few days ago, Michael Cross, and the two of them are going to be standing across the ring in just a few minutes from the team of Wasted Youth, the most recent team of double champions here in the SWF.”

 

“Let’s just get on with it. My head is killing me and I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle that cheerful dolt for too long tonight.”

 

“And as Funyon steps into the ring for our introductions we remind you that SWF Storm is sponsored by Crowe’s Medicinal Marijuana and Herbal Supplements. For any ailment, get blunt force trauma today!” The Franchise finishes with a flourish as Funyon raises his microphone to his lips…

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen…the following tag team contest is scheduled for ONE FALL…introducing first…from Detriot, Michigan…” he begins as “Colony” by In Flames begins to pound and thump and thud its way through the loudspeakers, a dark red hue ascends over the sold-out crowd…

 

“…weighing in at two hundred thirty seven pounds…he is “IRON” MIKE CROSSSSS!!”

 

As his name echoes from the rafters, the shadow of Michael Cross appears from out behind the curtains, the whites of his eyes not even visible in the darkness.

 

“That’s a man that has been looking for weeks to take out his frustrations on only one man, and it was the actions of his partner for tonight that caused him to have to wait until----“

 

”It’s a world of laughter…

A world of tears…”

 

“What the hell?” The Suicide King’s head swivels as the dark red and ominous music is replaced by the sounds of karaoke from beyond the entranceway. As the lights come up, Michael Cross turns toward the stage and his mouth drops.

 

”There’s so much that we share…

…that’s it time we …are…aware…”

 

Alan Clark, in full custodial regalia and a microphone to his lips, is belting out a song that is loathed by just as many as those that love it….all the love and hate boiling down to one simple phrase…

 

”…it’s a small world after aaaaaaaalllllll…”

 

Alan drops the microphone to the stage and breaks into a sprint, passing by Cross with a wave as Funyon tries to keep up.

 

“And…uhm…his partner…representing Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida. He weighs in at two hundred and twenty five pounds…the self-proclaimed Happiest Guy On Earth…ALAAAAAAAAAAAN CLAAAAAAAARK!”

 

Alan spins himself like a dervish as Walter Reynolds walks down the ramp, passing the still stunned Cross. Reynolds pauses, saying something to him before continuing his way down to the ring. After a brief few seconds of deep thought, Michael Cross simply shrugs his shoulder and walks the extra few feet to the ring before simply spinning around and facing the entranceway, his eyes focused on the curtain…waiting.

 

“Well, that’s about all I could take, someone get me some of that (bleep) Crowe’s selling.” Both of the King’s hands rest against his forehead and he can be heard muttering to himself as the sounds of the Wu-Tang Clan’s “Protect Ya Neck” brings out the duo known as “Wasted Youth” comes barreling from the backstage area, “The Divine Wind” and International Champion Akira Kaibatsu leading the charge as he and Michael Cross set their sights on each other.

 

“Here we go, no time for your silly little index cards, fat man!” The King shouts out loud as Kaibatsu and Cross meet head-to-head at the base of the ramp way, the two men throwing punches toward each other in rapid-fire succession as referee Nick Soapdish makes his way from his position in the ring to the outside, only to be cast in the shadow of Alan Clark as the cheery superstar bounds from the top rope and sails over the brawl below, connecting with a hard clothesline on the Cruiserweight Champion Zyon as he tries to slow down to keep from crashing into his own partner. The shock of the sound of bodies hitting steel behind him catches the attention of Akira, who loses his focus long enough for Michael Cross to wrap his hand around his foe’s left wrist and fall backwards with as much force as he can, sending the body of the Divine Wind flailing into the apron back-first.

 

“Well, that’s one way to get an early advantage.” Francis remarks as Soapdish checks on Clark and Zyon, both of whom are a little dazed from their crash landing, before turning his attention into the ring where Michael Cross has gotten Akira up to his feet and pinned in the corner, the bell sounding with each closed fist that connects to the International Champ’s jaw.

 

DING!

SMACK!

DING!

SMACK!

DING!

SMACK!

 

“Watch it! Watch it!” Soapdish warns Cross, who wisely abandons his fisticuffs before locking both of his hands around Akira’s throat, shaking his head the way a dog shakes a dying rabbit in its mouth.

 

“…1…2…3…4…”

 

Cross breaks the choke before the five count and steps back away from his opponent, his chest heaving as he unwillingly allows the referee to check over Akira, who holds his neck and gasps for breathe, his eyes looking toward his corner where Zyon has just now arrived, his right hand outstretched for a tag that is almost twenty feet away. Across the ring, Alan Clark stands with the tag rope in his hands and a smile on his face.

 

“Alan barely looks like he is even in this match!” The King points to his monitor as Akira’s body is slammed to the middle of the ring with a suplex with Alan in the background, his eyes pointed to a few fans at ringside, who is casually poses for and chats with from his place on the apron.

 

“He’s just trying to connect with the crowd. I mean, Michael Cross is looking to get a tag right now…” says Francis as Cross plants his boot into Akira’s face and turns toward Alan, but just as he gets to the corner to make the tag, Alan’s body drops from the apron…

 

“CLARK!”

 

Michael screams, but before Alan can even turn around, a freshly tagged in Zyon catches the back of Cross’s head with a dropkick, sending his face barreling into the turnbuckle.

 

“I don’t think that’s what Michael Cross was expecting! He wanted the tag and well he got tagged. What is Clark thinking?”

 

“I’m not sure anyone in this arena except for Alan Clark knows that, and speaking of…” before his partner can even let the turnbuckle shot sink into his frontal lobe, Alan Clark slides under the bottom rope and illegally into the ring, passing by Soapdish as he stands and catching Zyon with another Clark Clothesline.

 

“He can’t do that!” hollers the King as Alan continues his run, knocking Akira off his spot of the apron with a hard forearm! With the referee behind him, Alan hops up to the second rope and raises his hands in celebration before heading back across the ring to his spot with Soapdish in tow, trying to regain order as Zyon gets to his feet and Akira slides in the ring, the Wasted Youth team both falling toward Cross, two elbows slamming into his chest, knocking the wind out of Michael. “That’s what he gets! That’s what Alan Clark and Michael Cross get for trying to illegally gain an advantage!”

 

“I don’t think Michael Cross knows what is going on at all, he’s being pinned by Zyon now! Ref!” Soapdish turns as Zyon hooks the leg…

 

One!

 

 

 

 

Kickout!!

 

“A quick kickout from Michael Cross, and you have to wonder what is going through his mind as he tries to regain his bearings in the ring right now.”

 

“Zyon’s foot is going through his mind right now, Franchise. Alan should be in the ring helping his partner now. Where is he?” Michael probably is asking himself that same question, but Alan has his smile back and his hand outstretched, waiting for a tag that he seems to know if growing farther and farther away by the second. On the outside, Walter Reynolds slaps at the apron in support for the team he has found himself a part of.

 

“He is standing on the apron and smiling, King. He’s watching his partner’s beating at the hands of Wasted Youth.” Akira slaps at the top turnbuckle to get his partner’s attention for a much-wanted tag, only for Zyon to simply pull Cross up, keeping him doubled over in the middle of the ring before throwing his body into the air with a backward flipping motion, his right foot slapping…

SLAP!!

 

..against the forehead of Cross, sending him falling back to the canvas that he has been making his home for the last few moments of the match.

 

“A beautifully perfected Flash Kick has Michael Cross seeing stars and has Wasted Youth with all of the momentum after the crazy start to this match.”

 

“Well when you have your one big chance to destroy someone ruined by Alan Clark, you’d be a little crazy too.” The King replies as Zyon gets to his feet and moves to his corner, finally tagging in his partner and giving him a chance at Michael Cross.

 

“Cross is slow to his feet, but he’s going to have one wild-eyed International Champion at the ready when he finally gets back to vertical...” Akira Kaibatsu waits, eyeing up his opponent who sits on one knee, holding his head from the whiplash of the Flash Kick. Alan Clark against stretches out his hand for a tag, only to find the Divine Wind rushing toward him after dropping Cross back down with a stiff forearm.

 

“WOOOAH! Clark yells and tries to duck, but Akira senses the dodging motion with enough time to change direction, his body leaning foreward and launching off the mat, his shoulder driving through the ropes and into the midsection of Clark, the shot sending him flying off the apron and face-first into the steel barricade!

 

Oooooooooooo!!!

 

The crowd closest to Clark reacts expectedly as the sound reverberates through the area. In the ring, Akira stands back to his feet and turns around to face Cross…

 

SMACK!

 

“Boot from Cross!!”

 

THUUUD!!!

 

“Michael Cross just drove Akira’s face into the canvas by way of pushing his knee into the back of his neck in some sort of modified facebuster. A good roll-through puts Cross on his feet and Akira on the mat, and now the tides have seemingly turned right into the favor of “Iron” Mike!” Akira is still one of the freshest of his team, and the freshest in the match outside of Alan Clark, who has yet to do much of anything while standing on the apron.

 

“Akira’s fighting Cross off, both men are separated from their partners now, but right now I’d say that regardless of the punishment he has taken that Michael Cross is closer mentally to getting the tag than Akira is to Zyon…”

 

“…who almost just fell into the ring with the way he is stretching his body out over the top rope trying to get a tag from his partner. He does not want to lose this match either, and that’s one of the problems with tag team matches – if your partner loses – so have you. You want a partner that will fight tooth and nail to get to your hand. Do you think Akira has that kind of fight in him?”

 

“It sure seems like he does…” Francis replies as the Divine Wind reverses a Cross irish whip, sending Michael into the ropes, the biggest man in the fight bouncing off and flying back at the opponent in his crosshairs. “and here comes a crash…”

 

“…DUCKED!!”

 

Akira ducks out of the way of a clothesline, but before Cross can hit the opposite ropes, he is stopped by the sound of a body slamming down behind him, only to turn and find Alan Clark being pulled back to the corner by the referee with Akira Kaibatsu down in the center of the ring.

 

“I think the only one in this building that didn’t see that dropkick was Michael Cross!” Francis calls as the replay pops up on the side of the screen, showing Akira turning to face Cross and failing to notice Alan Clark diving off the top rope and stretching his body out, both of his feet drilling into the back of Akira’s head and sending him face-first into the mat. Alan rolls to his feet and heads back to the corner as Michael turns around, the shock showing on his face.

 

“Well wherever you can gain the advantage…like I said…”

 

“Are you condoning something Alan Clark has done?”

 

“I condone victory…”

 

“There hasn’t been a pinfall or submission yet, King, and I can guess that no matter what happens, if Alan Clark pins either of the two champions in this match, regardless of what you think of them, you are going to be just as upset as any other time Alan Clark sings or dances or---“

 

“If his team wins, I hope they play Michael Cross’ music. Anything is better than music from Pinocchio. We don’t need that around here. Even Fugue jazzed up his classical music a bit for the people!” Francis stares blankly for a moment before turning back to the action in the ring, where peace has been restored but the damage has been done, as Michael Cross has Akira off his feet, holding him over his shoulder and rolling his body backward…

 

 

SLAAAAM!!

 

“Northern Lights! Michael Cross has been looking to get his hands on Akira, and whether he likes it or not Alan Clark has helped him get just that and Cross is SMILING. Do you see that?!” The camera zooms in on the face of Michael Cross, where a demented smile is forming where there is normally nothing but a stoic expression.

 

“Ah! They’re both crazy! I’ve seen that look on Clark’s face before and when he gets that way….” The Suicide King is cut off as Akira’s body is once again rolled and slammed with a second huge suplex! With Zyon watching on helplessly, he can only watch as his partner’s body is pulled back up and flipped once more, the Unique Youth wincing slightly as Michael Cross releases his bridge and stands, his eyes concentrated on the fallen International Champion at his feet.

 

“Normally this would be Cross’ time to make a pinfall, but he looks to have other ideas!” With Akira down, Michael moves himself to his corner, making it a point to double stomp the canvas as his thumb moves across his throat. “No! He wants to stomp the head of Akira Kaibatsu into oblivion…FROM THE TOP ROPE!!” Francis’ voice cries out above the screaming fans as Cross jumps to the top rope and turns himself to face his opponent, who has barely moved in the wake of the triple Northern Lights….

 

 

SLAP!!

 

“What the hell?” Both the Suicide King’s comment and Michael Cross’ face share the same expression as Alan Clark reaches up and slaps his partner across the back…

 

 

 

…and then pushes him off!!

 

 

THUUUUUD!!!

 

 

“MY GOD, KING! Alan Clark just threw his own partner off the top rope and straight onto the chest of Akira!!” Cross’ body crashes down, bringing Zyon through the ropes as Clark himself climbs to the top and dives off…flying over the two downed superstars…

 

SMACK!!!

 

…his boots catching Zyon square in the forehead!!

 

“Zyon tried to duck out of the way of Clark at the last second, but still took that missile dropkick right between the eyes!!”

 

“This is uncalled for! Is this legal??”

 

“Alan Clark is apparently the legal man after that tag to the back of Michael Cross,” Alan lands on his feet and looks down, noticing Akira starting to stir just behind him. “, and a moonsault…Clark to Akira! He’s got the cover!!”

 

One!!

 

“HE’S GOT THE TIGHTS!!” The King yells as Clark wrenches Akira’s body off the mat…

 

Two!!

 

…and hides his tight-pulling hands away from Soapdish’s face…

 

 

Three!!!!

 

 

NOOOOOOOO!!

 

Both Zyon and Michael Cross dive onto Alan Clark’s back, one to save a partner and the other to seemingly maim!

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“There’s the bell! This one has fallen apart!!” As Michael Cross pulls Alan to his feet and delivers a hard knee to the man that was his partner, Funyon’s voice booms from the loudspeakers…

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen…the winners of this match by PINFALL…”

 

“WHAT?”

 

“…the team of Alan Clark and “Iron” Mike Cross!!!!”

 

 

Booooooooooo!!!

 

“The crowd does not like that one bit, and neither does Michael Cross!” A replay shows Nick Soapdish’s hand hitting the canvas for the three count just before Zyon and Cross crash onto Clark’s back, while the live shot is focused on Alan Clark’s body as it is lifted into the air and slammed down with authority onto the knee of Michael Cross!

 

“IRON BOMB!!”

 

Raaaaaaaaaaaaah!!

 

The crowd actually cheers as Alan Clark’s body is dumped to the mat, and as Michael finally regains his composure he looks to the side of the ring to see Wasted Youth staring him down!

 

“He’s going to wish he didn’t just take out the only person that might have had his back in that ring right now…” but before the stare can degenerate further, Michael Cross simply shakes his head and walks backwards, flipping his body over the top rope and to the outside as “Colony” blares over the PA. A second camera watches as Walter Reynolds pulls Alan Clark out of the ring to the floor with Akira Kaibatsu in the background, Soapdish handing him his International Title as he looks out upon both Clark and Cross. One stands tall at the top of the stage while the other leans against his bodyguard – both victorious over the double champions. As Storm heads to commercial break, the scene fades out over Akira’s face turning from pure anger to one of upsetting defeat.

[chirs3 0]

"Hey chaaaaaamp!"

 

An audible groan comes from the throat of the World Heavyweight Champion, Michael Stephens. Continuing to leaf through his gear trying to find his England shirt (and cursing the fact giving them away before his matches has become an inconvenient and rather expensive ritual) it's clear that Stephens isn't in the mood for Landon's overly upbeat attitude just about now with an important title defence on the horizon. You'd think he'd be used to them by now. Landon Maddix, with Megan in tow, strolls into the locker room already in his ring gear and his title belt proudly over his shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder, Michael's eyes narrow a little.

 

"We ready to go, champ?"

 

"Not quite." growls Stephens. "Can't find my bloody shirt. Don't know why I bother really, it's not like the overpaid wankers ever win anymore anyway. Listen, Landon, we ain't up for a while yet anyway, you needn't have bothered changing just yet mate."

 

"What? Oh, I've been walking around like this all day!"

 

"And I'm the gay one." mumbles Stephens under his breath, the aside just quiet enough for Landon to wonder what was said. Megan tells him not to worry though. "Speaking of which, I take it you sorted out the theme music."

 

Landon taps his nose in a 'never you mind gesture'.

 

"Let's just say there's some doozies that haven't popped up on Peters' iPod yet!"

 

"Oh, can't wait. Vengaboys, Gwen Stefani, Gloria Estefan... you know, now that I think about it, maybe I shoulda brought my Austrian nun's outfit and practised my yodelling."

 

Landon taps his nose in a 'never you mind gesture'.

 

"Bloody hell."

 

Finally finding his shirt of choice, Stephens pulls it on. Behind him, Megan can be seen nudging Landon and motioning for him to 'go on', which presumably means Landon has something else to say, surprise of surprises.

 

"Listen, Mike, can we have a word?"

 

"And here I was thinking we already were."

 

"A serious word." insists Landon, as Stephens zips up his kit bag and lounges onto the leather couch. World Champions get couches, see. "See, it's about the Cold Front..."

 

"Oh yeah, you're in the 'final' now. I wondered why you were so bloody chirpy with a match against Wild and Dangerous to worry about. Good job one of us has a decent record against them. So, you were saying?"

 

"Don't worry, he's trying to motivate me." Landon whispers to Megan with a thumbs up, before turning back to Stephens. "So, anyway, Cold Front. Now as you know, if I win at the Christmas PPV then I'm going to be the number one contender... again. All I have to do is beat JJ now and we both now I'm more than capable. So, assuming you retain against Gabriel which... well, I'm not sure if you're capable or not because you've never really met one on one, but I have faith in you. Which means all roads lead to Landon Maddix versus Michael Stephens, one on one, World Championship, Clusterfuck 2007! Should be a hoot. But, I kinda wanted to talk things over. See, we've done this whole 'fighting over the World Title' gig plenty of times before and I think we both remember what happened those times. Now we're World Tag Team Champions. We came through the hatred and the attempts at paralisation. Infact, I'd like to think we've become pretty close."

 

Stephens' eyebrows peak a little.

 

"As friends."

 

"Oh. 'Ad me worried there for a minute."

 

"Yeah. Look, the point I'm trying to make is, we might still be World Tag Team Champions by then and we might not. But either way, I'd like to think we'll remain close. As friends. And I know how protective you are of your World Championship. Normally, I'd never try to come between you and the belts. But... I'm not going to forfeit any titles shots that come my way. Not anymore."

 

"I wouldn't expect you to." concedes Stephens.

 

"Which means, if I win the Cold Front, we're going to be going one on one again. For the first time since you won the belt from me. And I just wanted to make sure this time will be different."

 

Looking a little more interested now, Stephens pushes himself up into a more responsive looking position on the couch.

 

"Every time we've met in the past, we've both been feuled by hatred. Two Christmases ago, it was the beginnings of Martial Law versus Revolution Zero. Then you nearly crippled me at From The Fire and we all know I was a Grade A 'wanker' as you'd put it to get you into the match at 13th Hour this year. But, we're past all that. Right?"

 

Stephens doesn't answer, but nods.

 

"So, if it comes about that it's you and me at Clusterfuck, I want to make sure you know there'll be no hatred. I don't want another hate filled war with you. No headdropping, no bashing each other's brains in with weapons, no beating each other within and inch or our lives for sheer enjoyment. Just, you and me in a match. A wrestling match. Friendly competition."

 

"What are you looking for exactly?" queries Stephens, sitting up. "Assurances from me? Listen, you might be the most annoying wanker on the face of the bloody planet, at the best of times. But I don't want to kill you any more than you wanna kill me. That was the whole point of us taggin' together, right? To stop us putting each other in the hospital every damn month. Especially with this bloody country not giving us free healthcare. Besides, it'll make a damn good change to have a friendly match over the belt in this place. Now all you've got to do is beat JJ."

 

"Already well in hand, don't you worry."

 

The confidence is nothing new and Stephens takes it in his stride, giving Maddix the hearty thumbs up he's probably hoping for. And with that Landon and Megan turn on the heels and leave. Well, almost.

 

"Hey, Mike, one more thing."

 

"Name it."

 

"You have an Austrian nun's outfit?"

 

"...I'll see ya out there."

 

None the wiser and probably a little weirded out, Landon quickly scuttles off as Stephens runs a hand through his well gelled hair, shaking his head.

 

"Bloody hell."

[chirs3 0]

The air is heavy with electricity as the cameras swoop back into Louisiana State’s P-MAC, picking up signs such as ‘J-LIEN VS. (ONE HALF OF THE) PREDATOR(S)’, ‘HAM HAWKE,’ and ‘I SNUCK IN FOR THIS?!’. As security quickly moves into the general vicinity of that sign, the camera continues its pan, eventually stopping at the announce table occupied by none other than The Franchise, Mak Francis, and the Suicide King!

 

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!” beams The Franchise. “What a night it has been thus far, and what a night it looks to be, as we have a match with big history and huge ramifications coming up next.”

 

“That’s right, Mak,” says King with a grin. “Our next match? ‘Mr. Cold Front Classic’ JJ Johnson takes on ‘The Dean Of Professional Wrestling’ Jay Hawke. Jay Hawke wants, Jay Hawke craves, Jay Hawke NEEDS another shot at the World Heavyweight Championship, and beating the number one seed in the Cold Front Classic is a surefire way to do that, and a man who has yet to be toppled since his return – five straight wins – is a HUGE way to do that. I don’t see anything Johnson has to gain except respect.”

 

“But respect is just as important as the World Heavyweight Title to some people,” Mak counters. “Especially to JJ Johnson.”

 

King’s attempt to continue further is interrupted, as the lights dim and the calm tones of Pink Floyd’s “Learning To Fly” begin flowing out of the sound system, accompanied by more than a few jeers.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall!” booms Funyon. “Introducing first, from Cleveland, Ohio, weighing in at 215 pounds… he is the ‘Dean of Professional Wrestling’, JAY! HAAAAWWKEE!!”

 

Jay strides out from behind the curtain to more boos as a spotlight fixates on him, highlighting his slow, confident stride to the ring. The Dean merely ignores their derision as he reaches the steps, trotting up them before stepping through the ropes and shedding his robes. It is at this point that he begins his preliminary stretches, reclining against the ropes and warming up his deltoids. And the lights drop out.

 

The chanting rises from the very bowels of the P-MAC, a throaty grunt reading from Aleister Crowley’s “The Book Of The Law”…

 

*BOOM!*

 

And then chaos breaks loose. An eruption of red-and-white pyro blasts from the stage, the sliding and abrasive riffage of Behemoth’s “Slaves Shall Serve” begins, and through the smoke comes JJ Johnson. Equally indifferent to the crowd – but with the crowd’s reaction exponentially more supportive – the Ultimate Fighter instead keeps his eyes locked on the man in the ring, who, to his credit, merely keeps stretching. Johnson jogs up the stairs, removing his sunglasses and track jacket as he does so, and steps through the ropes into the ring. Jay quits stretching and instead trots over to a corner as Johnson rises to the second rope of the opposite corner, throwing his arms out in his crucifix pose as the camera pans around him. That done, Johnson hops down. Matt Kivell wastes no time in calling for the bell.

 

DING DING DING!

 

“And here we go!” shouts Mak as the two men immediately burst into activity, Johnson and Hawke’s eyes locked as they stalk around the ring. Soon, they arrive at each other, and both decide that the best subsequent course of action is a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Hawke grapples for leverage, using his height disadvantage to his advantage, but the Canadian is simply stronger, and he muscles an arm away from his head before bending it behind the back of the Dean, locking him in an airtight hammerlock! Jay writhes and slaps his shoulder, attempting to numb it to the pain, then fakes left, turns right, and spins under the arm to lock JOHNSON in a hammerlock! Johnson grunts with frustration, but he’s been in a great many hammerlocks in his day, and he counters as is his normal counter: he reaches behind his head with his free arm, seizes Hawke’s hair, and leaps into the air before tugging Jay over his shoulder with a snapmare! The Dean is more than aware of what comes after this, and before Johnson can latch on his crushing Buffalo Sleeper, Hawke scrambles out of reach before rising to his feet. Johnson finds getting to his feet not nearly as imperative, and he takes his time in doing so… before Hawke rushes in, seizes an arm, and twirls it into an armwringer! The Canadian snarls as he’s doubled over against his will by the movement of his arm, but then realizes he can use this to his advantage and rolls forward up to his feet, then does a one-handed cartwheel back the other direction! Now Hawke has him in position for an Irish Whip, but Johnson can say the same thing, and he uses his grip on the arm of the Dean of Professional Wrestling to tug him forward into an elbow smash!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Jay’s head snaps back, and Johnson abandons his grip on his arm before ducking behind him and seizing a firm grip on a rear waistlock! Hawke is dizzy, but he knows that a Dangerous German can only make the situation worse, and so he plants a leg between Johnson’s legs, bracing himself against a lift. Mr. Cold Front Classic snarls, and then uses a leg to sweep Hawke’s remaining plant leg and hoist him high before dropping him on his stomach with an amateur wrestling takedown, then spinning around and latching on a front facelock as the crowd applauds politely.

 

“Scientific wrestling opens this match, and JJ Johnson takes the advantage,” says Mak. “I think Johnson is using resourcefulness more than skill at this point, keeping Hawke off-balance. Even I can admit that few can match Hawke on the mat.”

 

“Few can,” nods King, “but I think Johnson is one of the few. He’s faster and stronger.”

 

Resourcefulness is an interesting thing for Mak to bring up as in Johnson’s favor, as Hawke scoots up to his knees, then pops his hips and rolls to the side before bridging up, trapping Johnson’s shoulders to the mat! Kivell slides in to count…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

But Johnson gets the hint and abandons the facelock, rolling away as Hawke abandons his bridge and gets to his feet at the same time as the Ultimate Fighter. Hawke shoots in… and eats an elbow smash!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Hawke staggers, and weary of the mat, Johnson simply follows him and pops him again!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Hawke continues stumbling and rebounds off of the ropes back towards Johnson. Mr. Cold Front Classic grins and uses this opportunity to finish his combo, whirling like a ballerina that hates your guts and DESTROYING Hawke with a rolling elbow!

 

*CA-RAAACK!!*

*POP!*

 

And with that pop, the crowd pops! Hawke slumps lifelessly through the ropes, dropping to the floor, and the crowd waits eagerly for him to get up, as they know what that pop equals. It takes him a moment, but the Dean shakes the butterflies out of his head, slapping the confusion away.

 

The crowd grows quiet. Jay Hawke is slapping at the spot where the elbow connected and merely grumbling as he rises to his feet. Either Hawke is insanely receptive of pain, or his orbital bone is perfectly fine and something is terribly wrong.

 

JJ Johnson on his knees in the ring, clutching his right arm and gritting his teeth as a scream attempts to free itself from behind his teeth indicates that the latter is the case.

 

“Oh, this is bad,” whispers Mak. “I don’t know how it happened – Johnson has thrown dozens of rolling elbows – but JJ Johnson is hurt.”

 

“Well, duh, he’s hurt,” sighs King. “You don’t get down on your knees unless you’re wounded or eating a chick out, and there are no women in front of him.”

 

“I’ve never understood that term,” says The Franchise, shaking his head. “You don’t literally consume the flesh.”

 

The sound guys ready themselves in case the conversation continues further, but Mak has obviously been playing his Vagina Jeopardy, and he quiets down as Jay Hawke trudges back up the steps with a grin on his face.

 

“Can you continue?” Kivell asks Johnson, who inhales sharply and responds “Yeah.” Kivell has his doubts, but a refusal to forfeit is enough for Hawke, who shoves Kivell aside and nails Johnson with a kick to the arm! Johnson screeches in agony, and Hawke moves in to continue his assault… only for Kivell to run up and shove him back into the corner!

 

“Now listen here, Hawke! Johnson is obviously injured, and I’m not going to let you flog him until he quits fighting back!” shouts Kivell, spit flying from his mouth. Hawke makes a disgusted face and wipes the saliva off of his chest.

 

Behind Kivell, Johnson gets to his feet, shakes his right arm with a perfectly calm look on his face, and strides to the corner opposite where the ref and the Dean are arguing, where he waits a moment before he begins to run.

 

“Look, the man said he wants to continue, so let me at him!” snaps Hawke… and then his face goes very pale.

 

Matt Kivell feels something brush his hair as something very heavy sails overhead.

 

 

*CA-RACK!*

 

 

And Johnson completes his dive clean over Kivell by slamming his elbow directly into Jay Hawke’s jaw before his momentum carries him over the ropes to the apron! Johnson almost falls, but shoots his left arm out and seizes a firm grip on the strands, keeping himself from falling to the floor as Jay Hawke staggers out of the corner with a very glazed look on his eyes. Acting quickly, Johnson scales the top rope, waits for Hawke to turn around and takes flight, blasting him with a lariat!

 

That was the plan, anyway. In actuality, Hawke ducks, and Johnson rolls through his landing before turning to face the Dean… who leaps high, wraps his legs around the head of the Ultimate Fighter, and whips back with a hurricanrana!

 

 

*CLANG!*

 

 

… sending Mr. Cold Front Classic stumbling shoulder-first into the ringpost!

 

“Good God!” winces Mak. “Hawke was playing dummy just like Johnson was, and now he has a beautiful opportunity to take advantage! We’ll be right back after this break!

 

*COMMERCIAL BREAK*

 

 

… and Hawke shifts his grip from a Fujiwara to a single chickenwing before switching his legs across, trying to hook Johnson’s other arm! The Canadian is well aware that this precedes the Wing Span, however, and he flops and flails his body away from the legs of the Dean, eventually hooking his feet around the ropes!

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back!” says Mak. “Over the break, Jay Hawke has taken a decided advantage, working on Johnson’s arm almost constantly. Johnson, however, has been showing off his durability and resourcefulness in avoiding dangerous submissions, forcing Hawke to resort to simple holds to wear him down.”

 

“And Hawke came very close to locking on his finisher there,” notes King. “I think Johnson’s time is near.”

 

Johnson doesn’t like the thought of that, pulling himself up to his feet on the ropes as Hawke waits for his quarry to rise. Seeing that Johnson is up to his feet, albeit wobbly, the Dean rushes in and eats a kick to the jaw!

 

*CRACK!*

 

Hawke staggers back, but dismisses it as an aberration and charges back in to eat another kick!

 

*CRACK!*

 

 

Again, the Dean is sent stumbling, and this time Johnson doesn’t wait for him to return, rushing off of the ropes and sending Hawke straight to the mat with a Yakuza Kick!

 

*CA-RAAAACK!!*

 

“YYEAAAHH!!”

 

Johnson grits his teeth, then turns and snags a dazed Hawke by the hair before pulling him up to his feet, doubling over… and letting loose with some Kawada kicks, driving his boot into Jay’s face with both frequency and velocity alarming!

 

*CRACK!*

*CRACK!*

*CRACK!*

*CRACK!*

*CRACK!*

 

That done, the Canadian tugs him into a standing headscissors, the crowd roaring in response as Johnson doubles over, wraps his arms around Jay’s waist, and LIFTS…

 

 

 

…only he doesn’t lift. A very sharp pain runs through his right arm, and he winces and rises to his full height.

 

“Johnson is regaining momentum here, but he can’t honestly think he can lift Jay Hawke for a powerbomb!” scoffs Mak. “Not with his arm the way it is!”

 

Johnson snarls, bends back down, and wraps his left arm a great deal of the way around the Dean’s waist, leaving his other arm free. A roar of effort, a leap, slamming his feet into the ground, and Jay Hawke is airborne, bent over Johnson’s left shoulder, as though the victim of a Canadian backbreaker. Johnson was not expecting this, however. Now that he has Hawke up here, he has no idea what to do.

 

 

 

And so he simply sits out and throws Jay onto the back of his head.

 

 

*BANG!*

 

 

Hawke slumps to the side, and Johnson covers.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

DING DING DING!

“What the hell was that?!” asks Mak, stunned at what he just saw.

 

“I believe it was a one-armed sheer-drop Thunder Fire Powerbomb,” guesses King. “A purely accidental one, but one nonetheless.”

 

“Whatever it was, it’s nasty,” says the Franchise, shaking his head.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner… J! J! JOHNSON!” booms Funyon as Johnson, as usual, rolls out of the ring, making his way up the ramp holding his arm.

 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” says Mak. “What a hell of a match that was. And I hope we never have to see that move again. Wild and Dangerous, Two Skinny White Guys, World Tag Team Championships next.”

 

 

FADE OUT

[chirs3 0]

“Fans, welcome back to the P-Mac Arena here in Baton Rouge, Louisiana,” Mak Francis says as Storm comes back from commercials, “we’re all ready for our main event which will see the SWF Tag Titles being defended in what promises to be a scintillating match-up!”

 

“You’re talking about Wimp & Dangermouse vs. Toxxic and Landon Freakin’ Maddix,” King complains, “how does that translate into ‘scintillating’? It’s going to be a goddamn train wreck!”

 

“Maybe in your opinion,” the Franchise replies, “but I for one will be very interested to see how this turns out; we have the most dominant tag team in SWF history looking for a record-breaking fifth Tag Title run each, going up against a team that despite their own personal issues have made these belts their own over the last couple of months. We’ve got eight World Title reigns between the four men in this match, and more other championships than I can easily count.”

 

“That doesn’t say much, only people who can’t handle math go into wrestling in high school.”

 

It’s at this point that ‘Party To Damascus’ by Wyclef Jean starts up over the PA system, and the crowd rises in response! The Smarktron begins to flash up clips of the most decorated tag team in SWF history, and a few moments later two familiar figures clad in nearly identical Olympic-style wrestling tights make their way out onto the soundstage.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall and is for the SWF Tag Team Titles!” Funyon declaims. “Introducing first, the challengers; at a combined weight of 431lbs, they are the only SWF tag team to have held the titles four times… WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILD… AAAANNNNNNNND… DAAAAAAANNNNNNNN-GEROUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-NY!”

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

“That says it all,” Mak Francis comments as the challengers make their way down the ramp, with Wildchild running ahead and doing a full lap of the ring, slapping hands with the fans, while Johnny moves at a more casual pace and pays particular attention to a few ladies in the front row, “if you need an introduction to this team you must have been living under a rock for the last few years. They haven’t been without their clashes but Wild & Dangerous are back in the saddle, and that must surely make all the other tag teams worried.”

 

“Yeah, any prospect of being involved in an entertaining match goes out the window when these two clowns are around,” is King’s contribution. Meanwhile Wildchild somersaults into the ring between the bottom and middle ropes, while Johnny climbs the ring steps and nimbly vaults over the top rope. They each climb a tucnbuckle and raise their arms for the fans… but then the mood suddenly changes as heavy, distorted guitars and a pounding drumbeat erupt from the PA system.

 

“What the hell is this!?” Suicide King yells, holding his ears.

 

“I think JJ Johnson must have taken control of Joe Peters’ iPod!” Mak shouts back.

 

Sure enough, ‘Relentless’ by Strapping Young Lad appears to be the randomly-selected entrance music for the tag team champion tonight, and as the guitar swings down into the main tune (if you can call it that) two trenchcoated figures appear at the top of the entrance ramp.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“AND THEIR OPPONENTS!” Funyon booms, “accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye and Amy Stephens, at a combined weight of 438lbs, they are the reigning and defending SWF Tag Team Champions; Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix and SWF World Heavyweight Champion Michael Stephens… THAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA… GA-LAC-TI-COOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!”

 

“LET’S GO LAN-DON!”

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

The chants ring out as the duo make their way down the ramp, followed by girlfriend and sister respectively. Landon looks horrified as the sonic assault of Devin Townsend reaches his ears; Mike seems quite cheerful about it all, even singing along as they approach the ring.

 

‘BOMBS AWAY!

BOMBS AWAY!

ALL IS IN ITS PLACE!

 

IT’S TIME TO LAY

TIME TO LAY

EVERYTHING TO WASTE!’

 

Upon reaching the squared circle Landon hops up to the apron, whereupon Megan Skye holds the ropes open for him and he pirouettes into the ring. Meanwhile Stephens simply rolls in underneath the bottom rope before rising to his feet and handing both title belts over to referee Brian Warner. Megan drops down to the arena floor and proudly applauds her man; Amy grabs a chair and sits down, then cracks open a can of lager and starts swigging.

 

“Michael Stephens has pretty much written his name in the record book with the likes of El Luchadore Magnifico, Edwin MacPhisto and Tom Flesher as one of the most dominant World Champions we’ve seen in the entire history of the SWF,” Mak Francis says, “people may not always have agreed with his attitude, even if his in-ring conduct has always been hard to fault, but right now he’s got the fans behind him and seems stronger than ever.”

 

“Watch Gabriel Drake demolish him at the next Pay-Per-View,” King promises.

 

“Meanwhile Landon Maddix is one of the most decorated wrestlers in the history of our sport,” Mak says, trying to ignore King, “and a four-time tag partner in his own right, albeit with four different partners.”

 

“Four different partners?” King queries, “You’re saying he gets around?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

The bell goes and Johnny Dangerous steps smartly to the outside, leaving Wildchild to start the match off as usual for the most dominant tag team in SWF history. Meanwhile Landon Maddix and Michael Stephens are taking the more novel approach known as Rock, Paper, Scissors.

 

“How are these two Tag Team Champions?” King moans.

 

“You’d prefer Wild & Dangerous?”

 

“I never said that.”

 

Maddix and Stephens raise and lower their clenched fists once, twice, thrice… and Mike’s scissors are blunted by Landon’s rock, leaving the World Champion to start the match! Landon shrugs and smirks; Stephens transitions into another, more familiar hand gesture that also utilises v-shaped index and middle fingers, then turns to face the Bahaman Bomber. Wildchild jumps up and down a couple of times to loosen himself up further, Stephens snaps his neck from side-to-side and starts to advance.

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

Michael Stephens appears to be readying himself for a lock-up, but Wildchild blows that idea out of the water by charging straight at the World Champion, hitting the deck at the last moment to perform a baseball slide through Stephens legs that leaves the Englishman clutching at thin air. The Caribbean Cruiserweight pops up on the other side of his opponent, then as Stephens whirls around and launches a clothesline at him he ducks under that and runs back the way he came, heading for the far ropes. However Stephens is no slouch in the ring and as Wildchild rebounds he leaps up into the air to hurdle the onrushing Bahaman, then drops flat to the mat as Wildchild comes off the ropes once more, perhaps hoping to trip his opponent. Nothing doing, as Wildchild easily jumps the straight-edger, but instead of continuing his kills his momentum as he lands before performing a backflip and coming down onto Stephens with a standing moonsault!

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

The pro-Wild & Dangerous fans in the crowd cheer as Wildchild performs an unexpected chiropractic operation on his opponent, then rolls Stephens over onto his back to apply a cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Stephens (unsurprisingly) kicks out after only one! Not that this worries Wildchild too greatly, as the Human Hurricane pulls Stephens back up to his feet and starts delivering right hands, snapping the Englishman’s head back. However, Wildchild knows better than to try exchanging punches with Stephens as the bellicose Englishman is likely to have his number, so he grabs Stephens’ wrist and Irish whips the World Champion into the ropes; when Stephens rebounds Wildchild leaps into the air and places his feet into Stephens stomach, wraps his hands around his opponent’s head and flips backwards to send Mike flying with the Freefall!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Everyone in the arena cheers, although at slightly different times. The reason being that while Wildchild certainly got the Freefall off, Michael Stephens was able to flip through and land on his feet! The Bahaman Bomber gets up, anticipating his opponent to be on his back on the mat, but in fact turns around into a

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

RIGHT!

 

 

LEFT!

 

 

Windup…

 

 

DISCUS CLOTHESLINE!

 

 

…that Wildchild ducks! Stephens stumbles, off-balance, and as he turns back towards Wildchild the Caribbean Cruiserweight kicks him in the stomach to double him over and then leaps up to drive his opponent’s face into the mat with the Caribbean Cutter…

 

…but Stephens moves out of the way, and as Wildchild comes down to land back on his feet the World Champion latches both arms around his opponent’s chest, looking for the Side Effect…

 

…but Wildchild fires elbows into Stephens’ temple and manages to break free of the impending Sambo slam! He takes a step away from the momentarily-dazed Stephens, then lashes out with a super kick-

 

*whap*

 

-but Stephens catches his opponent’s foot, then swings it away to the left. Wildchild spins around, unable to control his momentum, and Stephens continues his own spin to turn a full circle and-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-finish by delivering a discus clothesline to Wildchild as the two men come back to face each other!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

“What a display of counters!” Mak Francis says approvingly, “both men thinking fast and thinking on their feet there!”

 

Michael Stephens gets back to his feet and raises two black-nailed hands in the air to incite a further cheer from the crowd, then takes a couple of steps towards his corner and tags in Landon Maddix. The Next Generation doesn’t enter the ring immediately but instead starts climbing the turnbuckles to the top rope, and as Brian Warner begins his five-count Stephens brings Wildchild up off the mat, takes a firm hold of the Bahaman’s braided head and swings around into a neckbreaker that dumps his opponent onto the mat, then rolls out of the way-

 

*WHAM!*

 

-and Landon Maddix comes off the top with a Frog Splash! Brian Warner dives to make the count as Landon hooks the leg…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Wildchild kicks out!

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

“LET’S GO LAN-DON!”

 

“It’s going to be very interesting to see how this plays out,” Mak Francis notes, “Wild & Dangerous are by far the more experienced team and are well-known for their plethora of double-team moves-”

 

“All of which are, by definition, illegal,” King cuts in.

 

“-but The Galacticos have turned from two skilled singles competitors into a definite team as well,” Francis continues with a sideways glare at his commentary partner. “Will greater experience have the edge, or will the individual excellence that’s allowed Maddix and Stephens to pick up six World Titles between them win out?”

 

“You used the words ‘Maddix’ and ‘excellence’ in the same sentence,” King says, looking slightly sick, “I’m sure there’s a law against that.”

 

However excellent he may or may not be, Landon knows better than to give Wildchild a chance to recover. Accordingly La Cucaracha starts to haul his opponent back to a vertical base, then delivers a couple of forearm smashes to the jaw. The blows do more to stun Dub-Cee than actually do much damage, but Maddix seeks to change that by backing up a step and then spinning around, homing in on his opponent for a roaring elbow…

 

…which has no more success than Stephens’ initial discus clothesline, as Wildchild sees it coming and ducks at the last moment! Maddix staggers past him and Wildchild quickly checks behind, then as Landon turns he leaps into the air and lashes backwards with one foot in a move often associated with that Brazilian soccer great, Pele.

 

*whump*

 

Sadly for Wildchild Landon has forgotten more about soccer than he’ll ever know, and maybe as a result of this La Cucaracha raises both forearms and catches the kick on them, leaving him with a slight stinging sensation but causing Wildchild to drop to the canvas in an uncomfortable manner. Maddix simply laughs at the fact that his opponent’s flashy offence has failed so embarrassingly… and keeps laughing right up until the point where Wildchild explodes up off the mat and wraps his legs around Landon’s head, then snaps backwards to take the Tag Champion over with a kip-up rana!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

Maddix staggers up to his feet, rather disorientated, and ends up with his back to the corner pads so he can at least see what’s coming. Unfortunately by the time he’s worked out which way is up he can see what’s coming only too well, as Wildchild is already running towards him and launching himself into the air for the-

 

*BANG!*

 

“Blue Crush!” Mak shouts as the spinning Bahaman crashes into Landon, driving the breath from La Cucaracha, “and just like that the tide of the match has turned!”

 

“That wasn’t a pun on ‘Blue Crush’ and ‘tide’ was it?” King asks suspiciously.

 

“…no.”

 

“You’re lying to me, Francis.”

 

Wildchild steps back and Landon staggers forwards, clutching his ribs; Wildchild isn’t one to let such an opportunity pass and he hops nimbly up to the second rope, then leaps off to grab Landon by the head on the way past and takes the Dakotan down with a bulldog! The crowd cheer again, support seeming to swing more towards the man who’s been a perennial favourite for years, and now Wildchild seems to decide that it’s time to show these guys what a real tag team is about. So he tags in Johnny Dangerous.

 

“JOHN-NY!”

 

“JOHN-NY!”

 

Wildchild brings Landon up and hoists him up as if for a suplex, then drapes the Next Generation’s legs over Johnny’s shoulders before turning and hanging Maddix’s chest over the top rope. Johnny holds Landon in place as Wildchild turns and runs, bouncing off the far ropes and leaping into the air to hurdle his tag team partner and come crashing down on Landon Maddix’s back!

 

“Slam Dance!” Mak calls as Wildchild rolls out of the ring and Dangerous pulls Maddix away from the ropes. The Barracuda rolls Landon over onto his back and makes the cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Landon kicks out! Johnny doesn’t hesitate or bother to argue with the referee; instead he grabs Landon by the head and brings the wincing Tag Champion up to his feet. Once there the former secret agent measures his opponent lashes out with a kick to the ribs-

 

*CRACK!*

 

-then another.

 

*CRACK!*

 

Landon staggers and Johnny ducks his head, then takes Maddix up onto his shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry. The Barracuda takes a few steps across the ring towards Michael Stephens, then turns and runs back towards his own corner before jumping and rolling forwards to drive Maddix into the canvas with the Spinal Explosion! Dangerous comes back up to his feet and reaches out to tag Wildchild in the same motion, who leaps to the top rope and then comes corkscrewing off to land flush on top of Landon with the Andros Dive!

 

*BANG!*

 

Brian Warner is in position once again to make the count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Landon is able to kick out again!

 

“LET’S GO LAN-DON!”

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

Wildchild brings the winded La Cucaracha up and tags Dangerous back in; he then releases Landon and shoves him away before he and Johnny line up and, in perfect unison, unleash a double superkick that catches Maddix on the jaw and flattens him!

 

“Super Chicklet Buster!” Mak Francis calls, “Wild & Dangerous are bringing out some of their signature double-teams here in their attempt to win a historic fifth Tag Team Title each!”

 

Wildchild leaves the ring again as Johnny makes the cover on Maddix, prompting Brian Warner to dive to make a count again.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-broken up by Michael Stephens!

 

“God, Brian Warner has been up and down more than Megan Skye’s panties,” King observes.

 

“More importantly,” Mak Francis says, glaring at King again, “Michael Stephens was forced to enter the ring there to ensure that his team didn’t lose the Tag Titles! Wild & Dangerous have turned this match around and are now well and truly on the offensive.”

 

“Wild & Dangerous are offensive, I’ll give you that.”

 

Johnny Dangerous shoots Stephens a glare as the World Champion retreats back to his corner after protests from Brian Warner, but much as the Englishman invites him to come and do something about it Johnny has greater self-control and elects to remain focused on the legal man. Accordingly he brings the dazed Landon Maddix up to a vertical base again, then raises three fingers in the air before hooking Maddix up for a vertical suplex. The Barracuda lifts, seeking to hoists his opponent in the air for the start of his signature rolling vertical suplexes… but Maddix hooks his leg behind Johnny’s to block his opponent. Dangerous heaves again but to no avail, and now Landon fires a right hand into the Barracuda’s ribs. Johnny grunts in pain and his grip lessens slightly, prompting Maddix to do it again… and again… and once more, finally causing Dangerous to release and regroup!

 

Or at least, he would regroup if Maddix hadn’t taken this chance to poke him in the eye!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Some fans cheer; possibly because they don’t like Johnny all that much, possibly because they enjoy seeing Landon cheat these days. However, the majority of the crowd boos such dirty tactics. Not that Landon cares; he just wraps his arms around Johnny’s neck and falls backwards, driving his opponent face first into the mat!

 

*BANG!*

 

“Complete Shot!” Mak says, “Landon’s bought himself some time now!”

 

“After cheating,” King points out.

 

“He poked Johnny Dangerous in the eye,” Mak retorts, “even if it is Landon, you expect me to believe you have a problem with someone poking Johnny in the eye?”

 

“…point.”

 

Landon’s time, while not exactly hard-bought, is certainly going to be well-spent. Rather than trying to gut through the beating he’s just taken and turn the match around himself Landon elects for the more sensible option of staggering to his feet and lurching over to tag in Michael Stephens. However, as he goes to step through the ropes Stephens grabs him by the arm and directs Landon back towards Dangerous before starting to climb to the top rope himself. Maddix obliges and grabs Johnny, hauls the Barracuda up and places him in a rear headlock. Johnny starts to struggle, but before he can figure a way out of his predicament Maddix whips his right arm around and down to send Johnny crashing into the canvas with the Landon Eye. La Cucaracha then rolls aside…

 

*BANG!*

 

…half a second before Michael Stephens comes off the top to deliver the Hangover to the prone Dangerous! Stephens doesn’t go for the cover though, instead hauling Johnny up and signalling to Landon. The two men Irish whip Dangerous towards the ropes nearest the entranceway, then duck their heads for a double backdrop, but Johnny grabs onto the top rope and brings himself to a standstill. Wildchild sees his chance and races to the middle of the apron on his side of the ring; just as Stephens and Maddix start to look up to see where Johnny is the Bahaman Bomber springboards to the top rope, then flies over them and flips forward to pull both men down facefirst into the mat!

 

*WHAM!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“DUB-CEE!”

 

“DUB-CEE!”

 

“Springboard double Whiplash!” Mak Francis yells above the crowd noise, “what a way to change the momentum of this match back in the favour of Wild & Dangerous!”

 

Landon rolls out of the ring clutching his face; Michael Stephens doesn’t get the chance to, because Johnny Dangerous covers him as Wildchild leaves the squared circle.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Stephens kicks out! Dangerous looks up questioningly at Brian Warner but is informed that it was definitely a two, no more. Accordingly the Barracuda grabs Stephens and hauls him up to his feet, then slips behind the Englishman and applies a double chickenwing to lift Mike clean off his feet, then drops him down forwards into the Dangerous Driver!

 

*WHAM!*

 

Johnny rolls Stephens over again, hoping to capture the Tag Titles with this pin…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Stephens kicks out again!

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-NY!”

 

Johnny slams his hand down onto the canvas in frustration, then takes hold of Stephens again and brings the World Champion up. Without warning the Barracuda slips his head under Stephens’ arm and grabs his opponent’s leg, then heaves upwards looking for the MI Slam…

 

…but the Sensation isn’t yet battered enough to fall prey to it, and he slips out and counters into an arm drag variation that sends Johnny tumbling across the ring!

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

“LET’S GO STE-PHENS!”

 

Johnny is back up to his feet quicker than Stephens and he heads back towards the World Champion, well aware that he can’t give the Englishman time to recover-

 

*whump-CRACK!*

 

-too late, as Stephens pops up to deliver the kip-up enzuigiri!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Stephens shakes his head to clear it, then gets back up to his feet and latches onto Dangerous as the Barracuda starts to rise, clutching the back of his own head. Stephens Irish whips Johnny into the ropes and sidesteps Dangerous as the Barracuda rebounds, reaching up to hook Johnny as if for a Hangman’s neckbreaker. However, rather than dropping straight down Stephens instead twists around and drops to one knee, bringing Johnny with him to drive Dangerous’s face into the other knee. The World Champion then grabs a front facelock with his left arm and extends his right arm out to the side, signalling for the Unfinished Business… but as he swings his right arm around and down Johnny slips out of the facelock. Stephens whirls around in search of his opponent, but all he finds is a Uraken to the jaw as Dangerous spins to deliver a backfist to the face!

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-NY!”

 

Stephens staggers and Johnny turns to make a quick signal to Wildchild. The Bahaman Bomber moves along the apron again to take up position midway along as Johnny whips Stephens into the ropes…

 

“They’re setting up for the Silver Bullet!” Mak calls.

 

Stephens rebounds and Johnny ducks his head for a backdrop as Wildchild prepares to jump to the top rope. Unfortunately at this point two things go wrong for the challengers. Firstly, it’s never a good idea to duck your head in front of Stephens; Johnny finds this out as Mike kills his momentum and then drives Dangerous’s face into his knee with another facebuster. Secondly, Landon Maddix never went back to his corner after rolling out of the ring following the double Whiplash, and has now suddenly popped up behind Wildchild; as the Bahaman Bomber starts to jump for the top rope La Cucaracha simply grabs his feet and hauls downwards, sending the Caribbean Cruiserweight dropping facefirst into the apron!

 

*WHAM!*

 

Stephens once more transitions his facebuster into a front facelock, and this time Johnny is unable to avoid the Unfinished Business as the elbow-drive bulldog slams him down into the mat. Stephens rolls the Barracuda over onto his back…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Johnny kicks out! Stephens looks over to see that Landon has now finally scurried back to the Galacticos corner, and the World Champion gets back up to tag his partner into the match once more before pulling Johnny to his feet. Landon has a grin on his face as he lashes out with a right hand at the former secret agent…

 

‘PEPSI!’

 

…Johnny staggers away, lurching around towards Stephens who matches his partner’s punch…

 

‘COKE!’

 

…not to be outdone, Landon fires off another…

 

‘PEPSI!’

 

…and Stephens comes to the defence of his favourite brand of cola one more…

 

‘COKE!’

 

Johnny stands still in the middle of the ring, wobbling precariously and clearly on dream street. Maddix and Stephens look at each other for a moment, nod, then each man turns and runs for opposite ropes. Johnny Dangerous has just enough time to realise that the barrage of right hands has stopped when he gets hit with a Cucaracha Kick from the front and a soccer tackle from behind!

 

*BANG!*

 

“Professional Foul!” Mak shouts as Johnny hits the deck hard, “that could do it!” Landon Maddix certainly hopes so, and La Cucaracha covers Dangerous to try and find out…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Johnny kicks out! Stephens has barely left the ring when Landon calls for him to come back in, and as Brian Warner starts his five-count again the World Champion steps through the ropes and helps Maddix brings Dangerous back up to his feet. Each man grabs a ¾ headlock and they turn towards one of the neutral corners…

 

“Laberinto’s Sunny Revenge In England coming up!” Mak shouts as the crowd rises in anticipation. Stephens and Maddix start to run, towing Johnny behind them…

 

…but Wildchild suddenly bursts into the ring and places himself in the corner they’re aiming for! Neither Galactico can stop in time as the Bahaman Bomber braces himself on the turnbuckles and raises both feet, kicking each one in the face! Stephens and Maddix stagger; Wildchild brings his legs up again and wraps them around Stephens’ head, then throws his weight sideways to hurricanrana the World Champion clean over the top rope; meanwhile Johnny Dangerous extricates him from Landon’s grasp and grabs a rear waistlock on his opponent, then bridges backwards into a German suplex pin!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Landon kicks out!

 

“This match has been so fast-paced it’s unbelievable!” Mak Francis exclaims, “each team is bringing everything they can to the table, as fast as they can!”

 

“It’s just depressing,” Suicide King complains, “no matter who wins, I’ll still be disappointed.”

 

“Personally I’m amazed to see you’re still interested enough to be watching your monitor,” Mak comments.

 

“What are you talking about? I’m playing Madden!”

 

Wildchild now scrambles back into the ring, and together with Dangerous he hauls Landon Maddix back to his feet from where La Cucaracha rolled onto his front after kicking out of the German suplex. Wild & Dangerous grab a wrist each and Irish whip Maddix into the far corner, then turn to each other. Dangerous now takes hold of Wildchild, perhaps to Irish whip his tag team partner into the slumping Landon, but at that moment an English-accented voice attracts their attention.

 

‘Oi! Wankers!’

 

Amusingly, both men turn around. They see that Michael Stephens is not still on the outside; on the contrary, the World Champion is now perched on the top buckle. Not for long though, as the Englishman leaps off and flips through the air, grabbing both Wildchild and Johnny around the head and bringing them down to the mat with a double Blockbuster!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“What a move!” Mak yells, “and there’s an answer to the double Whiplash that Wildchild brought out earlier!”

 

Landon staggers out of the corner and together he and Stephens kick Wildchild out of the ring; Stephens then exits as well in accordance with the wishes of Brian Warner, while Landon starts to haul Johnny up to his feet. Once up Maddix wraps his right arm across Dangerous’s chest, then before the Barracuda can react he leans forward before whipping backwards to slam Johnny into the canvas with the Crash Landon ‘05!

 

*BANG!*

 

Landon rolls into the cover, hooking Johnny’s leg as he does so…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Johnny kicks out!

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-NY!”

 

“LET’S GO LAN-DON!”

 

Maddix looks up questioningly at Brian Warner, but the referee is adamant that his count was correct. Landon doesn’t seem pleased, but instead of arguing he grabs Johnny and hauls him up again. Dangerous comes up slowly, apparently only half-conscious, and Landon wraps his arm across his opponent’s chest again in preparation for another go at the move… but Dangerous elbows out, then reverses the position of their arms and hoists Maddix up before driving him down with a Urinage!

 

*WHAM!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Johnny Dangerous avoids a second Crash Landon, but how much has he got left?” Mak shouts. However, it doesn’t look like Johnny intends to need anything left; instead he heaves a couple of breaths of air back into his lungs, then rolls towards his corner and reaches out a hand. Wildchild has managed to get back into the corner after partially recovering from the Blockbuster, and the Bahaman Bomber stretches out a hand to take the tag from his partner. Once tagged the Caribbean Cruiserweight wastes no time, vaulting up and clean over the top rope to land on the second buckle, then arcing back with a second-rope moonsault down onto Landon! The cover is inherent to the move…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-

-but Landon kicks out!

 

“LET’S GO LAN-DON!”

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

Wildchild glances over at the Galacticos corner to check on Michael Stephens; the World Champion has one leg in the ring, apparently about to try and break up the cover but perhaps deciding he wasn’t needed. Wildchild decides to deal with Stephens when the time comes, but for the time being he needs concentrate on Maddix. As a result he drags the winded La Cucaracha up to his feet and hooks his arms into Landon, then twists around and takes Maddix up onto his back…

 

“Wild Ride!” Mak shouts.

 

…but Landon has other ideas. The Tag Champion kicks his legs and manages to unbalance himself, toppling down to land on his feet behind Wildchild. Wildchild turns around, eager to re-establish control over his opponent but Landon jabs his fingers towards the Bahaman’s eyes…

 

…and with amazing speed Wildchild ducks out of the way and grabs Landon’s hand, then Irish whips the startled Dakotan into the far turnbuckles! Maddix hits hard and Wildchild winds up, then charges straight at him and launches himself into the air, spinning through for another Blue Crush…

 

…but Landon ducks to one side at the last moment! The amazingly agile Wildchild manages to land on the second buckle rather than crash chest-first into the corner, but this doesn’t avail him much in the long run as Landon simply lashes out and slams a forearm into Wildchild’s back. The Bahaman Bomber winces and Maddix repositions himself to take the challenger onto his shoulders in a powerbomb position, then starts to walk away from the corner.

 

“Wildchild’s in trouble!” Mak shouts.

 

“Good!” King shouts back.

 

Johnny Dangerous is still dazed on the apron after the Blockbuster and the Crash Landon 05; Michael Stephens meanwhile is still able to move, and the Sensation runs down the apron to the neutral corner which Landon has just plucked Wildchild from, then climbs to the top rope. Wildchild starts firing punches downwards at Landon’s head to try and gain his freedom from the persistent La Cucaracha…

 

…looks up…

 

…and sees 218lbs of English straight-edger flying at him.

 

*BANG!!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Powerbomb and neckbreaker drop!” Mak yells as the arena erupts, “that could be it!”

 

Landon, head ringing from Wildchild’s punches but still able to register what he has to do, leans forward into a cover with Wildchild’s legs cradled one over each shoulder. Michael Stephens gets up to his feet even as Brian Warner dives to count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

…Johnny Dangerous scrambles into the ring to try and break up the count…

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

…Stephens launches himself into a soccer tackle, scything the Barracuda’s legs out from under him…

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners and STILL~ SWF Tag Team Champions,” Funyon booms, “Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix and Michael Stephens… THAAAAAAAAA… GA-LAC-TI-COOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSS!”

 

“That’s it!” Mak Francis calls, “Wild & Dangerous’s quest to become five-time Tag Team Champions has come to a crashing halt, at least for the moment! The most dominant tag team in SWF history gave it their all, but for tonight at least it wasn’t quite enough!”

 

“A bunch of flipping-flopping spotmonkeys,” King snorts, “is that what you call a main event? Is that what you call Tag Champions?”

 

Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix receive the tag titles back from Brian Warner, then exchange their customary high-five and leave the ring to be congratulated by Megan Skye and Amy Stephens. Well, Megan congratulates Landon; Amy just burps and crushes her empty lager can, then sets off up the entrance ramp. Meanwhile in the ring Johnny checks on Wildchild, who is stirring but not quite with it enough to yet comprehend what has happened.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT