Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 1:32:56 GMT
Live from the PONTCHARTRAIN CENTER
4545 Williams Blvd, Kenner, LA
4545 Williams Blvd, Kenner, LA
Pure Amusement Wrestling
Proudly Presents:
JUST BEFORE CURTAIN
CLEANING HOUSE BATTLE ROYAL
RedRum, KJ Kidd, Thaddeus Archelaus, Levi Adams, Luke Knux
“Knux”
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Jack Swanson has, uh... been eliminated! The winner of the Cleaning House Battle Royal, “The Suicidal Scumbag” Luke Knux!!!
SINGLES MATCH
Alex Cross versus Stevie Harris
SINGLES MATCH
Press versus Cross Recoba
MAIN EVENT
TORNADO TAG MATCH
(The Winners of this match will face each other on the Super Show for a chance to be crowned #1 Contender for the PAW Championship decided in the finals.)
C.J. O'Donnel & Trixie v.s. Calvin Harris & Tyler Keenan v.s. Flaming Youth & Johnny Raike
PHILO: (cutting Charissa off) Yeah, yeah. Every time another pretty face comes down the rampway you feel threatened. We get it.
Charissa looks at Philo with that ‘excuse me’ expression just about the time the arena goes dark, and words appear on the big screen above the entrance.
As the beginning notes of "Beast" begins to play, the arena goes to darkness. With the beats kicking in, "The Distinguished" slowly walks out with a huge smirk on his face as the fans welcome him with a chorus of boos throughout the arena.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Coming to the ring, weighing in at one hundred and eighty pounds, from Boston, Massachusetts, representing "The Unstable"! He is "THE DISTINGUISHED" CEE JAY OOOOOO... DDOONNNNEELLLL!!!"
As O'Donnell slowly makes his way down to the ring he cannot help but take in all the insults and jeers from the crowd.
Caleb reaches the end of the entrance way and is making his way up the ring steps. Once CJ gets on the top step he raises his arms up in the air which only causes more boos from the audience tonight.
CJ enters the ring and he takes off his black Unstable t-shirt. He rolls it into a ball and acts like he is about to toss it into the crowd but instead he drops it over the top ropes and it lands on the outside on the floor. CJ begins to stretch in the corner as he awaits for the bell to ring.
‘Take It Off’ by the Donna’s kicks out over the PA system, and Trixie breaks through the curtain and does a twirl to bend over and showcase her firm apple bottom to the crowd before turning around to flaunt her ring attire and bite her finger. She pauses on stage just for a moment in this pose before walking in a straight line down the ramp, swaying her hips to get the attention of the guys in the crowd, blowing kisses at the guys and enjoying the jealousy of the girls.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing his partner, standing at 5’6” tall, and weighting in at 133 lbs, hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada, she is ‘The Blonde Beauty’…..TRIXIEEEE!!!!
Trixie steps onto the apron and gyrates her hips before stepping into the ring very slowly to allow all the photos to be taken before finally stepping to the center of the ring and giving a playful wink to the referee and C.J. O’Donnell.
O’Donnell’s response is cut off by the opening riff of "Your Betrayal" by Bullet For My Valentine bouncing off the arena's speakers. The fans instantly recognized the song, and their attitudes completely and utterly changed to one of loathing. Only a few seconds had passed since the song began to play when the curtain could be seen being slowly pulled back. Stepping out a moment later was none other than the man known as the Martyr of Pro Wrestling himself, Calvin Harris. Seeing the man causes the crowd to uproar again, but this time with louder boos and jeers. Standing center of the stage, Calvin looks around the ring with a smug smirk on his lips. The type of smug smirk that would make people want to knock it right off his expression. Calvin begins stretching his arms out to either side of him, almost like he was encouraging the crowd to give him more hate. After a few moments he lowered his arms back down at his side and began to slowly make his way down the ramp.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: And one of their opponents, Introducing at this time all the way from Chicago, Illinois. Weighing in at two hundred and twenty seven pounds. He is known as the Martyr of Pro Wrestling. . . CALVIN HARRIS!
By the time that he has been introduced to the crowd, Calvin is halfway down the ramp, seeming to be in no hurry. His smirk remains on his expression as he lets out a couple of chuckles at those fans he deems pathetic until reaching the ringside area. Calvin takes a couple of steps towards the ring and reaches up with his right hand grabbing the middle rope. He proceeds to pull himself up onto the apron and onto his knees, and in one swift motion pushes himself right up to his feet. He lifts one leg over the middle rope, ducks down under the top, and finds himself in the ring. Calvin takes the nearest turnbuckle and climbs to the second rung and looks out at the booing crowd. The fans continued to boo at the slow procession.
Trixie rolls her eyes at Harris while O’Donnell looks more than eager to wipe the smile off his face. The tension is broken up as ‘Hate Me’ by Escape the Fate begins to play, and a spotlight shines down on the middle of the stage. As the lead singer screams, Keenan walks out from behind the curtain with his hands firmly dug in the pockets of the black hoodie he is wearing, hood up to hide his hair. He walks out further onto the stage, before he spins on his heels, throwing his head back to remove the hood. He immediately then rips his hands from his pockets and outstretches them as gold rain-like pyro rains down in front of him. After a few seconds, he spins back around and folds his arms, before screaming out with a smile on his face and walking down to the ring.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: And his partner, standing at 6’1” tall, and weighting in at 200 lbs. Hailing from Hollywood, California….The Modern-Day Wordsmith….TYLER KEENAN!!
At the chorus of the song he bursts through, and spins around on the rampway, reaching out to the crowd who scream in adulation. He comes to a teetering stop facing the ring, a coy grin on his face, shaking his finger ‘no’ tauntingly at the four competitors already in the ring.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: And their opponents, introducing first, standing at 5’10” tall, and weighting in at 195 lbs. Hailing from New Orleans, Louisiana….One half of The BombTrax….FLAMING YOUTH!!!
At the mention of his name he takes off into a sprint to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope, and popping up with his hands over his head. Dashing over to the corner he bounds up to the second rope, and scans the crowd, talking jive as the fans soak it all up. With a short hop, he spins so that he’s now facing the ring, and takes a seat on the top rope to await his partner, while keeping a wary eye on the other four in the ring.
‘Pure Morning’ by Placebo wafts across the speakers in the arena, and without any further a-do Johnny Raike emerges from behind the curtain, wearing a black vinyl trench coat over his ring gear. He wastes no time up on the stage before sauntering down the rampway totally lost in the music, running his hands sensually over his own chest.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing his partner, standing at 6’1” tall, and weighting in at 195 lbs. Hailing from Astoria, Queens, New York…..The Most Liberated Man In Wrestling….JOHNNY RAIKE!!!!
Johnny stops for a minute, eyeing a hotty in the front row, and makes his way over, producing a business card from somewhere in his jacket. She swoons, when he notices behind her an even more attractive male. He grins, and produces a second card for him, and then uses his finger to indicate both of them, before rubbing the same finger up and down his body. With a flash of a smile, Raike removes his coat, storms up the steps, and then hops into the ring, coming to a stop to look up at the other five members of what could only be described as a cluster fuck.
Youth hops down from his perch now, stepping over to Raike, who is supposed to be his partner for the evening. As the two men exchange words, C.J. O'Donnell steps over and mouths something to Raike, who turns his attention from Youth to step right up into O'Donnell's face.
Calvin Harris just shakes his head at all of this, before turning to look directly at Trixie who just shrugs. She winks in his direction, and just as he’s about to return the gesture, she brings the tip of her boot directly up into his crotch for what she likes to call the ‘Couldn’t Help Myself'. His eyes bulge from their sockets as he reaches for his nether regions, and crumples to the mat, accompanied by applaud and cheers from the fans for his discomfort.
CHARISSA: Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Kicked that mother fucker right in the nuts! Maybe I was wrong about ole’ girl.
PHILO: Jesus Christ! Keenan’s going to need a fucking toke after that!
CHARISSA: Damn Right! Do you think Johnny would give me one of those business cards? I mean, I’d like to see what’s going on behind the scenes at that kissing booth of his.
PHILO: Really, Charissa? Really? We’ve got a match of this magnitude, both inside and outside the ring, and you’re thinking about bumping uglies with Johnny Raike?
PHILO: That was a hell of a way to be helped out of the ring. Poor Trixie’s seen more of the concrete than the canvas in this contest.
CHARISSA: Yeah, and despite that sweet little moonsault from Youth, it looks like the Irishman has the upper hand again.
Youth takes another stiff right hand from O’Donnell on the chin, and falls back against the steel barricade, the structure the only thing keeping him vertical. CJ steps to the side of Youth, and fires in a vicious knife edge chop that thunders throughout the arena. The fans ‘Whooo’, but he seems to pay them no mind, as he fires in another, and then another. Youth’s chest is lit up like a Christmas tree, before O’Donnell grabs him by the wrist, and whips him hard into the steel steps. He collides with such impact that the steps come apart, separating the top half from the bottom. Youth just slumps against them, head lolling.
CHARISSA: That man sure does know how to do it!
2…
C.J. O’Donnell comes in out of nowhere before the count of three, nailing Raike with a football like kick to the midsection, knocking him off of his cover of Calvin Harris.
CHARISSA: Big save for the Irishman. If he hadn’t shown up when he did, Raike and Youth would be on their way to the St. Patrick’s Day extravaganza, for all the help Youth’s been in this match.
1…
2…
With blinding speed Youth appears on the ring apron, and with a springboard that looks effortless he comes crashing down onto O’Donnell’s back with a sentan ending the count. His momentum doesn’t stop there as he rolls up to his feet, and just as O’Donnell rises up off of Johnny Raike to deal with this new assault, he meets a superkick that rattles his jaw, and sends him sprawling to the mat.
PHILO: SLOW BURN! JESUS CHRIST! How many finishers are we going to see in this match!
PHILO: Not if she doesn’t stop her gyrating around the ring, and polish one of these guys off.
As Trixie shows off for the fans, the males in attendance seeming to appreciate it immensely, Tyler Keenan makes it up to his feet, staring straight ahead at the vixen. The only man yet to perform a finish, Keenan positions himself right behind her, begging her to turn around. As the fans try to warn Trixie, she becomes aware something isn’t right, and when she twirls to survey the ring, she’s met with a stiff boot that doubles her over by Keenan. With her head down, Keenan steps up, wrapping his arms around her waist, and then lifting her up into a powerbomb position. Trixie gives up a good effort by hammering rights down into Keenan’s face, but to no avail, as he rushes across the ring, almost stumbling over his own partner, but non-the-less, delivering a devastating turnbuckle powerbomb to the blonde bombshell.
CHARISSA: Really? I haven’t seen that move before. Are you talking about last show?
Trixie, at least halfway recovered from the turnbuckle powerbomb, gets herself vertical just in time to see her tag partner getting proverbially mugged on the outside. She looks over at Johnny Raike, still draped across the middle rope, and then signals to the crowd with a flirtatious wink that something awesome was about to happen. With a quick step towards Raike, she turns at the last second, planting her ass firmly on the man’s shoulder and driving his throat further into the ropes. When she springs off of him, she continues her momentum towards the opposite side where her partner is taking a beating, and springboards over the ropes to land on both Harris and Keenan, wiping them out.
As the five competitors begin to stir on the outside of the ring, Youth lowers his head and nods to the beat of some unseen tune, kicking his feet behind him like a bull getting ready to charge. Raike and Trixie are the first up, followed by O’Donnell and Harris. The four begin exchanging sluggish strikes until Keenan is back on his feet, and then Harris and Keenan begin double teaming O’Donnell once again while Raike and Trixie continue punching.
CHARISSA: Well, there it is. They’re all dead.
PHILO: I can’t even hear you right now. Between Trixie’s leap, Raike’s splancha, and whatever the hell that just was……this place has come unglued!
Charissa: You know, the problem with shit like that, is how the hell does anyone recover from it. Sure, everyone’s down again, but he sure as hell ain’t looking too good neither.
PHILO: That’s why they call it high risk.
PHILO: Well, that’s just great! Thanks a lot production team for making sure your commentators know about key marketing strategies before we go live on the air!
CHARISSA: Relax! They only told me about it cause you were getting high out in the back with Brandy Irving. That bitch really is to pieces ever since Sam disappeared. Someone needs to get her a Quaalude or something.
JUST BEFORE CURTAIN
The group that milled around the buffet table was a mix mash: soundboard technicians, cameramen, talent relations, and various other personnel that ran the show behind the show. They were oddly quiet, their mood subdued. Many of their counter parts were already in position to start the show, but this lot was having a rough time at it. With all the recent changes, and the fiasco at the end of the last show, many were more than a little wrung out.
Munin walked into the room, and her dark eyes scanned the area. She waited expectantly for someone to notice her, but it was wasted time. Ji was quick to stifle his chuckle as Munin realized that no one was going to notice her. His amusement earned him a glare, before Munin's business face fell into place.
Straightening herself to her full height she strode into the room clapping her hands loudly. The effect was like waking a group of dreamers from a deep sleep, but eventually everyone turned to the Asian beauty with a startled expressions.
Munin: OK, people, gather around.
As the group shuffled into place, Munin stood in the center, with hands on her hips, she turned to treat everyone with her intense dark stare. She honestly seemed more like a small Army General than the owner of a wrestling company and amusement park.
Munin: Look there is no sense in hedging around this so I'm going to cut to the chase. We have been through hell these last few weeks. Unreal pulled her stunt at the sound board…
Munin paused as a few people murmured surprise at this.
Munin: Oh yes, whatever cage she was in was broken three ways to hell when Sam got home. Speaking of Sam, as you and everyone else already knows, he is nowhere to be found, and of course he had to go missing on the night of our last show…
As she spoke she could feel a migraine building, but she pushed it to the side. There was no time to give into stress now, so instead of rubbing her head she sighed.
Munin: The show where Stevie Harris tried to strangle his opponent. Hey at least you can say that your job is never boring. The point of bringing this all up is this. Yes it happened, and now it's in the past. We have to go forward. You all have to move forward and give this show your all, not despite of it, but because of it!
Even Ji seemed to be getting into the mood of the speech as people began to stand a bit straighter.
Munin: You people are the show behind the show, the back bone if you will. Are you going to let the actions of the past define you?
At this point people were starting to shake their heads in denial.
Munin: Are you going to let some crazy bitch destroy our company?
This got a number of verbal hell no's. They were starting to feel empowered, starting to feel the pride in themselves. Munin smiled at this, delighted to see such a swift change in attitude. All they had needed was little nudge after all.
Munin: Are we going to freak out and call it quits because one of the wrestlers lost his shit, tried to strangle someone, and will likely try to do it again?
Dead silence answered this one, and Munin felt a bit like an idiot with her fist in the air. Ji for his part was giving her a look that clearly said “Why the hell would you say that when you were doing so well?”
Munin: Oh come on guys its not the first time that's happened. Worse has happened. As a matter of fact, I skewered a guy to the mat once with actual skewers to get the pin...No? That didn't help.
Ji cleared his throat discreetly and mouthed get on with it, as the crowd stood with uncertainty.
Munin: Look this is wrestling. You can't get spooked because things get crazy, violent, or even bloody. You can't let the events that happened in the past define you either. You will define yourselves and help me lead this company to greatness. You aren't a bunch of office rats. You are wrestling personnel. You have spines of steal!
Once again the crowd was back in spirits, and amped up for the upcoming show. Munin was nearly glowing with the results, and then a short man with a headset bustled into the room. All of his body language screamed anxiety, and Munin felt the first tendrils of dread slither in her stomach. The man, Tim, according to the backstage work pass that hung around his neck, fidgeted at Munin's side for a moment.
Munin: Well?
At the sharp word Tim gathered his nerve, and opened his mouth. The worlds poured forth in one anxiety filled tide, but yet each word was painfully clear.
Tim: Ma'am, we just received word that the Bombtrax may be planning to put someone through the announce table...again. Or at least try to as it is now reinforced steel…
The room went silent and seemed to hold their breath as Munin stared at the aid.
Munin: God damn it…
“A Warrior’s Call” by Volbeat joins a long pan of the semi-darkened Pontchartrain Center in Kennar, LA revealing within the spotlights that the turnout is packing the building to capacity with some spilling out of their seats. The song plays and we sweep over the ring, the fans, the stands, the ramp, backstage where workers hurry to set up.
Cut to the mega screen over the entryway, clips and highlights from WICKED#4 play, at least those scenes deemed acceptable by the Censorship Bureau. A shot of Tyler Keenan blasting Tapanga Britt in the jaw with a pair of brass knucks; Alex Cross nailing Flaming Youth with Crossfire; Hungry Jack thundering to the mat thanks to a Sudden Stop by Press; Ryan McCollum crying out in agony thanks to Garibaldi's Guillotine administered by Cross Recoba; Stevie Harris and Johnny Raike trading fists along the floor of the Xayarena; and then a ticking TNT bomb, which becomes an animated bomb that counts down from 10 and ignites a graphical EXPLOSION on the screen and through the speakers that cuts the music. And we focus in on the announce table with Philo B. Pope and Charissa Clark.
PHILO: What's up motherfuckers? You found us!
CHARISSA: Indeed they have, Philo B. Pope! Now, aren't you forgetting something?
Philo looks over to Charissa with a quizzical expression, but when the woman rolls her eyes, and waves her hand in front of her face, a light bulb goes off in his head.
PHILO: OH YEAH! Folks, our dear friend Constance Church got a new job, and will no longer be with us. We searched far and wide for a new color commentator, seeking the best of the best, and then finally we settled on affordable, and here she is...Charissa Clark!
CHARISSA: You only wish I came cheap, Philo. No sweets from the candy jar for you.
PHILO: Come on, Charissa! You know how I love those tattoo's and that dark Philippino hair!
CHARISSA: Bitch, please! I might be affordable, but I'm still out of your price range. Don't you have a joint to smoke, or something?
PHILO: (covering the mic) Jeez, not while the camera's are on us. (sets his hand back on the table) But seriously, folks, we've got a hot show for you tonight.
CHARISSA: You got that right! We got the PAW Championship Semi-Final match ups, and they are going to be on fire. I can't wait to see Cross Recoba finally put that big ape down on his back tonight.
PHILO: Uh, first off, I feel it's my duty to warn you that the last time our other color commentator made a statement like that, that big ape came down and dropped a human body through our table. So I wouldn't suggest making the same mistake she did. Secondly, I don't think anyone expects Press to just bow down to Recoba.
CHARISSA: Well, that might be true, if he hadn't already done it once before. Constance Church may have been afraid of The BombTrax, but Charissa Clark ain't afraid of no goons.
PHILO: Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. But if that match isn't enough to get you pumped, what about the other Semi-Final match between Alex Cross and Stevie Harris? That Stevie may just be one card shy of a full deck.
CHARISSA: He's definitely got a screw loose, which makes him all the more dangerous. I actually got a bone to pick with that bastard! He cost me my big debut back at WICKED#4, running around hanging people. Who the fuck does that? And what's with that bitch who's always spewing his rhetoric? Lola? Shit, I've known a few crazy lolita's in my day, but that one takes the cake.
PHILO: Maybe so, but no one can deny that Stevie Harris' tactics are effective, if not unpredictable. All I know for sure, is that Alex Cross better win this match, or we could see a repeat of last show.
CHARISSA: Now that Alex Cross is something. He put away Flaming Youth in the Quarter Finals, and even though I think it was a clear victory, it wasn't exactly the way he wanted to do it. He's got all the tools, but if he's looking to beat Harris, then he better come with the whole garage.
PHILO: No doubt. Speaking of tools, we got a Cleaning House Battle Royal scheduled as our opener this evening. Looks like Munin isn't wasting any time in her role as acting General Manager to take out some garbage, although I'm a little surprised to see Luke Knux in that lineup.
CHARISSA: Mmmm, Luke Knux. He can strum my fret anytime he wants.
PHILO: Oh God, not you too. Well, we'll have to just see if ole Knuxy can pull off a victory, but my money's on the Clown.
CHARISSA: You know RedRum is just Murder backwards don't you?
PHILO: Yeah, because that's what clowns do. They murder people. Stephen King knows.
CHARISSA: Your logic is beyond me. Anyways, that leaves us with the Main Event. Cluster Fuck Jamboree 3000!
PHILO: Of coarse, my colorful friend is talking about the Tornado Tag Match where the winning team will go on to face one another in a #1 Contenders Match for the PAW Championship at the St. Patrick's Day Super Show. See what I did there? Your the color commentator, and I said 'my colorful friend', and you're a woman of color....GOD, I KILL ME!
CHARISSA: GOD! I wish you would. (She winks in his direction) But yes, that's exactly what I was talking about. We've got two losers from the Quarter Final's matches, Flaming Youth and Johnny Raike, teaming up to take on newcomer Calvin Harris and Tyler Keenan, and just to make it fun, they decided to toss in C.J. O'Donnell and Trixie to boot. Last I checked, none of these people really care for one another.
PHILO: Exactly, and that's whats going to make it great! I figure the first team to put their differences aside for the common goal, will be the ones who advance to that Contendership Match on the 17th.
CHARISSA: Philo, has anyone ever told you that you're a genius.
PHILO: My mom used to tell me that all the time, thank you very much.
CHARISSA: Oh lord, mommy issues. That's just great. Can we cut back stage or something so I can get a toke.
PHILO: HEY! THAT'S MY LINE!
Cut to the mega screen over the entryway, clips and highlights from WICKED#4 play, at least those scenes deemed acceptable by the Censorship Bureau. A shot of Tyler Keenan blasting Tapanga Britt in the jaw with a pair of brass knucks; Alex Cross nailing Flaming Youth with Crossfire; Hungry Jack thundering to the mat thanks to a Sudden Stop by Press; Ryan McCollum crying out in agony thanks to Garibaldi's Guillotine administered by Cross Recoba; Stevie Harris and Johnny Raike trading fists along the floor of the Xayarena; and then a ticking TNT bomb, which becomes an animated bomb that counts down from 10 and ignites a graphical EXPLOSION on the screen and through the speakers that cuts the music. And we focus in on the announce table with Philo B. Pope and Charissa Clark.
PHILO: What's up motherfuckers? You found us!
CHARISSA: Indeed they have, Philo B. Pope! Now, aren't you forgetting something?
Philo looks over to Charissa with a quizzical expression, but when the woman rolls her eyes, and waves her hand in front of her face, a light bulb goes off in his head.
PHILO: OH YEAH! Folks, our dear friend Constance Church got a new job, and will no longer be with us. We searched far and wide for a new color commentator, seeking the best of the best, and then finally we settled on affordable, and here she is...Charissa Clark!
CHARISSA: You only wish I came cheap, Philo. No sweets from the candy jar for you.
PHILO: Come on, Charissa! You know how I love those tattoo's and that dark Philippino hair!
CHARISSA: Bitch, please! I might be affordable, but I'm still out of your price range. Don't you have a joint to smoke, or something?
PHILO: (covering the mic) Jeez, not while the camera's are on us. (sets his hand back on the table) But seriously, folks, we've got a hot show for you tonight.
CHARISSA: You got that right! We got the PAW Championship Semi-Final match ups, and they are going to be on fire. I can't wait to see Cross Recoba finally put that big ape down on his back tonight.
PHILO: Uh, first off, I feel it's my duty to warn you that the last time our other color commentator made a statement like that, that big ape came down and dropped a human body through our table. So I wouldn't suggest making the same mistake she did. Secondly, I don't think anyone expects Press to just bow down to Recoba.
CHARISSA: Well, that might be true, if he hadn't already done it once before. Constance Church may have been afraid of The BombTrax, but Charissa Clark ain't afraid of no goons.
PHILO: Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. But if that match isn't enough to get you pumped, what about the other Semi-Final match between Alex Cross and Stevie Harris? That Stevie may just be one card shy of a full deck.
CHARISSA: He's definitely got a screw loose, which makes him all the more dangerous. I actually got a bone to pick with that bastard! He cost me my big debut back at WICKED#4, running around hanging people. Who the fuck does that? And what's with that bitch who's always spewing his rhetoric? Lola? Shit, I've known a few crazy lolita's in my day, but that one takes the cake.
PHILO: Maybe so, but no one can deny that Stevie Harris' tactics are effective, if not unpredictable. All I know for sure, is that Alex Cross better win this match, or we could see a repeat of last show.
CHARISSA: Now that Alex Cross is something. He put away Flaming Youth in the Quarter Finals, and even though I think it was a clear victory, it wasn't exactly the way he wanted to do it. He's got all the tools, but if he's looking to beat Harris, then he better come with the whole garage.
PHILO: No doubt. Speaking of tools, we got a Cleaning House Battle Royal scheduled as our opener this evening. Looks like Munin isn't wasting any time in her role as acting General Manager to take out some garbage, although I'm a little surprised to see Luke Knux in that lineup.
CHARISSA: Mmmm, Luke Knux. He can strum my fret anytime he wants.
PHILO: Oh God, not you too. Well, we'll have to just see if ole Knuxy can pull off a victory, but my money's on the Clown.
CHARISSA: You know RedRum is just Murder backwards don't you?
PHILO: Yeah, because that's what clowns do. They murder people. Stephen King knows.
CHARISSA: Your logic is beyond me. Anyways, that leaves us with the Main Event. Cluster Fuck Jamboree 3000!
PHILO: Of coarse, my colorful friend is talking about the Tornado Tag Match where the winning team will go on to face one another in a #1 Contenders Match for the PAW Championship at the St. Patrick's Day Super Show. See what I did there? Your the color commentator, and I said 'my colorful friend', and you're a woman of color....GOD, I KILL ME!
CHARISSA: GOD! I wish you would. (She winks in his direction) But yes, that's exactly what I was talking about. We've got two losers from the Quarter Final's matches, Flaming Youth and Johnny Raike, teaming up to take on newcomer Calvin Harris and Tyler Keenan, and just to make it fun, they decided to toss in C.J. O'Donnell and Trixie to boot. Last I checked, none of these people really care for one another.
PHILO: Exactly, and that's whats going to make it great! I figure the first team to put their differences aside for the common goal, will be the ones who advance to that Contendership Match on the 17th.
CHARISSA: Philo, has anyone ever told you that you're a genius.
PHILO: My mom used to tell me that all the time, thank you very much.
CHARISSA: Oh lord, mommy issues. That's just great. Can we cut back stage or something so I can get a toke.
PHILO: HEY! THAT'S MY LINE!
The scene opens up to the large room from earlier, with a printout taped to one of the walls that reads 'catering'. With the show underway, the room has almost been abandoned to attend to the many duties of putting on the event. There is one table in particular along the far wall with an assortment of dishes in long aluminum pans, along with various condiments, beverages, plastic cups, and paper plates. Sitting at the table, a hand in two of the trays, sit's 'Hungry' Jack Swanson, having completely forgone the idea of using the plates, or for that matter, leaving anything for anyone else. As he shovels a bite-full of food into his mouth that could have been a meal for most people, a large shadow appears over him. He finishes chewing, swallows, and then slowly turns to see who it is that's disturbing his meal.
Press stands directly behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, and an eyebrow raised at the other large man's eating habits. He smirks, before reaching out and grabbing a chair, and pulling it over to take a seat. Jack begins licking his fingers clean, watching all of this with a wary eye.
PRESS: You know there are plates over there, don't you?
HUNGRY JACK: What would be the point? It's easier this way. I know you beat me in the ring, but this is my area of expertise.
Press nodded, and leaned back in his seat.
PRESS: So, about that. I just wanted you to know what I said in my promo was true. You did a lot better out there than anyone was expecting. I was impressed. If you keep at it, you'll do just fine here.
HUNGRY JACK: I don't doubt that, not everyone is a big as you. I just need to be booked into another match. I don't understand why I wasn't given another shot like everyone else. So if you really want to know why I'm eating like this, it's because I'm upset. I may be big but I've got feelings.
Press did his best to conceal a smile, but the gleam in his eye was a dead giveaway.
PRESS: Well, you know, just cause you don't have a match doesn't mean you can't leave a mark. Just a bit of advice, but no one's going to hand you anything in this business. Now you can go around with this idea that you can earn it, but in reality, you have to take it. You got a whole ring full of guys out there right now that haven't done the first thing around here, and you're sitting in the back stuffing your face. Why don't you go out there and do something about it?
Press left that thought in the ether, pulling himself to his feet, and patting Jack on the shoulder as he moved on about his business. Jack sat there for a second contemplating his former opponents words, and with a determined demeanor he wipes his hands clean on the table cloth, and stands. The camera trails after him as he stalks towards the gorilla position, before fading back to ringside.
FAN: You okay Alex?
ALEX CROSS: Is that Stevie hitting on the bearded lady over there?
He turns and looks at the group of people Alex is pointing to.
FAN: I'm pretty sure that's not Stevie or the bearded lady. I think I was Flaming Youth hitting on her earlier but that could have just been Press with him. I get those two confused some times.
Alex takes a few steps closer as he continues to look at the group.
ALEX CROSS: Nope that's Stevie all right. That mother fucker can't even take me serious the day of our match? Who the hell does this asshole think he is?
FAN: Alex I'm pretty sure that's not Stevie.
ALEX CROSS: Guess I'll have to beat some sense into him than.
Alex walks off leaving the young man behind who raises his arms out to his side.
FAN: Alex! That isn't Stevie! Oh why do I even care?
He turns and heads the opposite direction.
Press stands directly behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, and an eyebrow raised at the other large man's eating habits. He smirks, before reaching out and grabbing a chair, and pulling it over to take a seat. Jack begins licking his fingers clean, watching all of this with a wary eye.
PRESS: You know there are plates over there, don't you?
HUNGRY JACK: What would be the point? It's easier this way. I know you beat me in the ring, but this is my area of expertise.
Press nodded, and leaned back in his seat.
PRESS: So, about that. I just wanted you to know what I said in my promo was true. You did a lot better out there than anyone was expecting. I was impressed. If you keep at it, you'll do just fine here.
HUNGRY JACK: I don't doubt that, not everyone is a big as you. I just need to be booked into another match. I don't understand why I wasn't given another shot like everyone else. So if you really want to know why I'm eating like this, it's because I'm upset. I may be big but I've got feelings.
Press did his best to conceal a smile, but the gleam in his eye was a dead giveaway.
PRESS: Well, you know, just cause you don't have a match doesn't mean you can't leave a mark. Just a bit of advice, but no one's going to hand you anything in this business. Now you can go around with this idea that you can earn it, but in reality, you have to take it. You got a whole ring full of guys out there right now that haven't done the first thing around here, and you're sitting in the back stuffing your face. Why don't you go out there and do something about it?
Press left that thought in the ether, pulling himself to his feet, and patting Jack on the shoulder as he moved on about his business. Jack sat there for a second contemplating his former opponents words, and with a determined demeanor he wipes his hands clean on the table cloth, and stands. The camera trails after him as he stalks towards the gorilla position, before fading back to ringside.
Standing backstage already dressed in his wrestling attire and a plain gray shirt is Alex Cross. His attention is on a small group of people off in the distance with a single male standing in the center of the group. A hand rests on his shoulder catching his attention and causing him to turn around. A fan stands there, wearing an Alex Cross t-shirt, and a concerned expression.
ALEX CROSS: Is that Stevie hitting on the bearded lady over there?
He turns and looks at the group of people Alex is pointing to.
FAN: I'm pretty sure that's not Stevie or the bearded lady. I think I was Flaming Youth hitting on her earlier but that could have just been Press with him. I get those two confused some times.
Alex takes a few steps closer as he continues to look at the group.
ALEX CROSS: Nope that's Stevie all right. That mother fucker can't even take me serious the day of our match? Who the hell does this asshole think he is?
FAN: Alex I'm pretty sure that's not Stevie.
ALEX CROSS: Guess I'll have to beat some sense into him than.
Alex walks off leaving the young man behind who raises his arms out to his side.
FAN: Alex! That isn't Stevie! Oh why do I even care?
He turns and heads the opposite direction.
CLEANING HOUSE BATTLE ROYAL
RedRum, KJ Kidd, Thaddeus Archelaus, Levi Adams, Luke Knux
The camera cuts to the ring for the start of the Cleaning House Battle Royal. Inside the participants are anxiously waiting for the start of the match.
PHILO: It looks like its cleaning time! Once this match is over only one man will still have a job with Pure Amusement Wrestling!
CHARISSA: That's right. If any of these guys want to make it to the show they need to step up now.
The ring announcer Rhonda Armstrong stands outside the ring waiting to announce the combatants.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: The following match is the Cleaning House Battle Royal! The rules are as followed, the only way to eliminate an opponent is to throw him over the top rope and have both feet hit the floor!
Back in the ring the wrestlers continue to stare each other down. They all know what's at stake.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: The five men in this match are RedRum, KJ Kidd, Thaddeus Archelaus, Levi Adams, and Luke Knux!
The crowds reacts to each man appropriately. The wrestlers in turn acknowledge the crowd. The ref signals for the bell and the five men begin to attack each other.
PHILO: We are underway and it looks like no one wants to lose this one.
CHARISSA: Can you blame them? Losing means the unemployment time.
The five men continue to fight when suddenly they are interrupted. The voice of Hungry Jack comes over the arena speakers and yells “Who's Hungry!” “All You Can Eat” by The Fat Boys then starts to play as Swanson makes his way down the ramp staring at the action in the ring.
PHILO: What is Jack Swanson doing here? More importantly did he bring me any snacks?
CHARISSA: It looks like Jack is taking Press' words to heart. I think he is here to make his mark.
All eyes are on Jack as he gets closer to the ring. This is the perfect opportunity to get a leg up.
PHILO: It looks like Luke Knux has used the distraction to toss KJ Kidd over the top rope.
CHARISSA: Yeah but right into the waiting arms of Jack Swanson!
Jack sets Kidd on his feet before delivering a vicious clothesline.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: KJ Kidd has been eliminated!
Jack enters to the ring and is attacked by Adams and Luke Knux. Meanwhile Redrum has been paired off with Thaddeus Archelaus. The clown uses the old water filled flower trick and sprays Archelaus right in the eyes. Redrum then tosses him over the top rope.
PHILO: It looks like Rum was trying to eliminate the golden arches. I wonder what Ronald would think about that?
CHARISSA: Achelaus hangs on and it looks like Redrum is feeling a little guilty about his underhanded methods. He is offering his hand to help him back into the ring.”
Archelaus takes the hand of Redrum but it comes off. This causes Archelaus to fall off the apron. Inside the ring Redrum is pulling what seems like a never ending string of handkerchiefs.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Thaddeus Archelaus has been eliminated!
While the clown is celebrating his devious antics Jack is trying to fight off Knux and Adams. Knux is really laying into Jack but Swanson is able to toss him to the ground. Jack then tosses Adams over the top and onto the apron.
PHILO: Jack turns his attention back to Knux and whips him into the ropes. Knux almost collides with Adams on the apron but stops in time. He apologizes to Adams for what almost happens.
CHARISSA: Adams seems to accept the apology. Wait! Knux just hit a spinning heel kick and knocked Adams off the apron. The fans are eating it up!
Knux has a huge smile on his face as his fans chant his name.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Levi Adams has been eliminated!
We are down to three men now. Knux continues to play to the crowd while Redrum dances his way right into the waiting Hungry Jack. The clown feels behind him and realizes he might be in trouble.
PHILO: Uh oh! If I were Redrum I wouldn't turn around.
CHARISSA: He has done just that and now he is begging Jack not to hurt him. He then tries to poke Jack in the eye but the big man grabs his hand.
Redrum cries out in pain and Jack crushes his hand. Swanson then lifts the clown above his head and tosses him over the top rope and onto the floor.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Redrum has been eliminated!
We are down to Luke Knux and Jack Swanson. Knux goes on the attack and starts laying into Jack with right hands. This isn't having much of an effect. It looks like Knux has an idea.
PHILO: Knux is reaching into his pants. I hope his isn't planning on releasing a trouser snake.
CHARISSA: That makes two of us. It looks like we are lucky. It's a pair of brass knuckles.
PHILO: You mean brass Knuxles!
This time Luke Knux is able to do some damage with the punches. The crowd cheers each time he connects.
“Knux”
“Knux”
“Knux”
Jack Swanson falls back into the ropes. Knux uses this opportunity to come off the opposite rope and leap into the air hoping to connect but Swanson catches him by the throat.
PHILO: He had a good thing going there for awhile. But it looks like he about to have a bad time.
CHARISSA: Swanson is here to make his mark and that's what he just did and he throws Luke Knux over the top rope!
Knux goes over the top but his feet don't hit the floor. Instead his feet are resting on the prone carcass of the downed Redrum. Inside the ring Jack in celebrating he is leaning over the ropes yelling to the fans.
PHILO: I can't believe Knux is still in this. He literally just walked all over Redrum.
CHARISSA: The fans are cheering loudly and it looks like Jack thinks that its for him. He doesn't realize Luke Knux is back in the ring.
Knux sneaks up behind the big man and kicks him below the belt. The big man looks like he is going to lose his lunch and starts to fall over the top. Knux assists him and the big man crashes to the mat.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Jack Swanson has, uh... been eliminated! The winner of the Cleaning House Battle Royal, “The Suicidal Scumbag” Luke Knux!!!
Rhonda shrugs, unsure of what to think, as the crowd cheers Knux. Swanson gets to his feet outside of the ring, and heads up the ramp visibly angry. Inside of the ring Luke Knux asks for a microphone.
LUKE KNUX: Jack, Jack I just want to say one thing. Go pick up a copy of Welcome to the Scumbag Society in stores everywhere NOW!
'World on Fire' begins to play as Knux celebrates in the ring. The camera cuts back to the announce table.
PHILO: Luke Knux was able to save his job and shill his album. Not a bad night overall.
CHARISSA: But what of Jack Swanson? He wasn't officially scheduled to be in the match. Does he still have a job with Pure Amusement Wrestling?
PHILO: That's a good question, and while you guys ponder that, let's cut backstage so I can do my thing.
Jumping up and down in place just outside the Guerrilla Position swinging his arms in front of him is Alex Cross. Earbuds fill his ears as he closes his eyes and listens to the music playing causing him to be oblivious to his surroundings. A forceful shake knocks the earbuds from his ears as he spins around ready to swing. As he spins around his nose lands on the chest of the massive seven footer Ring of Honor Icon Nathan Williams. The site of the big man brings a smile to his face as he takes a step back.
ALEX CROSS: I just about knocked you out.
NATHAN WILLIAMS: Let me know when you come back to reality Alex. You ready for your match?
ALEX CROSS: Ready, willing and able. I'm ready to put that PAW Championship around my waist.
NATHAN WILLIAMS: Focus on this match and only this match. Don't worry about the next match or what happened in GZW, just worry about Stevie. You worry about too much else and you'll beat yourself before you even get to the ring.
ALEX CROSS: How did you get backstage?
NATHAN WILLIAMS: Lady Munin slipped me a ticket. Ringside ticket and a backstage pass, can't get much better than that.
ALEX CROSS: No you can't.
NATHAN WILLIAMS: You got this Alex. I'll be watching.
ALEX CROSS: Thanks.
He slaps Nathan's chest as the big man walks off down the hallway back towards the seats leaving Alex alone.
ALEX CROSS: I just about knocked you out.
NATHAN WILLIAMS: Let me know when you come back to reality Alex. You ready for your match?
ALEX CROSS: Ready, willing and able. I'm ready to put that PAW Championship around my waist.
NATHAN WILLIAMS: Focus on this match and only this match. Don't worry about the next match or what happened in GZW, just worry about Stevie. You worry about too much else and you'll beat yourself before you even get to the ring.
ALEX CROSS: How did you get backstage?
NATHAN WILLIAMS: Lady Munin slipped me a ticket. Ringside ticket and a backstage pass, can't get much better than that.
ALEX CROSS: No you can't.
NATHAN WILLIAMS: You got this Alex. I'll be watching.
ALEX CROSS: Thanks.
He slaps Nathan's chest as the big man walks off down the hallway back towards the seats leaving Alex alone.
SINGLES MATCH
Alex Cross versus Stevie Harris
The lights around the arena go completely out as fans hold up lighters and cellphones to try and restore some light to the otherwise dark arena.
"I'm rising up
I've had enough"
Those words are sung as "Invincible" by Adelitas Way starts to play around the arena as a lone spotlight lights up the curtain.
"Bow down
I'm invincible tonight
I'm alive
Take a look into my eyes
This time I'ma take you for a ride
I'm invincible tonight."
As the music continues to play Alex Cross steps out onto the stage holding and microphone. He stops and looks out over the crowd as he slowly lifts the microphone to his lips bringing the music to a close.
ALEX CROSS: You know, ever since this match was booked I've wondered what I would say to Stevie. He came out throwing fire against Tapanga Britt and Johnny Raike, giving his all so when I found out I was booked against him I expected the same treatment. Instead I get the exact opposite, I get silence. Let me ask you something Stevie. Did you look over my resume and just assume I was an easy win? That you would just roll into the arena, whip my ass and move on to the finals with no problems. Was that it? If so please let me break it down for you.
He turns his back to the ring and looks at stage entrance.
ALEX CROSS: Let me break it down for each and every one of you. I am the man to beat in this tournament. I am the one that is winning that PAW Championship. Not Stevie Harris, not Press, and not Cross Recoba. I am the one walking out champion.
He turns his attention back to the ring before making his way back down the ramp slowly.
ALEX CROSS: I know that on paper I don't appear as much. I've only been wrestling for five years and in that time period I've only held a few titles. But what isn't on that resume is the caliber of matches I've competed in. I've gone against some of the best in this industry. I've fought in front of some of the biggest and wildest crowds in this industry. I've looked the devil in the face and refused to blink. I've done all of that and never once been shaken. I've put my all into this industry and I'll be damned if I'm gonna keep being overlooked by everyone else.
He hops up onto the apron and climbs into the ring.
ALEX CROSS: Stevie you're about to find out just how dangerous of an opponent I am.
He pulls on the top rope before leaning back into the corner. The Riverbed by Gallows blasts out over the speakers, and those in attendance with 'ImwithStevie' shirts rise to their feet. The beat really begins to kick in when Stevie Harris steps through the curtain, a scornful grin on his face as he looks out at the crowd.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing at this time, he stands at 6'2" tall, and weights in at 230 lbs. He hails from St. Louis, Missouri....and is the self proclaimed leader of the "I'm With Stevie" Movement.....HE IS STEVIE HARRIS!!
Stevie slowly makes his way down to the ring, eyeing as many of the faces in the crowd as possible. When he reaches ringside, he flashes a sly grin to Alex Cross, and rolls into the ring under the bottom rope, popping up and staring straight at his opponent.
PHILO: Alright, there's the bell, and this one is underway!
CHARISSA: Stevie and Alex are just staring at each other across the ring. I wonder who will blink first?
PHILO: I don't know who's going to blink, but they are making their way to the center of the ring, and getting nose to nose. Harris just said something to Cross, who just nods with a smirk, whoa...wait a minute. Stevie's backing down, turning away from...OH! Right hand by Stevie catches Cross in the jaw, and Cross firing back now...both men just trading blows in the center of the ring!
Their hands strike true, and repeatedly, neither of them giving an inch. Unfortunately for Stevie, Cross' MMA background proves the greater of the two in this contest, as his fists continue finding their mark in the same spot. Finally, Stevie is forced to relent, but Cross presses forwards, following the man into the ropes. A-Ref makes to get between the two, but Cross waves him off, taking Stevie by the hand and shooting him to the far side. Stevie rebounds off the ropes, and Cross tries to catch him with a clothesline, which Stevie ducks, and continues through. Rebounding for a second time, Cross swings his leg up for a high thrust kick, but, once again, Stevie is able to avoid it. Rebounding for a third time, Cross goes for a hip toss, to which Stevie floats over and reverses with one of his own, leaving Cross to do the same thing. The float overs brought the men right over to the edge of the ropes, and with Cross' arm still hooked under Stevie's, he hip tossed him right up and over the top rope to the concrete below.
PHILO: Hell of an exchange right there, the action fast and furious, but I think that spill to the outside will slow things down a bit.
CHARISSA: You know, I'm not sure who to root for in this match. I mean, Alex Cross is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, but Stevie Harris has just got something about him that screams electricity.
PHILO: Yeah, it's called psychotic.
Alex ignores A-Ref's warning to bring it back into the ring as he dumps out to land beside Harris, who has gotten back up to his feet. Cross grabs Stevie by the shoulder, spins him around to face him, and then lights in with a knife edge chop that echoes off the arena. Then he does it again. Stevie's mouth turns up into a grimace of pain as he crosses his arms over his chest to stop the assault. This doesn't deter Cross, as he reaches up for a fistful of hair, and drives his fist down into the bridge of Stevie's nose. Stevie stumbles back into the ring post, now clutching at his face, as Alex Cross winds up and goes for another thrust kick with Stevie trapped by the steel. Harris, however, cunning as ever, drops to a seated position as Cross' foot strikes the ring post.
PHILO: Oh! That kick backfired on Cross, and he's wincing in pain, hobbling a little on that right foot.
CHARISSA: Yeah, and look at that grin on Stevie. He's like a shark who smells blood in the water.
Harris hops up to his feet, his nose red and swollen, and stalks towards Cross, stomping on his injured foot when he reaches him. Cross shoves Stevie away, but the pain is etched on his face as he slips under the bottom rope for the safety of the ring. Stevie grins again, rolling in right after him, and hopping up to his feet. As Cross gets vertical, Stevie comes in from behind driving the point of his elbow down into the back of Alex's knee, buckling the leg right out from under him.
PHILO: Stevie Harris with a chop block, and that leg seems to be his focus now that he knows that it's injured. That's unfortunate for Cross, as this is still pretty early on in this match.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but there's a reason they call Stevie Harris the Wolf. He's going to go for the kill as quickly as possible.
Alex manages to make it into one of the corners for support, and as Stevie moves in for another attack on the leg, he reaches out and catches him with a stiff jab. Stevie reels for a second, and then bounces right back with a vicious boot to Cross' ankle. Alex cries out in pain, and Stevie takes the time to grab the leg, feed it through the ropes, so that it was dangling there from the middle rope. A-Ref warns Harris, but to no avail, as the cult leader grabs hold of the top rope and starts laying in short but sharp stomps into Cross' inner thigh.
PHILO: The official now starting a five count on Stevie, and he finally lets up at around four and a half. Alex Cross better figure out how to get Harris off of him, or he's in trouble.
CHARISSA: Looks like he's already in trouble. Who knows what shape he's in after that hard fought battle against Flaming Youth two weeks ago. Those two took it to the limit, wrestling for over 35 minutes.
PHILO: True, but Alex Cross proved then that he belongs in the top spots here in PAW, and it's still early in this contest.
Harris pulls Cross from the corner by his wrist, and whips him to the opposite end. Cross strikes the turnbuckle and slumps, while Harris builds up a head of steam and follows him in with a clothesline. At the last possible second, Alex pulls himself out of the way, and Stevie strikes the turnbuckle sternum first. As he stumbles back, Alex drops down to hook Harris through the leg, and pulls him down into a tight schoolboy pin.
1...
2...
3NO!
Harris kicks out of the pin, and immediately rolls up onto his feet, and he rushes in on Cross who meets him with an exploding clothesline that damn near tears his head off. Both men fall to the mat, but Cross is already edging his way to the ropes upon impact in order to help himself up, while Stevie lays there dazed. Harris begins to stir as Cross comes up to his feet, and just as he gets to one knee, Alex gingerly stumbles over and drives a forearm smash into Stevie's jaw sending him back down to the canvas. Stevie, realizing that Cross has found the advantage, quickly rolls under the bottom rope for a short reprieve.
CHARISSA: Harris wisely putting some distance between him and Alex Cross so as to catch his breath.
PHILO: Yeah, but he can't win the match out there on the floor, and it doesn't look like Cross is going to give him much of a breather. He's massaging that injured leg, keeping an eye on Stevie the entire time, who is out here jawing with one of our fans at ringside. Stevie turning back towards the ring, and OH MY GOD! ALEX CROSS WITH A SPRINGBOARD CROSS BODY TAKES OUT STEVIE HARRIS!!
CHARISSA: Yeah, but look, the idiot did just as much damage to himself. He's cradling his right knee, and might not be able to make it back in the ring to break the count.
A-Ref gets to a count of six before Stevie gets back to his feet, holding his ribs, and staring down at Alex Cross. He reaches down to help the man up, but Cross knocks his hands away, eliciting several decisive stomps by Stevie. When there was no more resistance offered, Stevie pulls Alex up, and shoves him into the ring, breaking the count. He then takes hold of Alex's injured leg, and begins to drag him by it over to the ring post. When he gets there, he pulls Alex violently forward so that he's crotched on the steel cylinder. Then, he pulls the injured leg up to cross over the other knee, and drops down, throwing his foot over Alex's ankle for a Ring Post Figure Four!
PHILO: Oh, come on! Alex Cross has got no where to go, and this move is illegal as hell! A-Ref's admonishing Stevie, but he just grinned up at the official, and is still putting pressure on the injured leg.
CHARISSA: This is sheer brilliance on the part of Harris. If he can cripple Cross the way he tried to do to Johnny Raike, can you imagine what management's going to do? God, this is great television!
PHILO: Yeah, it's all great television until this psycho puts us off the air!
A-Ref counts down five, and when Stevie still doesn't break the hold, he exits the ring, and stands right over him in a threatening manner, counting him down again. This time at four and a half Stevie let's loose the hold, throwing his hands up in the air in submission to the rules. A-Ref continues to admonish him as he rolls back in to check on Cross, who says repeatedly he wishes to continue. Harris grins while he regains his feet, goading the crowd, as he hops up on the ring apron and enters the ring. Alex Cross is back up into a seated position in the corner that had previously been his instrument of pain, and Stevie crosses the distance, reaching down and snatching up his injured leg, and drags him out to the center of the ring. He looks out at the crowd, his followers on their feet in admiration, everyone else cursing him for all they are worth, before calling out for another figure four.
As he passes around the leg, however, Alex Cross brings his other foot up, plants it on Stevie's rear, and shoves forward, sending the man sprawling to the mat. He then rolls backwards to come to rest on one knee, pushes up from the canvas, and suspends himself on one leg. Stevie gets up angrily, turns to spy that Alex is already on his feet, and rushes in at the former MMA fighter. Cross drops down to the side, allowing Stevie to pass, and then tangles him up with his good leg. Stevie goes face first down into the mat, but Alex wastes little motion as he floats across his opponents back to land at his head, hooking him around the neck in a front face lock. Stevie immediately pushes up to his feet to alleviate the pressure, pushing his forearm between Alex's to break the hold, and then spins behind him, taking the arm with him into a hammerlock. Just when Stevie thinks he has everything back in control, Alex thrusts his hips back and to the side, gripping the same wrist Stevie was using to trap his arm, reversing the hold into a hammerlock of his own. Cross, quick as a cat lets loose of the arm and steps to the side and forward, reaching up and snatching Stevie's head, pulling it down into a standing head lock. The true wrestling fans in the arena come to their feet clapping, as Alex cinches up the hold.
PHILO: And that folks, is why you don't want to get into a wrestling contest with Alex Cross, one of the finest mat technicians around.
CHARISSA: I have to admit, that was some pretty fancy footwork.
PHILO: What's even more impressive, is that he did all of that basically on one leg.
Stevie let out a grunt as Cross cinches up on the headlock one more time, and reaches up to try and get a hand full of hair. A-Ref admonishes Stevie, who opted for a handful of Cross' tights instead, and begins working the man back towards the ropes. Once there he gives a final push into the ropes, placing his hand in the small of Alex's back and giving him a shove. The momentum forces the hold to be broken, and Cross gingerly makes it across the ring, bouncing off the ropes and returning with momentum. Stevie moves in to hit him with a clothesline, but Alex ducks, stops short, and when Stevie turns around he walks right into a T-Bone Suplex from Alex.
PHILO: Big move from Cross, who's going for a cover!
1..
2..
3NO!
Cross gets back to his feet after the failed attempt, helping Stevie up as he goes. He takes him by the wrist, and goes to whip him towards the ropes when Stevie's left boot flashes out to Alex's right knee, buckling the man down to the mat.
PHILO: And just like that the momentum's shifted. Man, that is not good news for Alex Cross.
CHARISSA: Yeah, it looks like that leg is going to be a vulnerability for awhile.
Stevie reaches down to help Cross back to his feet, and snatches his leg up by the ankle, pulling it up, and putting distance between himself and Alex with the injured limb between them. Cross hopped around on one foot, cursing Stevie Harris, when the madman brought his arm high over head, and drove his elbow down into the knee insertion while still maintaining his hold. Cross cried out and clutched at the limb, but Stevie just grinned, repeating the maneuver once again. Just when it looked as if Alex was at his worst, he kipped up into the air, spinning his good foot around for an Inzuguri. Unfortunately, Stevie saw the move coming, and almost as if he were waiting for it, ducked at the last second letting the foot sail over his head, allowing Alex Cross to land flat on his face. Still retaining his hold on the injured leg, he jerks it high into the air, and then brings it crashing down into the mat on the kneecap.
CHARISSA: Ouch! Tough break for Cross.
PHILO: Yeah, and Stevie is just circling him now like a damn vulture.
Stevie reaches down, pulling Alex back to his feet once again, this time taking him by the wrist, and sending him towards the ropes. About halfway there Cross' injured leg gives out on him, and he sinks down to the mat in agony. Stevie just grins at this, nodding to the crowd, and pointing at the downed Cross. He takes a few steps back, and begs for Cross to get up to his feet. Cross, unwilling to stay down, obliges him, and stumbling, turns to face Harris. Stevie charges across the ring for a clothesline, but Cross ducks at the last second. When Stevie comes back to bare, Cross jumps into a corkscrew through the air, catching Harris right in the face with a roundhouse kick.
PHILO: CROSS FIRE! CROSS FIRE! Alex Cross just came out of no where with his finisher, and that could be it!
CHARISSA: Yeah, but look. In order to pull that off, he had to use his bad leg, and he can't even capitalize. He's just laying there on the mat, cradling his knee.
A-Ref looks first to Stevie Harris, who's sprawled out on the canvas, and then over to Alex Cross, who's conscious, but in agonizing pain. When neither man goes to get to their feet, he starts his count.
1..
2..
PHILO: I can't believe this match! Just when you think Alex Cross is done for, he pulls that Cross Fire out of nowhere!
3..
4..
CHARISSA: Yeah, but what good did it do him. He's still laying there with an injured leg.
5..
6..
PHILO: Yeah, but it's given him the chance to stay in this match, and maybe just a little wiggle room to recover enough to score the pinfall.
7..
CHARISSA: Check it out, Stevie is starting to stir.
Stevie Harris dazedly rolls over onto his stomach, and rises to one knee. Seeing this, Alex Cross rolls across the ring to the ropes, using them to help himself to his feet. The two men stare across the ring at one another, Alex yelling something derogatory at his opponent, and Stevie just sneering at the jab. Suddenly Stevie is in motion, rushing across the ring at Alex, who on one leg, is hard pressed to react. Just as Stevie reaches him, however, he ducks his head, catching Stevie in the midsection, then lifts up into a back body drop that sends the madman up and over the top rope. Stevie thuds across the concrete, and Alex drops down to his back, rolling under the bottom rope to the outside.
PHILO: Surprise move by Alex Cross to Stevie Harris, whose having some difficulty pulling himself together after smacking the concrete.
CHARISSA: Well wouldn't you Philo? Hey, wait a minute, isn't that Lola coming to ringside?!?
Lola makes her way quietly down the ramp, noose in hand, as Alex Cross, who hasn't noticed her yet, helps Stevie up to his feet, bangs his head off the ring apron, and then shoves him back into the ring. As A-Ref checks on Stevie who's clutching at his back and claiming injury, Alex hops up on the ring apron with his good leg, while Lola sneaks up behind him. She reaches out with her free hand, grabbing Alex by his good leg, and in one swift motion, jerks his foot out from under him. Alex crashes down face first into the ring apron, subsequently landing on the bad leg, which crumples him to the ground in agony. Lola takes Alex by the legs, spreads them wide, and then drives the heel of her boot down into the mans no-no place. Alex's eyes bulge as he reaches for his privates, coughing, and writhing in pain.
PHILO: What the fuck, man? This is bullshit!
CHARISSA: No, Philo, this is strategy!
Quickly she pulls his legs back together, slips the noose over his ankles, and pulls tight. By the time she lifts him up, and rolls him into the ring, Stevie has miraculously recovered, and rolls quickly over Alex for a pin, making sure to block A-Ref's view of the noose tied around his opponents ankles. As A-Ref drops into position, Lola drops down out of sight by the ring, pulling tight against the rope, preventing Alex Cross to use his legs to kick out.
1...
2...
3!!!
PHILO: God damn it! Stevie Harris has just stole this one, and I thought that fucking noose was banned! This is a travesty!
CHARISSA: Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, maybe it should be, but either way, Stevie Harris just took this contest from Alex Cross, and he's proving more and more why he's the man!
As A-Ref raises Stevie's hand, Lola rolls into the ring, slips the noose off of Alex's ankles, and swiftly sweeps it under the ropes where it won't be seen. She then joins her leader in celebration of his victory.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Your winner, and advancing to the Finals of the PAW Championship Tournament, STEVIE HARRIS!!!
Stevie grins out at the crowd, who are a mixed reaction of boo's and cheers. It doesn't seem to matter to him either way, as he holds his hands out at his sides, and soaks it all in. Lola drops to her knee's in front of him, and he looks down approvingly, making the sign of the cross with his thumb across her forehead. Then, both of their heads slowly swivel until their eyes are locked on Alex Cross, who is trying to pull himself out of the ring.
PHILO: Oh no, this doesn't look good.
CHARISSA: Remember what happened last time! Damn it, I need to be able to make my debut! Don't get us banned, Stevie!
Stevie's smile says that he hadn't heard one word the color commentator had said, and that more than likely if he had, he wouldn't have cared. Lola was on her feet in an instant, rushing across the ring and baseball sliding under the bottom rope to land right in front of Alex Cross. Stevie stalks towards the downed man, reaching down and grabbing his injured leg, and then violently yanking him back to the center of the ring. On the outside, Lola grabbed the noose, and slid back in, popping up and tossing the weapon over to Stevie. He looked out at the crowd with deranged, almost Euphoric eyes, and then let those dark orbs fall onto Alex Cross. Lola joined him, reigning stomps down onto Alex, ceasing any resistance that the man was trying to give. Stevie dropped to one knee, as Lola snatched Alex by a handful of hair, yanking his head up so that he could look her charismatic leader in the face. In a last ditch act of defiance, Alex Cross sent a stream of spit from his mouth to land squarely in Stevie Harris' face.
PHILO: Alex Cross just showed Stevie Harris what he thinks of him, but I'm afraid it's going to cost him, and possibly all of us!
CHARISSA: Stevie Harris doesn't look pleased at all, and he's nodding now, saying something to Alex...oh no.....He's slipping the noose over Alex's head! This is going to be a repeat of WICKED#4!!
Just as the noose falls into place around Alex's neck, 4Loco emerges from the back, followed by six of Kenner, Louisiana's finest. The fans cheer, and Stevie is forced to take his attention away from Alex to see what all the commotion is about. Lola turns her head behind her, and then looks back to her leader with a look of shock and expectancy. Just as the police are about to reach ringside, Stevie snarls in disappointment, abandon's Alex, and rushes to the opposite end of the ring with Lola in tow. The two make a hasty exit, jumping the guard rail, and making their way through the sea of disapproving fans, every so often getting patted on the back by an I'mWithStevie supporter.
CHARISSA: Shew! Thank God! I was actually worried there for a second I would never get my chance on a PAW broadcast.
PHILO: Is that all you can think about at a time like this? Stevie Harris almost hung another PAW Superstar, and you're worried about it preventing your debut at color!
CHARISSA: Hey! I have my priorities Philo! Everyone know's who you are around these parts. The toking encyclopedia of wrestling. I'm the new girl. I have to make my mark somehow if I plan on getting anywhere in this company, and having it snatched out from under me by that lunatic isn't going to help with that.
PHILO: Well, folks, all I can say is that my announce partner is just as narcissistic as the old one, and Stevie Harris, yet again, proved that he is PAW's resident lunatic. That doesn't change the fact that at the St. Patrick's Day Super Show Stevie Harris will go on to face the winner of our next match. But before we get to that, let's head backstage so I can burn one and calm down.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing at this time, he stands at 6'2" tall, and weights in at 230 lbs. He hails from St. Louis, Missouri....and is the self proclaimed leader of the "I'm With Stevie" Movement.....HE IS STEVIE HARRIS!!
Stevie slowly makes his way down to the ring, eyeing as many of the faces in the crowd as possible. When he reaches ringside, he flashes a sly grin to Alex Cross, and rolls into the ring under the bottom rope, popping up and staring straight at his opponent.
PHILO: Alright, there's the bell, and this one is underway!
CHARISSA: Stevie and Alex are just staring at each other across the ring. I wonder who will blink first?
PHILO: I don't know who's going to blink, but they are making their way to the center of the ring, and getting nose to nose. Harris just said something to Cross, who just nods with a smirk, whoa...wait a minute. Stevie's backing down, turning away from...OH! Right hand by Stevie catches Cross in the jaw, and Cross firing back now...both men just trading blows in the center of the ring!
Their hands strike true, and repeatedly, neither of them giving an inch. Unfortunately for Stevie, Cross' MMA background proves the greater of the two in this contest, as his fists continue finding their mark in the same spot. Finally, Stevie is forced to relent, but Cross presses forwards, following the man into the ropes. A-Ref makes to get between the two, but Cross waves him off, taking Stevie by the hand and shooting him to the far side. Stevie rebounds off the ropes, and Cross tries to catch him with a clothesline, which Stevie ducks, and continues through. Rebounding for a second time, Cross swings his leg up for a high thrust kick, but, once again, Stevie is able to avoid it. Rebounding for a third time, Cross goes for a hip toss, to which Stevie floats over and reverses with one of his own, leaving Cross to do the same thing. The float overs brought the men right over to the edge of the ropes, and with Cross' arm still hooked under Stevie's, he hip tossed him right up and over the top rope to the concrete below.
PHILO: Hell of an exchange right there, the action fast and furious, but I think that spill to the outside will slow things down a bit.
CHARISSA: You know, I'm not sure who to root for in this match. I mean, Alex Cross is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, but Stevie Harris has just got something about him that screams electricity.
PHILO: Yeah, it's called psychotic.
Alex ignores A-Ref's warning to bring it back into the ring as he dumps out to land beside Harris, who has gotten back up to his feet. Cross grabs Stevie by the shoulder, spins him around to face him, and then lights in with a knife edge chop that echoes off the arena. Then he does it again. Stevie's mouth turns up into a grimace of pain as he crosses his arms over his chest to stop the assault. This doesn't deter Cross, as he reaches up for a fistful of hair, and drives his fist down into the bridge of Stevie's nose. Stevie stumbles back into the ring post, now clutching at his face, as Alex Cross winds up and goes for another thrust kick with Stevie trapped by the steel. Harris, however, cunning as ever, drops to a seated position as Cross' foot strikes the ring post.
PHILO: Oh! That kick backfired on Cross, and he's wincing in pain, hobbling a little on that right foot.
CHARISSA: Yeah, and look at that grin on Stevie. He's like a shark who smells blood in the water.
Harris hops up to his feet, his nose red and swollen, and stalks towards Cross, stomping on his injured foot when he reaches him. Cross shoves Stevie away, but the pain is etched on his face as he slips under the bottom rope for the safety of the ring. Stevie grins again, rolling in right after him, and hopping up to his feet. As Cross gets vertical, Stevie comes in from behind driving the point of his elbow down into the back of Alex's knee, buckling the leg right out from under him.
PHILO: Stevie Harris with a chop block, and that leg seems to be his focus now that he knows that it's injured. That's unfortunate for Cross, as this is still pretty early on in this match.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but there's a reason they call Stevie Harris the Wolf. He's going to go for the kill as quickly as possible.
Alex manages to make it into one of the corners for support, and as Stevie moves in for another attack on the leg, he reaches out and catches him with a stiff jab. Stevie reels for a second, and then bounces right back with a vicious boot to Cross' ankle. Alex cries out in pain, and Stevie takes the time to grab the leg, feed it through the ropes, so that it was dangling there from the middle rope. A-Ref warns Harris, but to no avail, as the cult leader grabs hold of the top rope and starts laying in short but sharp stomps into Cross' inner thigh.
PHILO: The official now starting a five count on Stevie, and he finally lets up at around four and a half. Alex Cross better figure out how to get Harris off of him, or he's in trouble.
CHARISSA: Looks like he's already in trouble. Who knows what shape he's in after that hard fought battle against Flaming Youth two weeks ago. Those two took it to the limit, wrestling for over 35 minutes.
PHILO: True, but Alex Cross proved then that he belongs in the top spots here in PAW, and it's still early in this contest.
Harris pulls Cross from the corner by his wrist, and whips him to the opposite end. Cross strikes the turnbuckle and slumps, while Harris builds up a head of steam and follows him in with a clothesline. At the last possible second, Alex pulls himself out of the way, and Stevie strikes the turnbuckle sternum first. As he stumbles back, Alex drops down to hook Harris through the leg, and pulls him down into a tight schoolboy pin.
1...
2...
3NO!
Harris kicks out of the pin, and immediately rolls up onto his feet, and he rushes in on Cross who meets him with an exploding clothesline that damn near tears his head off. Both men fall to the mat, but Cross is already edging his way to the ropes upon impact in order to help himself up, while Stevie lays there dazed. Harris begins to stir as Cross comes up to his feet, and just as he gets to one knee, Alex gingerly stumbles over and drives a forearm smash into Stevie's jaw sending him back down to the canvas. Stevie, realizing that Cross has found the advantage, quickly rolls under the bottom rope for a short reprieve.
CHARISSA: Harris wisely putting some distance between him and Alex Cross so as to catch his breath.
PHILO: Yeah, but he can't win the match out there on the floor, and it doesn't look like Cross is going to give him much of a breather. He's massaging that injured leg, keeping an eye on Stevie the entire time, who is out here jawing with one of our fans at ringside. Stevie turning back towards the ring, and OH MY GOD! ALEX CROSS WITH A SPRINGBOARD CROSS BODY TAKES OUT STEVIE HARRIS!!
CHARISSA: Yeah, but look, the idiot did just as much damage to himself. He's cradling his right knee, and might not be able to make it back in the ring to break the count.
A-Ref gets to a count of six before Stevie gets back to his feet, holding his ribs, and staring down at Alex Cross. He reaches down to help the man up, but Cross knocks his hands away, eliciting several decisive stomps by Stevie. When there was no more resistance offered, Stevie pulls Alex up, and shoves him into the ring, breaking the count. He then takes hold of Alex's injured leg, and begins to drag him by it over to the ring post. When he gets there, he pulls Alex violently forward so that he's crotched on the steel cylinder. Then, he pulls the injured leg up to cross over the other knee, and drops down, throwing his foot over Alex's ankle for a Ring Post Figure Four!
PHILO: Oh, come on! Alex Cross has got no where to go, and this move is illegal as hell! A-Ref's admonishing Stevie, but he just grinned up at the official, and is still putting pressure on the injured leg.
CHARISSA: This is sheer brilliance on the part of Harris. If he can cripple Cross the way he tried to do to Johnny Raike, can you imagine what management's going to do? God, this is great television!
PHILO: Yeah, it's all great television until this psycho puts us off the air!
A-Ref counts down five, and when Stevie still doesn't break the hold, he exits the ring, and stands right over him in a threatening manner, counting him down again. This time at four and a half Stevie let's loose the hold, throwing his hands up in the air in submission to the rules. A-Ref continues to admonish him as he rolls back in to check on Cross, who says repeatedly he wishes to continue. Harris grins while he regains his feet, goading the crowd, as he hops up on the ring apron and enters the ring. Alex Cross is back up into a seated position in the corner that had previously been his instrument of pain, and Stevie crosses the distance, reaching down and snatching up his injured leg, and drags him out to the center of the ring. He looks out at the crowd, his followers on their feet in admiration, everyone else cursing him for all they are worth, before calling out for another figure four.
As he passes around the leg, however, Alex Cross brings his other foot up, plants it on Stevie's rear, and shoves forward, sending the man sprawling to the mat. He then rolls backwards to come to rest on one knee, pushes up from the canvas, and suspends himself on one leg. Stevie gets up angrily, turns to spy that Alex is already on his feet, and rushes in at the former MMA fighter. Cross drops down to the side, allowing Stevie to pass, and then tangles him up with his good leg. Stevie goes face first down into the mat, but Alex wastes little motion as he floats across his opponents back to land at his head, hooking him around the neck in a front face lock. Stevie immediately pushes up to his feet to alleviate the pressure, pushing his forearm between Alex's to break the hold, and then spins behind him, taking the arm with him into a hammerlock. Just when Stevie thinks he has everything back in control, Alex thrusts his hips back and to the side, gripping the same wrist Stevie was using to trap his arm, reversing the hold into a hammerlock of his own. Cross, quick as a cat lets loose of the arm and steps to the side and forward, reaching up and snatching Stevie's head, pulling it down into a standing head lock. The true wrestling fans in the arena come to their feet clapping, as Alex cinches up the hold.
PHILO: And that folks, is why you don't want to get into a wrestling contest with Alex Cross, one of the finest mat technicians around.
CHARISSA: I have to admit, that was some pretty fancy footwork.
PHILO: What's even more impressive, is that he did all of that basically on one leg.
Stevie let out a grunt as Cross cinches up on the headlock one more time, and reaches up to try and get a hand full of hair. A-Ref admonishes Stevie, who opted for a handful of Cross' tights instead, and begins working the man back towards the ropes. Once there he gives a final push into the ropes, placing his hand in the small of Alex's back and giving him a shove. The momentum forces the hold to be broken, and Cross gingerly makes it across the ring, bouncing off the ropes and returning with momentum. Stevie moves in to hit him with a clothesline, but Alex ducks, stops short, and when Stevie turns around he walks right into a T-Bone Suplex from Alex.
PHILO: Big move from Cross, who's going for a cover!
1..
2..
3NO!
Cross gets back to his feet after the failed attempt, helping Stevie up as he goes. He takes him by the wrist, and goes to whip him towards the ropes when Stevie's left boot flashes out to Alex's right knee, buckling the man down to the mat.
PHILO: And just like that the momentum's shifted. Man, that is not good news for Alex Cross.
CHARISSA: Yeah, it looks like that leg is going to be a vulnerability for awhile.
Stevie reaches down to help Cross back to his feet, and snatches his leg up by the ankle, pulling it up, and putting distance between himself and Alex with the injured limb between them. Cross hopped around on one foot, cursing Stevie Harris, when the madman brought his arm high over head, and drove his elbow down into the knee insertion while still maintaining his hold. Cross cried out and clutched at the limb, but Stevie just grinned, repeating the maneuver once again. Just when it looked as if Alex was at his worst, he kipped up into the air, spinning his good foot around for an Inzuguri. Unfortunately, Stevie saw the move coming, and almost as if he were waiting for it, ducked at the last second letting the foot sail over his head, allowing Alex Cross to land flat on his face. Still retaining his hold on the injured leg, he jerks it high into the air, and then brings it crashing down into the mat on the kneecap.
CHARISSA: Ouch! Tough break for Cross.
PHILO: Yeah, and Stevie is just circling him now like a damn vulture.
Stevie reaches down, pulling Alex back to his feet once again, this time taking him by the wrist, and sending him towards the ropes. About halfway there Cross' injured leg gives out on him, and he sinks down to the mat in agony. Stevie just grins at this, nodding to the crowd, and pointing at the downed Cross. He takes a few steps back, and begs for Cross to get up to his feet. Cross, unwilling to stay down, obliges him, and stumbling, turns to face Harris. Stevie charges across the ring for a clothesline, but Cross ducks at the last second. When Stevie comes back to bare, Cross jumps into a corkscrew through the air, catching Harris right in the face with a roundhouse kick.
PHILO: CROSS FIRE! CROSS FIRE! Alex Cross just came out of no where with his finisher, and that could be it!
CHARISSA: Yeah, but look. In order to pull that off, he had to use his bad leg, and he can't even capitalize. He's just laying there on the mat, cradling his knee.
A-Ref looks first to Stevie Harris, who's sprawled out on the canvas, and then over to Alex Cross, who's conscious, but in agonizing pain. When neither man goes to get to their feet, he starts his count.
1..
2..
PHILO: I can't believe this match! Just when you think Alex Cross is done for, he pulls that Cross Fire out of nowhere!
3..
4..
CHARISSA: Yeah, but what good did it do him. He's still laying there with an injured leg.
5..
6..
PHILO: Yeah, but it's given him the chance to stay in this match, and maybe just a little wiggle room to recover enough to score the pinfall.
7..
CHARISSA: Check it out, Stevie is starting to stir.
Stevie Harris dazedly rolls over onto his stomach, and rises to one knee. Seeing this, Alex Cross rolls across the ring to the ropes, using them to help himself to his feet. The two men stare across the ring at one another, Alex yelling something derogatory at his opponent, and Stevie just sneering at the jab. Suddenly Stevie is in motion, rushing across the ring at Alex, who on one leg, is hard pressed to react. Just as Stevie reaches him, however, he ducks his head, catching Stevie in the midsection, then lifts up into a back body drop that sends the madman up and over the top rope. Stevie thuds across the concrete, and Alex drops down to his back, rolling under the bottom rope to the outside.
PHILO: Surprise move by Alex Cross to Stevie Harris, whose having some difficulty pulling himself together after smacking the concrete.
CHARISSA: Well wouldn't you Philo? Hey, wait a minute, isn't that Lola coming to ringside?!?
Lola makes her way quietly down the ramp, noose in hand, as Alex Cross, who hasn't noticed her yet, helps Stevie up to his feet, bangs his head off the ring apron, and then shoves him back into the ring. As A-Ref checks on Stevie who's clutching at his back and claiming injury, Alex hops up on the ring apron with his good leg, while Lola sneaks up behind him. She reaches out with her free hand, grabbing Alex by his good leg, and in one swift motion, jerks his foot out from under him. Alex crashes down face first into the ring apron, subsequently landing on the bad leg, which crumples him to the ground in agony. Lola takes Alex by the legs, spreads them wide, and then drives the heel of her boot down into the mans no-no place. Alex's eyes bulge as he reaches for his privates, coughing, and writhing in pain.
PHILO: What the fuck, man? This is bullshit!
CHARISSA: No, Philo, this is strategy!
Quickly she pulls his legs back together, slips the noose over his ankles, and pulls tight. By the time she lifts him up, and rolls him into the ring, Stevie has miraculously recovered, and rolls quickly over Alex for a pin, making sure to block A-Ref's view of the noose tied around his opponents ankles. As A-Ref drops into position, Lola drops down out of sight by the ring, pulling tight against the rope, preventing Alex Cross to use his legs to kick out.
1...
2...
3!!!
PHILO: God damn it! Stevie Harris has just stole this one, and I thought that fucking noose was banned! This is a travesty!
CHARISSA: Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, maybe it should be, but either way, Stevie Harris just took this contest from Alex Cross, and he's proving more and more why he's the man!
As A-Ref raises Stevie's hand, Lola rolls into the ring, slips the noose off of Alex's ankles, and swiftly sweeps it under the ropes where it won't be seen. She then joins her leader in celebration of his victory.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Your winner, and advancing to the Finals of the PAW Championship Tournament, STEVIE HARRIS!!!
Stevie grins out at the crowd, who are a mixed reaction of boo's and cheers. It doesn't seem to matter to him either way, as he holds his hands out at his sides, and soaks it all in. Lola drops to her knee's in front of him, and he looks down approvingly, making the sign of the cross with his thumb across her forehead. Then, both of their heads slowly swivel until their eyes are locked on Alex Cross, who is trying to pull himself out of the ring.
PHILO: Oh no, this doesn't look good.
CHARISSA: Remember what happened last time! Damn it, I need to be able to make my debut! Don't get us banned, Stevie!
Stevie's smile says that he hadn't heard one word the color commentator had said, and that more than likely if he had, he wouldn't have cared. Lola was on her feet in an instant, rushing across the ring and baseball sliding under the bottom rope to land right in front of Alex Cross. Stevie stalks towards the downed man, reaching down and grabbing his injured leg, and then violently yanking him back to the center of the ring. On the outside, Lola grabbed the noose, and slid back in, popping up and tossing the weapon over to Stevie. He looked out at the crowd with deranged, almost Euphoric eyes, and then let those dark orbs fall onto Alex Cross. Lola joined him, reigning stomps down onto Alex, ceasing any resistance that the man was trying to give. Stevie dropped to one knee, as Lola snatched Alex by a handful of hair, yanking his head up so that he could look her charismatic leader in the face. In a last ditch act of defiance, Alex Cross sent a stream of spit from his mouth to land squarely in Stevie Harris' face.
PHILO: Alex Cross just showed Stevie Harris what he thinks of him, but I'm afraid it's going to cost him, and possibly all of us!
CHARISSA: Stevie Harris doesn't look pleased at all, and he's nodding now, saying something to Alex...oh no.....He's slipping the noose over Alex's head! This is going to be a repeat of WICKED#4!!
Just as the noose falls into place around Alex's neck, 4Loco emerges from the back, followed by six of Kenner, Louisiana's finest. The fans cheer, and Stevie is forced to take his attention away from Alex to see what all the commotion is about. Lola turns her head behind her, and then looks back to her leader with a look of shock and expectancy. Just as the police are about to reach ringside, Stevie snarls in disappointment, abandon's Alex, and rushes to the opposite end of the ring with Lola in tow. The two make a hasty exit, jumping the guard rail, and making their way through the sea of disapproving fans, every so often getting patted on the back by an I'mWithStevie supporter.
CHARISSA: Shew! Thank God! I was actually worried there for a second I would never get my chance on a PAW broadcast.
PHILO: Is that all you can think about at a time like this? Stevie Harris almost hung another PAW Superstar, and you're worried about it preventing your debut at color!
CHARISSA: Hey! I have my priorities Philo! Everyone know's who you are around these parts. The toking encyclopedia of wrestling. I'm the new girl. I have to make my mark somehow if I plan on getting anywhere in this company, and having it snatched out from under me by that lunatic isn't going to help with that.
PHILO: Well, folks, all I can say is that my announce partner is just as narcissistic as the old one, and Stevie Harris, yet again, proved that he is PAW's resident lunatic. That doesn't change the fact that at the St. Patrick's Day Super Show Stevie Harris will go on to face the winner of our next match. But before we get to that, let's head backstage so I can burn one and calm down.
Screen fades into a dark room backstage. A man sits in the middle. He rocks slightly...back...forth...again. You cannot see his face, because it's bent towards the ground, chin touching his chest. His red hair falls covering his face. No sound, barely a sight. As the man lifts up his head toward the camera you notice it is “The Distinguished” Caleb James O’Donnell as he speaks.
CJ O’DONNELL: "It's time. Before I sensed it...I felt it coming. Now it is upon me. It surrounds me...envelops me. I am certain of it. The past might have been bright but the future is about to get a whole lot darker and more violent. Greatness is attained when power is tempered with conscience. Through your actions you illustrate your lack of conscience...and therefore greatness. So to everyone on the PAW roster - what is your purpose? Why do you drag yourself from bed every morning and pretend? Pretend to be something you constantly show that you are not…"
As Caleb shifts, a phase of moonlight plowing through the lines of his face, flooding his features.
CJ O’DONNELL: The lot of you, the group of pretenders you are. You run together because alone you are nothing. You are wasted space. Using air that you do not deserve to be using. For each one of you, the other creates the illusion of greatness. You create your illusions so that you may sleep at night. However now that it is time, I will take your illusions. Then...what will you have? A group of nothing. I'll thrust you into the light so that you are shown. Thrust you in front of a mirror so that you can see. So that they...and you see that you are indeed nothing as I have known all along…
His face aches, radiates the feeling etched on his face and in his glittering
blue eyes.
CJ O’DONNELL: In a matter of a few months PAW will be putty in my hands. I will be able to mold and sculpt each and everyone of you. First thing you will lose is the illusions of course. You feel you have control. You have convinced yourself that these things you create, the greatness and the constant thoughts of it are truth. But in your MIND! ...in your MIND! you know it to be false. I know this just by seeing you. Just by laying my eyes upon what is you I see it. So what makes you think the people that you are trying to fool are not seeing the same? YOU FOOLS! Your ignorance shines like the moon upon my FACE! I will OPEN your eyes. I will SHOW the world that this ignorance that is your bliss is false and that you are indeed what I have known all along!!!…NOTHING.
A smirk from The Distinguished before he continues.
CJ O’DONNELL: I will show you...so that we may all...have a Happy Ending…
As Caleb moves his neck slowly from the left to the right you hear the cracking sound.
CJ O’DONNELL: You have a choice to make you are either with me or against me? If you are with me than we will take over Pure Amusement Wrestling together as violent and chaotic as possible. You will become a part of my family known as The Unstable. If you are against me then well my God have mercy on you because I certainly will not.
As O'Donnell is sitting, ever so calmly in the middle of the room...no sound, no action. Just sitting, waiting and pondering as you go back to ringside.
SINGLES MATCH
Press versus Cross Recoba
PHILO: Well, it's time to find out who's going to advance to face Stevie Harris on St. Patrick's Day! This match promises to be a good one, but I'm just not sure how Cross Recoba is going to get around Press' massive size.
CHARISSA: Your guess is as good as mine, but I'm positive that if theres anyone who can figure it out, it's Cross Recoba. That man doesn't have phat stacks for a no reason, Philo. He's a smart one, and a tough guy to boot.
PHILO: Maybe so, but its kind of hard to bet against Press considering his performance level since arriving here in PAW. From day one he's been beating ass, and taking names, and I just don't know if there's anyone on our roster who can take him. I know the big man had some serious words for Cross Recoba earlier this week, and I'm afraid we're going to see that destructive side of his before this contest is done.
CHARISSA: Maybe so, but Cross Recoba is a master manipulator and a genius at getting people riled up in order to make a mistake. I have no doubt that he has Press' documented temper on his mind going into this, and he'll use it against him if at all possible.
PHILO: Well, speculation time is over, Charissa. Rhonda's in the ring, and this match is ready to go down!
he lights dim in the arena as Joe Walsh's 'Turn to Stone' sounds across the arena. The fans jeer and boo in disgust as they know what to expect when they hear the distinctive distorted power-chords that start the song. The lights focus on the entrance to the ramp as Cross Recoba comes through the curtain. He brushes his shag haircut off his eyes and looks at the crowd. He instinctively clutches the crucifix necklace that hangs from his neck, and tightens his grip on the briefcase in his left hand. He walks to the ring with purpose, only looking away from the ring to answer hecklers in the crowd.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing first, standing at 5'10" tall, and weighting in at 230 lbs. He hails from Las Vegas, Nevada...He is 'The Fox'.....CROSS RECOBAAA!!!
Recoba reaches the ringside area and leaps onto the apron, smiling out at the disapproving audience before stepping through the ropes and dropping the briefcase over in a corner while waiting for his opponent. He doesn't have to wait long as the lights go dim and "Strangle Hold" begins to blare across the arena. Red strobe-lights begin to flicker all around the ring and ramp way, and finally settle on the entry way where the silhouette of the massive Press can be seen standing in the curtain. These words can be seen clearly up on the big screen above the entrance.
At the chorus of the song he bursts through the curtain, and thrusts his black chair, with the words "Press Pass" painted across the seat, high up into the air, with a grimace spread across his face.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing his opponent, standing at 6'11" tall, and weighting in at 365 lbs. He Hails from New Orleans, Louisiana, and represents one half of The BombTrax....THIS. IS. PRESSSS!!!
He scans the crowd as he stalks down towards the ring, and upon reaching the squared circle he throws his chair under the bottom rope, hops up on the apron, and enters the ring by swinging his leg up and over the top rope. Before he can get the other leg into the ring, however, Cross Recoba rushes over, trapping the big man onto the ropes with right hands directly to his skull. He then takes a step back, and kicks right up into the top rope, bringing it jarringly into Press' crotch. Press doubles over the rope, holding his midsection, as Recoba steps over and scoops up the big man's 'Press Pass'. As A-Ref tries to berate Cross, he nudges the referee out of the way, and then clobbers Press across the back of the head and shoulders, sending him lurching forward and down off the ring apron to the concrete below.
PHILO: This match hasn't even officially started, and Cross Recoba is already all over Press!
CHARISSA: I guess that's what your dumb ass gets when you bring a weapon to your opponent.
Press struggles to get back to his feet, as Cross steps out onto the ring apron, chair still in hand, to await his rising opponent. When the big man finally gains his footing, Cross leaps off of the ring apron, bringing the chair crashing down across Press' head. The big man crumples face first to the floor, and Recoba steps over him, raising the chair, and bringing it down again and again and again. After six chairshots, he abandons the twisted and bent weapon, and looks out at the crowd with a smirk. They boo him unmercifully.
PHILO: This crowd letting Cross Recoba know exactly what they think of him, and I tend to agree. I mean, this is some bullshit! The match hasn't even started, and I'd have to say Cross now has a distinct advantage.
CHARISSA: Wrong, Philo! 'The Fox' is just living up to his nickname. He's used guile and cunning to even up the size advantage Press brings to the table by cutting a few inches off that big oaf. NOW, this match is finally even.
PHILO: Whatever, Charissa. We might not even get a match at this rate, if Press isn't able to continue, and that cheats everyone, myself included, out of finding out what might have happened if it was on the up and up.
As the commentators continue their ethical debate, Cross doesn't give anyone the chance to look over Press, before helping the big man up to his feet, and shoves him in the ring. He quickly follows, popping up, and twirling his finger for A-Ref to ring the bell. After a brief moment of checking on Press, A-Ref shoots Cross a dark look, but points to the timekeepers position, and the bell sounds out signaling the start of the match.
PHILO: Well, this thing is officially underway now, but the damage has been done. Press is barely able to stand, having to use the turnbuckles to get to his feet, and Cross is just waiting on him to get upright. OH! Vicious right hand by Recoba, and another. The man's lighting into him like a piston in an engine!
As Cross continues his assault on Press, the big man reaches up with one of his massive paws, and shoves Recoba off, sending the man down to the mat. Cross, however, rolls through the landing to come back up to his feet, and rushes right back in on Press with more hard rights. Once again Press reaches out, this time grabbing Recoba by the face, and just mushes him backwards with one great shove. Cross, one more time, hits the mat and rolls through, pops back up to his feet, and charges back on the attack. This time, however, instead of meeting no resistance, Cross runs face first into the point of Press' elbow. Cross snaps back, stumbling towards the center of the ring, as Press reaches up and wipes blood from his lower lip. He spits over the ropes to the outside of the ring, and with a grim visage, stalks towards Cross.
CHARISSA: Uh-oh! This doesn't look good!
As Cross turns back to face his opponent, Press drives in a right of his own, this one, unlike the smaller mans, sends Recoba thundering to the canvas. He pops up quickly, but is caught once again with another massive right hand that sends him back down. He pops up for a third time, and instead of a right hand, Press grabs him by the forearm, pushes him back into the ropes, and then sends him for the ride to the opposite side. Cross rebounds off the ropes, and ducks a clothesline attempt from Press. On his way back through he ducks a back elbow. On his third pass, Press ducks his head for a back body, but instead, Cross is able to slow himself down enough to send a soccer like kick right into the big man's face that snaps him back upright. Recoba then rushes back to the ropes for momentum, and upon rebounding nails the big man with a dropkick. Press stumbles back a bit, but doesn't go down. Recoba pops up, and immediately goes for another, connecting both feet dead center of Press' chest. Again, the big man stumbles back, but doesn't go down.
At this point, Press has been forced back almost to the ropes, and Cross rushes the opposite side once again for momentum, but as he comes barreling in, Press ducks his head at the last possible second and catches Recoba with a back body drop that sends him sailing over the top rope. Fortunately, Cross has fast enough reflexes to grab hold of the top rope, and he lands safely on the ring apron instead of crashing to the floor.
PHILO: Press doesn't realize that Cross landed on the ring apron behind him, cause he's still rattled by that prematch beat down Recoba gave him.
CHARISSA: Sure, blame Cross cause that giant fucker doesn't pay attention.
Press rubs the back of his neck in the center of the ring, when he turns to survey the damage his back body drop had caused. To his surprise, there was Recoba on the ring apron, pretty as you please. With a snarl the big man took off in a sprint, looking to drive his shoulder into his smaller opponent, however, Recoba, still holding the top rope, drops down taking the rope with him, causing Press to hit the ropes at thigh level, and tumble right up and over back out to the concrete. The big man crashes down hard, and he clutches at his back as Cross pops up, and enters the ring. A-Ref admonishes Cross for his tactics, and Cross simply backs up, and points for the referee to start a 10 count. Reluctantly, that's exactly what A-Ref is forced to do.
He reaches the count of three when Press reaches up and grabs the ring apron for aide getting back to his feet. Upon seeing the big mans recovery, Cross yells across the ring for A-ref to get out of his way, and sizes up his opponent. As soon as Press is fully on his feet, Cross rushes from inside the ring, diving over the top rope feet first for a suicide drop kick.
PHILO: A MILLION LIRA BY CRO...NO!! WAIT!! PRESS CAUGHT HIM!! OH MY GOD! NO!!
CHARISSA: This can't end well.
Just as Cross clears the ropes, Press reaches up and snatches him out of the air, pulling him in to a seated position onto his chest. Cross' face says it all, as in shock and surprise he's hoisted up and out, Press' massive hand catching him on the way down to spike him off the concrete floor.
PHILO: PRESS RELEASE POWERBOMB ON THE CONCRETE!! JESUS CHRIST!! Cross Recoba is finished!
CHARISSA: Fuck finished, that mother fucker is dead! How do you get back up from that?
PHILO: Press is just staring down at the man like even he didn't expect it. That was pure instinct on the part of the big man.
CHARISSA: Well, I take back what I said. This was never going to be an even battle. Not with mongoloids like that running around here.
The crowd is electric as Press finally steers his eyes off of Cross and out to the crowd, soaking in the adulation before slipping back into the ring so that A-Ref could administer a count.
1....
2...
PHILO: I have never in my life seen anything on the magnitude of that kind of devastation.
3...
4...
PHILO: I mean, underhanded tactics or not, Cross pretty much controlled the pace of this match, delivering all the offense, and in one move, Press just changed the game.
5...
6...
CHARISSA: Yeah, and Cross hasn't moved other than a few tremors, but those could be seizures. We don't know what kind of damage has been done internally.
7...
8...
PHILO: Oh my god, Cross is moving...he just reached up and grabbed the ring apron.
9...
Te....Cross somehow manages to pull himself under the bottom rope and into the ring, where he rolls onto his back, and lays there motionless. A-Ref stops the count, and shrugs at Press, who stares on in disbelief. The big man's face turns into a scowl, and he stalks over, grabbing Cross by the arms and leg, and drags him out to the center of the ring, where he drops down for a lax cover.
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Somehow, Cross Recoba not only beat the 10 count, but he just barely managed to roll his shoulder off the mat.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but if looks could kill, I'm pretty sure Press just murdered him. He's going for another cover, and this time he's hooking the leg!
1...
2...
3NO!
PHILO: Cross Recoba able to get the shoulder up again, and this time Press looks livid. He's back on his feet arguing with A-Ref, who looks just as surprised as anyone. Man, how tough is Cross Recoba?
CHARISSA: A lot tougher than anyone gave him credit for before coming into this match, but win or lose, I guarantee people will be talking about that for a long time to come.
PHILO: No doubt. Well Press is done arguing, and he's back over to Cross, jerking him up off the canvas by a fistful of hair. A-Ref is admonishing him, but it doesn't look like he's listening, as he drags Recoba over to the corner, and bounces his head off the top turnbuckle.
Recoba looks to be on wobbly legs as Press shoves him into the corner. The big man steps back, and then sends his hip forward into Recoba's midsection, driving the air right out of him. He drops back, and does it again, making Cross' eyes bulge from his sockets. Taking Recoba by the wrist, Press pulls him out of the corner, and into a short arm clothesline that sends him down to the mat, but he's quickly pulled back up, hoisted up on Press shoulder, and then tossed out at the corner to come down hard face first across the top turnbuckle.
PHILO: Snake Eyes, and Press is in complete control at this point, but he's got to be asking himself, what the hell is he going to have to do to put Cross Recoba away?
CHARISSA: Well, if a Press Release Powerbomb on the concrete won't do it, then I don't know what will.
Press, a trickle of blood still running down his chin, grabs cross by the hair once again and pulls him to his feet and to the center of the ring. He stands the man up to his full height so that he can look his dazed opponent in the eyes, before reaching around his waist and hoisting him up, and then dropping down into a perfectly executed sidewalk slam. He looks out at the crowd from his seated position, the fans cheering for him to end the match now. He drapes his arm over Cross, and A-Ref drops to the canvas for the count.
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Cross still somehow rolls the shoulder up, and this contest is still underway.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but the look on Press' face says it all.
Press looks down at his opponent, who lay flat on his back, eyes glassed over, his mouth turned up into a visage of anguish. The big man shakes his head, and rolls up to a knee, pushing off to come back up to his feet. He just stares at Cross, hands on his hips, and when he looks out again at the crowd they cheer for him to do his worst. He smirks, nodding, and reaches down to pull cross back to his feet. Cross, however, hooks the big man around the head, throws his boot into his exposed knee, and then pulls him down into a small package.
1..
2..NO!
PHILO: Cross Recoba almost stole this one from Press, but I think more than anything, he just signed his own death warrant!
CHARISSA: Yeah, cause Press is already back up to his feet, and he looks ready to maim somebody!
Press delivered a stiff boot to Recoba's midsection before jerking the man up to his feet, taking him by the wrist, and sending him towards the far corner. He immediately made after him, looking to splash him in the turnbuckles. Recoba, however, manages to grab the top rope on his way in, springboarding up and over to the ring apron, leaving the corner exposed for Press who barrels into it at full steam. The big man stumbles back, and Cross takes that split second to springboard back in, planting both of his feet squarely into Press' face. This knocks Press even further back, causing him to reach up and check for more blood, as Recoba hops up onto the second rope. When Press finally drops his hand, Cross leaps from the ropes, catching the big man across the throat and chest with a forearm smash that actually takes him clear off his feet.
PHILO: I can't believe it! There's still fight in Recoba, no matter the boo's echoing in from this crowd. Despite how they feel about him, they have to respect his will to win.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but is he going to be able to keep the big man down?
Almost as if in answer to the color commentator, Recoba gets to his feet and makes his way to one of the corners, climbing all the way to the top. He measures his opponent in the center of the ring, and comes flying off with an epic elbow drop. Even the crowd forgets for a minute that they hate him, as they 'oooooo' at the hang time of the maneuver.
PHILO: Another big move for Recoba, and he goes for a cover!
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Press kicks out, and damn near knocked Recoba out of the ring. I don't think he even knows his true power.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but Cross Recoba has felt it, and it looks like he's ready to put the big man out for good.
Cross steps back over to Press, reaching down and pulling both of the big man's legs up into the air. He hooks his arms around them at the insertion of the knee, and begins the turn to lock on his patented submission hold. The fans boo, and even Press realizes what's about to happen, and starts to struggle. Cross waits for him to shift in one direction, and then quickly moves the legs in the same path, miraculously turning Press over onto his stomach. Once there, with a gust of strength, he lifts up, muscles rippling, and locks in Garibaldi's Guillotine.
PHILO: I can't believe it! He's got it locked in! I'm not sure anyone thought he could do it.
CHARISSA: Shit, I don't know if he thought he could do it, but by God, it's locked in!
Press screamed out in pain as Cross continued to put torque on his neck and shoulders. Recoba barked orders at A-Ref to check the man, even though the diligent referee was already in position. Press shook his head 'no' repeatedly, despite being in agony. Press, with everything he had, forced his arm underneath his chest, pushing up, and forcing both he and Cross to move closer to the ropes. Recoba yelled back at A-Ref in panic, and dropped to one knee, damn near bending his opponents massive frame in half.
CHARISSA: Um, that doesn't seem natural. Not unless you're a Yoga instructor or something.
PHILO: And we both know that Press is not into Yoga. Man, it's got to come soon...he can't take much more of this.
The pain etched into Press' face was immense as he squeezed his eyes tight and screamed 'No' at A-ref. With one final burst of strength, possibly his last, he lifted himself up again onto his elbow, and forced the entire procession forward. This time, it was enough, and he reached out a desperate hand for the bottom rope. A-Ref slid around to the front, where Cross Recoba refused to let up on the devastating hold.
PHILO: Oh, come on! I don't know how he did it, but Press made it to the ropes, and now Cross Recoba won't release the hold.
CHARISSA: That's cause he's smart. He know's he's put a beating on that ogre, just like he know's he's got at least a five count before he breaks it. He might as well use it while he can.
A-Ref admonishes Recoba for not breaking the hold, and finally starts counting him down. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...and the hold is broken. A-Ref gets in Recoba's face, threatening to disqualify him, and the Italian throws his hands up, shaking his head 'No'.
PHILO: This guy is a real piece of work, and he's damn lucky that A-Ref knows how important this match is for the future of PAW.
CHARISSA: Whatever, Cross is just doing what he has to do. I respect that. Hey, wait a minute! Who is this guy?
A member of the crowd jumps the barricade, and rushes the ring, and just as he's about to slide under the bottom rope, 4Loco catches him by the ankle, and drags him back to the floor. Press, still grabbing at his back, has no idea, as Cross and A-Ref look on in disbelief from the ring. 4Loco wrestles with the guy for a minute, until finally wrenching his arm behind his back, and getting control of his wild flailing.
PHILO: HEY! I recognize that guy! That's the father of the kid who Cross Recoba took advantage of on WICKED#1! Heh, looks like he came here tonight with revenge on his mind.
CHARISSA: Yeah, and he'll leave here tonight with bail on his mind. What an idiot! Doesn't he know that this is a Semi-Final match in the PAW Championship tournament. We don't have time for civilians trying to get vigilante justice.
PHILO: You might feel differently if it was your kid, Charissa.
Other security personnel came out from the back to help 4Loco with his charge, and even A-Ref exited the ring to lend his assistance. Cross watched all of this with a sick grin on his face. Shaking his head, he looked back over to see that Press was crawling over to a corner for assistance with getting back to his feet. He cast a quick glance back to the action taking place outside the ring, and upon seeing that the coast was clear, made a B-line for the spot where he had discarded his briefcase.
PHILO: I can guarantee that Cross Recoba is up to no good right now.
CHARISSA: Nah, man, he's just checking his lawyers business card. This is the perfect opportunity to sue that punk for interfering with this match.
Recoba scooped the fancy luggage up into his arms, and stepped back to the center of the ring, begging for Press to turn around. Once the big man climbed the rungs of the turnbuckles back to his feet, he stumbled back towards the center of the ring, turning to look for his opponent only to be met with a blasting shot from the briefcase. Recoba hit him so hard that the briefcase was tore from his grasp, and went skidding out of the ring to land right in front of the announce team. When Philo and Charissa looked over their table, they could see that the latches holding the case shut were broken, and peeking out of the damaged luggage were a couple of red bricks.
PHILO: Are you kidding me?!? That briefcase he just took Press' head off with is loaded!
CHARISSA: What? Like a potato?
PHILO: No, Charissa. Like a gun! What a load of bullshit!
CHARISSA: Actually I think it was bricks.
As Philo stared in contempt at Charissa, Cross Recoba dropped down onto a motionless, bloody Press for a cover.
PHILO: Hey nimrod, there's no referee! He's outside dealing with another one of the problems you created. Huh, I wonder if that son of a bitch planned all this?
CHARISSA: Oh, come on, Philo, Cross has the finest education money can buy, but that doesn't mean he's on par with a Bond villain.
PHILO: Yeah, well this just seems too contrived to be coincidence.
CHARISSA: Hey, look, security is finally carrying that guy past the ramp, and A-Ref just noticed there is a pin going on in the ring. I wonder if Cross Recoba will share some Champagne with me tonight at his victory celebration?
PHILO: I can't believe this bastard is going to steal this.
A-Ref slides into the ring, and crawls over into position.
1..
2..
3..NO!
PHILO: I can't believe it! Press shoulder shot up off the mat at the very last millisecond, and Cross Recoba is beside himself. He's arguing with A-Ref, and he just shoved the official!
CHARISSA: Oh, don't get yourself disqualified now! You're so close.
A-Ref shoves Cross Recoba off of him and warns him of just that, and the Italian reluctantly holds his hands up in ascent, turning his attention back to Press. He angrily reaches down, yanking the big man's legs back up into the air, hooking him around the knee's once more.
CHARISSA: That'a boy. If at first you don't succeed, try, try, again.
PHILO: Well, I think it's academic here. I don't know how Press managed to kick out after getting hit with a briefcase full of bricks, but I don't think he's in any shape to defend himself from being put back into Garibaldi's Guillotine, so that's that.
Press, much to the surprise of everyone, but especially Cross Recoba, pulls his knee's in towards his body, plants his feet on Recoba's chest, and pushes forwards with extreme prejudice. The Italian is sent sprawling backwards and onto his back, and just lays there for a minute, battered and exhausted from the contest. Press, in much the same condition, reaches up to touch his forehead where blood pours from the shot with the bricks. A-Ref steps over to the center of the ring and starts a count, but at the same time, both men roll over onto their stomachs, and begin crawling towards opposite ends of the ring. They both reach for the ropes, pulling themselves to their feet at about the same time, and then turn to face each other from across the ring. Both men charge at one another, and Press throws his boot up into the air to go for a Sudden Stop, but Cross drops into a roll, and comes up behind him unscathed. As soon as he's able, Press turns to face Cross, who sends a boot into his midsection, doubling the big man over. Recoba takes off to rebound off the ropes, but when he reaches Press again, the big man extends his arms with his long reach, putting his hands on Cross' chest and popping him up into the air. He lands in a seated position on Press' chest, and the big man rushes towards the ropes throwing cross up and out, catching him as he goes for extra momentum with the palm of his hand.
PHILO: OH MY GOD!! HE JUST PRESS RELEASE POWERBOMBED CROSS RECOBA CLEAR OUT OF THE RING!! Did you see the way he hit?
CHARISSA: Yeah, his ass hit the concrete, while his shoulders and head hit the ramp. I....I think Cross Recoba might be unconscious.
PHILO: Well, A-Ref is outside the ring checking on him, and Cross is unresponsive. He's calling for EMT's and Medical Attention!
CHARISSA: Well, what the hell does this mean for this match?
PHILO: I'm pretty sure it's over. I just.....hell, I have no words.
EMT's rush down to the end of the ramp, gurney in two, where Cross Recoba lay in an unmoving heap. They do a quick, but thorough check of the man, and then one of them reaches into his bag to produce a neck brace. They slip the stabilizer around the Italian's neck, and roll him to the side, making sure to keep his spine aligned, in order to get the gurney underneath him. Meanwhile, the fans are still on their feet as A-Ref slips back into the ring, and calls for the ring announcer. He whispers something into Rhonda's ear, and she nods, bringing the mic up to her lips.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Ladies and gentleman, if I can have your attention please. The lead official in this match has just informed me that Cross Recoba can no longer continue in this match up. Therefore, the winner of this match, and advancing to the Main Event for the PAW Championship at the WICKED Super Show on March 17th, PRESS!!!
Press smirks down at Cross Recoba from the ring, and then looks out at the screaming fans who start a 'Press' chant. He uses his hands and runs them openly across his stomach, indicating the championship that everyone in PAW has been scrambling to gain.
PHILO: Press wins essentially by knock out. My God, do you know what this means? Stevie Harris and Press are going to go one on one for the PAW Championship at our next show!
CHARISSA: I know, and you know what else that means? I'm officially throwing my vote into the ballet box, and coming out that, Hashtag: I'm With Stevie!
PHILO: Well, he'll have his hands full with Press, that's for sure. Wow, I still can't believe everything we've seen tonight, and we've still got more to come. Fuck, I hope there's something going on backstage. I seriously need a puff after this last match.
CHARISSA: Well, Philo, it must be your good fortune. Here's a word from one of our sponsors!
CHARISSA: Your guess is as good as mine, but I'm positive that if theres anyone who can figure it out, it's Cross Recoba. That man doesn't have phat stacks for a no reason, Philo. He's a smart one, and a tough guy to boot.
PHILO: Maybe so, but its kind of hard to bet against Press considering his performance level since arriving here in PAW. From day one he's been beating ass, and taking names, and I just don't know if there's anyone on our roster who can take him. I know the big man had some serious words for Cross Recoba earlier this week, and I'm afraid we're going to see that destructive side of his before this contest is done.
CHARISSA: Maybe so, but Cross Recoba is a master manipulator and a genius at getting people riled up in order to make a mistake. I have no doubt that he has Press' documented temper on his mind going into this, and he'll use it against him if at all possible.
PHILO: Well, speculation time is over, Charissa. Rhonda's in the ring, and this match is ready to go down!
he lights dim in the arena as Joe Walsh's 'Turn to Stone' sounds across the arena. The fans jeer and boo in disgust as they know what to expect when they hear the distinctive distorted power-chords that start the song. The lights focus on the entrance to the ramp as Cross Recoba comes through the curtain. He brushes his shag haircut off his eyes and looks at the crowd. He instinctively clutches the crucifix necklace that hangs from his neck, and tightens his grip on the briefcase in his left hand. He walks to the ring with purpose, only looking away from the ring to answer hecklers in the crowd.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing first, standing at 5'10" tall, and weighting in at 230 lbs. He hails from Las Vegas, Nevada...He is 'The Fox'.....CROSS RECOBAAA!!!
Recoba reaches the ringside area and leaps onto the apron, smiling out at the disapproving audience before stepping through the ropes and dropping the briefcase over in a corner while waiting for his opponent. He doesn't have to wait long as the lights go dim and "Strangle Hold" begins to blare across the arena. Red strobe-lights begin to flicker all around the ring and ramp way, and finally settle on the entry way where the silhouette of the massive Press can be seen standing in the curtain. These words can be seen clearly up on the big screen above the entrance.
WITH THIS PASS
I CAN GO ANYWHERE I DAMN WELL PLEASE!
At the chorus of the song he bursts through the curtain, and thrusts his black chair, with the words "Press Pass" painted across the seat, high up into the air, with a grimace spread across his face.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing his opponent, standing at 6'11" tall, and weighting in at 365 lbs. He Hails from New Orleans, Louisiana, and represents one half of The BombTrax....THIS. IS. PRESSSS!!!
He scans the crowd as he stalks down towards the ring, and upon reaching the squared circle he throws his chair under the bottom rope, hops up on the apron, and enters the ring by swinging his leg up and over the top rope. Before he can get the other leg into the ring, however, Cross Recoba rushes over, trapping the big man onto the ropes with right hands directly to his skull. He then takes a step back, and kicks right up into the top rope, bringing it jarringly into Press' crotch. Press doubles over the rope, holding his midsection, as Recoba steps over and scoops up the big man's 'Press Pass'. As A-Ref tries to berate Cross, he nudges the referee out of the way, and then clobbers Press across the back of the head and shoulders, sending him lurching forward and down off the ring apron to the concrete below.
PHILO: This match hasn't even officially started, and Cross Recoba is already all over Press!
CHARISSA: I guess that's what your dumb ass gets when you bring a weapon to your opponent.
Press struggles to get back to his feet, as Cross steps out onto the ring apron, chair still in hand, to await his rising opponent. When the big man finally gains his footing, Cross leaps off of the ring apron, bringing the chair crashing down across Press' head. The big man crumples face first to the floor, and Recoba steps over him, raising the chair, and bringing it down again and again and again. After six chairshots, he abandons the twisted and bent weapon, and looks out at the crowd with a smirk. They boo him unmercifully.
PHILO: This crowd letting Cross Recoba know exactly what they think of him, and I tend to agree. I mean, this is some bullshit! The match hasn't even started, and I'd have to say Cross now has a distinct advantage.
CHARISSA: Wrong, Philo! 'The Fox' is just living up to his nickname. He's used guile and cunning to even up the size advantage Press brings to the table by cutting a few inches off that big oaf. NOW, this match is finally even.
PHILO: Whatever, Charissa. We might not even get a match at this rate, if Press isn't able to continue, and that cheats everyone, myself included, out of finding out what might have happened if it was on the up and up.
As the commentators continue their ethical debate, Cross doesn't give anyone the chance to look over Press, before helping the big man up to his feet, and shoves him in the ring. He quickly follows, popping up, and twirling his finger for A-Ref to ring the bell. After a brief moment of checking on Press, A-Ref shoots Cross a dark look, but points to the timekeepers position, and the bell sounds out signaling the start of the match.
PHILO: Well, this thing is officially underway now, but the damage has been done. Press is barely able to stand, having to use the turnbuckles to get to his feet, and Cross is just waiting on him to get upright. OH! Vicious right hand by Recoba, and another. The man's lighting into him like a piston in an engine!
As Cross continues his assault on Press, the big man reaches up with one of his massive paws, and shoves Recoba off, sending the man down to the mat. Cross, however, rolls through the landing to come back up to his feet, and rushes right back in on Press with more hard rights. Once again Press reaches out, this time grabbing Recoba by the face, and just mushes him backwards with one great shove. Cross, one more time, hits the mat and rolls through, pops back up to his feet, and charges back on the attack. This time, however, instead of meeting no resistance, Cross runs face first into the point of Press' elbow. Cross snaps back, stumbling towards the center of the ring, as Press reaches up and wipes blood from his lower lip. He spits over the ropes to the outside of the ring, and with a grim visage, stalks towards Cross.
CHARISSA: Uh-oh! This doesn't look good!
As Cross turns back to face his opponent, Press drives in a right of his own, this one, unlike the smaller mans, sends Recoba thundering to the canvas. He pops up quickly, but is caught once again with another massive right hand that sends him back down. He pops up for a third time, and instead of a right hand, Press grabs him by the forearm, pushes him back into the ropes, and then sends him for the ride to the opposite side. Cross rebounds off the ropes, and ducks a clothesline attempt from Press. On his way back through he ducks a back elbow. On his third pass, Press ducks his head for a back body, but instead, Cross is able to slow himself down enough to send a soccer like kick right into the big man's face that snaps him back upright. Recoba then rushes back to the ropes for momentum, and upon rebounding nails the big man with a dropkick. Press stumbles back a bit, but doesn't go down. Recoba pops up, and immediately goes for another, connecting both feet dead center of Press' chest. Again, the big man stumbles back, but doesn't go down.
At this point, Press has been forced back almost to the ropes, and Cross rushes the opposite side once again for momentum, but as he comes barreling in, Press ducks his head at the last possible second and catches Recoba with a back body drop that sends him sailing over the top rope. Fortunately, Cross has fast enough reflexes to grab hold of the top rope, and he lands safely on the ring apron instead of crashing to the floor.
PHILO: Press doesn't realize that Cross landed on the ring apron behind him, cause he's still rattled by that prematch beat down Recoba gave him.
CHARISSA: Sure, blame Cross cause that giant fucker doesn't pay attention.
Press rubs the back of his neck in the center of the ring, when he turns to survey the damage his back body drop had caused. To his surprise, there was Recoba on the ring apron, pretty as you please. With a snarl the big man took off in a sprint, looking to drive his shoulder into his smaller opponent, however, Recoba, still holding the top rope, drops down taking the rope with him, causing Press to hit the ropes at thigh level, and tumble right up and over back out to the concrete. The big man crashes down hard, and he clutches at his back as Cross pops up, and enters the ring. A-Ref admonishes Cross for his tactics, and Cross simply backs up, and points for the referee to start a 10 count. Reluctantly, that's exactly what A-Ref is forced to do.
He reaches the count of three when Press reaches up and grabs the ring apron for aide getting back to his feet. Upon seeing the big mans recovery, Cross yells across the ring for A-ref to get out of his way, and sizes up his opponent. As soon as Press is fully on his feet, Cross rushes from inside the ring, diving over the top rope feet first for a suicide drop kick.
PHILO: A MILLION LIRA BY CRO...NO!! WAIT!! PRESS CAUGHT HIM!! OH MY GOD! NO!!
CHARISSA: This can't end well.
Just as Cross clears the ropes, Press reaches up and snatches him out of the air, pulling him in to a seated position onto his chest. Cross' face says it all, as in shock and surprise he's hoisted up and out, Press' massive hand catching him on the way down to spike him off the concrete floor.
PHILO: PRESS RELEASE POWERBOMB ON THE CONCRETE!! JESUS CHRIST!! Cross Recoba is finished!
CHARISSA: Fuck finished, that mother fucker is dead! How do you get back up from that?
PHILO: Press is just staring down at the man like even he didn't expect it. That was pure instinct on the part of the big man.
CHARISSA: Well, I take back what I said. This was never going to be an even battle. Not with mongoloids like that running around here.
The crowd is electric as Press finally steers his eyes off of Cross and out to the crowd, soaking in the adulation before slipping back into the ring so that A-Ref could administer a count.
1....
2...
PHILO: I have never in my life seen anything on the magnitude of that kind of devastation.
3...
4...
PHILO: I mean, underhanded tactics or not, Cross pretty much controlled the pace of this match, delivering all the offense, and in one move, Press just changed the game.
5...
6...
CHARISSA: Yeah, and Cross hasn't moved other than a few tremors, but those could be seizures. We don't know what kind of damage has been done internally.
7...
8...
PHILO: Oh my god, Cross is moving...he just reached up and grabbed the ring apron.
9...
Te....Cross somehow manages to pull himself under the bottom rope and into the ring, where he rolls onto his back, and lays there motionless. A-Ref stops the count, and shrugs at Press, who stares on in disbelief. The big man's face turns into a scowl, and he stalks over, grabbing Cross by the arms and leg, and drags him out to the center of the ring, where he drops down for a lax cover.
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Somehow, Cross Recoba not only beat the 10 count, but he just barely managed to roll his shoulder off the mat.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but if looks could kill, I'm pretty sure Press just murdered him. He's going for another cover, and this time he's hooking the leg!
1...
2...
3NO!
PHILO: Cross Recoba able to get the shoulder up again, and this time Press looks livid. He's back on his feet arguing with A-Ref, who looks just as surprised as anyone. Man, how tough is Cross Recoba?
CHARISSA: A lot tougher than anyone gave him credit for before coming into this match, but win or lose, I guarantee people will be talking about that for a long time to come.
PHILO: No doubt. Well Press is done arguing, and he's back over to Cross, jerking him up off the canvas by a fistful of hair. A-Ref is admonishing him, but it doesn't look like he's listening, as he drags Recoba over to the corner, and bounces his head off the top turnbuckle.
Recoba looks to be on wobbly legs as Press shoves him into the corner. The big man steps back, and then sends his hip forward into Recoba's midsection, driving the air right out of him. He drops back, and does it again, making Cross' eyes bulge from his sockets. Taking Recoba by the wrist, Press pulls him out of the corner, and into a short arm clothesline that sends him down to the mat, but he's quickly pulled back up, hoisted up on Press shoulder, and then tossed out at the corner to come down hard face first across the top turnbuckle.
PHILO: Snake Eyes, and Press is in complete control at this point, but he's got to be asking himself, what the hell is he going to have to do to put Cross Recoba away?
CHARISSA: Well, if a Press Release Powerbomb on the concrete won't do it, then I don't know what will.
Press, a trickle of blood still running down his chin, grabs cross by the hair once again and pulls him to his feet and to the center of the ring. He stands the man up to his full height so that he can look his dazed opponent in the eyes, before reaching around his waist and hoisting him up, and then dropping down into a perfectly executed sidewalk slam. He looks out at the crowd from his seated position, the fans cheering for him to end the match now. He drapes his arm over Cross, and A-Ref drops to the canvas for the count.
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Cross still somehow rolls the shoulder up, and this contest is still underway.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but the look on Press' face says it all.
Press looks down at his opponent, who lay flat on his back, eyes glassed over, his mouth turned up into a visage of anguish. The big man shakes his head, and rolls up to a knee, pushing off to come back up to his feet. He just stares at Cross, hands on his hips, and when he looks out again at the crowd they cheer for him to do his worst. He smirks, nodding, and reaches down to pull cross back to his feet. Cross, however, hooks the big man around the head, throws his boot into his exposed knee, and then pulls him down into a small package.
1..
2..NO!
PHILO: Cross Recoba almost stole this one from Press, but I think more than anything, he just signed his own death warrant!
CHARISSA: Yeah, cause Press is already back up to his feet, and he looks ready to maim somebody!
Press delivered a stiff boot to Recoba's midsection before jerking the man up to his feet, taking him by the wrist, and sending him towards the far corner. He immediately made after him, looking to splash him in the turnbuckles. Recoba, however, manages to grab the top rope on his way in, springboarding up and over to the ring apron, leaving the corner exposed for Press who barrels into it at full steam. The big man stumbles back, and Cross takes that split second to springboard back in, planting both of his feet squarely into Press' face. This knocks Press even further back, causing him to reach up and check for more blood, as Recoba hops up onto the second rope. When Press finally drops his hand, Cross leaps from the ropes, catching the big man across the throat and chest with a forearm smash that actually takes him clear off his feet.
PHILO: I can't believe it! There's still fight in Recoba, no matter the boo's echoing in from this crowd. Despite how they feel about him, they have to respect his will to win.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but is he going to be able to keep the big man down?
Almost as if in answer to the color commentator, Recoba gets to his feet and makes his way to one of the corners, climbing all the way to the top. He measures his opponent in the center of the ring, and comes flying off with an epic elbow drop. Even the crowd forgets for a minute that they hate him, as they 'oooooo' at the hang time of the maneuver.
PHILO: Another big move for Recoba, and he goes for a cover!
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Press kicks out, and damn near knocked Recoba out of the ring. I don't think he even knows his true power.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but Cross Recoba has felt it, and it looks like he's ready to put the big man out for good.
Cross steps back over to Press, reaching down and pulling both of the big man's legs up into the air. He hooks his arms around them at the insertion of the knee, and begins the turn to lock on his patented submission hold. The fans boo, and even Press realizes what's about to happen, and starts to struggle. Cross waits for him to shift in one direction, and then quickly moves the legs in the same path, miraculously turning Press over onto his stomach. Once there, with a gust of strength, he lifts up, muscles rippling, and locks in Garibaldi's Guillotine.
PHILO: I can't believe it! He's got it locked in! I'm not sure anyone thought he could do it.
CHARISSA: Shit, I don't know if he thought he could do it, but by God, it's locked in!
Press screamed out in pain as Cross continued to put torque on his neck and shoulders. Recoba barked orders at A-Ref to check the man, even though the diligent referee was already in position. Press shook his head 'no' repeatedly, despite being in agony. Press, with everything he had, forced his arm underneath his chest, pushing up, and forcing both he and Cross to move closer to the ropes. Recoba yelled back at A-Ref in panic, and dropped to one knee, damn near bending his opponents massive frame in half.
CHARISSA: Um, that doesn't seem natural. Not unless you're a Yoga instructor or something.
PHILO: And we both know that Press is not into Yoga. Man, it's got to come soon...he can't take much more of this.
The pain etched into Press' face was immense as he squeezed his eyes tight and screamed 'No' at A-ref. With one final burst of strength, possibly his last, he lifted himself up again onto his elbow, and forced the entire procession forward. This time, it was enough, and he reached out a desperate hand for the bottom rope. A-Ref slid around to the front, where Cross Recoba refused to let up on the devastating hold.
PHILO: Oh, come on! I don't know how he did it, but Press made it to the ropes, and now Cross Recoba won't release the hold.
CHARISSA: That's cause he's smart. He know's he's put a beating on that ogre, just like he know's he's got at least a five count before he breaks it. He might as well use it while he can.
A-Ref admonishes Recoba for not breaking the hold, and finally starts counting him down. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...and the hold is broken. A-Ref gets in Recoba's face, threatening to disqualify him, and the Italian throws his hands up, shaking his head 'No'.
PHILO: This guy is a real piece of work, and he's damn lucky that A-Ref knows how important this match is for the future of PAW.
CHARISSA: Whatever, Cross is just doing what he has to do. I respect that. Hey, wait a minute! Who is this guy?
A member of the crowd jumps the barricade, and rushes the ring, and just as he's about to slide under the bottom rope, 4Loco catches him by the ankle, and drags him back to the floor. Press, still grabbing at his back, has no idea, as Cross and A-Ref look on in disbelief from the ring. 4Loco wrestles with the guy for a minute, until finally wrenching his arm behind his back, and getting control of his wild flailing.
PHILO: HEY! I recognize that guy! That's the father of the kid who Cross Recoba took advantage of on WICKED#1! Heh, looks like he came here tonight with revenge on his mind.
CHARISSA: Yeah, and he'll leave here tonight with bail on his mind. What an idiot! Doesn't he know that this is a Semi-Final match in the PAW Championship tournament. We don't have time for civilians trying to get vigilante justice.
PHILO: You might feel differently if it was your kid, Charissa.
Other security personnel came out from the back to help 4Loco with his charge, and even A-Ref exited the ring to lend his assistance. Cross watched all of this with a sick grin on his face. Shaking his head, he looked back over to see that Press was crawling over to a corner for assistance with getting back to his feet. He cast a quick glance back to the action taking place outside the ring, and upon seeing that the coast was clear, made a B-line for the spot where he had discarded his briefcase.
PHILO: I can guarantee that Cross Recoba is up to no good right now.
CHARISSA: Nah, man, he's just checking his lawyers business card. This is the perfect opportunity to sue that punk for interfering with this match.
Recoba scooped the fancy luggage up into his arms, and stepped back to the center of the ring, begging for Press to turn around. Once the big man climbed the rungs of the turnbuckles back to his feet, he stumbled back towards the center of the ring, turning to look for his opponent only to be met with a blasting shot from the briefcase. Recoba hit him so hard that the briefcase was tore from his grasp, and went skidding out of the ring to land right in front of the announce team. When Philo and Charissa looked over their table, they could see that the latches holding the case shut were broken, and peeking out of the damaged luggage were a couple of red bricks.
PHILO: Are you kidding me?!? That briefcase he just took Press' head off with is loaded!
CHARISSA: What? Like a potato?
PHILO: No, Charissa. Like a gun! What a load of bullshit!
CHARISSA: Actually I think it was bricks.
As Philo stared in contempt at Charissa, Cross Recoba dropped down onto a motionless, bloody Press for a cover.
PHILO: Hey nimrod, there's no referee! He's outside dealing with another one of the problems you created. Huh, I wonder if that son of a bitch planned all this?
CHARISSA: Oh, come on, Philo, Cross has the finest education money can buy, but that doesn't mean he's on par with a Bond villain.
PHILO: Yeah, well this just seems too contrived to be coincidence.
CHARISSA: Hey, look, security is finally carrying that guy past the ramp, and A-Ref just noticed there is a pin going on in the ring. I wonder if Cross Recoba will share some Champagne with me tonight at his victory celebration?
PHILO: I can't believe this bastard is going to steal this.
A-Ref slides into the ring, and crawls over into position.
1..
2..
3..NO!
PHILO: I can't believe it! Press shoulder shot up off the mat at the very last millisecond, and Cross Recoba is beside himself. He's arguing with A-Ref, and he just shoved the official!
CHARISSA: Oh, don't get yourself disqualified now! You're so close.
A-Ref shoves Cross Recoba off of him and warns him of just that, and the Italian reluctantly holds his hands up in ascent, turning his attention back to Press. He angrily reaches down, yanking the big man's legs back up into the air, hooking him around the knee's once more.
CHARISSA: That'a boy. If at first you don't succeed, try, try, again.
PHILO: Well, I think it's academic here. I don't know how Press managed to kick out after getting hit with a briefcase full of bricks, but I don't think he's in any shape to defend himself from being put back into Garibaldi's Guillotine, so that's that.
Press, much to the surprise of everyone, but especially Cross Recoba, pulls his knee's in towards his body, plants his feet on Recoba's chest, and pushes forwards with extreme prejudice. The Italian is sent sprawling backwards and onto his back, and just lays there for a minute, battered and exhausted from the contest. Press, in much the same condition, reaches up to touch his forehead where blood pours from the shot with the bricks. A-Ref steps over to the center of the ring and starts a count, but at the same time, both men roll over onto their stomachs, and begin crawling towards opposite ends of the ring. They both reach for the ropes, pulling themselves to their feet at about the same time, and then turn to face each other from across the ring. Both men charge at one another, and Press throws his boot up into the air to go for a Sudden Stop, but Cross drops into a roll, and comes up behind him unscathed. As soon as he's able, Press turns to face Cross, who sends a boot into his midsection, doubling the big man over. Recoba takes off to rebound off the ropes, but when he reaches Press again, the big man extends his arms with his long reach, putting his hands on Cross' chest and popping him up into the air. He lands in a seated position on Press' chest, and the big man rushes towards the ropes throwing cross up and out, catching him as he goes for extra momentum with the palm of his hand.
PHILO: OH MY GOD!! HE JUST PRESS RELEASE POWERBOMBED CROSS RECOBA CLEAR OUT OF THE RING!! Did you see the way he hit?
CHARISSA: Yeah, his ass hit the concrete, while his shoulders and head hit the ramp. I....I think Cross Recoba might be unconscious.
PHILO: Well, A-Ref is outside the ring checking on him, and Cross is unresponsive. He's calling for EMT's and Medical Attention!
CHARISSA: Well, what the hell does this mean for this match?
PHILO: I'm pretty sure it's over. I just.....hell, I have no words.
EMT's rush down to the end of the ramp, gurney in two, where Cross Recoba lay in an unmoving heap. They do a quick, but thorough check of the man, and then one of them reaches into his bag to produce a neck brace. They slip the stabilizer around the Italian's neck, and roll him to the side, making sure to keep his spine aligned, in order to get the gurney underneath him. Meanwhile, the fans are still on their feet as A-Ref slips back into the ring, and calls for the ring announcer. He whispers something into Rhonda's ear, and she nods, bringing the mic up to her lips.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Ladies and gentleman, if I can have your attention please. The lead official in this match has just informed me that Cross Recoba can no longer continue in this match up. Therefore, the winner of this match, and advancing to the Main Event for the PAW Championship at the WICKED Super Show on March 17th, PRESS!!!
Press smirks down at Cross Recoba from the ring, and then looks out at the screaming fans who start a 'Press' chant. He uses his hands and runs them openly across his stomach, indicating the championship that everyone in PAW has been scrambling to gain.
PHILO: Press wins essentially by knock out. My God, do you know what this means? Stevie Harris and Press are going to go one on one for the PAW Championship at our next show!
CHARISSA: I know, and you know what else that means? I'm officially throwing my vote into the ballet box, and coming out that, Hashtag: I'm With Stevie!
PHILO: Well, he'll have his hands full with Press, that's for sure. Wow, I still can't believe everything we've seen tonight, and we've still got more to come. Fuck, I hope there's something going on backstage. I seriously need a puff after this last match.
CHARISSA: Well, Philo, it must be your good fortune. Here's a word from one of our sponsors!
Anniversary Armageddon
2016
MAIN EVENT
TORNADO TAG MATCH
(The Winners of this match will face each other on the Super Show for a chance to be crowned #1 Contender for the PAW Championship decided in the finals.)
C.J. O'Donnel & Trixie v.s. Calvin Harris & Tyler Keenan v.s. Flaming Youth & Johnny Raike
PHILO: Alright peeps, it’s time for our Main Event of the evening, and it’s one of those that you don’t want to miss, Yo! Hopefully it won’t go the way of our last Main Event which had us all squirming in our seat over the brutality.
CHARISSA: Yeah, and it’s one of the reasons that DVD for WICKED#4 will never see the light of day. After that vicious post match attack from Stevie Harris on Johnny Raike, using that noose….well, I just don’t see how Raike will ever be the same again.
PHILO: I wouldn’t count the most liberated man in professional wrestling out yet, Charissa. Johnny Raike is one of the toughest competitors that PAW has ever seen, and he’s one of our participants in this match tonight.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but he’s partnered up with Flaming Youth, co-member of The BombTrax, and those two have a history going all the way back to that other place.
PHILO: True, but those two are professionals, and this is a match that will determine who will go on to face one another in a #1 Contender match at our St. Patrick’s Day Super Show. Surely they’ll be able to put their differences aside in order to ensure they are the two participants that advance.
CHARISSA: Maybe, but you have to wonder whether the other two teams will be able to do that. I get the distinct vibe that O’Donnell is not the kind of guy who plays well with others. Matter of fact, none of these people do. Calvin Harris is a man unto himself. Tyler Keenan is pretty much in love with himself, and for good reason. And Trixie, well, she thinks she’s God’s gift to the world because she’s some sort of self-imposed beauty queen. You know, that bit….
PHILO: (cutting Charissa off) Yeah, yeah. Every time another pretty face comes down the rampway you feel threatened. We get it.
Charissa looks at Philo with that ‘excuse me’ expression just about the time the arena goes dark, and words appear on the big screen above the entrance.
"When the sun rises
I wake up and chase my dreams
I won't regret when the sun sets
Cause I live MY LIFE like I'm a beast
I'm a mothafucking beast"
"Ayo back to make you run around the game like it’s a fire
I spit acid bitch like I got cyanide in my saliva
Watch me wet and heat shit up like I'm a washer and a dryer
While I beat you in your head until you tire"
"I'm a motherfucking beast"
As the beginning notes of "Beast" begins to play, the arena goes to darkness. With the beats kicking in, "The Distinguished" slowly walks out with a huge smirk on his face as the fans welcome him with a chorus of boos throughout the arena.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Coming to the ring, weighing in at one hundred and eighty pounds, from Boston, Massachusetts, representing "The Unstable"! He is "THE DISTINGUISHED" CEE JAY OOOOOO... DDOONNNNEELLLL!!!"
As O'Donnell slowly makes his way down to the ring he cannot help but take in all the insults and jeers from the crowd.
"I'ma motherfucking beast
I'ma, I'ma fuckin' beast
I'ma mothafuckin' beast
Fucking mothafucking beast
I'ma motherfuckin' beast (you don't want problems)
I'ma motherfuckin' beast (you don't want problems with me)
I'ma motherfuckin' beast (you don't want problems)
I'ma motherfuckin' beast (you don't want problems with me)"
"I'm a motherfucking beast right
Homie welcome to the east side, where the killers reside
We playing war games, please hide
Ain't no signs of peace, so fuck a peace sign, we ride
Bust shots from a car seat
Or maybe hang you 'til your neck is broke
Choke with you with a Stethoscope
That's how I kill a motherfucker in a heartbeat on a dark street"
Caleb reaches the end of the entrance way and is making his way up the ring steps. Once CJ gets on the top step he raises his arms up in the air which only causes more boos from the audience tonight.
"I'ma I'ma fuckin' beast!
I'ma mothafuckin' beast
Fucking mothafucking beast
I'ma motherfuckin' beast (you don't want problems)
I'ma motherfuckin' beast (you don't want problems with me)
I'ma motherfuckin' beast (you don't want problems)
I'ma motherfuckin' beast (you don't want problems with me)"
CJ enters the ring and he takes off his black Unstable t-shirt. He rolls it into a ball and acts like he is about to toss it into the crowd but instead he drops it over the top ropes and it lands on the outside on the floor. CJ begins to stretch in the corner as he awaits for the bell to ring.
"I'm a motherfucking beast!"
‘Take It Off’ by the Donna’s kicks out over the PA system, and Trixie breaks through the curtain and does a twirl to bend over and showcase her firm apple bottom to the crowd before turning around to flaunt her ring attire and bite her finger. She pauses on stage just for a moment in this pose before walking in a straight line down the ramp, swaying her hips to get the attention of the guys in the crowd, blowing kisses at the guys and enjoying the jealousy of the girls.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing his partner, standing at 5’6” tall, and weighting in at 133 lbs, hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada, she is ‘The Blonde Beauty’…..TRIXIEEEE!!!!
Trixie steps onto the apron and gyrates her hips before stepping into the ring very slowly to allow all the photos to be taken before finally stepping to the center of the ring and giving a playful wink to the referee and C.J. O’Donnell.
O’Donnell’s response is cut off by the opening riff of "Your Betrayal" by Bullet For My Valentine bouncing off the arena's speakers. The fans instantly recognized the song, and their attitudes completely and utterly changed to one of loathing. Only a few seconds had passed since the song began to play when the curtain could be seen being slowly pulled back. Stepping out a moment later was none other than the man known as the Martyr of Pro Wrestling himself, Calvin Harris. Seeing the man causes the crowd to uproar again, but this time with louder boos and jeers. Standing center of the stage, Calvin looks around the ring with a smug smirk on his lips. The type of smug smirk that would make people want to knock it right off his expression. Calvin begins stretching his arms out to either side of him, almost like he was encouraging the crowd to give him more hate. After a few moments he lowered his arms back down at his side and began to slowly make his way down the ramp.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: And one of their opponents, Introducing at this time all the way from Chicago, Illinois. Weighing in at two hundred and twenty seven pounds. He is known as the Martyr of Pro Wrestling. . . CALVIN HARRIS!
By the time that he has been introduced to the crowd, Calvin is halfway down the ramp, seeming to be in no hurry. His smirk remains on his expression as he lets out a couple of chuckles at those fans he deems pathetic until reaching the ringside area. Calvin takes a couple of steps towards the ring and reaches up with his right hand grabbing the middle rope. He proceeds to pull himself up onto the apron and onto his knees, and in one swift motion pushes himself right up to his feet. He lifts one leg over the middle rope, ducks down under the top, and finds himself in the ring. Calvin takes the nearest turnbuckle and climbs to the second rung and looks out at the booing crowd. The fans continued to boo at the slow procession.
All of a sudden he brings his hands up and out to each side of him while tilting his head back a bit. It was almost like he was in a position where he was forcing the crowd to "bask" in all his glory or as if he was wanting them to "praise" him. As his theme faded away, Calvin comes out of the pose, turns himself around, leaps down from the turnbuckle and bounces around on his feet staring across the ring at O’Donnell and Trixie.
Trixie rolls her eyes at Harris while O’Donnell looks more than eager to wipe the smile off his face. The tension is broken up as ‘Hate Me’ by Escape the Fate begins to play, and a spotlight shines down on the middle of the stage. As the lead singer screams, Keenan walks out from behind the curtain with his hands firmly dug in the pockets of the black hoodie he is wearing, hood up to hide his hair. He walks out further onto the stage, before he spins on his heels, throwing his head back to remove the hood. He immediately then rips his hands from his pockets and outstretches them as gold rain-like pyro rains down in front of him. After a few seconds, he spins back around and folds his arms, before screaming out with a smile on his face and walking down to the ring.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: And his partner, standing at 6’1” tall, and weighting in at 200 lbs. Hailing from Hollywood, California….The Modern-Day Wordsmith….TYLER KEENAN!!
Keenan hopped up onto the ring apron, his grin still plastered on his face as he jumped over the top rope and into the ring. He isn’t allowed much fanfare as the opening chords to ‘Stranglehold’ by Ted Nugent abruptly bring his entrance to an end. Red strobe lights flicker all around the building, and finally settle on the entry way where the silhouette of Flaming Youth can be seen standing in the curtain. These words can be seen clearly up on the four screens.
YOUTH IS A MINDSET
MY FLAME IS ETERNAL
At the chorus of the song he bursts through, and spins around on the rampway, reaching out to the crowd who scream in adulation. He comes to a teetering stop facing the ring, a coy grin on his face, shaking his finger ‘no’ tauntingly at the four competitors already in the ring.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: And their opponents, introducing first, standing at 5’10” tall, and weighting in at 195 lbs. Hailing from New Orleans, Louisiana….One half of The BombTrax….FLAMING YOUTH!!!
At the mention of his name he takes off into a sprint to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope, and popping up with his hands over his head. Dashing over to the corner he bounds up to the second rope, and scans the crowd, talking jive as the fans soak it all up. With a short hop, he spins so that he’s now facing the ring, and takes a seat on the top rope to await his partner, while keeping a wary eye on the other four in the ring.
‘Pure Morning’ by Placebo wafts across the speakers in the arena, and without any further a-do Johnny Raike emerges from behind the curtain, wearing a black vinyl trench coat over his ring gear. He wastes no time up on the stage before sauntering down the rampway totally lost in the music, running his hands sensually over his own chest.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing his partner, standing at 6’1” tall, and weighting in at 195 lbs. Hailing from Astoria, Queens, New York…..The Most Liberated Man In Wrestling….JOHNNY RAIKE!!!!
Johnny stops for a minute, eyeing a hotty in the front row, and makes his way over, producing a business card from somewhere in his jacket. She swoons, when he notices behind her an even more attractive male. He grins, and produces a second card for him, and then uses his finger to indicate both of them, before rubbing the same finger up and down his body. With a flash of a smile, Raike removes his coat, storms up the steps, and then hops into the ring, coming to a stop to look up at the other five members of what could only be described as a cluster fuck.
Youth hops down from his perch now, stepping over to Raike, who is supposed to be his partner for the evening. As the two men exchange words, C.J. O'Donnell steps over and mouths something to Raike, who turns his attention from Youth to step right up into O'Donnell's face.
The other combatants draw closer as the two opponents continue jawing and begin to move to the center of the ring, still nose to nose. Raike makes a final comment to O'Donnell, which is blatantly unflattering, resulting in C.J. raring back to take a swing. As the punch sails through the air, Raike ducks, and O'Donnell follows through with a fist right into Flaming Youth's mouth. In that moment, time stands still. All six competitors, the fans, A-Ref, everyone falls into a silence. The entire situation is summed up by our color commentator who earns every bit of that moniker with her next statement.
CHARISSA: (in slow motion) Ooooohhhh Shiiiittttt!!
In a flash, time catches back up to the present, and all hell breaks loose, as Youth lunges at O'Donnell, sending both men between the ropes and to the outside on the concrete. Both men roll around, trading punches and cheap shots where they can find them.
Raike smirks at his partner’s misfortune, but doesn’t get to enjoy it for long, as Tyler Keenan rushes Raike and catches him around the midsection, driving him back into the far corner. Keenan continues his shoulder thrusts, as Raike brings the point of his elbow down into the man’s shoulders.
Calvin Harris just shakes his head at all of this, before turning to look directly at Trixie who just shrugs. She winks in his direction, and just as he’s about to return the gesture, she brings the tip of her boot directly up into his crotch for what she likes to call the ‘Couldn’t Help Myself'. His eyes bulge from their sockets as he reaches for his nether regions, and crumples to the mat, accompanied by applaud and cheers from the fans for his discomfort.
PHILO: Well, that’s it, Pandemonium just broke open its gates!
CHARISSA: Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Kicked that mother fucker right in the nuts! Maybe I was wrong about ole’ girl.
PHILO: What, now you like her?
CHARISSA: I wouldn’t go that far, but she knows what a girl likes to see.
The commentators are abruptly cut off as Flaming Youth’s head bounces off their table, O’Donnell looming over him with a grim look on his face. He grabs the high flyer by another fist full of hair, and drives his head once again back down into the announce table, this time with authority. Youth stumbles away, holding his face, as O’Donnell trudges after him. Just as they reach the steps, O’Donnell spins youth around, and after a few hard right hands, takes the man by the hand, and sends him sailing towards the steel barricade.
At the absolute last second Youth leaps up, landing perfectly on top of the steel structure, and then springs backwards into a moonsault that catches O’Donnell completely by surprise. Both men are wiped out by the maneuver, while the action continues in the ring.
Meanwhile, in the ring, Tyler Keenan thrusts his shoulder one final time into Raike’s midsection, before rising up, and firing in right hands. Raike slumps in the corner, dazed from the assault, before Tyler takes Raike by the hand to throw him to the far side. His plan is stalled, however, as he looks over his shoulder to see Trixie standing over his partner, nudging him with the heel of her boot.
Keenan abandons Raike to take on Trixie, but Johnny has other ideas as he holds onto Tyler before he can start over there. Keenan spins back around to deal with the Most Liberated Man In Wrestling, but instead, is pulled into his clutching arms, and sent for a ride courtesy of an overhead belly to belly by Raike. Still relatively close to the corner they had been battling in, Keenan’s body has nowhere to land as the small of his back strikes the top turnbuckle, and he crashes awkwardly down onto his neck and shoulders.
PHILO: Jesus Christ! Keenan’s going to need a fucking toke after that!
CHARISSA: Damn Right! Do you think Johnny would give me one of those business cards? I mean, I’d like to see what’s going on behind the scenes at that kissing booth of his.
PHILO: Really, Charissa? Really? We’ve got a match of this magnitude, both inside and outside the ring, and you’re thinking about bumping uglies with Johnny Raike?
CHARISSA: Listen, Philo, a girl’s got to have her priorities straight. Constance Church thought this gig was set in stone, and look what happened to her! If this shit goes south, I might have a shot with Raike at the Kissing Booth. I hear he likes a girl with some fashionable tattoos.
PHILO: Yeah, well he didn’t like that slap that Trixie just gave him. Oh, another, wait, No! Raike caught her hand, and he’s got a handful of hair, and OH DAMN! He just ran Trixie head first right over the top rope and down to the concrete! That’s going to smart in the morning!
Johnny Raike smirks down at Trixie and then over at Keenan, who had yet to recover, before turning his attention back to Calvin Harris, who was just now getting gingerly back up to his feet. Raike leans against the ropes for a little extra momentum, and rushes forward to try and catch Calvin with a swinging neckbreaker.
Harris, however, spins out of the maneuver, and as Raike stops his momentum, and turns to face his opponent, Calvin catches him with a stiff boot to the midsection and plants him with a DDT. Harris gets to his feet, still favoring his lower abdomen, and spots Trixie pulling herself up onto the ring apron on the rampway side of the ring. With a metaphoric tip of his hat, he charges forward, leaps into the air with his knees extended out in front of him, and nails her square in the chest. She soars through the air from the apron to the steel grating of the rampway, crashing down hard, and flat on her back.
PHILO: That was a hell of a way to be helped out of the ring. Poor Trixie’s seen more of the concrete than the canvas in this contest.
CHARISSA: What can she say, Philo, she’s used to spending a lot of time on her back.
PHILO: Uh, I don’t think that’s where I was going. Either way, Calvin Harris is the lone survivor in the ring, meanwhile, Youth and O’Donnell have made it to their feet, and are trading punches on the other side!
CHARISSA: Yeah, and despite that sweet little moonsault from Youth, it looks like the Irishman has the upper hand again.
Youth takes another stiff right hand from O’Donnell on the chin, and falls back against the steel barricade, the structure the only thing keeping him vertical. CJ steps to the side of Youth, and fires in a vicious knife edge chop that thunders throughout the arena. The fans ‘Whooo’, but he seems to pay them no mind, as he fires in another, and then another. Youth’s chest is lit up like a Christmas tree, before O’Donnell grabs him by the wrist, and whips him hard into the steel steps. He collides with such impact that the steps come apart, separating the top half from the bottom. Youth just slumps against them, head lolling.
In the ring, Keenan finally makes it back up to his feet with a little help from Calvin Harris, who points at Raike, and indicates they should finish it. Keenan nods his agreement, and makes his way towards Raike, pulling the man up to his feet, and holding him up with his hands pinned at his sides so that Harris can have an easier shot. Harris nods, making a quick trot for the ropes, hopping up to springboard off the second, and then spins with his fist to connect with a Meeting Kryptonite. The only problem is, he didn’t connect with Raike, but his own partner, Johnny having slipped out of Keenan’s grasp and dodging out of the way.
PHILO: OH! MEETING KRYPTONITE TO TYLER KEENAN!! I don’t think Calvin Harris meant to do that, and he’s berating Keenan for not keeping a better hold on Johnny Raike, which, he better not turn around or…..FULL FRONTAL!! Full Frontal on Calvin Harris by Johnny Raike!
CHARISSA: That man sure does know how to do it!
PHILO: Damn right, and he’s going for a cover on Harris!
1…
2…
C.J. O’Donnell comes in out of nowhere before the count of three, nailing Raike with a football like kick to the midsection, knocking him off of his cover of Calvin Harris.
CHARISSA: Big save for the Irishman. If he hadn’t shown up when he did, Raike and Youth would be on their way to the St. Patrick’s Day extravaganza, for all the help Youth’s been in this match.
PHILO: Hey! He had his hands full with O’Donnell until The Distinguished decided to break up that three count. Raike is getting to his feet, and O’Donnell’s just waiting for him a few paces away….IRISH KNOWLEDGE!!!
CHARISSA: That knee damn near tore the Fuckboi’s head off!
PHILO: Damn right! O’Donnell drops for a cover!
1…
2…
With blinding speed Youth appears on the ring apron, and with a springboard that looks effortless he comes crashing down onto O’Donnell’s back with a sentan ending the count. His momentum doesn’t stop there as he rolls up to his feet, and just as O’Donnell rises up off of Johnny Raike to deal with this new assault, he meets a superkick that rattles his jaw, and sends him sprawling to the mat.
PHILO: SLOW BURN! JESUS CHRIST! How many finishers are we going to see in this match!
CHARISSA: Looks like we’ve got room for one more, cause while Youth’s trying to recover long enough to make a pin, looks like Trixie is up, and moving towards the ring.
Youth clutches at his back, surveying the fallen bodies littering the ring, when Trixie slides under the bottom rope and rises up behind him. Just as he’s about to go for a cover on
O’Donnell, she spins him around and delivers a succession of three vicious forearms that throw him off balance. She then takes him by the hand and whips him towards the only ropes without bodies in the way, but he reverses it, sending her instead. He readies himself for a clothesline as she rebounds, but unfortunately, Trixie has other ideas.
O’Donnell, she spins him around and delivers a succession of three vicious forearms that throw him off balance. She then takes him by the hand and whips him towards the only ropes without bodies in the way, but he reverses it, sending her instead. He readies himself for a clothesline as she rebounds, but unfortunately, Trixie has other ideas.
PHILO: SHINING APPRENTICE!! Youth just went down like a sack of potatoes, and now Trixie is the last one standing in the ring!
CHARISSA: That feisty bitch just might have a date with destiny on St. Patrick’s Day.
PHILO: Not if she doesn’t stop her gyrating around the ring, and polish one of these guys off.
As Trixie shows off for the fans, the males in attendance seeming to appreciate it immensely, Tyler Keenan makes it up to his feet, staring straight ahead at the vixen. The only man yet to perform a finish, Keenan positions himself right behind her, begging her to turn around. As the fans try to warn Trixie, she becomes aware something isn’t right, and when she twirls to survey the ring, she’s met with a stiff boot that doubles her over by Keenan. With her head down, Keenan steps up, wrapping his arms around her waist, and then lifting her up into a powerbomb position. Trixie gives up a good effort by hammering rights down into Keenan’s face, but to no avail, as he rushes across the ring, almost stumbling over his own partner, but non-the-less, delivering a devastating turnbuckle powerbomb to the blonde bombshell.
PHILO: DÉJÀ VU!!
CHARISSA: Really? I haven’t seen that move before. Are you talking about last show?
PHILO: No, that’s the name of Tyler Keenan’s finisher. Déjà Vu. And he just nailed it on Trixie, who’s crumpled up in a heap. Keenan pulling Trixie out from the corner, and going for a cover, but there’s too many bodies in the ring.
Just as Keenan went for the cover and A-Ref got into position, Johnny Raike lifted his foot and threw his boot forward to strike Keenan in the head. Tyler shook the cobwebs loose, and went for another attempt, but again, Raike nailed him with a boot, this one even stiffer, causing Keenan to abandon the cover and slide to the outside of the ring.
The other members of the match, with the exception of Trixie, began to stir. As Calvin Harris pulls himself up by the ropes, Raike waits for him to get fully upright before rushing him with a clothesline that sends him up and over the top rope to the concrete below.
Keenan seeing this stumbles over to where his partner landed, reaching down to help him to his feet, realizing that if they didn’t get a new game plan then they weren’t going anywhere. Raike turns his attention back to the ring, where C.J. O’Donnell is pulling himself up on the opposite side. Much like Keenan, he waits till the Irishman had made it fully to his feet, before measuring him with another clothesline.
This time, however, his opponent side steps out of the way, and drops to his side delivering a drop toe hold that sends Raike throat first down across the middle rope. O’Donnell, as quick as he can, gets to his feet, takes off to the opposite side, where he is unceremoniously tripped up by Harris and Keenan, who retain their hold on his legs, and promptly jerk him out under the bottom rope.
CHARISSA: Them two boys there are finally starting to get it. No matter how much you might hate your partner, this is a tag match, and you gotta work together if you want that #1 Contender’s match. Now, beat his ass!
PHILO: You know, I hate to admit this, but you’re right. You’re also kind of scary when you’re right. Sounds like Keenan and Harris heard you, though, cause they are throwing down one major beating to C.J. O’Donnell.
Trixie, at least halfway recovered from the turnbuckle powerbomb, gets herself vertical just in time to see her tag partner getting proverbially mugged on the outside. She looks over at Johnny Raike, still draped across the middle rope, and then signals to the crowd with a flirtatious wink that something awesome was about to happen. With a quick step towards Raike, she turns at the last second, planting her ass firmly on the man’s shoulder and driving his throat further into the ropes. When she springs off of him, she continues her momentum towards the opposite side where her partner is taking a beating, and springboards over the ropes to land on both Harris and Keenan, wiping them out.
PHILO: Wow! Trixie just reminded all of us why she’s in this match! What a move!
CHARISSA: You know, I don’t normally go for the prissy types, but she’s proving you can look good while you’re kicking ass. Got to respect that.
The only two men left in the ring are the team of Johnny Raike and Flaming Youth, who grimly pulls himself up, and stands there looking at his partner draped across the ropes. He stumbles over, reaching down and hooking Raike’s arm, and pulls the man up to his feet. As soon as Johnny see’s who’s helping him up, he jerks his arm away, and both men are left staring at each other. Youth says something, which Raike replies heatedly, before both men notice that the other four participants on the opposite end of the ring are gaining their footing. Raike points to the outside of the ring, and Youth simply flashes him a grin and nods, before rushing towards the ropes, and dropping down to all fours. The crowd falls into silence as Raike, a determined look on his face, sprints across the ring, steps up onto Youth’s back, and then sails over the top rope to come crashing down on all four opponents. Once again, everyone is wiped out on the outside of the ring. The hushed crowd erupts in unison, as Youth pops back up to survey the damage. He wipes his hands to signal ‘taking out the trash’, and then takes a position at the opposite end of the ring.
PHILO: You know, I don’t know what else we could see out of this match. Everyone’s hit a finisher. Everything’s been back and forth. And that splancha by Raike might have just put an exclamation mark on it.
CHARISSA: Yeah, normally I’d agree with you Philo, but that guy left in the ring makes me think we got at least one more big move left to witness.
As the five competitors begin to stir on the outside of the ring, Youth lowers his head and nods to the beat of some unseen tune, kicking his feet behind him like a bull getting ready to charge. Raike and Trixie are the first up, followed by O’Donnell and Harris. The four begin exchanging sluggish strikes until Keenan is back on his feet, and then Harris and Keenan begin double teaming O’Donnell once again while Raike and Trixie continue punching.
When Youth looks up from his tune, he can see that all five have made it back to their feet, and without delay he charges across the ring, loping first up to the top rope, walking it a little ways, and then spring boarding out into a spinning somersault splancha. He lands right in the center of the mass of humanity in front of him, and like the epicenter of a blast, him being the grenade, everyone is blown back down to the concrete. The arena is deafening as the fans all come to their feet.
CHARISSA: Well, there it is. They’re all dead.
PHILO: I can’t even hear you right now. Between Trixie’s leap, Raike’s splancha, and whatever the hell that just was……this place has come unglued!
Charissa: You know, the problem with shit like that, is how the hell does anyone recover from it. Sure, everyone’s down again, but he sure as hell ain’t looking too good neither.
PHILO: That’s why they call it high risk.
CHARISSA: That’s all you gotta say? Shit, I could have got that off of the back of one of the action figures.
PHILO: We have action figures now?
CHARISSA: Yeah, haven’t you seen them. They’re out there at the merchandise table.
PHILO: Well, that’s just great! Thanks a lot production team for making sure your commentators know about key marketing strategies before we go live on the air!
CHARISSA: Relax! They only told me about it cause you were getting high out in the back with Brandy Irving. That bitch really is to pieces ever since Sam disappeared. Someone needs to get her a Quaalude or something.
PHILO: Oooooo! They still make those!
As the commentators continue their conversation, movement can be seen on the floor out in front of them. C.J. O'Donnell, by use of the ring apron, pulls himself up to his feet, and slides back into the ring. Calvin Harris, slowly but surely, follows him. O'Donnell crawls across the ring on his hands and knee's until reaching the far ropes, in which he uses them to get vertical. He sees Harris as he does the same, and the two stare across the ring at each other with venom in their eyes. With a sudden burst of speed, Harris charges across the ring at O'Donnell who ducks under his clothesline attempt, and awaits for him to return. Harris bounces off the ropes for extra momentum, and as he rushes forward once again, O'Donnell drops his head for a back body drop. Harris, seeing this, leap frogs over O'Donnell, and lands behind him, never stopping his gallop, and bouncing off the ropes once again. As he returns, O'Donnell spins back around and takes a few steps of his own before leaping at the same time Harris does, both men catching each other in midair with double crossbodies. They crash to the center of the ring, both holding their midsections.
CHARISSA: Looks like both of those guys had the same idea, and now their both paying for it.
PHILO: Yeah, but we still have competitors outside the ring here, and Tyler Keenan is helping Johnny Raike up to his feet....ONLY TO RUN HIM FACE FIRST INTO THE RING POST!!
Raike's head bounces off the steel, and he slumps against the ring apron, miraculously still on his feet. Keenan grabs another fistful of hair, and drags his opponent over to the same steel steps Youth had decimated, and drove Raike's head down into the steel once more. A thin line of blood began to trickle down Johnny Raike's face, and Keenan jeered at the crowd, pointing at the damage he had caused.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ring, Youth pulled himself up, and looked across the ring to where Johnny Raike was being manhandled by Keenan. He took off in a sprint around the opposite side of the ring, and the fans on the front row all came to their feet in excitement to see what was about to happen next. When Youth passed the ramp, he sprung up onto the guard rail, running across it's surface as easily as a cat, until finally reaching where Tyler Keenan still had a hold on Johnny Raike. Youth dove from the guard rail out towards Keenan, attempting a drop kick, but at the last second, Keenan let loose of Raike, caught Youth around the midsection, and sat down abruptly into a sidewalk slam on the surface of the steel steps. Both men fell away from the maneuver injured, Keenan grabbing at his ass, and Youth clutching at his back.
PHILO: Jesus Christ! What a move by Tyler Keenan, but at what cost?!?
CHARISSA: (In a mimicking voice) Well that's why they call it high risk.
While all of this was going on, Trixie helps herself into the ring by use of the ropes, and then into a corner where she can see everything that's going on. O'Donnell has crawled to the corner across from her, and Harris sat on one knee, looking over at the Irishman. As C.J. got to his feet, Harris did the same, not realizing that Trixie was directly behind him. O'Donnell signaled to Trixie, tipping Harris off, but not in enough time to get out of their way. Trixie and O'Donnell rushed out from their corners, Trixie going low with a chop block, and O'Donnell going high with a dropkick. Harris' body was sent spinning due to the two opposing directions, and he crashed hard to the mat because of it. O'Donnell and Trixie both got to their feet, just in time for a bloody Johnny Raike to slide into the ring, and nail O'Donnell from behind and send him sailing through the ropes to the concrete below. Trixie didn't wait to see her partner's fall before reaching out and grabbing Raike by the hair of the head, and yanking him down to meet her uprising knee. She continued the maneuver three more times, each blow knocking Raike further and further towards the corner. Once she was there, she shoved him back into the turnbuckle, and started lighting him up with vicious chops that echoed through out the arena.
PHILO: Trixie has got Johnny Raike tied up in the corner with chops, but she doesn't see Calvin Harris getting to his feet!
CHARISSA: There's just too much going on in this match, Philo. I can't keep up with all of the action.
PHILO: Well, Harris is up now, and he just took off in a sprint, and DOUBLE SPLASH crushes Trixie into Johnny Raike, but Harris isn't letting Trixie fall to the mat, he's dragging her back out to the center of the ring, and THE ART OF BETRAYAL!!! This has got to be it!
CHARISSA: Harris with a cover..
1.....
2....
3NO!
CHARISSA: Saved by Johnny Raike!
Harris pops up to his feet, and Raike catches him with a right hand for his trouble, or tries to, but Calvin ducks. As Raike spins through, Harris hooks him around the waist, and pushes Johnny towards the ropes. Johnny hit's chest first, and Calvin Harris uses the ropes momentum to fall backwards, pulling Johnny down onto his shoulders, and rolling back up to his feet so that Raike's legs are trapped under him for a pin.
1...
2...
3NO!
Keenan comes out of nowhere, shoving Calvin Harris off of Raike.
PHILO: What the fuck is Tyler Keenan doing? He just cost his team the match?
CHARISSA: I don't know, but those two are in each other's faces now, and they are doing an awful lot of talking.
PHILO: I can't believe this. Tyler Keenan is pointing to the outside, claiming that Harris should have helped him when he saw that he was injured! This is ridiculous!
CHARISSA: Well, we said from the beginning that none of these people really get along.
Keenan pokes his finger into Calvin Harris' chest, resulting in Harris shoving his partner away from him in disgust. Keenan stares at Harris, and then holds his hands up, and nods, pointing down at Johnny Raike. Harris eyes Keenan, while reaching down to grab Raike, but as soon as he has a hold on the man, Keenan bursts forward with a clothesline attempt. Harris expertly ducks it, and when Keenan turns around he's met by a boot from Harris, who immediately hooks him around the head, lifts him up like a suplex, but then changes directions, dropping straight down, and driving Keenan's head down into the mat.
PHILO: BRAINBUSTER BY CALVIN HARRIS ON TYLER KEENAN! HIS OWN PARTNER!
CHARISSA: Yeah, but look on the ring apron. Youth just got up there, and Harris doesn't even see him. Look's like he's going to take full advantage of this little spat.
PHILO: Oh damn! He's grabbing the top rope, springboard, AND HE CATCHES HARRIS WITH A SPIN WHEEL KICK!
Youth stumbles to his feet after his maneuver, pulling Harris up, and chucking him out of the ring. Calvin hits the concrete like a sack of potatoes, and Youth steps over to try and get his partner on his feet, but Raike appears out. Trixie slowly begins to crawl towards the ropes, so Youth abandons Johnny to pursue her. By the time he catches up, still clutching his back from the slam on the steps, she has made it almost under the top rope to the outside. He slips his body through the middle and top rope, reaching down to get a handful of hair, when from out of nowhere CJ O'Donnell appears, soaring through the air and catching Youth right in the side of the temple with a knee. Youth's eyes roll into the back of his head, and he lurches forwards, tumbling out of the ring to the outside.
PHILO: Fuck me, what an Irish Knowledge from O'Donnell to Youth! This match has been brutal!
CHARISSA: Sure has, and it looks like Trixie might have been faking a little. She's getting up with some help from the ropes, and she's gyrating in front of her partner as he enters the ring.
PHILO: Yeah, but it doesn't look exactly like CJ is impressed. He's trying to get her to focus, and points down at Tyler Keenan. With everyone else out of the match, this seems like as good a time as any to put him away.
Trixie stops dancing, and looks disappointingly at CJ before shrugging, and stepping over to Johnny Raike and rolls him with the toe of her boot right under the bottom rope and to the floor, leaving Tyler Keenan their sole opponent in the ring. Keenan makes it to one knee, and when he rises the rest of the way up he pauses to stare at Trixie, holding his head from the brainbuster from before. Trixie gives him a wink just as he's nailed from behind by O'Donnell with a double axehandle to the back of his head. When he falls forwards, Trixie is there with a knee lift that catches Keenan right in the face on his way down. Trixie steps back and holds her hand out, palm down, to CJ, who takes Keenan's legs, crosses them, traps them on his thigh, and then hooks both of his arms with his own, and lifts up into a Scorpion Crosslock.
PHILO: CELTIC CURSE! Man, CJ O'Donnell has it locked in tight too, and look at Trixie! She's all up in Keenan's face taunting him!
CHARISSA: Wow, what a bitch! I think I really am starting to like her.
PHILO: A-Ref, who up to this point has just sort of been around to count pins, is asking Keenan who is crying out in agony from the painful submission......And HE'S NODDING HIS HEAD YES! O'Donnell and Trixie have just taken this thing!
A-Ref calls for the bell, and O'Donnell releases his hold on Keenan, who falls unceremoniously to the mat, unsure of which part of his anatomy to clutch at first.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: The winners of this contest, and the two participants in the #1 Contenders Match for the PAW Championship at the St. Patrick's Day Super Show.....CJ O'DONNELL AND TRIXIE!!
After having their hands raised by A-Ref, the two competitors are left in the center of the ring where they turn to face one another. CJ nods his head, and says something, to which Trixie just winks, and then starts to back towards the ropes. When she reaches them, she blows him a kiss, followed by a Cheshire grin, slipping out of the ring, and continuing to back up the rampway with a sway in her hips. CJ watches all of this with a grim smile, and the camera focuses in on it before fading to black.
As the commentators continue their conversation, movement can be seen on the floor out in front of them. C.J. O'Donnell, by use of the ring apron, pulls himself up to his feet, and slides back into the ring. Calvin Harris, slowly but surely, follows him. O'Donnell crawls across the ring on his hands and knee's until reaching the far ropes, in which he uses them to get vertical. He sees Harris as he does the same, and the two stare across the ring at each other with venom in their eyes. With a sudden burst of speed, Harris charges across the ring at O'Donnell who ducks under his clothesline attempt, and awaits for him to return. Harris bounces off the ropes for extra momentum, and as he rushes forward once again, O'Donnell drops his head for a back body drop. Harris, seeing this, leap frogs over O'Donnell, and lands behind him, never stopping his gallop, and bouncing off the ropes once again. As he returns, O'Donnell spins back around and takes a few steps of his own before leaping at the same time Harris does, both men catching each other in midair with double crossbodies. They crash to the center of the ring, both holding their midsections.
CHARISSA: Looks like both of those guys had the same idea, and now their both paying for it.
PHILO: Yeah, but we still have competitors outside the ring here, and Tyler Keenan is helping Johnny Raike up to his feet....ONLY TO RUN HIM FACE FIRST INTO THE RING POST!!
Raike's head bounces off the steel, and he slumps against the ring apron, miraculously still on his feet. Keenan grabs another fistful of hair, and drags his opponent over to the same steel steps Youth had decimated, and drove Raike's head down into the steel once more. A thin line of blood began to trickle down Johnny Raike's face, and Keenan jeered at the crowd, pointing at the damage he had caused.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ring, Youth pulled himself up, and looked across the ring to where Johnny Raike was being manhandled by Keenan. He took off in a sprint around the opposite side of the ring, and the fans on the front row all came to their feet in excitement to see what was about to happen next. When Youth passed the ramp, he sprung up onto the guard rail, running across it's surface as easily as a cat, until finally reaching where Tyler Keenan still had a hold on Johnny Raike. Youth dove from the guard rail out towards Keenan, attempting a drop kick, but at the last second, Keenan let loose of Raike, caught Youth around the midsection, and sat down abruptly into a sidewalk slam on the surface of the steel steps. Both men fell away from the maneuver injured, Keenan grabbing at his ass, and Youth clutching at his back.
PHILO: Jesus Christ! What a move by Tyler Keenan, but at what cost?!?
CHARISSA: (In a mimicking voice) Well that's why they call it high risk.
While all of this was going on, Trixie helps herself into the ring by use of the ropes, and then into a corner where she can see everything that's going on. O'Donnell has crawled to the corner across from her, and Harris sat on one knee, looking over at the Irishman. As C.J. got to his feet, Harris did the same, not realizing that Trixie was directly behind him. O'Donnell signaled to Trixie, tipping Harris off, but not in enough time to get out of their way. Trixie and O'Donnell rushed out from their corners, Trixie going low with a chop block, and O'Donnell going high with a dropkick. Harris' body was sent spinning due to the two opposing directions, and he crashed hard to the mat because of it. O'Donnell and Trixie both got to their feet, just in time for a bloody Johnny Raike to slide into the ring, and nail O'Donnell from behind and send him sailing through the ropes to the concrete below. Trixie didn't wait to see her partner's fall before reaching out and grabbing Raike by the hair of the head, and yanking him down to meet her uprising knee. She continued the maneuver three more times, each blow knocking Raike further and further towards the corner. Once she was there, she shoved him back into the turnbuckle, and started lighting him up with vicious chops that echoed through out the arena.
PHILO: Trixie has got Johnny Raike tied up in the corner with chops, but she doesn't see Calvin Harris getting to his feet!
CHARISSA: There's just too much going on in this match, Philo. I can't keep up with all of the action.
PHILO: Well, Harris is up now, and he just took off in a sprint, and DOUBLE SPLASH crushes Trixie into Johnny Raike, but Harris isn't letting Trixie fall to the mat, he's dragging her back out to the center of the ring, and THE ART OF BETRAYAL!!! This has got to be it!
CHARISSA: Harris with a cover..
1.....
2....
3NO!
CHARISSA: Saved by Johnny Raike!
Harris pops up to his feet, and Raike catches him with a right hand for his trouble, or tries to, but Calvin ducks. As Raike spins through, Harris hooks him around the waist, and pushes Johnny towards the ropes. Johnny hit's chest first, and Calvin Harris uses the ropes momentum to fall backwards, pulling Johnny down onto his shoulders, and rolling back up to his feet so that Raike's legs are trapped under him for a pin.
1...
2...
3NO!
Keenan comes out of nowhere, shoving Calvin Harris off of Raike.
PHILO: What the fuck is Tyler Keenan doing? He just cost his team the match?
CHARISSA: I don't know, but those two are in each other's faces now, and they are doing an awful lot of talking.
PHILO: I can't believe this. Tyler Keenan is pointing to the outside, claiming that Harris should have helped him when he saw that he was injured! This is ridiculous!
CHARISSA: Well, we said from the beginning that none of these people really get along.
Keenan pokes his finger into Calvin Harris' chest, resulting in Harris shoving his partner away from him in disgust. Keenan stares at Harris, and then holds his hands up, and nods, pointing down at Johnny Raike. Harris eyes Keenan, while reaching down to grab Raike, but as soon as he has a hold on the man, Keenan bursts forward with a clothesline attempt. Harris expertly ducks it, and when Keenan turns around he's met by a boot from Harris, who immediately hooks him around the head, lifts him up like a suplex, but then changes directions, dropping straight down, and driving Keenan's head down into the mat.
PHILO: BRAINBUSTER BY CALVIN HARRIS ON TYLER KEENAN! HIS OWN PARTNER!
CHARISSA: Yeah, but look on the ring apron. Youth just got up there, and Harris doesn't even see him. Look's like he's going to take full advantage of this little spat.
PHILO: Oh damn! He's grabbing the top rope, springboard, AND HE CATCHES HARRIS WITH A SPIN WHEEL KICK!
Youth stumbles to his feet after his maneuver, pulling Harris up, and chucking him out of the ring. Calvin hits the concrete like a sack of potatoes, and Youth steps over to try and get his partner on his feet, but Raike appears out. Trixie slowly begins to crawl towards the ropes, so Youth abandons Johnny to pursue her. By the time he catches up, still clutching his back from the slam on the steps, she has made it almost under the top rope to the outside. He slips his body through the middle and top rope, reaching down to get a handful of hair, when from out of nowhere CJ O'Donnell appears, soaring through the air and catching Youth right in the side of the temple with a knee. Youth's eyes roll into the back of his head, and he lurches forwards, tumbling out of the ring to the outside.
PHILO: Fuck me, what an Irish Knowledge from O'Donnell to Youth! This match has been brutal!
CHARISSA: Sure has, and it looks like Trixie might have been faking a little. She's getting up with some help from the ropes, and she's gyrating in front of her partner as he enters the ring.
PHILO: Yeah, but it doesn't look exactly like CJ is impressed. He's trying to get her to focus, and points down at Tyler Keenan. With everyone else out of the match, this seems like as good a time as any to put him away.
Trixie stops dancing, and looks disappointingly at CJ before shrugging, and stepping over to Johnny Raike and rolls him with the toe of her boot right under the bottom rope and to the floor, leaving Tyler Keenan their sole opponent in the ring. Keenan makes it to one knee, and when he rises the rest of the way up he pauses to stare at Trixie, holding his head from the brainbuster from before. Trixie gives him a wink just as he's nailed from behind by O'Donnell with a double axehandle to the back of his head. When he falls forwards, Trixie is there with a knee lift that catches Keenan right in the face on his way down. Trixie steps back and holds her hand out, palm down, to CJ, who takes Keenan's legs, crosses them, traps them on his thigh, and then hooks both of his arms with his own, and lifts up into a Scorpion Crosslock.
PHILO: CELTIC CURSE! Man, CJ O'Donnell has it locked in tight too, and look at Trixie! She's all up in Keenan's face taunting him!
CHARISSA: Wow, what a bitch! I think I really am starting to like her.
PHILO: A-Ref, who up to this point has just sort of been around to count pins, is asking Keenan who is crying out in agony from the painful submission......And HE'S NODDING HIS HEAD YES! O'Donnell and Trixie have just taken this thing!
A-Ref calls for the bell, and O'Donnell releases his hold on Keenan, who falls unceremoniously to the mat, unsure of which part of his anatomy to clutch at first.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: The winners of this contest, and the two participants in the #1 Contenders Match for the PAW Championship at the St. Patrick's Day Super Show.....CJ O'DONNELL AND TRIXIE!!
After having their hands raised by A-Ref, the two competitors are left in the center of the ring where they turn to face one another. CJ nods his head, and says something, to which Trixie just winks, and then starts to back towards the ropes. When she reaches them, she blows him a kiss, followed by a Cheshire grin, slipping out of the ring, and continuing to back up the rampway with a sway in her hips. CJ watches all of this with a grim smile, and the camera focuses in on it before fading to black.