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Heavyweight Title Rematch: Chandler Maxwell vs Bryan Storms

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Rebirth in the Midwest
LIVE! from the Cowan Civic Center in Lebanon, MO
Capacity Crowd: 2,000



MCW Heavyweight Title Rematch (60 minutes):
"First Class" Chandler Maxwell (Champion) vs Bryan Storms​

The first match was easily one of the best matches in MCW history. Jalen Latham promises that this one will live up to that hype. Rumors have circulated over how badly Bryan Storms took his loss to Chandler Maxwell at the Tag Team Finals card. He'll bounce back in this rematch, his last match in his contract with MCW. Will he become champion and secure a place in MCW?​

NO RP LIMIT!
STACKING RULE IN EFFECT (Please allow 48 hours before stacking)!
DEADLINE: February 11, 2007 at 11:59PM​
 

Adam_Benjamin

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(We fade into the house of "First Class" Chandler Maxwell. Maxwell is seen talking on the phone.)

"Yeah the dude hacked me bloody good, I tell you. Well I got everything back up and runnin, so the bugger can kiss me arse. Ok good luck I talk to you later Adam."

(Chandler closes his cell phone, and turns towards the camera.)

"Ello fans, its once again time for you to step out of your normal britches and into "First Class".

However, before I get started, I would like to tell the bloody hacker that messed me PC up to go to bloody hell.

Ok, now that is done lets talk about the new era of professional wrestling.

No longer are we under the shadow of Major championship Wrestling.

the spotlight is set and ready to shine on any athlete that wants to grace the ring and take the world by storm....

Storm, how are you mate, hope you are not to crushed about looking like jackass against me.

I mean losing to someone is fine, it happens. However when you grand stand and proclaim that the man is not worthy of your time, or your so called championship.... And then choke on your own words, well that kind of sucks.

But now we get to showcase what this title is all about, one more time.

I can not wait, for you bring out my best inside that ring. You make me work harder, for I know that you want this title bad.

We gave them something to talk about, now lets top it.

Come take it from me, be the man, or walk away forever.

(Fade to black)
 

CuseTroy

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Even a Blind Squirrel Finds a Nut

FADE IN...

Bryan Storms sits on a metal folding chair in the now almost empty living room of what will be, until the end of this week, his downtown Los Angeles apartment. His one-year lease is up, the movers have been called, and Bryan is readied for a move back east to his home in Orlando. Presently, Bryan is sitting in a pair of black basketball shorts and a Columbia University t-shirt, dealing hand after hand of blackjack onto a cardboard box marked 'FRAGILE' in front of him. He shuffles the cards across the box, stacks them up neatly and lays them aside before looking straight at the camera.

BS: Crushed, Chandroid? How about...no.

I'd be crushed if you "beat" me on a night when I actually put up something that resembled a fight. If I'd put out any effort at all, if I'd actually given a damn about being in the ring with you, I'd be crushed.

Sleepwalking through the thirty-five minutes it took until I got bored with amusing myself while watching you do everything you could to take down a man giving absolutely no effort, that's not gonna get me crushed.

I'd made up my mind as soon as you walked into that ring and, like an idiot, decided to fight, that I was going to let you dance around as much as you wanted, half-ass my way to a five-star classic like only I can, and let you rest with your illusions until the next time we met, when I not only took back my title, but completely crushed your spirit.

So, "losing" that match last week didn't get me mad, Chandler. Not in the least. It was the damn fool stunt that you and Latham pulled once you waltzed out of the building. Because it was a damn fine set up we had out here, boys. Bright lights, big city, national spotlight, huge crowds, guaranteed contracts all of it, we had it right here.

But apparently, Big J thought the best thing to do would be to pull the old Donald Sterling act and milk every last red cent out of this baby by cutting down every cost and sending his merry band of morons out to West Nowhere, Missouri.

So now, days before I put down the cash to buy this place from the landlord, I'm forced to up and move to somewhere that'll let me be near the rest of the wrestling universe.

Oh, and of course to be close enough to cheaply travel to the Show-Me State to take back my title.

I may not be happy about having to pack up the life I've built in Los Angeles, but that doesn't change the fact that the MCW World Championship is rightfully mine and, Midwest or Major, I will have my name stamped on that faceplate once again.

Because this time, Chandler, we've been given sixty minutes do get this deal done. One whole hour, one hour in which I will stretch every inch of your body, one hour in which I can break you down physically and mentally until I get bored enough to finally roll you up, wait three seconds and walk out of Hillbilly Palace Arena with my belt strapped around my waist once again.

Or, maybe I'll spare the world sixty minutes of watching Chandler Maxwell wrestle, and you'll feel the immediate devastation that the Red Tide Rising can provide. Either way, make sure to bring an extra belt, because you'll need something else to hold your britches up after I get done with you, you retarded limey bastard.

You can talk about how I choked on my own words as much as you want, Chandler, and you can keep on using that bizarre, mentally deficient Cockney dialect to spew more bull about how you're ready to step into the spotlight, but at the end of the night you'll be the one eating crow, buddy.

With all you spouted out of your word-hole yesterday, you got all of one thing right. If, somehow, I lose this match, I'm gone. My contract is up, and I've got no intention of being a party to another one of Jalen Latham's misadvised experiments.

I'm nobody's lab rat, boys, and if you folks want to sink your own ship, go right on ahead. You can do it without me.

Hell, I don't see any reason to stick around once I've got my title back, either. The way I see it, there's no reason for me to spend all my time in the ass**** of America when there are so many better things to do with my life.

So, Chandler, after I beat you up, break you down and take back what is rightfully mine, if you can still manage to walk you can come down to the Sunshine State and challenge me on my terms.

I've got no more time to waste on you. I'll see you in the ring.

...FADE TO BLACK
 

Adam_Benjamin

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(We Fade into First Class Chandler Maxwell standing in front of a MCW banner holding his MCW world title.)

"Blah blah all the same song and dance. The funny twists of names, theories, and grandstanding. When will you learn Storms.

I mean lets see you basically are trying to tell me that you in a nut shell gave half of your effort against me.

Or in your words "gave a crap about being in the ring with me".

So you just toyed around till you got bored?"

(Chandler smiles)

"Here is the deal, this week inside that ring I am going to be the man that takes this company into the future, and ends you career at the same time.

No more talk, no more round about excuses.

The reality is you lost, get over it, strap up your boots and lets do it again.

Come take my belt, crush my spirit, or do whatever else you are parading around saying you are going to do to me.

Sixty minutes, I know I am in the perfect shape for a match of this magnitude.

I look forward to your red tide rising, or whatever other moves you break out.

Slowly as you lace your boots up I want to to understand that the chants of NA NA NA NA, NA NA NA NA, hey hey hey, good bye will be sending you out the door you entered.

As I stand in the spotlight holding this very title!

(Fade to black)
 

CuseTroy

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FADE IN...

The inside of Room 219 at the Lebanon, MO Fairfield Inn, extremely temporary residence of former MCW Heavyweight Champion Bryan Storms. Storms sits cross-legged on the room's queen sized bed, reading Ben Mezrich's "Bringing Down the House" as the sounds of Explosions in the Sky's "Your Hand in Mine" play from an MP3 player connected to his laptop. Bryan sets down the book on the nightstand next to him and flashes a quick smile at the camera.

BS: Don't worry, folks, I won't keep you long.

Maxwell, this message is straight from me to you. No cocky B.S., no arrogance, none of the hyped-up, overrated bull that gets spread around in this business far too often. I'm here to tell you the god's honest truth, and then I'll leave it be until you and I meet up again just down the road in this worthless, one horse ghost town in the middle of nowhere.

I'll make it nice and simple for ya, Chandler, so you're pea-sized noggin can process the information.

There is absolutely no way in hell that you're living this piece of land that God forgot with the MCW Heavyweight Title in your possession. I'm going to say that one more time, Maxwell, just to bring the point home a little more in case you weren't listening the first time.

There is NO WAY, no way in heaven, hell or here on earth that you will walk out of that s***hole of an arena as MCW Heavyweight Champion. Because, if you look back at my career, if you look back at the men I've beaten, you'll realize that no one puts my shoulders to the mat for three seconds more than once. It's a fact of life, Chandler, because it just doesn't happen.

When you get into that ring with me, Chandler, it's...well...it's a bit like blackjack. You sit at the table, play the right strategy, maybe you win a little bit. Hell, if you know the right system, if you can get yourself a little edge and press the bet when you know it's going your way, sometimes you can take the house for a whole hell of a lot without anyone noticing anything's wrong.

But, sooner or later Chandler, the player's advantage slips away. When it comes down to it, the deck is always stacked in favor of the house, and at the end of the night the house will always win. Every single time, Chandler.

EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

And, God forbid, if someone finds out you've been screwing with the house, well, we can just say that the results get a hell of a lot worse for the maverick who thinks he can bring down the big, bad nameless evil. The house always wins, Maxwell. Always. This week, your time as the new high roller on the scene is over.

No comps, no suites, no V.I.P. treatment. This week, it ends for you. Your high ride, your "First Class" lifestyle, I'm going to flush all of it down the toilet. I'm going to stare your damn illusions right in the eye, and I am going to flush each and every one of them down the toilet until you come face to face with your reality.

The reality that, on your best day, you will never, not in a million millennia, measure up to me. You "beat" me once. You will never do that again, and that's a promise.

You can try and end my career this week. You can try to force yourself into the spotlight as much as you'd like to. But you've got to come to grips with the cold hard facts of the matter, Mr. First Class. And that is the simple realization that your entire championship reign has the stability of a house of cards made by a seven-year old child.

All you have to do is make one wrong move, and it all comes crashing down. You've gotten lucky to have it hold up so far. Don't be so stupid to think it's going to stay up any longer.

Doesn't matter how many of those sixty minutes I'll use to get this done, but it will get done. I'm taking my title back, and then I'm leaving you all to your own devices.

Because as much as Jalen Latham wants to claim he built this house, he knows he couldn't have made dollar number one without a star like me on the top of the program every single night. I'm the house in this game of chance, Chandler. I'm the one in control of the whole racket, and this week I'm calling in all bets, all IOUs, all lines of credit.

The house always wins, Chandler. Just like death and taxes, it's always going to hold true. This week, you're bound to bust, and bust in absolutely spectacular fashion.

But don't worry too much, buddy. It's my world, and you're just living in it. I've got no need to waste anymore breath on a punk like you. Bring it to the ring, and be prepared to walk out without the belt you've got on temporary loan from its rightful owner. This time, that belt's coming home where it belongs.

...FADE TO BLACK
 

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