Wrath Losing Matches

[Guest 5_moves_of_doom]

Sorry I can't actually comment on anything but I'm leaving for Texas like now practically. Anyhoo, comment away.

 

Bah, I lost. I knew I would, but I'm still a bit saddened as my match (in my opinion) was pretty damn good. Maybe I could have put in that last bit of effort if I hadn't watched Kramer vs. Kramer and Fight Club three times (I'm serious) during a time which I could have spent typing. Anyhoo, here's the oh-so-close-to-winning version of my match. I ask you to PLEASE comment on this, as for four days all I did was type and watch Fight Club. Ahem. And how shall I keep myself entertained on the plain ride to Texas? Fight Club of course, but this time...IN BOOK FORM!!!! Ok, here's the match.

 

SJL Wrath returns as an opening shot of the TD Waterhouse Center in Orlando, Florida is displayed for a many spectators to view. Outside, several hoboes scalp off phony tickets to blind children as a large sign reads: “SJL WRATH! SOLD OUT!” and yet another informing advertisement: “Fight Club: A Tale Told With Sock Puppets! Tickets On Sale!” remains sprawled across a second billboard. The camera star-wipes to the interior of the arena, where thousands of rabid fans rave and chant incoherent slurs of encouragement to the wrestlers. The camera gradually pans the enthusiastic audience, as several signs such as: “LDP RULES ALL,” “Longdogger Is The Best Marker Ever,” and “TNT is a suck-up!” dot the crowd. The panning comes to an abrupt halt however, as the camera stops dead at the announcer’s table, where Eddie Mac and Suicide King both reside, enticed in a heated game of Patty Cake. Suddenly, Edwin notices the camera, and attains the role of the opening speaker…

 

Edwin: “Huzzah. Welcome back ladies and gentlemen to the returning SJL Wrath! Sitting with me tonight are “not-quite-up-to-par-with-my-title-reign” Suicide King, and Ax…hey, where is Axis?”

King (looking left and right, under the table and down his pants): “I have no clue.”

Edwin: “Nonetheless, we have a match of unproportional awesomeness coming up…(looks at watch)…now!”

King: “That’s right Crown Prince of Feltch and Penis…”

Edwin: “Actually it’s Crown Prince of…”

King: “It’s what I say it is bub. Anyhoo, this next match is…”

 

An awkward silence descends upon the announcing booth as Axis walks into view, a crowbar in hand, taking a seat next to Edwin.

 

Edwin: “You’re fashionably late.”

Axis: “My friend I’m so fashionable I can be fashionably early, on time, AND late.”

King: “Maybe, but where the German sausage bunnies were you?”

 

Both King and Ed stare in a perplexed manner at Axis, as Edwin spouts out the answer to both himself and Suicide’s inevitable question…

 

Edwin: “You got locked inside of a shed again didn’t you?”

Axis: “…”

Edwin: “Hey King, Axis got locked inside a…”

Axis: “Drop it Edwin.”

Edwin: “I mean it was…”

Axis: “Drop it before I use this crowbar to pry open your jaw.”

Edwin: “Yipes! Fair enough.”

Axis: “Ahem. As I’m sure one of my colleagues was saying, we’ve got a match brewing; and one hell of a match it’s sure to be as SJL European Champion Frost is set to defend his title against both CIA and ‘TNT’ Taylor Nicholas Thompson! We go now to Funyon, who is ready to introduce the competitors for our next match.”

 

The screen displays the inside of the ring, where Funyon stands, dressed in his usual hand-me-down tuxedo. Tons-of-Fun acquires a microphone, and holds it up to his lips, ready to speak…

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, and Suicide King, this match is scheduled for one fall and is for the Smarks Junior League European Championship belt! Count-out and disqualification rules are NOT in affect! The first man to pin another man or make another man submit will be declared the winner! Ahem. Introducing, the first competitor in this bout, weighing in at a lean and/or mean 267 pounds, hailing from Anaheim, California, the longest reigning television champion of all time, ‘TNT’ Taylor Nicholas Thompson!”

 

“Oy! Oy! Oy!”

 

The entrance curtains begin to ruffle as a dark figure emerges from the backstage area, featuring baggy trousers, and long, streaming hair. The figure steps into a sea of red and orange strobelights, and is illuminated by them, revealing itself as Taylor Nicholas Thompson. The letters "T-N-T" slink across the Smarktron and just as a resounding "Watch me exploooooooooooode!!!!!" echoes throughout the arena, and the hulking mass that is Taylor Thompson briskly strides down the aisleway. Taylor hops upon the ring apron, flipping the heated audience off to a rather negative reaction, and steps through the ropes and into the ring. Thompson, rather than committing his usual pre-match tradition of hitting each corner, instead compromises to recoil backwards, where he perches atop a turnbuckle. The arena squashes Taylor with an anvil of boos, but the explosive one remains unaffected as he merely gazes up the entrance ramp, a determined and concentrated expression painted across his goateed face.

 

Axis: “TNT looks a lot more serious tonight folks. You can really tell that he wants that European title, and he wants it badly.”

King: “TNT deserves to be here tonight no doubt as he defeated Andrew Rickmen himself to gain a spot in this matchup.”

Edwin: “Yeah dawg.”

King: “………Ok.”

 

Funyon: “The second competitor in this bout, weighing in at a terribly Canadian 237 pounds, hailing from the chilly Celine Dion-infested depths of Ottawa, which is in Ontario, which is in Canada, he is the Canadian Intelligence Agency…C-I-A!!!”

 

The arena pops like a cherry as the respectable image of a Canadian flag materializes on the Smarktron, and several lights makeshift into a red tinted color, scaring young children and Edwin alike. The red tinge remains constant as a few melodic notes of “O Canada” ring throughout the arena, until an entire verse has come and gone. This comforting peacefulness is soon interrupted however, as a gigantic crimson flair ignites at the pinnacle of the entrance ramp, and “Secret Agent Man” blares from the loudspeakers, telegraphing the inevitable arrival of CIA himself…

 

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

 

A silhouette of a man holding a large silk sheet, who is gingerly trotting down the entrance ramp, soon is revealed to be the speaker, as CIA speaks while shuffling down the aisleway, Canadian flag resting in his arms.

 

“Greetings from the frozen north! Buy yourself a Canadian Beer, and get ready to have your eyes opened!”

 

The Canadian Intelligence Agency slithers into the ring with a broad smile on his face, still spewing out catchy sayings…

 

“Raise your voices up, let the people smile! Cause I'm here, and I'm bringing the CANADIAN STYLE!"

 

CIA tosses the microphone aside and respectfully sets his flag onto the mat, as he begins to remove his jacket. CIA slips off his outer clothing, hurling it into the audience as a gang of Trekkies brawl, attempting to gain possession of the valuable item.

 

King: “What’s CIA doing with that flag? He can’t have a flag? That’s cheating! He can’t have a flag…can he have a flag?”

Edwin: “Afraid so King of Farts.”

Axis: “This Canadian grappler appears to be in tip-top shape for tonight’s matchup, as he truly is giving off vibes of determination. This #1 contender had to go through another initialed competitor, MVS, to gain his spot in this match.”

Edwin: “Yeah dawg.”

Funyon: “Finally, the last, and maybe least competitor in this bout depending on your opinion, weighing in at a chilly 296 pounds, wrestling for the penguin infested depths of his hometown Reykjavik, Iceland, he is the Smarks Junior League European champion of the world…er…Europe, FROST!!!”

 

Several guitar riffs that signal the beginning of “Cities on Flame With Rock ‘n Roll” by the Blue Oyster Cult echo throughout the arena, as the hulking pile of muscle that is Frost materializes from the backstage area. Frost takes a few deliberately slow strides down the entrance ramp, but stops dead in his tracks, glancing backwards towards the curtains. Frosty breaks out a rare smile as he points to the backstage area. The audience glances at the ring entrance in confusion, all exchanging one collective expression of raw perplexity. The initial reaction soon evolves into an eruption of cheers however, as none other than Sydney Sky herself pops out from behind the curtains. Frost politely golf claps a bit, but soon resumes his usual posture as he sulks towards the ring, raising a single clinched fist in the air, as the fans pour a proverbial bucket of mixed reaction atop his head. Frost arrives at the ring, slowly meanders up the ring steps, and also assists Sky into the ring, as the two ramble off a few quick poses to egg on a roaring “Sydney! Sydney! Sydney!” chant. Sky removes the European title from Frost’s shoulder, and appropriately hands the belt to Funyon, who steps through the ropes, just as three consecutive chimes from the ring bell signal the start of the match.

 

*** DING DING DING ***

 

Axis: “And we’re off!”

 

The three opponents circle eachother…er…triangle eachother like rabid North Carolinian tree monkeys, awaiting the first strike to be made. CIA takes the honors, as he breaks the relative calmness among the trio by darting off of the ropes, and driving his elbow right across the jaw of Frost!

 

Edwin: “CIA breaks the proverbial ice of calmness as he delivers a stiff bionic elbow right into Frost’s jaw!”

 

Frost staggers back a bit, rubbing his chin with the palm of his broad hand. A smidgen of blood trickles from the Icelandic monster’s mouth, creating a conspicuous river of crimson, which cuts through the sea of pale, white skin that makes up Frost’s face. CIA looks to follow up with yet another bionic elbow, but finds himself planted into the mat quicker than Ahmed Johnson can say “I am a miserably sloppy wrestler,” as Frost grasps a hold of the significantly smaller grappler, and fully flipping his opponent, puts the Canadian down with a tilt-a-whirl slam! The mat virtually ripples with impact, as CIA gasps for air, moaning in unbearable pain. Frosty continues to lie on the mat, his arm still draped across CIA’s chest, forming an early pin!

 

Kivell: “One!”

 

CIA is quick to elevate an arm off of the mat, fully kicking out of the premature pinfall attempt. Frost continues to rest on the mat, collecting himself, but soon is back on his feet, with a little assistance from the ring ropes. CIA follows the leader, also regaining a fully conscious state. Both men shake off some dizziness, but it’s instantly knocked back into them by TNT, who reverberates off of a set of ropes, sprints towards his opponents, outstretches both arms, and sends Frost, CIA, and himself hurdling over the ropes with a double Cactus clothesline! All three men incoherently stagger into the guardrails outside of the ring, holding a contest for who can reach their feet first. Frost wins this competition, as he spins to his feet, and is followed by his two opponents within a few seconds.

 

Axis: “And the action has flowed to the exterior of the ring! This is no disqualification folks!”

King: “Kill CIA!”

Axis: “King, don’t you think that’s a little biased?”

King: “Kill ‘em!”

 

TNT sets his crosshairs on CIA as his first target, as he lunges at the Canadian, and leaps off of the ground, one knee bent out in an extended manner, forming a knee lift!

 

King: “Ouch!”

Axis: “Ewe!”

Edwin: “Yeah dawg.”

 

TNT’s knee cracks across CIA’s masked face, snapping his neck backwards, and sending him flipping over the guardrail and into the audience! Several fans attempt to savagely remove CIA’s mask, boots, and pants, as he desperately struggles to roll back over the guardrail, still grasping at his pained neck.

 

Axis: “CIA took a devastating blow to the face, which couldn’t have done good things for his neck!”

King: “CIA can’t let his neck take much punishment, as it was already virtually destroyed on Metal by Mike Van Siclen! God knows how TNT and Frost will take advantage of this weakness…say, where the hell is Frost anyway?”

Edwin: “He appears to be over by that food stand…buying a snack…weird.”

 

Just as Edwin stated, a quick shot of Frost’s whereabouts reveal him to be prominently positioned near a food stand, apparently buying a snowcone.

 

Edwin: “YAY! He’s buying me a snowcone!”

King: “He’s buying me a snowcone you old hack!”

Edwin: “Me!”

King: “Me!”

Axis: “People! Puh-leeze try to be reasonable here, we all know he’s buying me a snowcone.”

 

All three announcers bitterly argue over the possession of the snowcone, but a sudden silence drops over the booth, as they stare at Frost, who passes right by the announcer’s table. Frost hands the flavored ice funnel to Sydney Sky, who takes a few licks, and then spits into it, handing it back to Frosty. Frost then saunters towards his two opponents, who are exchanging right hands, TNT using his size to gain a mild advantage. Frost points his finger from one opponent to the other, apparently playing eenie-meenie-minie-mo. Frost’s cold and heartless glare stops dead on TNT, who has finally managed to topple CIA to the floor. Frost revs back, snowcone in hand, and thrusts the freezing snack into TNT’s face, as crimson streams of flavored snowcone juice slither down his chest. TNT immediately shrinks back backwards, as the kneeling CIA uses the backward momentum to roll TNT up! He keeps the astonished TNT down for a full five seconds, but referee Mathew Kivell refuses to make the count.

 

King: “As much as I love seeing CIA’s plans of victory become befuddled, I can’t help but wonder why Kivell isn’t making the count!”

Axis: “Not so fast King. Something often forgotten by wrestlers is that this match is no-disqualification, but NOT hardcore.”

King: “Geez. How stupid is CIA? Making a pin like that. How stupid. What kind of stupid…”

Axis: “But you just made the same mistake your…”

King: “How stupid!”

 

CIA releases the dynamite warrior, who falls backwards in a limp fashion, rubbing crunched ice residuals off of his face, and out of his goatee. Frost, the only wrestler still remaining in an erect posture, ceases to giving his opponents any type of rest period, and immediately tightens his cold, sweaty fingers around a morsel of CIA’s short blonde hair, prying him to his feet. CIA’s cranium bobs a bit, signaling to Frost that he’s not quite “right in the head,” as Frost tightens his knuckles, and revs back, thrusting his arm forward right into CIA’s heart for the Touch of Frost! CIA dodges to the side, and spring boards off of a guardrail, latching an arm around Frost’s skull and soaring forward in a bulldog motion!

 

Axis: “Can’t you just feel the impact of that move?!”

Edwin: “Yeah dawg.”

King: “Edwin you know there’s more than one phrase that you can…”

Edwin: “Yeah dawg.”

King: “Bah. I give up.”

Axis: “I did years ago.”

 

CIA pounces up from the fallen Frost, who lays on the concrete floor grasping at his neck, and sets his target on his second, much more explosive opponent, who has just managed to rise to his feet.

 

Axis: “CIA charging TNT!”

King: “You know I just realized how many initials are involved in this match, I mean, back when I was SWF world champion some people called me KOH but seriously these two…”

Axis: “King, please.”

Edwin: “Yeah dawg.”

King (to Axis): “If you won’t shut him up I will.”

Edwin: “I’m right here Mr. ‘I’m not CURRENT SWF World Champion.”

King: “Bring it on Mr. ‘I’m not the longest reining SWF World Champion of all time.”

Edwin: “Oh yeah, well…wait, neither are you.”

King: “…Oh yeah.”

Axis: “Ahem. As I was saying, CIA charging TNT!”

 

Just as Axis inquired (twice,) CIA mischievously lunges at the explosive one, who catches him, wraps his arm around his back and lifts him off of the ground, only to plunge him back onto the concrete with a devastating sideslam! CIA lets out a resounding grunt to signify his agony, grasping at his arched back, and his persistently aching neck. TNT goes to lift CIA from the ground, but stops short, spotting his Canadian flag in which CIA brought to the ring at the start of the bout. TNT stumbles over to the flag, taking possession of it, and begins staggering back towards his Canadian opponent with relatively evil intentions…

 

Axis: “What the hell is he gonna do?”

 

Taylor lifts the flag by the short wooden pole attached to it, raises it above his head, but is cut short by the now conscious CIA, who clasps his legs around TNT’s shin and topples him to the ground with a drop toehold! Frost, who has been observing this attack in an incognito fashion, pounces out into the action, extending one leg in which he sinks into the back of TNT’s skull!

 

Axis: “Ouch! Frost saw the already floored Taylor Nicholas Thompson, and used it to his advantage by planting 296 pounds of icy cold muscle onto the back of TNT’s head with a stiff leg drop!”

King: “That one’s gonna hurt in the morning…and possibly for years afterward depending on the severity.”

 

All three men gasp for breath, rolling on the concrete floor attempting to collect themselves…except for TNT who appears to be dead. Frost rises to his feet, and clutches a handful of Taylor’s dreadlocks, rolling him into the interior of the white canvassed ring. Frost follows to boot, as Sky ecstatically claps while Frost falls to his knees, adorning a single arm over Thompson’s bare chest for the cover.

 

Kivell: “One! Two!”

 

TNT reaches a single shoulder off of the mat, to the point where it looks like he is attempting to catch a single dust mite floating in the air. Frost grumbles in disapproval, but resolves his disappointment by latching one of his heavily muscled arms underneath the chin of TNT, forming an improvised sleeper hold! TNT, who is already in a dazed and confused state of mind, immediately falls limp, as the ref raises his arm, and drops it, counting a single number each and every time. (1) TNT’s hand falls limply to the mat, causing a slight “thud.” Meanwhile, CIA, who has witnessed this start of a possible victory, becomes alert and slides into the ring. (2) Taylor’s arm falls lifelessly to the white canvas once again, and just as the ref starts to elevate Taylor’s arm a third and final time, CIA makes the save by pouncing from the mat and thrusting both of his legs into the side of Frost’s head!

 

Axis: “CIA saves a near fall with a devastating dropkick directly into the temple of the chilly one’s temple! He makes the cover!”

Kivell: “One! Two!”

King: “Woohoo!”

Edwin: “TNT breaks up the pin attempt with the swift drop of a knee directly into he back of CIA’s neck!”

Axis: “And you have to wonder how much punishment that fragile neck of his can sustain!”

 

The Canadian rolls out of the ring once more, clasping both of his Canadian hands around his Canadian neck, but falls to the outside protective mats at a slight angle, causing even more harm to his aching collar! TNT, who now has the weakened Frost all to himself, hones in on the chilly warrior, and begins putting rapid boots to his mid-section! Frost’s body flinches after every torturous thrust of Taylor’s boot, as CIA meanders around the exterior of the ring, apparently searching for…

 

Axis: “CIA has got the Canadian flag!”

 

All in an instant, CIA swiftly slides under the ring ropes, flag in hand, twirls to his feet, revs back, and…TNT spins around, ducking a swing, as the flag soars right above his head, just missing him. Taylor then grabs a hold of the astonished CIA’s neck, and swings around, cracking CIA’s neck onto the unforgiving ring mat with a swinging neckbreaker! The flag, along with the wooden shaft in which it is connected, rolls towards Frost, who grabs it, and begins struggling to his feet! CIA, who lays on his stomach towards the center of the ring, is approached by the offensive TNT, who steps over the Canadian’s virtual corpse, leans down to a sitting position, hooks CIA’s arms around his knees, and wraps both of his hands around the chin of CIA, forcefully pulling back, creating a camel clutch!

 

King: “He’s tapping! He’s tapping! Ring the bell!”

Axis: “Not so fast Suicide, he hasn’t tapped just yet, but how much longer can he hold on to his one last strand of hope?”

 

CIA yelps out, grimacing in unbearable pain, as TNT cinches back on the hold one last time, tightening the maneuver to the point of CIA giving up! The Canadian Intelligence Agency raises a single arm up, ready to  submit, and thrusts his arm down repeatedly on the…

 

*THWACK*

 

Frost comes out of nowhere (technically he came from just a few feet away, but it seemed like he came out of nowhere,) and cracks the wooden flagpole over the skull of Taylor Thompson! A glazed expression paints itself upon Taylor’s face, as he lifelessly topples to the mat! CIA, still attempting to recover from the travesty just committed upon his neck, barely manages to army crawl a few inches towards the explosive one, and lay his head atop TNT’s chest, now soaked in crimson from TNT’s robustly bleeding ear.

 

Kivell: “One! Two! Thr…”

 

Frost breaks up the count at two-point-nine, propelling his left elbow into the upper spinal column of CIA.

 

Axis: “Frost breaks up the count! You know, just a few weeks ago, Frost probably would have let that slide, and the match end. Back then, he didn’t seem to care about winning. But now the stakes are higher as Frost’s European title is on the line, and that title means the world to him.”

 

Frost grabs a handful of CIA’s black tights, and pulls the grappler away from the bloodied mess that is TNT. CIA grabs a set of ropes, and one by one, uses the multicolored bands as a ladder, aiding CIA to rise to his feet! Just as he manages to make it to his hands and knees however, Frost leans over, and pretzels his arms, forcing him into a cobra clutch!

 

Axis: “Cobra clutch!”

Edwin: “Didn’t TNT just use that move?”

Axis: “No that was CAMEL clutch.”

Edwin: “Sheesh. You and your moves named after animals.”

King: “He’s tapping!”

Axis: “King, his entire body is on the ropes.”

King: “…Oh yeah.”

 

Before CIA has time to tap, and before Mathew Kivell has time to break the hold, Frost jounces his opponent to his feet, and lumbers backwards, sending the Canadian toppling over his head! CIA’s cranium awkwardly bounces from the mat like a ping-pong ball…er…a ping-pong ball in a flashy Canadian themed getup that is. Meanwhile Taylor, who has rolled out of the ring to collect himself, sees this, and quickly ducks beneath the ring, rapidly searching for a…

 

King: “Why the hell did TNT just pull a dildo out from underneath the ring?”

Edwin: “It’s a bong you moron.”

Axis: “Actually, it’s a baseball bat…”

Edwin: “…”

King: “…”

Axis: “…”

Axis, Edwin, and King: “A BASEBALL BAT!?!?!”

 

TNT rolls the aluminum shaft under the bottom rope and into the ring, just as Frost covers CIA…

 

Kivell: “One!”

 

TNT uses the middle ring rope for leverage, heaving himself up onto the ring apron…

 

Kivell: “Two!”

 

TNT steps through the ring ropes…but finds himself caught onto something! Taylor turns his head to find Sydney Sky, who desperately grasps onto the end of his army-themed cargo pants! Taylor kicks away…

 

Kivell: “Thr…”

 

Taylor, realizing that he can’t make it into the ring in time, falls outside of the ring, casually landing on his feet. Thompson reaches an arm into the ring, barely grasping CIA’s foot. Taylor yanks on the Canadian’s leg, positioning it under the ring ropes, and forcing the referee to stop the count in the process! Frost abruptly propels himself from the mat, quickly rising to his feet. The angered snowman darts his eyes from side to side, searching for the culprit, when suddenly his gaze comes across Taylor Nicholas Thompson…

 

Axis: “The chase has begun!”

 

Taylor spots the lumbering mass that is Frost, and immediately sprints away. Sky grabs one of the hurriedly jogging Taylor’s arms, attempting to slow him, but Thompson quickly spins around, diverting his attention towards Sky! Taylor grabs his prized baseball bat from the inside of the ring, and dashes right after the scurrying Sky! Frost meanwhile, lumbers over the top rope and hops to the outside of the ring, where he uneasily pursues Taylor.

 

King: “Frost is chasing TNT who is chasing Sydney Sky! I’m confused!”

 

As CIA still is regaining consciousness inside the ring, Frost, TNT, and Sky circle the ring a full three times. Just as TNT is in jumping distance of Sydney, she thinks fast, as she bails to the inside of the ring, where CIA has managed to ease his way up to a standing position. Taylor follows the Riot Girl, but CIA catches him in an improvised front facelock! TNT drops his aluminum baseball bat, constantly attempting to wriggle out of the hold, but to no avail. CIA falls to his back, plunging Taylor’s face into the mat, and onto his own baseball bat!

 

King: “The stroke!”

Edwin: “Downward spiral!”

King: “The Edge-ecutioner!”

Edwin: “The Edge-o-matic!”

King: “The Edge-aculator!”

Axis: “Actually he just calls it the Via Rail.”

 

CIA rolls to his side, where he gains a quick breather, and then rotates over to TNT, where he barely administrates the hooking of Thompson’s leg…

 

Kivell: “One! Two!”

 

Frost breaks up the count at 2 347/1892nd’s as he drops a quick falling elbow to the chest of CIA. All three men lay on the mat in exhaustion, constantly attempting to regain consciousness. Both Frost and CIA work their way up to their feet, as they exchange weak and unmotivated jabs in the center of the ring. Frost quickly snaps back into his usual self however, leaning backwards and thrusting his clenched fist forward, plunging it into the chest of CIA!

 

Axis: “Touch of Frost!”

 

CIA stumbles back towards the outside of the ring, where he accidentally pretzels his neck in between a pair of ring ropes!

 

Axis: “CIA appears to be…trying to hang himself.”

 

Frost leans over to untangle the Canadian technician, as suddenly his closely cropped hair is yanked to the side of the ring, where he finds himself trapped in a standing head scissors! TNT hooks Frost’s arms, looking for Dynamite, but is sent toppling to the mat once more by Sydney Sky, who urgently tugs on his left foot! Frost stumbles backwards, plopping onto his humongous buttocks in the center of the ring, as Thompson once again grabs his bat, and persistently gallops at the Riot Girl! This time only one loop around the outskirts of the ring is completed, as both grapplers slide into the ring! Thompson makes a desperation dive at Syd, jerking her down to the mat by her long, streaming hair, as he tightens his grip on the metal baseball bat…

 

Axis: “Don’t do it Taylor!”

 

Thompson mechanically raises the bat above his head…

 

Sky: “FROSTY!”

Frost: “No!”

 

Frost leaps in front of the swinging baseball bat, intercepting its path of destruction!

 

*CRACK*

 

The bat smashes over Frost’s skull as blood immediately begins pumping from his forehead. Frost limply falls to the mat, as Thompson makes the mandatory cover…

 

Kivell: “One!”

Axis: “Frost sacrificed himself for the good of Sydney!”

 

Sky rolls out of the ring, not realizing what is happening, as she remains confused from the initial fright caused by TNT.

 

Kivell: “Two!”

King: “We have a new champ from Europe!”

Edwin: “He’s not from Europe.”

King: “Or is he?”

Edwin: “No, he’s not.”

King: “Shut up.”

 

CIA finds himself a mere yard away from the train wreck that is TNT, Frost, and a baseball bat, but as much as he tugs his way out of the ring ropes in which he is tangled in, the tighter they cinch around his pained neck.

 

Kivell: “Three!”

 

*** DING DING DING ***

 

The once lifeless Thompson immediately springs to life, and kips up, both arms raised in the air, letting out a thunderous “KABOOM!” all while being riddled with the audience’s vocal boos, as well as their literal alcoholic booze.

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout and the NEW (boos) SJL EUROPEAN CHAMPION OF THE WORLD…’TNT’ TAYLOR NICHOLAS THOMPSON!!!”

 

AC/DC’s “TNT” blares from the loudspeakers immediately following this announcement, signaling a TNT victory. Funyon cautiously hands Thompson the championship belt, as Taylor grasps the belt in his arms, hugging it while a mixture of blood, sweat, and tears stream down his beaming face. Thompson takes possession of a nearby microphone, barely managing to spout out a few incoherent slurs into it.

 

TNT: “You will watch me win. You will watch me lose. But you ALWAYS watch me…EXPLODE!!!”

 

An actual mild pop erupts from TNT’s cult fans, but their ill-fated “T-N-T” chants are drowned out by the general sound of disappointment.

 

Axis: “Frost had to choose between the two greatest loves of his life, and sided with his sweet Sydney Sky in the end!”

King: “How sick.”

Edwin: “Yeah dawg.”

King (angrily glaring at Eddie Mac): “…”

Axis: “Now King you must subdue you anger, you must…”

King: “DIE!”

 

As King pounces upon the helpless Edwin, rapidly delivering a flurry of punches to his forehead, the camera cuts to the ringside area, where CIA has escaped the ring ropes of impending doom, and is sulking back to his dressing room, followed by a few “C-I-A” chants of encouragement. Frost meanwhile, leans against a turnbuckle for support as he lifts himself to his feet, and Sky rushes into the ring to support him. Sydney outreaches a single hand to show her sympathy, but Frost bitterly withdraws. Frost glances around, realizing what has happened, but his eyes stop dead on Sydney. A glint of hatred streaks through his eyes, but it is soon replaced by his irreplaceable love for the Riot Girl. Frost outreaches a hand, and helps Sky onto his back, as he triumphantly marches out of the arena with Sydney sitting on one of his shoulders (Savage-Elizabeth style,) a hint of disappointment and anger flowing throughout all of his mannerisms.

 

Axis: “What a match! TNT is our new champ, so snooch snooch snooch, we’ll be back in a noonch!”

 

Voiceover: “And don’t forget, this episode of SJL Wrath has been brought to you by Cow Dung Flavored Altoids!”

[Guest Tod deKindes]

Geezus, enough with the comment threads, there's four or five of them already!

[Guest 5_moves_of_doom]

Okay...this is no longer a comments thread. It's a losing match thread! Post your losing matches here people, and comment on other people's losing matches.

[Guest]

...Well, I'll just paraphrase TNT here:

 

"Bah, I lost. I'm still a bit saddened as my match (in my opinion) was pretty good. Anyhoo, here's the not-winning version of my match. I ask you to PLEASE comment on this, as I spent a lot of time on it. Ok, here's the match."

 

That says pretty much everything, really. ; This match is pretty long...it was even longer, but I cut some stuff out (Funyon and such) to get it down to what I believe is 3949 words. Grand Slam didn't say anything about the length, so I guess I just lost because the Fran¢hi$e's match was better (I haven't had a chance to read it, but I guess it HAS to be good ).

 

=====

 

The lights go out, plunging the arena into darkness.  "Oh, no, not again," groans Edwin.  A flurry of piercing organ notes sets the crowd buzzing.  White strobes flash and a figure crosses his arms at the top of the ramp--then the guitar kicks in and the lights come up to reveal Fugue striding down to the ring, smiling at the crowd.  A wave of boos with some scattered cheers greet his entrance.

 

"This is a curious Television Title matchup," Axis notes.  "Neither of these contestants are exactly well liked--"

 

"*I* like 'em!" the King interjects.

 

"--by the fans," Axis continues.  "So I'm not sure the fans really know who to cheer for."  Fugue leans over the ropes with his arms crossed, nodding to the fans.  His black tank top sports a stylized television.

 

Blue and white lights then begin to flash through the arena as 'Down with the Sickness' permeates the air.  As the voice screams "ARE YOU READY?" the crowd responds with jeers and derision.  "CAUSE THE FRANCHISE IS HERE!"  The big screen flashes images of Mak Francis interspersed with the sWo logo, as the Television Champion himself appears on stage.  He slowly strolls down to ringside in his "The Fran¢hi$e" T-shirt and slips through the ropes, Tyler Kinkel sidling down the ramp behind.  Francis poses in the center of the ring with both his hands raised in the air, Fugue leaning against the ropes behind him.

 

"Hello again, gentlemen," Tyler Kinkel says, slipping into an announce position next to the King, who grins.

 

"Hi, Tyler."  The King scoots his chair over a bit.  "Make yourself at home."  Axis and Edwin roll their eyes.

 

"Thanks, King.  You know, it's great to be here.  And it's great to be coaching the Fran¢hi$e.  And it's great to be an honorary member of the sWo.  You know, it's just a great day all around!"  Tyler and the Suicide King share a laugh.

 

DINGINGING!

 

Fugue bounces up off the ropes and walks to the center of the ring.  Francis steps up to him, his three-inch height advantage obvious.  Fugue grins up at his opponent as they stare nose-to-nose, the crowd coming alive as the tension mounts.

 

"Who's going to blink first?" the King asks.

 

"I think that answer should be obvious," Kinkel notes.

 

Edwin sits there speechless, unable to decide who to root for.

 

The Fran¢hi$e grins and says something the microphones don't catch, and Fugue answers him, still smiling.  The trash talking goes on until Francis suddenly shoves Fugue back.  A loud "OOooohhh" rises from the crowd as Fugue's grin widens.  He rights himself and steps back up to Francis--then launches himself at him.  The audience erupts as the two men fight for a grip, and then Francis wraps his arm around Fugue's neck in a traditional collar-and-elbow tie up.  The former All-American pushes Fugue to the ropes, then launches himself into the air and kicks Fugue in the face, sending him crashing to the mat.  Fugue scurries back and stumbles to his feet, watching his opponent closely.

 

"Beautiful dropkick by the Fran¢hi$e!" Axis comments.

 

"Not just a dropkick--a TEXTBOOK dropkick!" Kinkel adds.

 

"After the show, I'll lend you my copy of the textbook, Axis," the King offers.

 

Francis answers Fugue's grin with his own, strutting a few steps for the crowd.  Then the two men begin to circle each other again.  Fugue darts in, quickly catching Francis' neck in the same collar-and-elbow hold.  He pushes the champion across the ring, then runs to meet him, jumping into the air and landing-feet first on Francis' chest.  Both men go down but Fugue quickly stands, facing away from his opponent, and leaps into a backflip.  The crowd comes alive, with some cheers being audible as Fugue crashes stomach-down on Francis and quickly hooks a leg--Mike Kivell slides into position and hits the mat once, but Francis immediately kicks out.  Fugue retreats to a corner again, grinning as Francis stands, glaring at him in surprise.

 

"Look at that!" Edwin says, snapping out of his trance.  "Fugue goes the Fran¢hi$e one better, with a dropkick AND a moonsault!  What do you say to that, Kinkel?"  He grins past the King.

 

Kinkel snorts and makes a note on his clipboard.  "I'm not even going to answer that."

 

The combatants advance and lock up once more.  Francis suddenly drops to the mat and grabs Fugue's leg, taking him down.  He tries to tie up Fugue's legs but the musician squirms away, only to be caught around the waist and suplexed backward onto his shoulders.  Francis holds onto the waistlock and pulls his opponent upright, but Fugue elbows Francis' head several times and then tries a backward sweeping kick.  The awkward maneuver takes both men down, and they separate once again.

 

"It looked like Francis was going for another German suplex, but it didn't happen," Axis says.

 

"It also looks like Fugue isn't doing too well against Francis' amateur wrestling techniques," the King notes.

 

"Well, gee," Kinkel sarcasms.  "Could you picture THAT qualifying as All-American?"

 

"Somehow I think an insane wrestling musician could ONLY happen in America," Edwin mutters.

 

"America!" the King expounds.  "Land of the free, home of the depraved!"

 

Fugue stands up straight and grins at his opponent.  Then he extends his hands and wiggles his fingers at the Fran¢hi$e.  Francis stares in confusion, then scowls.  The wrestlers start toward each other but Francis suddenly trips Fugue with a drop toe-hold, then wraps Fugue's legs around his own.  Francis leans back towards Fugue's head, wrenching his opponent's legs.  Fugue's eyes glaze over as he flails against the mat, trying to fight out of the Indian deathlock variation.  Francis reaches for Fugue's head but Fugue slips his arm around Francis' neck instead, squeezing him in a headlock.  The Fran¢hi$e quickly breaks the hold and gets to his feet, aiming kicks at the recumbent Fugue, accompanied by the boos of the audience.

 

"What the heck was that?" Edwin asks, staring.

 

"Fugue fought out of Francis' STF variant," Axis says.  "And now the Fran¢hi$e is putting the boots to his opponent!"

 

"Fugue can 'fight out' all he wants, but the result is inevitable!" Tyler Kinkel snaps.

 

Edwin raises an eyebrow and looks at the coach.  "Somehow you don't sound so sure of yourself."  Kinkel snarls at him.

 

Fugue pulls himself to his feet and is driven to the corner.  A thumb to the eye and Fugue holds the left side of his face.  Francis suddenly stops and looks at Mike Kivell, who's yelling something about getting out of the corner.  Smirking, Francis grabs Fugue around the waist and tosses him backward, Fugue landing on his back on the mat.  A bridge by Francis and Mike Kivell goes down to count--One, Two and Fugue kicks out.

 

"Beautiful Northern Lights Suplex," Axis says.  "It's one of my favorite moves and I'm so glad both these men use it!"  He sniffs and wipes his sleeve against his face.

 

"Was that a TEXTBOOK Northern Lights Suplex?" Edwin asks.  Kinkel rolls his eyes.

 

The competitors are up again, Francis rubbing his right shoulder.  Fugue lunges forward and catches the arm in a hammerlock, but Francis quickly rolls over into a flip, the crowd popping as he reverses the hold.  As the arm wrench cinches in, Fugue grins maniacally and does a standing flip himself, landing on his back and jerking at Francis' arm, popping the crowd even louder.  The All-American shakes his arm out and kicks at Fugue's ribs, then picks up one of his legs.  Francis looks at the crowd as he holds Fugue helpless, smiling at the swelling wave of boos, then reaches for Fugue's other leg--but the musician arches his back and kicks at Francis' face, sending him stumbling back.

 

"Wow!" Axis cries.  "Francis was looking for that figure 4, but Fugue countered once again!"

 

"Don't worry," Kinkel says calmly.  "Nobody can beat Mak Francis.  Nobody can beat the Fran¢hi$e."

 

Edwin growls.  "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...come on, Fugue!"

 

"Enemy of my enemy, huh?"  The King chuckles.

 

Fugue gets to his feet again, favoring his leg just a bit, and the two men face each other.  Francis sneers and aims a superkick at Fugue's face--but Fugue dodges, taking him down with a leg whip.  Fugue grabs for Francis' arm but the All-American quickly slips on top of him, hooking a waistlock as Fugue tries to squirm away.  A quick amateur match erupts in the ring as Fugue struggles under the laughing Francis.  Then Fugue gets under his opponent and elbows upward into the Fran¢hi$e's stomach.  Francis' grip breaks and Fugue slips out of his grasp, immediately jumping up in a kneedrop that lands on Francis' shoulder.  Francis groans, lying still just long enough for Fugue to grab Francis' right arm, scissoring his legs around the other and pulling back.

 

"The Minor Chord!" Axis says over the excited noise of the crowd.

 

"Thank you for that reminder, Axis," the King replies.  "It looks like Francis may have been just a little too confident in his amateur abilities there."

 

Edwin fairly chortles.  "Look at your precious All-American now, Kinkel!"

 

"Shut up!" Kinkel snaps.  "You don't know the Fran¢hi$e's fire like I do!  A little hold like this isn't going to end the match!  Not by a long shot!"

 

Francis grits his teeth and shakes his head as Fugue wrenches at his arms.  He pushes himself along with his legs, Fugue seeming to enjoy the ride.  After several tense seconds he reaches the ropes with his head, Mike Kivell admonishing Fugue to break the hold.  Fugue releases his opponent and walks backward to lean against the ropes on the opposite side of the ring.

 

"Francis' arms have to be hurting now," Axis notes.

 

"He knows how to deal with pain," Kinkel replies, speaking slowly and deliberately.  "He's the Television Champion--he earned that."

 

Francis gets to his feet, shaking his arms--and catches sight of Fugue watching him, smiling.  His expression darkens as the crowd cheers.  Fugue suddenly lunges forward and rams his shoulder into Francis' stomach.  Francis grunts and catches hold of his opponent, then flips backward, pulling him down.  Fugue hits the mat headfirst, falling dazedly to the side.  Francis hooks a leg, and Mike Kivell slides into position--One, Two and Fugue kicks out again!  Francis hauls Fugue up and quickly throws Fugue backwards over his shoulders.  Fugue crashes to the mat and rolls under the ropes, Francis following.

 

"DDT and an overhead belly to belly suplex!" Axis narrates.  "Francis looks like he's had things in hand for most of this match!"

 

"But not all of it," Edwin notes.

 

"Oh, don't worry, the Fran¢hi$e can pull it out," Kinkel assures anyone listening.

 

Francis rolls out of the ring, Kivell starting a count on the apron.  He takes Fugue by the hair but the musician punches him in the stomach, once and then twice.  Francis brings his elbow down on Fugue's neck and knees him in the gut, but Fugue catches the leg and falls back in a dragon screw, both men tumbling to the mats in front of the announce table.

 

"Oh, no, not again," Axis groans.

 

"I always love this part," the King comments.

 

"Come on, Francis!" Kinkel yells, gesturing excitedly.

 

Fugue hauls Francis to his feet and slams his head down on the announce table.  The audience yells its approval.  Francis clutches his nose and scowls at the grinning Fugue, then grabs his head in return and smacks IT down onto the table.  The cheering grows as Fugue reels, then once again rams Francis' face into the plastic surface.  A trickle of blood appears from the Fran¢hi$e's nose and his eyes glaze over, but he doesn't disappoint the fans and grabs hold of Fugue's hair, managing to push it down against a monitor.  Fugue pops up blinking wildly and grasps Francis' head with both hands, slamming it one final time against the announce table.  Francis slumps to the ground and Fugue raises his arms, swaying gently as the crowd roars its approval.  "Start the music!" he yells.

 

"Start the music!" Edwin cheers.  Kinkel glares at him.  The King shakes his head and laughs.

 

Fugue notices that Kivell has gotten up to 8, and quickly slips into the ring to break the count, rolling back out again afterwards.  Kivell gives the shrug of a man who knows he'll get his paycheck no matter what happens and starts the count over.  Fugue bends down to pull Francis to his feet, but suddenly doubles over as Francis' forearm slams between his legs.  The male half of the audiences groans in sympathy.

 

"My god!" Axis says.  "A blatant low blow from Francis!"

 

"I taught him that," Kinkel says proudly.

 

Mike Kivell yells down at Francis, trying to see what happened, and Francis yells something back, looking innocent as he picks Fugue up on his shoulders.

 

"Of course, what REALLY happened is that he just punched Fugue in the abdomen," Kinkel asserts.

 

Axis rolls his eyes as Kivell tries to remember what number he was at.  "It looks like Francis is going for his shoulder breaker!" Axis says.  Francis holds Fugue on his shoulder, trying to pull him over, but Fugue's struggles make it impossible.  Finally Francis simply runs to the corner of the ring, launching Fugue shoulder-first against the ring post.  Fugue tries to block, catching most of the blow on his arms, then collapses on the floor as Francis drops him, grimacing as he shakes his arm out.  The Fran¢hi$e slips back into the ring and raises his arms to the crowd.  Intense enmity radiates from the crowd as they yell at the champion, a half-hearted "Green as grass" chant arising from the mezzanine.

 

"Francis definitely looks to be in control here!" Axis comments.

 

"Come on, did we expect anything else?"  Kinkel scowls around the arena, and stands up in his seat.  "The Fran¢hi$e is NOT GREEN!  He's a AMATEUR CHAMPION!"

 

"But we can't count Fugue out yet!" Edwin says desperately.

 

The Suicide King rubs his chin.  "Cheer for the sWo to get up Edwin's nose some more, or root for the fascinatingly sadistic Fugue?  Decisions, decisions..."

 

Francis quickly thumbs Fugue's eye again, then wrenches at the musician's shirt, ripping it away to reveal Fugue's startlingly pale chest.  He backs Fugue up against the ropes, rears back and delivers a hard chop, the crack echoing through the arena.

 

"BOOOO!" the crowd roars.

 

Francis glares at the audience as Fugue clutches his reddening chest, and rears back to deliver another blow.

 

"BOOOO!"  Even the scattered sWo marks are getting into it.

 

Francis leans past Fugue to stare at the crowd.  "I'M THE CHAMPION!" he yells.  He pulls back for another chop but Fugue suddenly drops down in a sweeping kick.  He jumps forward and lands knee-first on Francis' right arm, then wraps his legs around it.  Francis gasps and flails, Kivell yelling at Fugue to release his opponent.

 

"That was pretty stupid, putting on a hold right by the ropes," Tyler Kinkel sniffs.  "I don't know what idiot thought this idiot, Fugue, actually deserved a shot at this title."

 

"Well, maybe every little bit helps," the King muses.

 

"Shut up, Kinkel," Edwin adds.

 

Francis scrambles to his feet and grabs Fugue's head in a leg scissors.  He hauls Fugue up onto his shoulders and slams him down in a sit-out powerbomb.  He pushes Fugue's legs up and Kivell counts, One, Two and Fugue recovers, aiming a punch at the Fran¢hi$e.  As Francis reels Fugue flips back and onto his feet, watching his opponent stand.  Fugue flexes his wiry frame, then runs forward and rams his shoulder into the Fran¢hi$e's stomach, grabbing him around the waist and hauling him up and over in a suplex.  Francis slams to the mat and Fugue bridges into a cover--One, Two and Francis kicks out once again, the crowd cheering continously.

 

"The intensity of this match is incredible!" Axis yells.

 

"There's really a lot at stake here, isn't there?" the King says.  "Both men have their reputations on the line--the reputations they're trying to create in this company."

 

Francis gets to his feet and grabs Fugue's arm, but Fugue knees his opponent in the stomach.  Francis then grabs the leg, the crowd roaring, but Fugue counters again with an elbow to the head.  Francis releases the leg but gets behind his opponent, grabbing a waistlock and throwing him backward over his head.  Fugue staggers to his feet, eyes glazed, and manages a kick to Francis' right arm.  As the champion clutches his shoulder Fugue gropes for the arm, managing to catch it and pull backward.  The fans' yells redouble as Francis collapses onto his stomach, struggling--then he pushes himself up and rolls through into a schoolboy rollup.  Kivell gets into position, but only gets a one-count before Fugue squirms away.  Francis grins evilly and catches hold of Fugue's legs, standing up and hooking them in a step-over toe-hold.  He grabs for Fugue's arm but the musician desperately curls up and shoves the champion off of him.  Fugue gets his feet under him and suddenly pushes himself off from the mat, turning back in a moonsault.  He lands on Francis' chest and right arm, eliciting another groan of pain from the Fran¢hi$e.  Francis pushes him off and slides away, the two combatants eyeing one another across the ring.

 

"Incredible!" Axis marks, the crowd almost drowning him out.

 

"I just realized something," the King says.  "Fugue keeps going back to the arm.  But he tries very hard to counter any move from the Fran¢hi$e that would hurt his OWN arms."

 

Tyler Kinkel growls.  "Why, that dirty--"  He stands up in his seat.  "Mak!" he yells.  "Go for the arms!"  The crowd boos him loudly.

 

Francis glances at Kinkel, then glares at Fugue.  Fugue grins back at him and runs the ropes.  Francis meets him with a flying forearm, sending him crashing to the mat.  The Fran¢hi$e goes for Fugue's arm but the musician slips away, then scores with a kick to Francis' face.  Fugue pops up and grabs Francis' face in yet another collar-and-elbow tieup.  The champion angrily pushes him away, and Fugue bounces off the ropes and dives at Francis' feet.  Caught by surprise, Francis stumbles and falls on his face.  Fugue is already springing to his feet and jumps forward in another kneedrop--the Fran¢hi$e rolls away, clutching his shoulder.

 

"Looks like the Fran¢hi$e just can't get hold of that arm," Edwin says cheerily.

 

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tell him to go after it?" the King suggests.

 

Kinkel's mouth works soundlessly.

 

Fugue grins as he stalks after his opponent.  Francis gets to his feet and lunges forward, finally catching Fugue's wrist.  Fugue quickly turns, wrenching his arm away from the champion, but Francis punches the musician in the lower back.  He wraps his leg around Fugue's and flips him backward, both men landing on the mat.  Kivell slides down to count and the two competitors roll away from each other.

 

"That's it, Francis!" Kinkel yells.  "Pull it together!"

 

The two warriors get to their feet again and warily approach each other.  Francis lashes out with a punch but Fugue dodges, then returns a jab of his own.  Francis grits his teeth and slaps Fugue's chest hard, spinning him around.

 

"BOOOO!" from the crowd.

 

Francis snarls and turns back to back with Fugue, locking both Fugue's arms into his own.  He kneels down--but an expression of pain seizes his face.  Fugue's grin is a rictus as he pulls back on the hold.  The noise builds from the audience as the two competitors teeter back and forth, locked inextricably together.

 

"Francis goes for a backslide!" Axis cries.  "But Fugue turns the hold against him!  Now these two incredible athletes are caught in an inescapable battle!"

 

"And Fugue spent all that time working on Francis' arm," the King says.  "This is NOT going to be pretty."

 

Francis yells and shakes his head as he leans over, trying to pull Fugue onto his back.  Fugue's chest heaves with exertion as he stares into space, pumping his legs to unbalance his opponent, the Fran¢hi$e gasping with each wrench of the hold.  Finally Fugue hauls his legs high into the air and then down, the momentum unseating Francis and flipping him onto his back.  Kivell hits the mat to count but Francis turns over and lands on his stomach.  The two men untangle themselves and stumble apart, both rubbing their shoulders.

 

"INCREDIBLE!" Axis yells.  "Fugue reverses the backslide, after long moments of tortuous arm-wrenching!"

 

"I sense the tables turning," Edwin grins.

 

Fugue stumbles back, his grin feral, and slaps Francis across the chest.

 

"WOOOO!"

 

Enraged by the reaction of the fans, Francis springs up and slaps Fugue around.  He ducks down behind the challenger but Fugue punches him, and again; but on the third try Francis grabs his arm, crossing it in front of Fugue's body.  Then the Fran¢hi$e reaches between Fugue's legs and catches his other arm, yelling loudly and hoisting Fugue up and over in a suplex.  Francis bridges and Kivell counts--One, Two and Fugue kicks out spasmatically.

 

"The Fran¢hi$e hits Crossroads!" Axis cries over the din of the crowd.  "When he hits that, you know the match is almost over!"

 

"For once you've got something right, Axis!" Kinkel asserts.

 

Francis gets to his feet, grimacing as he tries to shake his arms out.  As Fugue staggers up as well Francis grabs a facelock, and reaches down for the leg--but Fugue kicks him in the stomach, turning Francis around and hooking his arms in a double chickenwing hold.  The crowd noise builds to a peak as Francis shakes his head--and Fugue jumps backward, dropping Francis hard to the mat.

 

"Fugue hits the Coda!" Axis shouts.

 

"And you know what 'Coda' means!" Edwin retorts.  "It means 'The END'!"

 

Fugue flips forward over his opponent and lands in a bridge, grinning up at the lights as Francis' 6'2" frame is folded up below him.  The crowd yells deliriously as Mike Kivell jabbers urgently at the Fran¢hi$e.  Francis struggles, shaking his head.  He tries to kick out at his opponent, but Fugue cinches the hold in relentlessly.  The champion's struggles become weaker, then cease.

 

"Fugue has got Francis in Harmony!" Axis yells.  "What a devastatingly cruel hold!"

 

"There's no way out of this!" the King says.  "This match is over!"

 

"No!" Kinkel snarls.  "The Fran¢hi$e will never submit!"

 

After several long moments, Kivell picks up Francis' right arm and lets it fall.  "One!" he yells along with the crowd.

 

"There's no way it'll be over like this!" Kinkel cries.  "You're a champion, Francis!"

 

"Not for long!"  Edwin grins.

 

Kivell pulls up Francis' arm again, and it falls again.  "Two!" he cries.

 

"It can't end like this!"  Kinkel stands and yells at the ring along with all the fans.  "Francis!  Remember your pride!  FRANCIS!"

 

Kivell raises Francis' arm once more...and lets it fall.

 

The crowd screams as one.  Kivell signals the timekeeper, who nods.

 

DINGINGING!

 

Funyon clears his throat.  "Your winner!" he booms.  "As a result of a submission...and NEW champioooon...FUGUE!"  Fugue finally releases Francis and slumps to the side, breathing heavily.  Kivell raises his arm as the musician staggers to his feet, and hands him the belt.  The new champion grins dazedly at the crowd as hundreds of flashbulbs capture the moment.  Tyler Kinkel reaches the ring and gingerly pulls Francis from it, checking his condition.

 

"What an incredible match that was!"  Axis exhales mightily.

 

"You think they're ALL incredible."  The King snickers.

 

"But that's because we have such wonderful talent here in the SJL!" Edwin says cheerfully.  "And we're going to see more of that talent--right after THESE messages!  Stay tuned!"

[Guest Insanityman]

Basically I only sent half my match and when I got King's PM's... it was too late.

 

 

 

(The camera returns from the lengthy commercial break when a crimson blood sign with blood dripping slowly down reads “Main Event”. The camera cuts to the arena as the camera gyrates around as the fans all stand rallied up and yelling with coarse voices. The true marks hold their signs high with pride as the colorful signs. The elite signs read, “We want G0R0!” and “Grimedogg for Commish!” After showing the true fans all dressed as Ced the camera works it’s way in favorable position. It sits in front of the announcer’s table where the kooky Edwin MacPhisto sits at the far right, the strong Aussie Axis sits in the middle, and finally the vain Suicide King sits on the far left and he smirks towards the camera).

 

Axis opens his mouth to speak but the powerful fans chant loudly for various superstars.  He is barely able to drown the sound out to speak, “Welcome back to Wrath, as the final hurray for the first Wrath since the merger! Insane Luchador and Danny Williams have collided already, but recently the self-dubbed True Plague decided it was his turn to have his JL run ruined. Before we get to the non-title match we’ll see what probably lead up to this event.” Axis finishes and makes an open hand gesture towards the SmarkTron that hums softly.

 

 

 

---

Wednesday, April 10th, 2002.

 

“Guitar riffs explode into the air as the lights go off. “Holy shit…” King says softly –barely audible- as the lights flicker and “Dig” explodes. Dumbfounded the crowd slowly raise to their feet, “DIG! BURY ME! UNDEREATH EVERYONE THAT I WAS!” Mudvayne’s “Dig” continues to play very harshly.

 

Edwin’s eyes start to adjust seeing a figure with his back to the crowd, and him arching his back. Oh crap… He thinks to himself, he was really hoping for Danny Williams to return for a promo. Party pooper. He thinks with a grin.

 

The lights go on, but are dim.  A man about 6’3 stood his arched back facing the audience. Black hooded sweatshirt, baggy cargoes, and Orisis skate shoes. The fans know his once fan favorite under-dog. Black mist flies into the air, and splatters all over the ramp entrance.  

 

INSANE LUCHADOR LEAPS INTO THE AIR… but Deathwish throws him over his back getting out of the lock! “WAIT!” Axis cries out while Andrew Rickmen barely lands on both feet. Andrew spins around getting a knee to the gut again; Plague in a vain attempt to save himself throws his body forward. Pinning Williams into the corner he makes two powerful fists and slams with beyond rapid speed into William’s head. The ref tells Andrew to stop, as blood fly in small amounts, and William’s right hand tries to punch True Plague away, but soon his left hand signals for the tap! Insane Luchador slows down, and then finally stops. Danny drops to his BUTT, breathing in hard. He rolls out of the ring, as Insane Luchador celebrates in the way, staring at the blood on his knuckles however. Williams on the outside grabs Funyon by the back of his neck (and Edwin protests) while he grabs the steel chair. He silently slides into the ring. Andrew Rickmen barks to the crowd who heaves empty cups of beer and empty bags everywhere. Danny charges forward, and Andrew whips around only to have red-hot pain surge through himself. He falls to the ground knocked out. Danny rubs some blood trickling from his nose, as he lefts IL up and hooks his right arm around IL’s leg. He then lifts him into a scoop slam, however by the chair.

 

“YES! GIVE THAT BRAT WHAT HE DESERVES!” Edwin screams with joy as Danny adjusts into tombstone.

 

Danny steps onto the chair, bending his knees… and leaping into the air, Black Mist’s dry flakes fly off as Insane Luchador’s skull slams into the chair. A “DEATH-WISH!” chant barely is heard from a group of guys from the back. “Dig” is still play as Danny spits in the face of Insane Luchador.

 

“IL takes the battle, but Danny wins the war!” Edwin and Axis both say with glee.  SK sighs slowly. “Hate watching jobbers…” he comments.

 

The screen slowly yet surely fades to black as IL’s head is cut open, blood forming a pool in the folded chair and some seeping out onto the canvas. Danny at the top of the ramp laughs loudly and leaves.”

 

Saturday, April 13th

“(IL raises his shoulder up. Deathwish gets up and spits out some more blood, which is now dripping heavily from his chin.  IL slowly gets up, leaving a pool of blood on the mat. The ring is now splattered in blood from both men.  IL stares Deathwish in the eyes as if to ask “Is that all you got.”  Deathwish responds with right/left/right elbow combo to his jaw. IL collapses forward and locks on a weak headlock on Deathwish, to keep from falling.  Deathwish wraps his arms around his waist, and easily lifts him in the air for a backdrop suplex.  Deathwish falls backwards with a snap, slamming IL on his neck and shoulders. IL hits the mat so hard; he flips over on his belly.  Deathwish spits some blood, and slowly gets to his feet.  He steps over the knocked out IL and pulls him to his feet with a back waistlock.  IL can’t even stand on his own, as Deathwish holds him up.  Deathwish gathers his strength and tosses IL over his head with a release German suplex.  IL lands sickly on his head, but pops right back up to his feet.  IL shakes his head and blinks his eyes as if he doesn’t where he is.  He loses balance, stumbles backwards into the ropes, falls to the mat, and rolls on to the apron.)

 

Axis: A text book release German suplex dropping Rickman right on his neck and shoulders.

 

Edwin: And He’s back up! No wait he’s down again!  I think Williams just killed him.

 

King: Don’t be silly, that collapse was way to dramatic. Rickman is probably playing possum.

 

(Deathwish gets up, with blood drooling from his mouth. He steps out on to the apron with IL.  IL raises to his knees and tries a desperation low blow, but Deathwish just knocks his arm way and pulls IL to his feet by his blood soaked hair.  Deathwish drives a elbow into his gashed forehead and lifts him upside down with a tilt a whirl.  The crowd stands to their feet and goes nuts, as Deathwish turns around on the apron, facing the crowd while holding IL in position for a tombstone.)

 

Edwin: He’s gonna’ tombstone him from the apron!

 

King: Dammit Rickman! You should have saved your Black Mist.

 

 

 

(Cameras flash, as Deathwish leaps off the apron driving IL’s head into the floor with the tombstone.  The crowd bursts into a loud “Holy Shit” chant.  Deathwish jumps to his feet holding his knees in pain. Deathwish recovers and pulls the lifeless IL up by his hair and rolls him into the ring.  Deathwish follows and lays on top of IL for the pin.  The crowd counts with Kivell.)

 

One....

Two.....

Three!

 

DING! DING! DING! (The crowd actually goes into a loud "Deathwish" chant. Deathwish doesn't care and walk to a near by ring camera. He opens his bloody mouth, and the camera zooms in showing he is missing a front tooth.  He sticks his tongue were the tooth should be, showing its completely been knocked out.  Deathwish spits blood on to the camera lens and rolls out of the ring to a loud ovation.)

 

Axis: Williams must have lost his tooth, when Rickman landed on him awkwardly with the moonsault.  Williams loses a tooth, and Rickman loses the match.  

 

Edwin: Ugh! I didn’t need to see that.  I think I would rather lose a match than a tooth.

 

King: That attitude is exactly why you will never be a SWF champion like me.  Victory at all costs.  

 

Axis: Rickman still isn’t moving. He may have a serious neck injury.

 

(The camera cuts back to IL who is still laying in a large pull of blood.  Kivell examines him and waves for some doctors to come down to the ring. Two paramedics rush to the ring and kneel beside him. They wave some smelly stuff in front of IL’s nose reviving him.  IL violently jumps up and shoves the paramedics away.  He seems more pissed than injured, as he leaves the ring without any help.  The crowd “boos” and taunts him as he walks back up the ramp.)”

 

Wednesday, June 5th

 

“----

Insane Luchador steps in-forward of the lens and adjust the camera. With a smirk he sits back into the chair. Soon he clears his throat and runs his hand through his neatly spiked hair.

 

“Hello my loyal fans…” He begins sarcastically seating upwards. “It’s time I have revealed a short but sweet secret. Maybe I have signed my own death but I’ve been very observant. I have seen one man in the JL who has shown more potential and threat to me before I climb up that ladder of success. Now I have decided on it… this man will go through more torture than I have ever dished. This man should leave now before he is destroyed… gone from the S-J-L. The True Plague is about to strike; this man will feel my pain.” He gives his best smirk, which sends chills down some spines.

---

 

“Well apparently Insane Luchador has found his next target!” Axis proclaims.

 

“Oh I’d hate to be him!” Suicide King says.

 

“Ha, he gave us the same routine with Taylor, and Erek DESTROYED him!” Edwin points out.

 

“No matter it should be a good fight, maybe we’ll have more to show after this…” Axis asks.

 

- The screen fades to black leaving fans wondering.”

 

Sunday, June 9th

 

“Resorting to weapons, eh?” Edwin asks happy that Danny is holding his own. The two stand there and the hooded man throws the bat which Danny ducks and the man charges forwards throwing his knee up and hitting Deathwish will he was ducked. Deathwish falls to the ground and the man’s hood is a bit out of place and it shows a part of his face. Deathwish suddenly leaps up and shoves the man into the wall face first as he reels backwards and Deathwish then grabs him by the neck and hits in a sleeper. He frees his left arm from the hold and grabs the peak of the hood and tugs in down revealing the man. The assaulter facing the camera lets the world and the fans get the first view. Long black spiked hair, and another hood that’s off is all Danny sees. Williams lets go and spins him around to see Insane Luchador, the self-dubbed True Plague, standing there with a smirk.

 

“He lied to me!” Edwin exclaims confused.

 

“What a shocker.” King says about Edwin’s remark with sarcasm.

 

“Danny is who IL was talking about?” Axis asks.

 

“He can’t tear him apart… he just got beat!” Edwin points out.

 

Insane Luchador now hit a punch to the face and Danny is able to shove him out of the doorway where he laughs manically and smirks mouthing “See you in the main event.”

 

“Not if I get to you first.” He growls to himself.

 

“Good God! So much more to come! Hopefully we'll see some advancement in this later on!” Axis says as everyone processes the information.

 

 

-Fade to black-.”

 

Edwin finds the time to make the comment as he says, “Last clip.”

 

Thursday, June 13th

 

“IL: I want to thank you too Danny, because you’ve given me the strength and the courage to keep pushing on in the JL. (Insane Luchador says with heavy sarcasm as he laughs at Deathwish’s confused face.) Your not deserving of that title! I AM! And if I don’t get my fucking shot I’ll go on a backstage rampage… I was a controlled Plague, but if I don’t get my shot I will be free and lose to take down the rest of the JL. You will go down as the beginning of the end just because you’re a pussy. (Insane Luchador finishes, waiting for a response.)

 

Williams: You want a shot at this title. Take a number and step in line. There are four people in the Main Event tonight that are far more deserving than you. I've already kicked your ass twice, but I will be more than happy to do it one more time. I tell you what I’m going to do, at Wrath; it’s going to be me and you, one on one. But its going to be nontitle! If you can beat me, than you get your title shot at Crimson with the number one contender in a three way match! (the crowd pops)

 

IL: You really do have a Deathwish, see you Wrath. (Insane Luchador starts) The True Plague will strike again! (He finishes dropping the microphone as it “clangs” onto the ground.)”

 

“And we’re done!” Edwin says and inhales deeply as if he was narrating the whole time.

 

“That seems to wrap up what’s been going down.” Axis says with a slight shrug and he adds in, “Which is why we’re having this very match! Insane Luchador wins… he gets a place with Frost and Danny for the World title!” Axis proclaims with glee.

 

“Expect a new World champion!” Suicide King predicts happily, “Though I’ll never understand how much IL can suck and yet not be any better… just weird.” He also tacks on.

 

“But now the time has come wrestling time! Huzzah!” Edwin proclaims and gives his best grin that make all the girl’s hearts melt. Suicide King does a bit of a grunt and he flashes a smile nearly to match but before the two go any further to top each other the ref, Eddy Long, signals for the match announcement to begin.

 

“This match is scheduled for one fall… it is a non-title match.”

 

“Afraid to defend, eh?.” King chimes in.

 

“Oh, quiet you wish-you-were-still-a-carnie!” Edwin quips back.

 

Soon the grooving sounds of Dillinger Escape Plan’s “Calculating Infinity” begin to blast over the sound system. The SmarkTron has a black background and in white text “Deathwish” is shown and then clips of him hitting the Tombstone onto a jobber. Also a Death Driver through a table to finish off a tough Last Man Standing match in the Indy federation. The camera then zooms out and the short yet ripped Deathwish Danny Williams stands tall on top of the stage the World Title belt slung over his shoulder with an air of proud. He grins taking in the many cheers for the new World Champion and he nods his head to his trusty friends and slowly walks down to the ring.

 

“Introducing first your S-J-L World Champion! Weighing in at 238 pounds and ready to kick some Plague ass… DEATHWISH DAAANNY WILLIAAAMMMSS!” The fans all cheer the champ to the ring as he has a very serious look.

 

“He ought to loosen up…” Edwin comments and King snickers loudly and asks, “What have him be a goofy Carnie? A waste of talent?”

 

“Shut up you bloody…” Edwin begins.

 

“If I recall I’m the one who stole your voice.” King quips back. Axis sighs and hums the tone to of “Why can’t we be friends… why can’t we be friends?”

 

King grunts and then Deathwish blandly slides into the ring. “He’s as plain as vanilla.” Suicide insults.

 

Soon the very harsh guitar riffs and soon the violent “Dig” by Mudvayne interrupt Danny warming up in the ring. As the lights go out and begin to flicker we catch Long take the belt and stare at it in envy and he –reluctantly- hands it to Edwin who shrugs the belt off and lays it on front of the table. Soon the lights are back on and slowly black sparks begin to descend above the SmarkTron and they begin to die down but soon he stands tall and bends down into his limbo cross pose. After absorbing boos he gets back towering over Deathwish. Crimson red sparks explode into the air to the near right and left while the black sparks soon pass over IL’s body. The blood color is slowly changed to black sparks and it creates a dark shield. A few red sparks mix in together and out of nowhere he leaps through the pyro. He lands crouching down and he springs up then lands on his feet gracefully

 

“Insane Luchador may have a little amount of technical and a tad of brawling but he’ll probably have to bust out the speedy cruiserweight within.” Axis comments.

 

“He’ll probably have to be quick to not get distracted by the pesky crowd.” Suicide King adds in.

 

Andrew pauses in middle of the aisle and he stares at Danny then listens to the jeers. Rickmen looks around as if he was shocked and hurt and he sarcastically grabs his heart area. “Bloody chump.” Edwin jeers at him. Plague then finishes with a slow yet confident strut and he slowly mounts onto the apron. He then (surely to show Williams up) grabs the top rope with his hands shakes the ropes making the ring a tad unstable and he leap frogs over the top rope and he lands into a roll and he springs up throwing out his forearm to clothesline the champ down!

 

“Surprise attack!” Edwin cries out, “Completely unfair!”

 

The bell chimes in three times and the match is officially underway.

 

Insane Luchador grabs William’s burred hair he pulls him to his legs only to throw a knee to his gut and then quickly striking with the knee to Deathwish’s face. As Danny hits the canvas on his back he swipes a leg out and it strikes the back of IL’s ankle and Luchador falls but catches himself with his hands landing in a push-up position. Danny quickly scramble to his feet and he falls to his knee as it slams into IL’s back. Insane Luchador’s arms give in and he grabs the pain as he falls flat on his face. The self-dubbed True Plague rolls out of the way as Danny got back to his feet and he misses the elbow drop. Andrew leaps back to his feet as Williams gets back up and the two charge at each other. The two end the charge into a fierce grapple and they struggle for a second. Insane Luchador tries to gain the upper hand and lets his guard down while Danny strikes him in the gut with another knee. As Luchador doubles over and Williams locks in a strong headlock and Insane Luchador place two hands on his back and shoves him out of the hold. Soon Danny hits the ropes and Insane Luchador drops to his gut and Williams runs past him. After that Insane Luchador gets back to his feet and meets Deathwish with a front headlock as he follows up with a snap suplex. He retreats and lets Danny roll out of the way and gets back to his feet. A bit shaken Danny gets back into the grapple with Insane Luchador. IL’s foe then shoves Andrew out of the grapple and he leaps into the air hitting a dropkick. His feet slam into the challenger’s chest and he reels backwards. He then end into a backwards rolls. Plague slowly shakes the “cobwebs” out of his head and slowly gets back to his feet near the ropes. Deathwish feeling cocky charges with quick speed and throws out his forearm a few seconds before. However Insane Luchador bends down as if he got a punch to the gut and he lets Danny slam into IL’s shoulders and mount on his back. He then uses his strength and throws his back into normal position as it flips Danny over the ropes and he free falls to outside as he hits the cold cement with a sickening thud on his back. A cough and wheeze combination emits from his mouth and soon all the fans in the front seats stand up leaning over the rail. Slowly but surely a “Deathwish!” chant kicks up and soon explodes. Eddy long begins to make the count and Insane Luchador gives the camera a perfect smirk that sends chills down some viewer’s spine. He gets to the canvas and rolls out of the way near Deathwish. Luchador grabs Danny’s chin and slowly brings him to his feet. Shaky Danny lunges towards the ring to slide back in but Insane Luchador’s right hand catches the back of his head and he clutches it strong. He turns Danny so he’s facing his fans and Insane Luchador retaining the clutch rams his head against the guardrail. Long warns the two competitors of the count of three.

 

Four, as Danny collapsed to his knee Insane Luchador got the same ‘hold’ in.

 

Five, the count advances, Luchador pauses as he smirks and Deathwish coming to his senses uses his free hands to hold the rail. After screwing up IL’s attack he launches his own as his two hands slam Rickmen’s forehead into the guardrail with a brutal “clang”.

 

Six, Andrew Rickmen gets back to both feet only to have Danny knee him in the gut as he doubles over Williams, grabs the back of his black baggy hooded sweatshirt, tosses him away as Andrew uncontrollably slams into the stairs! His whole front body whines, writhing in pain.

 

Seven, Danny content slides into the ring.

 

Eight, Rickmen ignores the “Danny! Danny! Danny!” chant which is becoming noticeably louder. He grabs the ring apron with both hands and is able to climb up them. His head hung low trying to hype himself up screws him out of it as Deathwish charges at Rickmen and at the last moment throws a shoulder out and not even the ropes save Luchador as he flies backwards and slams into the barrier (guardrail). Eddy Long sighs and he begins the same redundant count but this time back at one.

 

“Insane Luchador after a superb battle gets back after taking a few hits and then a meeting with the stairs just got slammed back into the same guardrail with a brilliant shoulder barge from Deathwish!” Axis explodes.

 

“If I was IL I would of looked up and hit a springboard something.” King points out. “Maybe sunset flip.” He adds in. Edwin sighs and the three shut up to watch the match.

 

Danny raises one arm in the air and lowers it then makes a gesture of the belt (which has a beautiful glare on the announcer’s table) implying that he retains it.

 

Three, Insane Luchador gets back to his knees and he flips off Deathwish letting the rage take over. He springs up and slides into the ring. Insane Luchador towers above Danny and the chant soon dies down and the fans that were standing get back into their seats. Danny and Insane Luchador charge each other and IL ducks a clothesline attempt and Danny spins around to receive a high kick to the ribs! Soon Insane Luchador hits a right, left, and a huge spinning heel kick showing off his brawling skills. As Danny stills stands on his feet and he recovers (touching his jaw checking for blood) stands behind the taunting Insane Luchador. Luchador makes a thumb up sign and then makes it point to himself as he brings it to his neck and he slides the thumb across violently.

 

“Turn around IL!” King warns.

 

Insane Luchador does turn around and gets an elbow to his jaw! IL stumbles backwards stunned and then gets another elbow to the temple! Luchador can barely stand and as the elbow to the jaw come he tries to duck but the elbow catches Plague’s nose! Luchador then falls to the ground on all fours and Danny steps behind him and pulls him up only to grapple with him.

 

“The elbow Combo of Doom! Not completed but it did its job… wait.” Edwin begins and then as the camera zooms in you can see the blood from Luchador’s nostrils begin to cascade down his upper lips. Danny wraps his arms around IL’s waist and he lifts him into the air and Deathwish throws his back backwards with the rest of his body and he retains the hold even up to when the Insane Luchador’s neck crunches against the mat. Danny keeps his body bridged pinning Luchador!

 

“The pin! It’s over!” Axis cries out nearly getting out of his chair.

 

“Ha! Then why would we have another five minutes at the least of the show?” King inquires.

 

“King, you make it sound like wrestling’s fake!” Edwin proclaims and they all pause then burst into laughter.

 

“Wrestling fake,” Edwin stops to laugh some more.

 

“Wait the pin!” Axis points out and they all stare in the ring.

 

ONE! No signs of kicking out.

 

TWO! Insane Luchador strains to kick out but can’t.

 

 

THREE! “NO!” Edwin proclaims with sudden sadness. The fans all burst into jeers while Long sticks two fingers up since Luchador’s shoulder barely rose off the match. Danny gets to his feet half in shock and he sighs heavily beginning to pick IL up but as he pulls him up Insane Luchador throws a fist straight into Danny face! As the blood slowly falls down IL’s chin and splats on the canvas he gets another surge of adrenaline and he grapples Danny. Insane Luchador gets the upper hand and he whips Deathwish into the ropes. As he returns Insane Luchador leaps into the air and wraps his legs around Danny’s neck and hits the hurricana! Insane Luchador quickly follows up with a sloppy cover,

 

ONE! Deathwish looks down at his black tights, which has the Plague’s blood softly dripping onto it.

TWO! Deathwish quickly kicks out, and Insane Luchador rolls back in retreat and he feels his nose again and smirks. His tongue whips out like a serpent and whips the blood on his lips waiting for Danny to get up. As Danny stands up IL charges forwards and hits and leaping into the air going for a tornado DDT! A Deathwish duck down and slips out of the hold while Insane Luchador falls by himself to his back and he grunts and stands up. The two charge but IL leaps into the air and hits a heavy dropkick that sends Deathwish slamming into the canvas! Insane Luchador observes him in middle of the ring and he slowly walks to the turnbuckle right near the announcer’s table. He mounted on the top and he flips off the crowd and the announcers as Edwin rolls his eyes and he soon changes his body so he’s facing Danny. He bends his knees and ignores the heat from the fans as he leaps into the air as he is looking for the leg drop! Danny’s eyes flutter open, blurred but see a falling figure as he rolls out of the way! Insane Luchador hits the canvas as the ring shakes and he lets out a low groan and Danny pulls him up. Knee to the gut by Danny and as IL bends down holding it he wraps his arms around the waist and pulls up.

 

“I smell Deathbomb! HUZZAH!” Edwin proclaims.

 

As Insane Luchador’s legs rest on his shoulder and he goes for the drop to finish it with a knee drop and pin IL’s legs squeeze tighter and tighter around his throat. Long stares at it not realizing it’s a choking move until Danny’s face turns a tint of red and the Eddy makes the slow count. Williams out of energy slowly falls to his knee and Insane Luchador catches himself by the arms and he breaks the lock.

 

“Bah! So close!” Axis proclaims.

 

Insane Luchador gets back to his feet and Deathwish gasps for air yet slowly stands up. Andrew Rickmen slowly stalks towards the center of the ring where Deathwish lays. Insane Luchador sees a fist come flying and he ducks as he springs forwards he slams a kick to the gut!

 

“Evenflow DDT! NO!” Edwin bursts out.

 

IL lunges forwards and gets the headlock… falls for the drop… but only he hits the canvas as Danny shoved IL down and barely avoided the Evenflow! Insane Luchador recovers and gets back to his feet as he springs up again and throws out his leg! Danny catches the ankle and he throws IL to his back retaining the hold on the ankle and he soon forces IL to flip over and he locks in the ankle lock!

 

The crowd slowly chips away at the Luchador’s mind chanting “Tap! Tap! Tap!” Insane Luchador looks around desperately for the ropes but there are none. Rickmen sighs and brings his hand up to tap as the pain flows through him but he decides not to screw himself out of nothing title shot. He stays at his own blood…

 

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

 

As Deathwish loosens the lock Rickmen lunges towards the closest ropes and Deathwish is tugged along. Deathwish applies more pressure and Andrew’s middle finger hooks the ropes! He shouts to the ref, which comes out as nonsense and Long doesn’t even look as Danny looks down in fright and drags him away, letting his middle finger slide.

 

Edwin and the rest of the announcer’s saw what happened and sit there for a second in silence. However King breaks the ice, “Deathwish had to do it…” Edwin nods slowly and says, “Would have done the same.”

 

Back in the ring Insane Luchador’s leg turns numb and all the rage flares and boils inside him.

 

 

 

Insane Luchador’s hand still lunges out and flails to touch the ropes but with no prevail. Soon Deathwish loosens up a bit and the fans get rather bored and Insane Luchador gets to his hands and foot as he crawls forwards and he grabs his hand around the rope. Eddy is asking Deathwish to let go and Deathwish glances back hoping he can tug him off again. However Long noticed and makes Danny release. Insane Luchador slowly pulls himself to the ropes as he’s in a state of crippled rubbish. Eddy slowly walks over to Insane Luchador and bends down checking on him. His hood shadows his face and Eddy crouching down asks him if he wants to go on or quit. Andrew Rickmen’s rage flows through him like lava and he springs up charging at Deathwish so suddenly that Danny has nothing to do but brace himself. Rickmen bends down and grabs the back of Danny’s legs and hits a vicious Gore as the two land Andrew rolls onto Danny’s chest as he kneels on it and he clinches his fist and let right after left after right fly. Eddy runs over and tries to verbal command IL off but he can’t as he continues to pummel Deathwish.

 

God bless me. Eddy thinks to himself as he shoves IL to the side and Insane Luchador gets off of Danny and his hood falls revealing the look in his eyes that was once so common, the insanity… yet his face twisted into rage. As Danny stands to his feet not bleeding anywhere but his whole face sore, he sees Insane Luchador foot go flying towards him and he leaps out of the way and Luchador barely misses Long chest. Andrew then leaps forwards throwing out his foot and this time he hits Danny in the gut! He then steps forwards and locks in the headlock, but Danny grabs IL around the torso with one arm and holds him there while he hits a very sloppy Northern Lights Suplex with pin!

 

 

“HUZZAH!” Is all Edwin can think of, as the fans go insane with cheers.

Eddy drops to his stomach,

 

ONE!

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE! “NO!” Suicide King says with happiness as Eddy shows that it was a two again. Luchador rolls to the side barely kicking out. Luchador gets back to his feet shaken and watches Danny argue with the ref. As Rickmen reaches deep into his cargo pocket looking for something near the middle of the ring Eddy warns Deathwish secretly. Danny suddenly turns around charging at IL as his eyes open wide in fear.

 

“Got caught off guard! Ha!” Edwin proclaims as he busts out a shiny red kazoo and he plays a note in celebration.

 

Yet there was no vibrato’ to that note since Luchador pulled his hand out revealing nothing as Danny slows down but it’s too late. The kick is delivered… front headlock…

 

 

Successful fall, Danny’s body bounces lifelessly off the mat.

 

“Come on Danny!” Axis cheers him on wondering if he can even hear him.

 

Luchador covers,

 

ONE!

TWO! Silence.

THREE! Jeers.

 

Trash already seems to fill the ring as Funyon proclaims IL the winner. “My belt.” He mouths to the cameras the scene fades to black to “Dig”.

[Guest Chuck Woolery]

Blah.  Yeah, here's my losing match, because losing sucks but calling it "losing" is below me.  I'm much fonder of "second place".  Yeah.

 

---

 

The camera pans alllll around the arena as the first edition of SJL Wrath comes back on the television screens all over the world!  People holding up their signs are shown behind everyone's favorite wrestling trio, Axis, Edwin Macphisto, and the Suicide King!  

 

"(Axis) Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to SJL Wrath, and folks, we've got two hellacious matches coming up in less than a half hour!"

"(Edwin) That we do, Axis!  First, a triple-threat, no-DQ match between CIA, 'TNT' Taylor Nicholas Thompson, and our European champion, Frost!"

"(King) And following that show of mediocrity, we have yet another one, Andrew Rickmen and Danny Williams in a non-title match.  Williams didn't even have the balls to put his title on the line… you call him a champion, Edwin?"

"(Edwin) Yes I do, actually.  He's the best in the SJL right now."

"(Axis) Gentlemen, I believe we're losing track of the match at hand, which is the Amazin' one, Mike Van Siclen, going one-on-one with the German nightmare, Tod deKindes!"

"(King) It's duh-kin-dess, nimrod."

"(Edwin) No, it's dee-kin-dees."

"(King) No, I'm pretty sure I'm right.  As if there was nothing else to expect."

"(Axis) Oh, shut the fuck up.  Funyon, take it."

 

"(Funyon) Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is a HARD-CORE match scheduled for one fall!  By hardcore rules, pinfalls count anywhere, and there are NO disqualifications!"

 

"Light me up…"

 

The pumping beats of "Light Me Up" by Cassanova 419 begin to echo throughout the arena as the lights go down!  The crowd stands up and boos in anticipation of the SJL superstar about to walk down the ramp…

 

"Come on, come on, come on, LIGHT THAT FUCKER UP!"

 

BOOM!

 

A shower of white pyro goes off atop the entrance ramp as it illuminates a figure atop the entrance ramp, arms outstretched in a "come-and-get-me" gesture.  A blue spotlight shines upon him as he struts down the ramp, blonde hair glistening as he slides into the ring.

 

"(Funyon) Now entering the ring, hailing from Harrison, Illinois, weighing in at two-hundred thirty-seven pounds, the Amazin' one, MIIIIIIKKE VA-AN SIIIIIIIIIIIC-LEEEEEEEN!"

 

The crowd roars out in boos as MVS poses on a turnbuckle, sneering at the fans before hopping backwards, signaling for a microphone and getting it.  He raises it to his lips, beginning to speak.

 

"(Mike) Just in case you didn't know, Mike Van Siclen is in the house, and I'll tell you exactly what he's going to do to Tod deKindes…"

 

The crowd begins to boo and Mike just folds his arms across his chest, smiling and waiting for the chant to die down, which, soon enough, it does.

 

"(Mike) Now then, Tod deKindes?  I've heard you in the back, buddy.  I've heard you say that this match will be a piece of cake, that Mike Van Siclen is washed up, past his prime.  Guess what?  I'm twenty-three.  I'm prime rib, baby, grade-A, and I plan on showing your ass what happens when you underestimate Mike Van Siclen.  I am a former European champion, you realize, and I'm tied for fifth place on the list of longest-reigning Television Champions.  I am the master of the Van Slaminator, the man who devastates with the Double Take, who will make you tap like a bitch to the Van Siclenmission.  So don't underestimate me, you sorry piece of shit, or I'll…"

 

The sounds of "I Am Hated" by Slipknot cut off Van Siclen as smoke starts to fill the entranceway as blinding strobe lights fill the arena. Tod paces out, clad in his trench coat and shades, which hide the anger in his eyes.  He pauses underneath the SmarkTron to throw random looks at the crowd before walking down the ramp, confidence in his steps, sliding under the bottom rope and climbing the second turnbuckle, letting out a mighty roar to the fans. He removes his trench and shades and warms up in the ropes, giving Van Siclen an angry glare every time he passes the blonde, who simply looks at him with a shrug and a smirk.

 

"(Funyon) And his opponent, weighing in at two-hundred and twenty-seven pounds, from Muenchen, Germany, TOOOO-OOOOD de-KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN-DEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

 

"(Axis) Look at Tod deKindes.  You'd almost think that Van Siclen is right…"

"(King) Of course Van Siclen is right.  Tod deKindes is a cocky bastard who needs to have his ass handed to him by Mikey.

"(Edwin) Boo!  Hiss!  You suck!.. but Van Siclen has played the big trump card, the underdog, which works to his favor.  Now, Tod has just heard Van Siclen say he has no chance, which should increase his confidence and maybe, just maybe, detract his focus from Van Siclen."

"(King) I doubt it."

"(Edwin) Me too."

 

..:Ding Ding Ding:..

 

Van Siclen and deKindes circle each other in the middle of the ring, determination shining in both men's eyes as they charge each other, the stronger Van Siclen taking advantage and pushing deKindes back into the corner.  Mike brings back his left hand, balled up in a fist, and drives it into deKindes' skull!  Mike pulls back again, and again embeds his fist in deKindes' cranium!  Mike backs up, allowing deKindes to get up before charging the corner, looking to spear deKindes… but Tod moves out of the way, and Mike's shoulder goes crashing into steel ring post!

 

"(Axis) Van Siclen looks to have the momentum early on, but deKindes manages to dodge that spear, and that may be enough to turn the tide!"

"(King) Blah.  DeKindes won't turn the tide, Mike'll fucking tidal wave his ass!"

"(Edwin) Whatever you say, King.  DeKindes has been red-hot lately, and I doubt that Van Siclen can stop him."

 

DeKindes takes a second to catch his breath before rolling along the ropes to where Van Siclen's legs stick out awkwardly between the top and second rope.  DeKindes pulls his legs out, sending Mike's body crashing to the mat.  DeKindes smiles, picking up Van Siclen and kicking him once, setting up Van Siclen as he runs to the ropes, coming back and putting his arm around Van Siclen's neck, swinging around Mike's body and crashing to the mat with a Tornado DDT!

 

"(Axis) A beautiful Tornado DDT by deKindes on Van Siclen, and Tod is really starting to find his groove here against Van Siclen!"

"(Edwin) Yes, and before long, Tod will have the pin, and we'll all go home to an extremely BOR-ING match.  I never thought I'd say this, but SAVE ME VAN SICLEN!"

"(King) Ugh.  You realize you have the intelligence level of a five-year-old."

 

Edwin points to his title belt.

 

"(Edwin) Are you the World Champion?"

 

deKindes picks Van Siclen up, whipping him into the ropes and charging in, driving a hard knee to Van Siclen's stomach.  Van Siclen slides down the buckle a bit, but lifts himself up as deKindes backs out, being jovial around the ring before charging in to spear Van Siclen in the corner… but he misses!  In a move eerily reminiscent of two paragraphs ago, Van Siclen rolls out of the buckle, and deKindes goes crashing into the post.

 

"(Axis) deKindes hits Van Siclen with a hard knee in the corner, but misses the spear, and now Van Siclen is in control!"

"(Edwin) Axis, Tod missed one move.  That doesn't mean Mikey-boy is in control."

"(King) Oh, but yes it does, Edwin.  This is Axis we're talking about!"

 

Van Siclen catches his breath, sliding out of the ring and lifting up the apron.  He pulls out some random weapons; a garbage can, a stop sign, a 2x4, random other ish, before finding whatever it is he's looking for.  He pulls his hand out from underneath the ring to reveal… a chair?  Man, why didn't he just grab a chair from Funyon?  I don't know either, but Van Siclen lifts the chair and prepares to slide it into the ring… but guess what?  Tod deKindes, everybody's favorite, baseball-slide dropkicks the chair straight into Van Siclen's face!  Mike falls down outside the ring, and deKindes slides outside to continue the assault.

 

"(Axis) I would assume that baseball slide into a chair by deKindes hurt a little bit."

"(King) I'd use the tired assume cliché, but then again, you always make an ass of yourself."

"(Edwin) Ooooh slam!"

"(Axis) Why do you two keep making bad jokes at my expense?"

"(Edwin) It's mock Australia day."

"(King) Duh."

 

DeKindes lifts Van Siclen to his feet outside the ring, kicking him hard in the stomach to double the Amazin' one over.  DeKindes follows this up with a hard double axe handle to the back to send Van Siclen crashing to the mat-protected concrete.  DeKindes picks up a stray trashcan, pulled out from under the ring earlier, and lifts it high above his head, showing it off to the crowd as Van Siclen struggles to his feet…

 

You can see this coming, right?

 

No?

 

Well, Van Siclen gets laid the fuck out by the trashcan to the back of the cranium by deKindes.  He falls down, stomach-first, and deKindes rolls him over onto his back, putting his forearm against Van Siclen's wrist as he drapes his body over for the cover.

 

"(Sexton Hardcastle) ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRE-NO!"  Power out by Van Siclen.

 

"(Axis) A devastating canshot by deKindes, and I'm shocked that Van Siclen managed to power out of that!"

"(Edwin) So am I!"

"(King) I'm not, gents.  Or 'mates', as you Australians like to call them.  Damn, those Aussies sure get around!"

 

King chuckles at his own lame joke, which is met with silence from the other commentators.

 

"(Edwin) King, that sucked."

"(King) I hate you."

 

Van Siclen is lifted to his feet by deKindes, who is still trying to figure out how Mike kicked out of the brutal garbage-can shot.  He whips Van Siclen, but holds on, bringing Mike back and catching him, lifting Mike up and slamming him down with a brutal Spinebuster!  DeKindes stands up quickly, picking up a chair and laying it flat on the ground.  He picks up Van Siclen, putting him in position for a reverse DDT!

 

"(Axis) No!  Not a reverse DDT onto that steel chair lying in the ring!"

"(King) …actually, that's just sadistic enough for my liking."

"(Edwin) Go Tod!"

 

Well, you would think that Axis had predicted deKindes' actions.  Uh-uh.  Tod lifts Van Siclen, putting him in position for a reverse suplex!  With that, deKindes falls backwards, lying Van Siclen out face-first onto the steel chair!  Mike rolls around on the floor, clutching his face in agony as deKindes lifts Van Siclen up, grabbing him by the arm and whipping him straight into the steel ring steps!  Van Siclen grabs his back, his mouth twisted into a mask of pain.

 

"(Axis) deKindes is going to town on Van Siclen!  First a reverse suplex onto a steel chair, then he just whipped Mike's ass into those steel ring steps!"

"(Edwin) Doesn't mean that deKindes has the match won, Axis.  Mike is more than capable of making a comeback in a match like this!"

"(King) Amen, Edwin."

"(Edwin) I didn't ask for your opinion, Kingy."

 

DeKindes lifts Van Siclen to his feet, putting him against the barrier between the crowd and the ring area.  DeKindes backs up, smiling before charging in and SPEARING VAN SICLEN!  Mike comes off of the barrier, clutching his shoulder, and Tod catches him, putting Van Siclen's head between his legs and turning his body a bit so that Van Siclen and Tod are parallel to the ring.  Tod grabs each of Van Siclen's arms systematically and double-underhooks Van Siclen!  He smiles, roaring at the crowd before lifting Van Siclen, falling backwards and crushing Van Siclen with a brutal Double Underhook Suplex right onto the protective mats!  Mike grabs his chest, crying out in pain, as deKindes dashes over and makes the pin!

 

"(Sexton) ONE!"

 

"(Axis) This could be all!"

 

"(Sexton) TWO!"

 

"(Edwin) That kind of move could kill a man!"

 

"(Sexton) THRE- NO!"  Kickout by Van Siclen!

 

"(Axis) A near-fall by deKindes after that spear, followed up by a Double Underhook Suplex!"

"(Edwin) That move could've destroyed Van Siclen's body!  He was lucky to escape!"

"(King) Luck does not exist to one as great as Mike Van Siclen.  MVS is pure skill."

 

DeKindes gets up, shock in his eyes as he looks around, searching for something he can use to help him defeat Van Siclen… and finds it in the stop sign that was dug out from under the ring earlier by Mike himself!  Oh, how irony is a cruel bitch goddess… anyway, deKindes takes ahold of the sign, raising it for the benefit of the crowd before turning around… into a dropkick to the jaw by Van Siclen!  DeKindes falls like a ton of bricks as Van Siclen drops down to make the cover.

 

"(Sexton) ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH-NO!"  Kickout by deKindes.

 

"(Axis) Van Siclen goes for the pin after that high dropkick on deKindes… but he should know that Tod isn't going to be put down by a move like that!"

"(King) Yes, but Mike has deKindes right where he wants him."

"(Edwin) Where is that, Mr. Know-It-All?"

"(King) On the ground.  Bwahahahahahaha!"

 

Van Siclen gets up, not figuring that that move would put deKindes down for the three count.  He lifts Tod up, slapping him across the face hard.  The crowd roars out in boos as Tod turns his head, angry, and aims a punch directly at Van Siclen's head!  However, Mike grabs the arm, wrapping it around deKindes' neck and running forward, sitting out in a beautiful Blackjack Neckbreaker!  The crowd erupts in boos as Van Siclen slides inside of the ring, backing up a few feet and raising his arms in a raise-the-roof gesture.

 

"(Axis) Van Siclen with that Blackjack Neckbreaker, and we all know what follows that!"

"(King) Yes, the Double Take, but Van Siclen is in the ring and deKindes is outside of it… what is Mike going to do?"

"(Edwin) I don't know, man!  Chill!"

 

Van Siclen is about to answer, as he charges the ropes, jumping onto the second one and using it as a springboard to the outside!  In midair, he manages to turn around and do a backflip, landing atop deKindes with a corkscrew Double Take!  He bounces up, on his knees, catching his breath before draping his body over deKindes' for a pinfall attempt!

 

"(Sexton) ONE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"THREe-NO!!!!"  Kickout by deKindes!  The look of shock on Van Siclen's face can be seen throughout the arena as he angrily picks deKindes up, rolling him into the ring.

 

"(Axis) DEKINDES KICKS OUT!  TOD DEKINDES JUST KICKED OUT OF A CORKSCREW DOUBLE TAKE!"

"(King) I… I don't know what just happened.  Did Van Siclen attempt it too early?  Did he delay in making the cover?"

"(Edwin) Is deKindes just that damn good?"

 

Van Siclen slides into the ring after deKindes, picking up Tod and whipping him into the ropes, catching him with a beautiful Dropkick as he comes back.   Van Siclen brushes his long hair out of his eyes as he gets up on his knees, crawling over to deKindes and draping his body over Tod's for the pinfall attempt.

 

"(Sexton) ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH- NO!"  Power out by deKindes.

 

"(Axis) It's going to take more than a dropkick to take out deKindes!  Van Siclen should know that!"

"(Edwin) Yes, but Axis, this is Mike Van Siclen we're talking about.  There are a lot of things he should know.  For example, don’t no-show a European Title match."

"(King) …but he showed up for that match and lost."

"(Edwin) No he didn't."

"(King) Yes he -"

"(Edwin) Shut up!"

 

Van Siclen stands up, hauling deKindes to his feet as well.  Mike smiles like a Cheshire cat, putting deKindes in position for a DDT!  The arena roars, knowing what is to come, before suddenly starting to boo.  Van Siclen raises one arm, coming around and grabbing deKindes by the hair, but Tod has enough in him to shove Van Siclen into the ropes, breaking the hold!  Van Siclen bounces off the ropes, coming back and getting hit with a beautiful powerslam!  DeKindes stands and smiles, picking up Van Siclen to prepare for the next exchange.

 

"(Axis) And deKindes reverses the Code Red into a powerslam, and his eyes are gleaming!  What could be coming next?"

"(Edwin) I honestly can't tell you, Axis.  I would guess that he's going to try to do something, though."

"(King) Well, gee, Mr. Ring Technician, do you really think so?  How did you come to that conclusion?"

"(Edwin) Eh, blow it."

 

Van Siclen is wobbly on the mat, and deKindes bends down, putting one arm and hooking it around Van Siclen's leg.  Smiling, he lifts Van Siclen up into a fireman's carry!  The crowd erupts in cheers as deKindes puts his arm around Van Siclen's neck, pushing Mike's legs up and falling to the side, driving Van Siclen's head into the mat with a brutal DVD!  The crowd erupts in cheers as Van Siclen lands on his back, spasming once before lying flat on the mat.  DeKindes looks to the heavens… or, the turnbuckle, cackling as he walks through the ropes and climbs the turnbuckles.

 

"(Axis) A beautiful Death Valley Driver on Van Siclen, and now, deKindes is looking to seal the deal."

"(King) What a boneheaded strategy.  Van Siclen is probably down for the count right now, why doesn't deKindes just pin his ass instead of showboating?"

"(Edwin) King, maybe if you had asked yourself the same question you'd be the World champion now.  Oh, wait, I am.  (Valley girl giggle)"

 

deKindes smiles, looking out at Van Siclen lying flat on the mat, and then looking to the fans.  He roars once, working the fans into a frenzy before leaping off, catching huge air before doing a half-flip in midair, his head like an arrow, pointing at its destination, Van Siclen's stomach!  He tucks his head at the last second, and what should happen here is deKindes driving his shoulders into Van Siclen's chest.

 

Nope.  Obviously today isn't deKindes' day, as Van Siclen has rolled out of the way, and deKindes instead crashes into the mat, half-dead!  Van Siclen stands up, preparing himself for his next move.

 

"(Axis) deKindes misses the Swanton!  This is the perfect opportunity for Van Siclen to finish this match!"

"(King) And what a win it will be when Van Siclen hits the Van Slaminator, ONE-TWO-THREE, and ends Tod's massive streak of matches won."

"(Edwin) Yeah, sure, whatever.  Like this hasn't happened before, Todarooski'll make it out of this."

"(King) Todarooski?  Shut the hell up…ski."

 

Van Siclen lifts deKindes up, whipping him into the ropes and catching him on the way back, putting his head between deKindes' legs and lifting up, putting deKindes in position for what could be the Alabama Slam!  However, instead of whipping Tod back over his head, Van Siclen sits out, driving deKindes' skull into the mat with a beautiful Van Slaminator!  Mike rolls over onto his stomach, looking for the pin!

 

"(Sexton) ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR…"

 

"(Axis) THIS… IS…"

 

"EE!"

 

"(King) YES!"

 

..:Ding Ding Ding:..

 

"(Funyon) Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, via pinfall, MIIIIIIIIIKE VA-AN SIIIIIIIIIIIIC-LEEEEEEEN!"

 

Mike stands up inside the ring, raising his arms in victory as the fans shower him with boos, but he turns around, looking at deKindes with a cruel smile.  He slides out of the ring, grabbing two things; a steel chair, and a sledgehammer!  Mike slides back into the ring, putting the sledgehammer on the mat so that the steel top rests, one side on the mat and the other dangerously pointed up.  Mike lays the steel chair atop the hammer end, smiling as he stands up.  

 

"(Axis) Oh my god!  What could Van Siclen possibly do to deKindes now?"

"(King) My question is why the hell didn't he do this during the match, considering it was fought under hardcore rules."

"(Edwin) …ugh…"

 

Mike lifts deKindes to his feet, putting the German in DDT position, before whirling around, grabbing deKindes by the hair and slamming him face-first into the steel chair/sledgehammer combination!  DeKindes rolls off quickly, clutching his face as Mike slides out of the ring, his arms raised and his mouth twisted into a smile as he walks backwards up the ramp, slapping his chest and yelling out things like "I'm the man!"

 

"(Axis) CODE RED ONTO A CHAIR!  OH MY GOD, THAT IS THE MOST BRUTAL THING I'VE SEEN IN MY NINE MONTHS AS AN ANNOUNCER!"

"(Edwin) deKindes will recover, but Van Siclen's confidence just took a massive boost from the destruction of deKindes' face."

"(King) Well, Van Siclen just rearranged deKindes' face, but right now we've gotta go to commercial.  Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be back right!  After!  This!"

 

…fader…

 

---

 

- Mike Van Siclen.

  I've come to a conclusion: Characters with mean streaks suck.

[Guest Listen2Reason]

As the board seemed to eat my previous post, I'm reposting my losing match...'cause this is, the losing match thread, and stuff...yeah. As I said before, I believe this match clocked in at 3949 words.

 

(Note: The "Fran¢hi$e" thing is just something I did 'cause I thought it was neat. It was a joke, sorta, but it wasn't meant to be a joke at Francis' expense. I think he's a cool guy--so, no offense was meant. Just wanted to make that clear. ; )

 

 

Beginning of match

=====

 

The lights go out, plunging the arena into darkness. "Oh, no, not again," groans Edwin. A flurry of piercing organ notes sets the crowd buzzing. White strobes flash and a figure crosses his arms at the top of the ramp--then the guitar kicks in and the lights come up to reveal Fugue striding down to the ring, smiling at the crowd. A wave of boos with some scattered cheers greet his entrance.

 

"This is a curious Television Title matchup," Axis notes. "Neither of these contestants are exactly well liked--"

 

"*I* like 'em!" the King interjects.

 

"--by the fans," Axis continues. "So I'm not sure the fans really know who to cheer for." Fugue leans over the ropes with his arms crossed, nodding to the fans. His black tank top sports a stylized television.

 

Blue and white lights then begin to flash through the arena as 'Down with the Sickness' permeates the air. As the voice screams "ARE YOU READY?" the crowd responds with jeers and derision. "CAUSE THE FRANCHISE IS HERE!" The big screen flashes images of Mak Francis interspersed with the sWo logo, as the Television Champion himself appears on stage. He slowly strolls down to ringside in his "The Fran¢hi$e" T-shirt and slips through the ropes, Tyler Kinkel sidling down the ramp behind. Francis poses in the center of the ring with both his hands raised in the air, Fugue leaning against the ropes behind him.

 

"Hello again, gentlemen," Tyler Kinkel says, slipping into an announce position next to the King, who grins.

 

"Hi, Tyler." The King scoots his chair over a bit. "Make yourself at home." Axis and Edwin roll their eyes.

 

"Thanks, King. You know, it's great to be here. And it's great to be coaching the Fran¢hi$e. And it's great to be an honorary member of the sWo. You know, it's just a great day all around!" Tyler and the Suicide King share a laugh.

 

DINGINGING!

 

Fugue bounces up off the ropes and walks to the center of the ring. Francis steps up to him, his three-inch height advantage obvious. Fugue grins up at his opponent as they stare nose-to-nose, the crowd coming alive as the tension mounts.

 

"Who's going to blink first?" the King asks.

 

"I think that answer should be obvious," Kinkel notes.

 

Edwin sits there speechless, unable to decide who to root for.

 

The Fran¢hi$e grins and says something the microphones don't catch, and Fugue answers him, still smiling. The trash talking goes on until Francis suddenly shoves Fugue back. A loud "OOooohhh" rises from the crowd as Fugue's grin widens. He rights himself and steps back up to Francis--then launches himself at him. The audience erupts as the two men fight for a grip, and then Francis wraps his arm around Fugue's neck in a traditional collar-and-elbow tie up. The former All-American pushes Fugue to the ropes, then launches himself into the air and kicks Fugue in the face, sending him crashing to the mat. Fugue scurries back and stumbles to his feet, watching his opponent closely.

 

"Beautiful dropkick by the Fran¢hi$e!" Axis comments.

 

"Not just a dropkick--a TEXTBOOK dropkick!" Kinkel adds.

 

"After the show, I'll lend you my copy of the textbook, Axis," the King offers.

 

Francis answers Fugue's grin with his own, strutting a few steps for the crowd. Then the two men begin to circle each other again. Fugue darts in, quickly catching Francis' neck in the same collar-and-elbow hold. He pushes the champion across the ring, then runs to meet him, jumping into the air and landing-feet first on Francis' chest. Both men go down but Fugue quickly stands, facing away from his opponent, and leaps into a backflip. The crowd comes alive, with some cheers being audible as Fugue crashes stomach-down on Francis and quickly hooks a leg--Mike Kivell slides into position and hits the mat once, but Francis immediately kicks out. Fugue retreats to a corner again, grinning as Francis stands, glaring at him in surprise.

 

"Look at that!" Edwin says, snapping out of his trance. "Fugue goes the Fran¢hi$e one better, with a dropkick AND a moonsault! What do you say to that, Kinkel?" He grins past the King.

 

Kinkel snorts and makes a note on his clipboard. "I'm not even going to answer that."

 

The combatants advance and lock up once more. Francis suddenly drops to the mat and grabs Fugue's leg, taking him down. He tries to tie up Fugue's legs but the musician squirms away, only to be caught around the waist and suplexed backward onto his shoulders. Francis holds onto the waistlock and pulls his opponent upright, but Fugue elbows Francis' head several times and then tries a backward sweeping kick. The awkward maneuver takes both men down, and they separate once again.

 

"It looked like Francis was going for another German suplex, but it didn't happen," Axis says.

 

"It also looks like Fugue isn't doing too well against Francis' amateur wrestling techniques," the King notes.

 

"Well, gee," Kinkel sarcasms. "Could you picture THAT qualifying as All-American?"

 

"Somehow I think an insane wrestling musician could ONLY happen in America," Edwin mutters.

 

"America!" the King expounds. "Land of the free, home of the depraved!"

 

Fugue stands up straight and grins at his opponent. Then he extends his hands and wiggles his fingers at the Fran¢hi$e. Francis stares in confusion, then scowls. The wrestlers start toward each other but Francis suddenly trips Fugue with a drop toe-hold, then wraps Fugue's legs around his own. Francis leans back towards Fugue's head, wrenching his opponent's legs. Fugue's eyes glaze over as he flails against the mat, trying to fight out of the Indian deathlock variation. Francis reaches for Fugue's head but Fugue slips his arm around Francis' neck instead, squeezing him in a headlock. The Fran¢hi$e quickly breaks the hold and gets to his feet, aiming kicks at the recumbent Fugue, accompanied by the boos of the audience.

 

"What the heck was that?" Edwin asks, staring.

 

"Fugue fought out of Francis' STF variant," Axis says. "And now the Fran¢hi$e is putting the boots to his opponent!"

 

"Fugue can 'fight out' all he wants, but the result is inevitable!" Tyler Kinkel snaps.

 

Edwin raises an eyebrow and looks at the coach. "Somehow you don't sound so sure of yourself." Kinkel snarls at him.

 

Fugue pulls himself to his feet and is driven to the corner. A thumb to the eye and Fugue holds the left side of his face. Francis suddenly stops and looks at Mike Kivell, who's yelling something about getting out of the corner. Smirking, Francis grabs Fugue around the waist and tosses him backward, Fugue landing on his back on the mat. A bridge by Francis and Mike Kivell goes down to count--One, Two and Fugue kicks out.

 

"Beautiful Northern Lights Suplex," Axis says. "It's one of my favorite moves and I'm so glad both these men use it!" He sniffs and wipes his sleeve against his face.

 

"Was that a TEXTBOOK Northern Lights Suplex?" Edwin asks. Kinkel rolls his eyes.

 

The competitors are up again, Francis rubbing his right shoulder. Fugue lunges forward and catches the arm in a hammerlock, but Francis quickly rolls over into a flip, the crowd popping as he reverses the hold. As the arm wrench cinches in, Fugue grins maniacally and does a standing flip himself, landing on his back and jerking at Francis' arm, popping the crowd even louder. The All-American shakes his arm out and kicks at Fugue's ribs, then picks up one of his legs. Francis looks at the crowd as he holds Fugue helpless, smiling at the swelling wave of boos, then reaches for Fugue's other leg--but the musician arches his back and kicks at Francis' face, sending him stumbling back.

 

"Wow!" Axis cries. "Francis was looking for that figure 4, but Fugue countered once again!"

 

"Don't worry," Kinkel says calmly. "Nobody can beat Mak Francis. Nobody can beat the Fran¢hi$e."

 

Edwin growls. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...come on, Fugue!"

 

"Enemy of my enemy, huh?" The King chuckles.

 

Fugue gets to his feet again, favoring his leg just a bit, and the two men face each other. Francis sneers and aims a superkick at Fugue's face--but Fugue dodges, taking him down with a leg whip. Fugue grabs for Francis' arm but the All-American quickly slips on top of him, hooking a waistlock as Fugue tries to squirm away. A quick amateur match erupts in the ring as Fugue struggles under the laughing Francis. Then Fugue gets under his opponent and elbows upward into the Fran¢hi$e's stomach. Francis' grip breaks and Fugue slips out of his grasp, immediately jumping up in a kneedrop that lands on Francis' shoulder. Francis groans, lying still just long enough for Fugue to grab Francis' right arm, scissoring his legs around the other and pulling back.

 

"The Minor Chord!" Axis says over the excited noise of the crowd.

 

"Thank you for that reminder, Axis," the King replies. "It looks like Francis may have been just a little too confident in his amateur abilities there."

 

Edwin fairly chortles. "Look at your precious All-American now, Kinkel!"

 

"Shut up!" Kinkel snaps. "You don't know the Fran¢hi$e's fire like I do! A little hold like this isn't going to end the match! Not by a long shot!"

 

Francis grits his teeth and shakes his head as Fugue wrenches at his arms. He pushes himself along with his legs, Fugue seeming to enjoy the ride. After several tense seconds he reaches the ropes with his head, Mike Kivell admonishing Fugue to break the hold. Fugue releases his opponent and walks backward to lean against the ropes on the opposite side of the ring.

 

"Francis' arms have to be hurting now," Axis notes.

 

"He knows how to deal with pain," Kinkel replies, speaking slowly and deliberately. "He's the Television Champion--he earned that."

 

Francis gets to his feet, shaking his arms--and catches sight of Fugue watching him, smiling. His expression darkens as the crowd cheers. Fugue suddenly lunges forward and rams his shoulder into Francis' stomach. Francis grunts and catches hold of his opponent, then flips backward, pulling him down. Fugue hits the mat headfirst, falling dazedly to the side. Francis hooks a leg, and Mike Kivell slides into position--One, Two and Fugue kicks out again! Francis hauls Fugue up and quickly throws Fugue backwards over his shoulders. Fugue crashes to the mat and rolls under the ropes, Francis following.

 

"DDT and an overhead belly to belly suplex!" Axis narrates. "Francis looks like he's had things in hand for most of this match!"

 

"But not all of it," Edwin notes.

 

"Oh, don't worry, the Fran¢hi$e can pull it out," Kinkel assures anyone listening.

 

Francis rolls out of the ring, Kivell starting a count on the apron. He takes Fugue by the hair but the musician punches him in the stomach, once and then twice. Francis brings his elbow down on Fugue's neck and knees him in the gut, but Fugue catches the leg and falls back in a dragon screw, both men tumbling to the mats in front of the announce table.

 

"Oh, no, not again," Axis groans.

 

"I always love this part," the King comments.

 

"Come on, Francis!" Kinkel yells, gesturing excitedly.

 

Fugue hauls Francis to his feet and slams his head down on the announce table. The audience yells its approval. Francis clutches his nose and scowls at the grinning Fugue, then grabs his head in return and smacks IT down onto the table. The cheering grows as Fugue reels, then once again rams Francis' face into the plastic surface. A trickle of blood appears from the Fran¢hi$e's nose and his eyes glaze over, but he doesn't disappoint the fans and grabs hold of Fugue's hair, managing to push it down against a monitor. Fugue pops up blinking wildly and grasps Francis' head with both hands, slamming it one final time against the announce table. Francis slumps to the ground and Fugue raises his arms, swaying gently as the crowd roars its approval. "Start the music!" he yells.

 

"Start the music!" Edwin cheers. Kinkel glares at him. The King shakes his head and laughs.

 

Fugue notices that Kivell has gotten up to 8, and quickly slips into the ring to break the count, rolling back out again afterwards. Kivell gives the shrug of a man who knows he'll get his paycheck no matter what happens and starts the count over. Fugue bends down to pull Francis to his feet, but suddenly doubles over as Francis' forearm slams between his legs. The male half of the audiences groans in sympathy.

 

"My god!" Axis says. "A blatant low blow from Francis!"

 

"I taught him that," Kinkel says proudly.

 

Mike Kivell yells down at Francis, trying to see what happened, and Francis yells something back, looking innocent as he picks Fugue up on his shoulders.

 

"Of course, what REALLY happened is that he just punched Fugue in the abdomen," Kinkel asserts.

 

Axis rolls his eyes as Kivell tries to remember what number he was at. "It looks like Francis is going for his shoulder breaker!" Axis says. Francis holds Fugue on his shoulder, trying to pull him over, but Fugue's struggles make it impossible. Finally Francis simply runs to the corner of the ring, launching Fugue shoulder-first against the ring post. Fugue tries to block, catching most of the blow on his arms, then collapses on the floor as Francis drops him, grimacing as he shakes his arm out. The Fran¢hi$e slips back into the ring and raises his arms to the crowd. Intense enmity radiates from the crowd as they yell at the champion, a half-hearted "Green as grass" chant arising from the mezzanine.

 

"Francis definitely looks to be in control here!" Axis comments.

 

"Come on, did we expect anything else?" Kinkel scowls around the arena, and stands up in his seat. "The Fran¢hi$e is NOT GREEN! He's a AMATEUR CHAMPION!"

 

"But we can't count Fugue out yet!" Edwin says desperately.

 

The Suicide King rubs his chin. "Cheer for the sWo to get up Edwin's nose some more, or root for the fascinatingly sadistic Fugue? Decisions, decisions..."

 

Francis quickly thumbs Fugue's eye again, then wrenches at the musician's shirt, ripping it away to reveal Fugue's startlingly pale chest. He backs Fugue up against the ropes, rears back and delivers a hard chop, the crack echoing through the arena.

 

"BOOOO!" the crowd roars.

 

Francis glares at the audience as Fugue clutches his reddening chest, and rears back to deliver another blow.

 

"BOOOO!" Even the scattered sWo marks are getting into it.

 

Francis leans past Fugue to stare at the crowd. "I'M THE CHAMPION!" he yells. He pulls back for another chop but Fugue suddenly drops down in a sweeping kick. He jumps forward and lands knee-first on Francis' right arm, then wraps his legs around it. Francis gasps and flails, Kivell yelling at Fugue to release his opponent.

 

"That was pretty stupid, putting on a hold right by the ropes," Tyler Kinkel sniffs. "I don't know what idiot thought this idiot, Fugue, actually deserved a shot at this title."

 

"Well, maybe every little bit helps," the King muses.

 

"Shut up, Kinkel," Edwin adds.

 

Francis scrambles to his feet and grabs Fugue's head in a leg scissors. He hauls Fugue up onto his shoulders and slams him down in a sit-out powerbomb. He pushes Fugue's legs up and Kivell counts, One, Two and Fugue recovers, aiming a punch at the Fran¢hi$e. As Francis reels Fugue flips back and onto his feet, watching his opponent stand. Fugue flexes his wiry frame, then runs forward and rams his shoulder into the Fran¢hi$e's stomach, grabbing him around the waist and hauling him up and over in a suplex. Francis slams to the mat and Fugue bridges into a cover--One, Two and Francis kicks out once again, the crowd cheering continously.

 

"The intensity of this match is incredible!" Axis yells.

 

"There's really a lot at stake here, isn't there?" the King says. "Both men have their reputations on the line--the reputations they're trying to create in this company."

 

Francis gets to his feet and grabs Fugue's arm, but Fugue knees his opponent in the stomach. Francis then grabs the leg, the crowd roaring, but Fugue counters again with an elbow to the head. Francis releases the leg but gets behind his opponent, grabbing a waistlock and throwing him backward over his head. Fugue staggers to his feet, eyes glazed, and manages a kick to Francis' right arm. As the champion clutches his shoulder Fugue gropes for the arm, managing to catch it and pull backward. The fans' yells redouble as Francis collapses onto his stomach, struggling--then he pushes himself up and rolls through into a schoolboy rollup. Kivell gets into position, but only gets a one-count before Fugue squirms away. Francis grins evilly and catches hold of Fugue's legs, standing up and hooking them in a step-over toe-hold. He grabs for Fugue's arm but the musician desperately curls up and shoves the champion off of him. Fugue gets his feet under him and suddenly pushes himself off from the mat, turning back in a moonsault. He lands on Francis' chest and right arm, eliciting another groan of pain from the Fran¢hi$e. Francis pushes him off and slides away, the two combatants eyeing one another across the ring.

 

"Incredible!" Axis marks, the crowd almost drowning him out.

 

"I just realized something," the King says. "Fugue keeps going back to the arm. But he tries very hard to counter any move from the Fran¢hi$e that would hurt his OWN arms."

 

Tyler Kinkel growls. "Why, that dirty--" He stands up in his seat. "Mak!" he yells. "Go for the arms!" The crowd boos him loudly.

 

Francis glances at Kinkel, then glares at Fugue. Fugue grins back at him and runs the ropes. Francis meets him with a flying forearm, sending him crashing to the mat. The Fran¢hi$e goes for Fugue's arm but the musician slips away, then scores with a kick to Francis' face. Fugue pops up and grabs Francis' face in yet another collar-and-elbow tieup. The champion angrily pushes him away, and Fugue bounces off the ropes and dives at Francis' feet. Caught by surprise, Francis stumbles and falls on his face. Fugue is already springing to his feet and jumps forward in another kneedrop--the Fran¢hi$e rolls away, clutching his shoulder.

 

"Looks like the Fran¢hi$e just can't get hold of that arm," Edwin says cheerily.

 

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tell him to go after it?" the King suggests.

 

Kinkel's mouth works soundlessly.

 

Fugue grins as he stalks after his opponent. Francis gets to his feet and lunges forward, finally catching Fugue's wrist. Fugue quickly turns, wrenching his arm away from the champion, but Francis punches the musician in the lower back. He wraps his leg around Fugue's and flips him backward, both men landing on the mat. Kivell slides down to count and the two competitors roll away from each other.

 

"That's it, Francis!" Kinkel yells. "Pull it together!"

 

The two warriors get to their feet again and warily approach each other. Francis lashes out with a punch but Fugue dodges, then returns a jab of his own. Francis grits his teeth and slaps Fugue's chest hard, spinning him around.

 

"BOOOO!" from the crowd.

 

Francis snarls and turns back to back with Fugue, locking both Fugue's arms into his own. He kneels down--but an expression of pain seizes his face. Fugue's grin is a rictus as he pulls back on the hold. The noise builds from the audience as the two competitors teeter back and forth, locked inextricably together.

 

"Francis goes for a backslide!" Axis cries. "But Fugue turns the hold against him! Now these two incredible athletes are caught in an inescapable battle!"

 

"And Fugue spent all that time working on Francis' arm," the King says. "This is NOT going to be pretty."

 

Francis yells and shakes his head as he leans over, trying to pull Fugue onto his back. Fugue's chest heaves with exertion as he stares into space, pumping his legs to unbalance his opponent, the Fran¢hi$e gasping with each wrench of the hold. Finally Fugue hauls his legs high into the air and then down, the momentum unseating Francis and flipping him onto his back. Kivell hits the mat to count but Francis turns over and lands on his stomach. The two men untangle themselves and stumble apart, both rubbing their shoulders.

 

"INCREDIBLE!" Axis yells. "Fugue reverses the backslide, after long moments of tortuous arm-wrenching!"

 

"I sense the tables turning," Edwin grins.

 

Fugue stumbles back, his grin feral, and slaps Francis across the chest.

 

"WOOOO!"

 

Enraged by the reaction of the fans, Francis springs up and slaps Fugue around. He ducks down behind the challenger but Fugue punches him, and again; but on the third try Francis grabs his arm, crossing it in front of Fugue's body. Then the Fran¢hi$e reaches between Fugue's legs and catches his other arm, yelling loudly and hoisting Fugue up and over in a suplex. Francis bridges and Kivell counts--One, Two and Fugue kicks out spasmatically.

 

"The Fran¢hi$e hits Crossroads!" Axis cries over the din of the crowd. "When he hits that, you know the match is almost over!"

 

"For once you've got something right, Axis!" Kinkel asserts.

 

Francis gets to his feet, grimacing as he tries to shake his arms out. As Fugue staggers up as well Francis grabs a facelock, and reaches down for the leg--but Fugue kicks him in the stomach, turning Francis around and hooking his arms in a double chickenwing hold. The crowd noise builds to a peak as Francis shakes his head--and Fugue jumps backward, dropping Francis hard to the mat.

 

"Fugue hits the Coda!" Axis shouts.

 

"And you know what 'Coda' means!" Edwin retorts. "It means 'The END'!"

 

Fugue flips forward over his opponent and lands in a bridge, grinning up at the lights as Francis' 6'2" frame is folded up below him. The crowd yells deliriously as Mike Kivell jabbers urgently at the Fran¢hi$e. Francis struggles, shaking his head. He tries to kick out at his opponent, but Fugue cinches the hold in relentlessly. The champion's struggles become weaker, then cease.

 

"Fugue has got Francis in Harmony!" Axis yells. "What a devastatingly cruel hold!"

 

"There's no way out of this!" the King says. "This match is over!"

 

"No!" Kinkel snarls. "The Fran¢hi$e will never submit!"

 

After several long moments, Kivell picks up Francis' right arm and lets it fall. "One!" he yells along with the crowd.

 

"There's no way it'll be over like this!" Kinkel cries. "You're a champion, Francis!"

 

"Not for long!" Edwin grins.

 

Kivell pulls up Francis' arm again, and it falls again. "Two!" he cries.

 

"It can't end like this!" Kinkel stands and yells at the ring along with all the fans. "Francis! Remember your pride! FRANCIS!"

 

Kivell raises Francis' arm once more...and lets it fall.

 

The crowd screams as one. Kivell signals the timekeeper, who nods.

 

DINGINGING!

 

Funyon clears his throat. "Your winner!" he booms. "As a result of a submission...and NEW champioooon...FUGUE!" Fugue finally releases Francis and slumps to the side, breathing heavily. Kivell raises his arm as the musician staggers to his feet, and hands him the belt. The new champion grins dazedly at the crowd as hundreds of flashbulbs capture the moment. Tyler Kinkel reaches the ring and gingerly pulls Francis from it, checking his condition.

 

"What an incredible match that was!" Axis exhales mightily.

 

"You think they're ALL incredible." The King snickers.

 

"But that's because we have such wonderful talent here in the SJL!" Edwin says cheerfully. "And we're going to see more of that talent--right after THESE messages! Stay tuned!"

 

=====

End of match

[Guest Listen2Reason]

I added in my match, but the topic didn't get bumped. So...ninja bump!

[Guest kelloggs]

I personally thought the Fran¢hi$e thing was funy but you used it too much. It seemed like a crutch. By the way if you ever disrespect me again I'll...I'll...I'll do bad things with your mama suckaaaaaaa

 

Here's my thoughts on your match

 

I absolutely love the fact that you used Kinkel in the announce booth. You did a good job show his conflict with Edwin MacPhisto and how well he gets along with King, like most heels do. The one problem was you didn't use Axis and he came off kinda bland. Everyone seems to forget that he's not only play by play. He a face play ny play man. Try to use him and that fact to your advantage. He's the third and finally vote on what the fans think of your wrestler since King and Edwin should always cancel. I think you kept him pretty much in character and it's always good to see hoe other people write him.

 

I also love the way you looked at my last match and used the chop and boooo instead of whoooo thing. I was just testing it out but after reading it in yours it came off great.

 

I thought your ring psych was in the maybe column you did a great job of selling my Textbook dropkick and your dropkick into a moonsault one ups manship. The only problem is there was no pay off for it at the end of the match. It just seemed like a spot stuck in there. Everything you do early in the match should come around late in the match. If someone hits a move early you should attempt it latter and miss. You know going to the well and all the jazz. ex I foreshadowed a miss of a moonsault by having you hit your standing one after a forward senton. I used the minor chord earlier in the match to make it plausible for you to wiggle out of my FISHAMANBUSTA. While in your finish you popped up from my highest impact signature move and countered into your finish. I think it would have come off better if I went for the pin after crossroads and you kicked out. Then I yell at the ref awhile giving you time to recover. Since you worked my arm you could hit a single arm ddt or something that affect and link it into that finish. But I like how you made my character over estimate his abilities in amateur wrrestling. It made the point that I'm to cocky for my own good. That's how you tell a story in the ring.

 

Overall it definitely was a good match and I can see you winning the TV title very soon

 

Quick notes

-You write good spots don't let people say you don't.

-if you use a move early bring it back later in the match.

-You write the commentary well but use Axis

-PM Frosty, TNT or Z to help with ideas to make your match super funny

-make finishes credible

 

If you ever want me to go over another one of your matches just PM or ask in a thread and i'll do it but don't hestitate to ask other people.

 

Now that I wrote all this you better comment on my promo damnit

M. Francis

[Guest Listen2Reason]

Mak: Thanks very much. I've already commented on your promo as well. And here's some replies...

 

"Franchise" being a crutch: It really helps to have more than one thing to call someone during the match. Like if I say "Francis, Francis, Francis" it sounds kinda repetitive. Like you called me "musician" in your match--same thing. So maybe it is a "crutch", but...sometimes it's necessary, y'know? That's how I see it, anyway...

 

Axis: I've always had a problem with Axis because, well, everybody ELSE writes him bland. So I have no real idea what sort of a guy he really is...eheh. Well, I'll work on it...

 

I always try to read other matches featuring my opponents, so I can work out how to write them. I like picking up on things like "BOOO!" and such.

 

Psychology: ...wow, that's some in-depth stuff. Oh well, that's why I'm in the SJL--to learn how to write right...right? I did have some justification in my own mind as to how I could "pop up" after Crossroads...but if you didn't believe it, then I need either better reasons or better writing. Either way, I'll think hard about it.

[Guest Renegade]

“LDP RULES ALL,” “Longdogger Is The Best Marker Ever,” and “TNT is a suck-up!”

Ah thats golden, lol

 

[Guest kelloggs]

Bah it's not as in depth as you think. PM Danny and if he has the time he'll be able to break it down for you step by step. I could do it but there are a lot of people here better than me at it. Just PM somebody in the Main Event. And I didn't mean the Franchise term was a crutch but the visual image that the Fran¢hi$e gives. If you interchanged it with its normal spelling it wouldn't come off like that. Also ask Edwin or King about Axis and they'll probably give you some old school details. I haven't yet but that's because I'm lazy.

 

Just remember that the more you improve the better I need to get. I'm pushing you so that you'll push me. Now start improving so that I can too damnit

 

P.S. Thanks for the comment on my promo

[Guest SupaTaft]

*thinks to himself "Why the hell am I trying to give advice?"*

 

This is the impression I got for Axis. I always thought he was just the straight man, but from what more experienced SJLers write, he was the straight man but got handed too much shit. So now he is the "normal guy" to a point but can deliver a comeback when he needs to.

Of course being the hypocrite I am i dont write him that way too often but hey... That's just what I've seen.

[Guest Ace309]

How Tom Wrote SJL Commentary:

 

Edwin is zany and loves pandas.

 

Suicide King is a cocky jerkass. Everyone seems to have these two down pretty well.

 

Axis is disgruntled but extremely knowledgable about the sport. He can be a straight man, but he gets very frustrated sometimes, particularly with Edwin's antics. He's really the man to call play-by-play, whereas Edwin and King will make ridiculous partisan statements for the face and the heel, respectively.

 

or, to reduce it to a line that I quote from myself whenever possible,

 

"All I do is write the left side of my brain for Axis, the right side for Edwin and the testicles for King."

 

Hope this is helpful.

[Guest Coffin Surfer]

Axis is my favoriate character to write. I wish he was the only commenator. I use him not only to call the action, but explain the psychology and why the spot was important. To me, Edwin and King are just pointless comic relief, and I only write them lines, because I have too.

 

 

My advice on Psychology: Psychology=Logic.

Try to think of it as a real fight. Not just two guys who want to entertain the crowd with a bunch of spots(cough RVD cough).

 

-What are the wrestlers trying to do? Win the match.

-How they are going to win the match? By knocking out their opponent for the three count, or by making them submit.

-How they are going to do that? By trying to hit their finisher. Which should be the most powerful move in your character's arsenal.

-So what is the purpose of the other moves? Nobody is going to let you hit them with your most powerful move. You have to wear them down first.

 

Transition is also very important. Try not to rely on Hulk Hogan no selling that draws "Yeah right' from the viewer. If your wrestler is quicker, have him pull a big ass high flying move out of nowhere. If wrestler is more techincal have him bust out a revresal. If your wrestler is more badass, have him out come back by brawling.

 

Selling. Very important. If a move isn't sold than the move is pointless.

 

 

A match I would recommend to help understand psychology:

 

Flair/Steamboat Wrestlewar 89

Every single move in this match serves a purpose. Steamboat made Flair tap with the Double Chickenwing in their last match, so if worked once it will work again. Steamboat does nothing but work the arm to set up the Chickenwing. The bigger Flair fights back with brawling and high impact moves. But Steamboat is always able to regain the advantage by gowing back to Flair's weakened arm.